To Know Her Is To Love Her

Years ago, when I was attending BYU and still single, I spent an awful lot of time over at HB and Penee’s. I love my brother and sister-in-law dearly but their adorable little girl, Lindsay Anne was really the reason for my frequent (okay, almost daily) visits.

She was the most precocious and darling little thing I had ever seen and so entertaining. We played and hung out a lot, the age difference was irrelevant. She was my little friend.

Sometime after, I married and was lucky enough to tend Lindsay (Lacy and Dana and Devry, too!) for awhile while Penee worked. She loved to read, read, read and talk, talk, talk. I laugh now thinking about conversations I had with this amazing little 3 year old. Her many gifts and talents were evident early on, not the least of which was/is her ability to be an amusing and thought provoking conversationalist. I have always maintained that Linds should have gone into television and had her own talk show as her ability to talk about anything and everything to nearly anyone is remarkable.

Through the years I have watched her grow into the lovely young woman she is today. I see her lift and brighten and inspire by her example so many, myself included, and feel so lucky to still call her ‘my little friend’.

Happy Birthday, Lindsay Anne. Love, love you.

Can a person really bring too many mashed potatoes? Yes, yes they can.

Yesterday a family member and I (and he shall remain nameless except his initials are BGA) engaged in a slightly heated discussion about…well, it doesn’t matter. Let me just say it wasn’t about politics. I don’t even remember how the subject came up but since it is something that I feel very strongly about (and true to my A.S.S. genes) the conversation became much more, shall we say, animated and lively.

Now I am not saying I was ticked off. No, no. I was simply right and BGA was wrong. You can picture the scenario. And there sat Kenz, slightly amused by all the craziness. I wasn’t yelling, really, I was just talking with elevated volume. Increasingly elevated volume.

I was talking loud because I was so afraid that my rational, reasonable words would not be heard in normal tones and so I blustered and sputtered and punctuated the air with my pointer finger. At one point, in exasperation, I yelled from the kitchen into the bedroom, You hearing all this, ld? I could use some help here? To which he shot back some comment that I didn’t hear and then I took a deep breath and carried on the battle. I got no reinforcement there.

Now here’s the thing. BGA is a hard person to debate with because he is stubborn and doesn’t really get flustered (which is infuriating) and he is so confident that he is right. Shocker. The problem lies in the fact that I am the same. ‘Cept, I do get flustered, er discombobulated. You see the situation. Anyway, after going more than a few rounds we called it quits on the debating and ate some lunch. Which, to BGA’s credit, he ate with compliments between bites. This isn’t bad, Toots, really. Did I mention I fixed Pesto, which is made of pine nuts and does not include meat? You see his sweetness?

Continuing on. After lunch we all sat around the living room and the subject came up yet again. And again we went ‘round and ‘round with our words, talking past each other. But then someone stepped in to mediate (someone whose initials are JLW, better known as Goodboy, Hanz or Janny Nanny) and pointed out to me that what I was saying was being interpreted as hurtful and my argument was being misunderstood because of my ‘over the top’, excessive ‘all or nothing’ statements. Hurtful? I was being hurtful?

Ding. Hello. The light went on.

I turned to Brig and blurted out, “Oh well, I always serve too much pig.”

Wh- wh- what? What does that have to do with anything? He looked truly puzzled.

When I fix food or bring refreshments, I usually bring too much, way too much. Because I AM AFRAID THERE WON’ T BE ENOUGH. The Kalua Pig, I want there to be enough.

Ding. Hello. He gets it. I see it in his face.

But in case the rest of you don’t ‘get it’ let me spell it out. Because I am like every other human on the planet and on top of that a mess of a gal to boot, I have deep seated fears and strongly held values. Real deep fears and real strong opinions, on some subjects. They are so tightly held that I sometimes become afraid that I won’t be able to communicate them, nay, transmit them and have them embraced by those I love, so I beat them over the head and repeat myself over and over and talk LOUDandfastandreallyLOUDandsaycrazythings. Things like 'you can’t be a good person unless you are educated' and 'girls shouldn’t get married at 19'. Crazy stuff like that. And because I am afraid that you won’t get enough of my strongly held opinion, well, then have some more pig or pop because I brought more, lots more. And you must eat it.

But now the clouds of confusion have parted and I see that in my relentless pursuit to communicate to those I love that I value knowledge like the air I breathe and that girls, (oh, especially girls) should continually grow and learn and learn and grow (and READ!), I have unwittingly hurt others. Not intentionally, no never. But, very often the way I say something (as in tone and manner), not necessarily the message itself, is what is heard.

In other words, there are better ways for me to communicate. Far better ways. So, long and short of it is, I am sorry, soooo sorry dear little fam (and BGA in this case) for my lousy debating skills. You know I love you all. Oh, how I love you all. And BGA you are right, we are not so far apart in our thinking. In essentials we are very much the same.

The people in my fam are the best, and though we are all flawed and weird, we know how to put little verbal tussles and disagreements in perspective. No sooner had all this stuff happened then someone asked ‘Wanna go see a movie?’ to which we all agreed.

Sitting in the dark movie theater last night I got a little teary. Not because the movie was good (it wasn’t) but because I live a blessed life, surrounded by people who patiently tolerate my weaknesses and irrationality, gently point out my craziness, and love me still.

And while I make no guarantees about cutting back on the serving portions for our next family gathering, I promise to try really, really hard to serve up a lot less verbal pig.

Soundtrack from the movie of my life

Arguably the most beautiful piece of music ever written. And yes, I know, you are already familiar with it as it was played at the funerals of JFK and Princess Grace as well as featured in many movies. Still. It is simply beautiful. Go on over and have a listen. I dare you not to be moved, no matter how many times you’ve heard it. Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lV3SHBFyDZM&feature=related

I also like this version with Pan Pipes. Incredibly haunting. And okay, it's over 7 minutes long, but such a small price to pay for such beauty.



It’s a good day for a little Sam.

Write. With Your New Computer.

It's only the 16th of January, still early yet, but what the hey, I will jump the gun and share one of my New Year Resolutions which is: TO POST MORE, people! Yup, I'm going to write more. This is because I am in dire need of a sense of order and my thoughts come 'rumble tumble pell mell' (like the Pokey Little Puppy:)

Anyway, thank you Mr. Brian Clark whoever you are as I stumbled across your motivational list on blogging. And ooh, baby I am all about lists.

10 Steps to Becoming a Better Writer

1. Write.
2. Write more.
3. Write even more.
4. Write even more than that.
5. Write when you don’t want to.
6. Write when you do.
7. Write when you have something to say.
8. Write when you don’t.
9. Write every day.
10. Keep writing.

It is not necessary to change. Survival is not mandatory.

So I’ve been in a blogging funk. Shocker, what was your first clue? For almost a month I’ve not written anything. This is because…. wait. I don’t wanna tell you why. If I do you will laugh at what a ninny I am. But here it is. I have not been posting because ld made it impossible for me to get on the internet with my old computer, the one with ‘over 3,000 files’ and I have been in mourning. ld told me yesterday, after I begged and begged him to get me up and running, that I just needed to face reality.

“Your old computer is dead, kaput. It doesn’t work anymore, comprendo? You have to switch over to your new, you have no choice.”

Way to stab me into the heart, ld and I confess right here and now, that my reluctance to switch has been due in large part to my harboring the resentful sense that you somehow secretly sabotaged my computer. You didn’t. Did you?

So, ladies and gents, drum roll here, I am finally using my ‘new’ computer, the one ld bought me last February and I am reconciled that I have to learn how to use Word and Pages and it sucks. I miss my Word Perfect (and you can all stop laughing right now). Anyway, that has been the biggest obstacle to my not posting for a while. For a good long while. It is so hard to teach this old dog new tricks. But as someone once said, ‘Change always comes bearing gifts” and I will concede it is awfully nice not to have to cut and paste the letter ‘t’…and "r"…and "e".

Society Women Rock

Saturday I got a call from the Bishop thanking the Relief Society for their recent ministering efforts. The Sisters had provided Christmas for 4 needy and incredibly deserving families in the ward and one elderly widower. We had enlisted the Bishops help and had him deliver the bags and boxes of gifts anonymously.

“Tell the sisters thank you. (Voice Breaking) You’ve just made some families very happy.”

So many women donated and I was struck by two things. One: even $10 was a sacrifice for some and yet they gave. I am very sure that one of the women we helped donated herself.

And two: It was all done, with the exception of the Bishop and our Presidency, without anyone knowing who the recipient families were. We simply set out a list of needs on a Giving tree and they responded with the items. No fanfare, just quiet giving.

I am proud to belong to an organization that can and does do so much good. The women of our ward, once someone’s needs are known, can be so remarkably generous and kind. And for all my whining and carping and frustrations with the Society of Relief, sometimes we get it right.

Shoppin’, Wrappin’ ‘n Thinkin’

Yesterday, Megs, Kenz and I ‘shopped until we dropped’. It was the only time we all had to coordinate our schedules and get the job done. Whew Whee, have I mentioned often enough how much I hate to shop? My idea of shopping, and my girls can attest to this, is to sit in the car while they pick out something in the store and then wait for them to text me to come in with the moola.

It’s not that I don’t like to give gifts, I do. But I really hate to shop. This is because I haven’t the patience for it and I am easily distracted. Luckily, yesterday this was not the case as I had my girlies with me to keep me focused and zipping along.

And zip we did. All of this ‘shop and drop’ frenzy paid off big as we made a huge dent in our Christmas purchases and around 9:00 pm Megs and I crawled into our pajamas, secured the tape (oh, lots and lots of tape, how I love TAPE! ) and scissors and plopped our hineys onto the living room floor. We wrapped and wrapped and talked and talked. For the first hour. By the second hour we were much more reflective and pensive and tired. Megs, I owe you an apology. What you thought was just ‘mom’s cbd*” was really ‘Mom’s yearly Christmas epiphany moment’, er something like that. I am so thankful you urged me to finish wrapping and wouldn’t let me curl up into a ball and go to sleep right there among the tape and ribbon. I appreciate your gift wrapping leadership. Really, I do. If it weren’t for you I would still be wrap, wrap, wrapping instead of lying here thinking about deep stuff. Stuff like ‘Life is too short to use weird snowman wrapping paper that creeps me out’ and ‘what kind of person designed this paper and is there a curriculum or special upper division class for wrapping paper design?’ And the big question, one for the ages, ‘What constitutes good wrapping paper art?’ ‘Is there an academy award, maybe called the wrappies, for the years best wrapping paper?’

Thankfully and because I was a disciplined wrapper last night (Megs, you are a great wrapping session life coach) this morning I am at my leisure to reflect and ponder on the deep meaning of questions like these. And the joy just continues as I am wistfully conjuring up and fondly remembering favorite wrapping papers of my Childhood. Because I am deep like that. And because it soooo matters.





*Cranky butt disorder

Snapped Outta Brain Fog

So this morning the fog has rolled in. It started when I heard ld doing his morning routine. Ping, his computer comes on, footsteps down the stairs, shower running, cough cough. Big red digital clock says 5:45. Ugh.

I have a migraine. I try relaxation techniques learned from the internet but my head is having none of it. I pop the aspirin, flick on my laptop and crawl back in bed. I type:

Today’s stuff:

Buy Xpedex white bags
put air in tire (make GB help w/ this)
find song for Becca
prepare RS agenda
Visiting teaching, make changes
Cook, set out chicken to thaw
Clean out fridge, destickify the door
Order M&M’s
Address 10 envelopes
write thank you to Pat
find Cathy’s grandma rose stuff
visit....Call......blah....blah...blah

I stop typing and groan. Ugh. I don’t wanna do any of this stuff.
I remind myself to stay focused. I google ‘brain fog’.

Time passes. I get dressed. Seriously girl, get a move on.

I start reciting all my motivational mantras, like ‘it takes activity to create energy’ and my recent fav ‘I don't wait for moods. You accomplish nothing if you do that. Your mind must know it has to get down to work’. Ahh, thank you Pearl S. Buck, author of the Good Earth. I start thinking about how much I love that book and the character Olan and how she delivered her baby while working in the fields. ‘Oh, Olan’, I think, ‘you had a really hard life’.

I become drowsy.

I think Biblical, ‘‘Thou sluggard, get the mattress off thy back!”

I turn to pop culture person Anne Lamott,

‘How am I going to get through this craziness?’
‘Left foot, right foot, left foot, breathe,’ ....

I am depleting my arsenal of motivational ammo. I am thinking the day will be a total waste.

Wait.

A song slowly rises to my throat. I sing, hesitantly at first, but then with increasing gusto -

It's such a good feeling
To know you're alive.
It's such a happy feeling
You're growing inside.
And when you wake up ready to say,
I think I'll make a snappy new day...

I snap, snap, snap my fingers. I am smiling. I am dancin' a two step and bustin' out the moves. Mr. Rogers, good man that he is, may he rest in peace.

Look at me. I am movin’ through my day. I might even put on makeup.

It's a good feeling, a very good feeling, the feeling you know you're alive.

http://www.songsfromtheneighborhood.com/artists.cfm?id=3

Napkins and a Mirror Improve Credibility

Yesterday, Meghan and I were chatting each other up. It was scintillating and stimulating conversation. We covered everything from the Wedding to World War II. Really. And then just like that, poof, all the wind is sucked out of my sails. At the height of my verbal profundity, at the very point of my climactic and dramatic point, I am told this:

Megs: Hmmm. You may be right, Mom, but it’s just so hard to take someone very serious when they speak with chocolate ice cream all around their mouth.

Where In The World Is Carmen Sandiego?

Has anyone besides myself noticed and profoundly felt the absence of one of our favorite bloggers? JLA, what has happened to ye? Where have ye gone?

Those of you who agree with me and want JLA to resume his blogging wit and wisdom please say so in my comment section. Word out on the street is that if we get at least 8 comments begging him to come back to A.S.S blogging activity, he will. Sort of a write in campaign, kinda.

Each comment should contain the reason you want him to come back, what you promise if he does and a declaration of his inestimable value to Assdom.

Something like:

JLA, I want you to come back to your blog because I miss the pictures of Cibola and because you are funny. Without your blog I will die. If you come back to writing posts I promise to forgive you for all those times growing up when you sat on me and dangled a long strand of spit over me, or stuck a wet finger in my ear. Yeah, I will forgive you for even that, that’s just how serious I am. The A.S.S blogosphere is not the same without you. Puhleeeeezzzzzz come back, JLA. U r cool.

Yup, that should do it. Write in campaign starts now.

Moving, awe inspiring, life changing and whatever else you said...

Sunday night I was invited/talked into watching Saving Private Ryan by Megs and Kodison, my fav engaged lovedove couple. I had held off on seeing this movie previously for several reasons, mainly because

a) I don’t enjoy blood and guts and bombs and bullets

b) War movies are guy films. You know, violent, sexist and totally superficial. Guy movies always have a moral and that moral is : you must be brave and honorable, no matter the consequences and I am going to beat you over the head with my message.

and c) It’s rated R.

But my love for said engaged couple won me over and and after much cajoling I succumbed. I sank into the loveblob downstairs and watched. (The CleanFlicks edited version, mind you).

Oh. My.

Now I am not admitting to weeping (heresy, this is guy movie afterall ) but I am admitting, and to my FSIL II, that it was ‘moving, awe inspiring, life changing’ and whatever else you said I should own up to feeling if I was any kind of person with a conscience or heart.

I give. I freely confess to liking this movie. So much so in fact that I spent a good portion of my day yesterday reading articles and researching online World War II facts. I engaged Megs and later Kodis in conversation about all my new findings and insights. And yet again as today begins, I find myself still thinking about it. What’s not to love about a movie that produces this kind of response?

Saving Private Ryan. It is a violent movie, but justifiably so. Its themes are powerful and have to do with the very essence of the human spirit. What is the value of a single life? From where do courage and valor come? Why is it that human beings will die for one another? And what is it that we owe one another, our families, our nation, the human race, our God, as the price of our humanity? What is our responsibility at the end of the day for having been given the gift of our own lives?

I don’t think it much of a stretch to see this film as kind of a parable. There is lots of devotion and sacrifice and incredible courage as the squad carries out its assignment. Although they would not call it that, a bond of love emerges among them, about which Jesus once said, "greater love has no one than this-that a person lay down his life for a friend."

And it’s about stewardship. At the very end, many of the GIs are dead, Private Ryan will be saved. He comes upon the captain, lying mortally wounded. He says to Private Ryan-the last words of the film-his last words, "Earn this."
Earn it. You have been given a very precious gift. Your life has been bought at a very dear price. Others have died so that you might live. You have not earned this-yet. But now you can. You can live the rest of your life in a manner that honors the gift and the ones who paid the price. You can value the gift of your life at least as much as they did. Earn it. Basic stewardship, I think . . . the same message the Savior gave his friends just before he died.

Great stuff, great film.

And okay. I did cry. A lot.

My Little Bird

My baby turns 21 today.

She grew up sooo fast. And yeah I know the New Age jargon, We are letting them go from the moment they arrive in our lives. Posh. What poppycock. While I know the wisdom in letting go, my heart is having none of it. She will always be my baby. And now my baby is having a baby. How is this possible? Where did the time go?

Someone bring me the wispy haired little girl who had her own fashion sense (and that meant usually running around naked), who pinched when she was frustrated and sang like a little bird. Bring me the little girl who could melt your heart with her affectionate ways.

The only compensation for her having grown up is seeing the fine young woman she has become.

Happy Birthday, Mackenzie Sue. How did I get so lucky as to be your Mom?

Variation on the Classic Mud Pie

Today, I came across the coolest thing. I was researching about women who crave dirt (no, I’m not admitting nothin', it’s none of your biz wax) and stumbled across this:

http://www.dorodango.com/about.html

and this

http://www.kyokyo-u.ac.jp/youkyou/4/english4.htm

Turns out in Japan, turning mud into these shiny works of art is a major pastime among schoolchildren right now.

Is that not the coolest thing? If I wasn’t so busy with the Society of Relief and the wedding and teaching piano and finishing my Russian novel and fixing dinner I would so do this. Like right this minute.

And no, ld, that little baggie of dirt by the side of my bed is not the start of trouble. It's not. Really.

Oh, the Wisdom of Lizzy

Jane: Why would you have me go to London, Lizzy?

Lizzy: No reason.

A change of scene and society?

(http://www.script-o-rama.com/movie_scripts/p/pride-and-prejudice-script-transcript.html)

Remember the above line, oh ye P and P fans, where Lizzy suggests visiting London as just the thing to lighten Jane’s broken heart?

We decided to ‘liken P and P unto ourselves’ and headed to Cedar City for the weekend. Good thing. A change of scene and society has indeed been just the thing to lift our ‘low spirits.’

What’s not to love about laying around in your pjs watching conference and eating Chinese food? But hey, we weren’t total bums either, we did other stuff too. We enjoyed a play, (well, more like ld endured it), drove into St. George for a little shopping (can’t wait to show you all my new frying pan purchase!) and ate some more.

Oh, and the highlight of the trip. I went for a swim in the most incredible little indoor pool. Really. The water was unbelievably warm and I had the pool all to myself. And get this: they piped in music for your enjoyment. They played Mozart and Brahms. Seriously, it’s an incredible experience doing the backstroke to Eine Kleine Nacht Musik. I enjoyed myself so much that ld considered coming to look for me. Two hours later I showed up in our room dripping and all pruned up wrinkly and so rejuvenated. Gold Gym’s should take note.

Anyway, we’re headed home this afternoon. Can’t wait as the car ride home gives me some needed reading time. I’m re-reading The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Great book that I so didn’t ‘get’ in Freshman English.

This trip has convinced me, ‘as we have daily proof’ that Oprah and Martha Stewart have nothing on Elizabeth Bennett. She is, like, so wise. A change is as good as a rest.

And Yet Another Birthday Song...

So, it occurs to me that maybe this years birthday tune for ld is too difficult. (See previous post) So I'm bustin' out something more familiar. That is familiar to Linds and Dana as I wrote this charming little ditty years ago and had them sing it to ld. Geez, they were just little kids and did whatever I said. Do you remember it, guys?

He always says "I don’t like messes"
when we spill popsicles on our dresses
He says "see these eyes, they’re mean eyes"
He has a gorilla named Otis and some pet flies

He likes to tease us and he'll say,
"I'm going to eat some little girls today"
But when he says "I’m going to break your arm"
Deep down he doesn’t mean us any harm.

Though you act like a tough guy,
this much we can say,
we know you love us in a very special way,

So sound the cymbals, blow the horn.
Uncle Lance we’re glad that you were born!

- end of song -

Am I a maker of catchy birthday tunes or what?

One year older and wiser too....Happy Birthday, to you!

Here’s a birthday jingle thing I wrote for ld. I was going to video tape me singing it while I accompanied myself on the accordian, but turns out ld and I are out of town. So just imagine me dancin’ around and singing my heart out. Here are the lyrics. You can sing along. Only you don’t know the tune. Just do the best you can.

L - l - l is for lover boy
a - a - a is for Apple™
n - n - n is for numismatist
c - c - c is for cs
e - e - e is for electric man

So, now you know just how it goes, it’s L and an A and an N-C-E. It spells Laannccee.
It’s an L-A-N-C-E, spells Laannccee.

(and now I hum the last phrase. I hum again and then fade out)

- end of song -

Happy Birthday, ld.

love, love you.

Medieval Tech Support

Why I have been trying out new recipes

A couple of Sundays ago at the dinner table I made the unfortunate error of recommending and sharing detailed insights about my new fav movie, Babette’s Feast. Because of the mockery suffered at the hands of JLW and B Gomer, I am reluctant to ‘cast my pearls before swine’ as it were and share my intense love for this movie publicly in my blog, but my feelings are such that I can no longer remain silent. I must recommend it to you all, no matter the risk I take in experiencing further ridicule and taunting. What can I say, some people are nincompoops.

Anyway, this movie. I cannot say enough about it as it is meaningful on so many levels such as what it means to be an artist, making choices, etc and of course, through it all run strong, powerful references to Christ.

The Christology in this film is very hard to miss and I view the story as one mostly about grace. How hard it is for people to accept it, recognize it for just how wonderful it is, or even appreciate the fact that it is offered for free and yet cost the giver everything she/He had.

This movie is in Danish (with some French sprinkled in as Babette is afterall from France) with English subtitles. The performances are superb and give new meaning to the word acting. Did I mention I love, love this film?

And just so you don’t think I am just blowing ‘artsy fartsy’ smoke, it comes highly recommended from other church members as well.

Truman Madsen said:
We watched this film years ago in the presence of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. He has written what for me is one of the clearest and most in-reaching talks ever given on the relationship of souls, symbols and sacraments. He helped me see this story as an elaborate metaphor of what the scriptures call the wedding supper ”or the marriage supper” of the Lamb. Jesus, does indeed, liken the kingdom of heaven to a wedding feast. He calls the church His bride. And when she is adorned as a bride, He, as the Bridegroom, will come in triumphal reunion. To this consummating feast the poor and the meek of the earth will be invited. It will be a feast of feasts.

You can read the rest of the talk at: http://ce.byu.edu/cw/womensconference/archive/1999/madsen_truman.htm

The story also illustrates in an unusually poignant way that lives can be transformed by sharing a meal.

Babette, once a renowned chef in Paris, fled to the Jutland coast in 1870 to escape the fighting in France. She served as chef and housekeeper for two sisters in a tiny fishing village whose inhabitants were members of a devout religious sect.

Each of the twelve who gathers for Babette’s feast is in some way troubled about choices they have made in the past: loves they have lost, roads they have not taken.

As one character puts it, We tremble before making our choice in life, and after having made it again tremble in fear of having chosen wrong.

Nevertheless, as Babette cooks and serves her feast, the food and wine become a means of grace to the troubled souls gathered around the table.

Each feels embraced by life and comforted by the company of friends.

Babette’s Feast is based on Isak Dinesen’s short story (which I found on the internet btw), which sums up the effect of the feast in this way:

Of what happened later in the evening nothing definite can here be stated. None of the guests later on had any clear remembrance of it. They only knew that the rooms had been filled with a heavenly light, as if a number of small halos had blended into one glorious radiance. Taciturn old people received the gift of tongues; ears that for years had been almost deaf were opened to it. Time itself had merged into eternity. Long after midnight the windows of the house shone like gold, and golden song flowed out into the winter air.

Every time I watch this film I weep. It inspires me, on so many levels. I would love it if at my table those who supped there found strength and warmth even if all we are having is Sloppy Joes. Good things can happen to families and individuals who make time for rituals that attend to our need for nourishment. Maybe this is because what we find in our communion around a table is sustenance that nourishes not only our bodies, but our souls as well. Geez, I wanna be Babette when I grow up.

Yeah, okay. You get it. I really, really liked this film. I am certain that you will too, that is the non-nincompoops will. It ‘s a BM club choice.

See it. I can think of very few films that are more spiritual in depth and scope.

Blog tag

I've been thinking about dumb party games. You know the ones. They are on my mind as we have a Society of Relief Board Social coming up. And it would be nice if said Social could be fun but not too lame. Tall order, I know.

In Young Women, I had this down. We played great games. Stuff like Human Lemonade, Spam Carving, Cheeto Head and Peanut butter Baseball. Great fun. Messy and gross, but it kept things lively. Somehow I can’t see our Society Sisters gettin’ into Pantyhose Golf either. Sigh. You see my dilemma.

I am stuck with boring games. Remember the one called “I Have Never” where you say something you have never done before and then everyone runs around and scrambles to find a seat if they have done it. Is that just not soooo fun? Whew Whee.

Just thinking about all that party game hilarity makes me want to play a game right now. Because there’s no more ice cream in the freezer and I’m excessively bored, er, distracted.

So. Game on. I’m calling it Blog tag and it goes like this: I name 5 unknown facts about me ( so fun and fascinating, I know) and then I run around cyberspace chasing all my fam and then when I catch you, I reach out and touch, say, Devry or Wendy or Brig, etc. And then I grab you by the shirt and squeal excitedly, ‘Tag, YOU’RE IT’.

Is that not just the funnest? Then on your blog, you have to name 5 unknown facts about yourself. You know give us all the goods. Because revealing is so much fun. And you all suffer from A.S.S, so if it’s about you, then you are VERY interested. Yup.

Here goes. Heretofore unknown stuff about me, cs:

1. My name is biblical. (See page 1380 in Holy Bible) It’s even spelled authentically.

2. I drank coffee once. In the motel room we stayed in for HB’s college graduation. I went into the bathroom, locked the door and mixed me up some brew from the coffee machine sitting on the counter. I spewed it out fast as my Mom could sniff me out and that is the only time I have ever broken the W.O.W except, of course, the time I ate some candy cigarettes from SunGold Market.

3. My secret ambition/fantasy in life is/was to write the essays in the back of Time magazine.

4. I am one of .006 tenths of the world’s population who is able to discern a distinct flavor from ice. Really. And no, ld, it’s not the same gene involving asparagus. Don’t go there. Don’t.

5. I play the accordian. Not really play, mind you, but well enough for people to make fun of me. If I really like you, I whip it out on occasion. I can do a real inspiring and reverential version of ‘Sweet Hour of Prayer’ and a lilting ‘Pokey Polka’.

6. Oh, and one more. I forgot. I threw a pair of scissors at my teacher's rump in the 2nd grade. But with good reason, mind you. I had my hand raised and she was not coming fast enough. Mrs. Shelton I am so sorry. And I am sorry you had to tell my Mom. But in my defense I had not yet turned 8. I was an unbaptized, unaccountable brat. I would never throw scissors at anyone's rump now.

There. I am fdl (falling down laughing). What a game, eh?

And now. Run run run and pant pant pant...Ha, ha ha!

YOU’RE IT, Lindsay!

Happy Birthday, Super Son in law

Last summer when Brig first showed up around here I called him "Marty Poppins". Behind his back, of course. I called him this because like Mary Poppins he just came riding down the wind one day, plunked down on our doorstep and caused quite a stir, changing our family forever. And, just like Mary, who came and lightened and lifted and made lives better just by being her, Brig has been a breath of fresh air. He is quite possibly the most optimistic, gregarious and sincere disciple of Dale Carnegie on the planet. And if all this were not enough he is also a very good husband to Kenz. Good as in holding Kenzie's head and hair back while she pukes her guts out (so admirable considering seeing someone puke makes him want to puke.) I don't know why this should be so touching to me but it is.

But what's not so touching to me is being attacked by miniature marshmallows. What was I thinking in giving you a marshmallow launcher as a birthday gift? My bad. Very bad. Of course you would actually use it and of course you would find perverse enjoyment in shooting up your mother-in-law. Still, even as I am digging spent marshmallows out of the couch cushions and out of my hair and the one stuck to my leg, I am smiling. You can be so endearing.

For all your A.S.S. tough guy ways, I know the truth about you B.Gomer. You are an amazing and wonderful and super person and we love you. Dearly.

To be sure though, next year I will get you socks.

Officially Engaged

Around 8 this evening I received the following exciting text messages.

Megs: Picture message (image of Meghan’s hand sporting a beautiful sparkly shiny diamond. I’ll let her post it on her blog)
Megs:: I’m engaged. It’s official!
Megs: Mumsie 4?
Megs: Mumsie, I’m engaged.
Megs: He proposed.
Me: So glad, as now we won’t have to take back the wedding dress. : ) I’m soooo happy for you.
Kody: Ah, thank you. Ah, thank you.
Me: I understand now why it took you so long as judging from the size of that diamond it must have taken the 7 Dwarfs a really long time to excavate it. Holy Carbon! It’s beautiful.
Megs: Mumsie, it’s gorgeous and he’s perfect.

All Hail, the Blogger King

Okay, I give. I concede ld, that you are quite possibly the fastest, most consistent, random and funniest writer of posts. You win. Satisfied?

My heart wasn’t really in the fight, anyway. But how’s about a rousing game of Balderdash this afternoon? Hmmm? I am very confident I could kick your hiney in that (and everyone else’s, too. : ) Yup.

ld (and all my ‘lil fam), the gauntlet is thrown down. A Balderdash Off it is. This afternoon. Be there.

Unless you’re too scared.

Post #4: Insights at 50

I turned 50 on Tuesday. It was a great birthday, possibly the best yet due to so many sweet birthday wishes from all my fam. Thanks for all your kind words and written memories, it meant so much. I love you all.

So, 50. It’s not really old, but it puts you on the path. And don’t go feeling sorry for me, I can deal. Growing old is a natural consequence of living, I mean what can you do? I made my peace with the old gal in the mirror long ago and I forgive my body for betraying me, it simply has no choice.

Besides, it’s really not all the sags and bags and brain fog that frustrate me. It’s just that I really thought at 50 I would be smarter, maybe even, kind of wise. You would think having lived half a century a person would be able to figure things out and life would have given up some of it’s secrets. Wrong. As someone said: “As for me I know nothing. But don’t think one can know nothing so easily. It has taken me many years.”

So, here I am at 50 now knowing that I know next to nothing. Strangely enough I like that better than the ‘perky little know it all’ I was at 35. Ewwww, I was so self righteously annoying then. Ick.

I wouldn’t go back, not for a second. And even though I admit to not knowing much there are many truths I’ve come to embrace and many, if not all of those insights and truths have come with the passage of time. It‘s a fair bargain, as vanity and cockiness and immaturity kills teachableness.

Some of you, as in my brothers and sister-in-laws, know what I mean. As we grow older, we lose the illusions of our youth and begin to appreciate things and people for what and who they are. We learn forgiveness and acceptance of our self. We are able to laugh at our weaknesses and learn an appreciation for things we miss when we are young. (Like smooth skin and  restful sleep and energy.) We develop a sense of gratitude unknown in our youth. Old age leaves us rich with gifts unattainable at any other age. (And okay I’m not that old, still I’m on a roll.)

So in honor of my being 50, here are some of my ‘truths to live by'. And I’m keepin’ it simple. But not short. (B Gomer you may want to stop reading now).

• Character matters. Enormously. The test of life is to become like our Savior, to study and practice and apply His teachings. It‘s not all theory and there are no loopholes. We simply must do what He would do and say what He would say.

• Relationships matter. I’ll say it again. They matter. The ties that bind a mother, father, sister, brother, aunt, uncle, etc. are much more profound than we can know. They are worth struggling through, and investing our time and energy on. No matter what, we don’t give up on each other. Ever. Love ties are eternal.

• Wickedness never was happiness. All sin is a form of insanity and is usually an unmet need trying to be met in an illegitimate or illogical way. Experience teaches this. ‘Nuff said.

• I don’t believe in self esteem, least not as the world views it. Self esteem comes from trying and achievement and hard work along with a big dose of service. Forget yourself totally and watch your confidence, competence and happiness soar.

• Choices. The ability to choose. Praise be for the Heavenly plan that allows for this. The underlying theme of life (and come to think of it the Harry Potter books as well) is that no matter our circumstances, talents or predispositions it all comes down to our choices. As Dumbledore says, ‘there’s the easy way or the right way and we have to choose’. Okay I’m paraphrasing. Anyway, you get my drift.

• Hard really is good. But only if there’s some joy sprinkled in. Most of us are much, much stronger than we realize. We can do hard things.

• We are what we think. So think positive. Nothing is so bad that it’s not made worse by giving into anger, despair, gloom and doom. Yeah, life sucks some times, it ain’t no crystal stair, but optimism is a better place to be. It’s the way we express and live out our faith. And it’s a very buoyant thing.

•  Read. Think. Learn. Everyday.

•  Practice your scales. Everyday. As technique gives you the freedom to be creative.

• Find your voice. Express it. Keep a journal. (Or blog:) For two reasons: 1) how can you know what you think about a thing until you write it down. Writing, however inept or feeble, brings clarity. 2) If it isn’t written down, it’s as if you don’t exist. Some day I will bust out my Mom’s and Grandma Rose’s journals for you and you will see this.
 
• Give. With both hands open. If you keep one fist tightly clenched, it’s really no gift at all.

• Stop criticizing, complaining and comparing. It makes you mean and ungrateful and vain. And it’s wasted energy.

•Take life seriously, but not yourself. Arnetts are very good at this.

• Repent. And do it as you go along. It’s easier that way. Live by grace. Keep your covenants. Embrace and apply the Atonement.

• Live a Gospel centered life. Gospel living is a process of continuous individual renewal and improvement until the person is prepared and qualified to enter comfortably and with confidence into the presence of God. He’s not teasing us with this. Eternal life, is possible. I want to merit it and be there with all of you.

 • Come unto Christ. Nothing much else matters.

Post #3: Wanna know what’s better than young love? Old, married love.

Me: Oh. My. Gosh. Your Dad is out of control! Every post is about me. It ‘s getting to be embarrassing. He really needs to get a life.

Kenz: But Mom. (Pause) You are his life.

Me: (Gulp). Yeah. (Slow smile) I know.


ld, I love 'ya.