Guess the Time

Just FYI. Kenz is in labor. Started late this morning and without even being induced. I'm predicting she'll deliver around 3AM. Anyone care to venture the exact time? Guesser that comes closest wins a special cs treat, as in something with sugar and homemade and a secret ingredient. Yup.

My official guess is: 3:17 am.

Pre example, er, I mean pre eclampsia

So. I am holed up in Kenzie’s apartment typing on her bed. She is gently snoring her kitty cat purr on the other side. I am here doing the care taking thing as Kenz has pre eclampsia (toxemia) as diagnosed last night from her little late night run to the hospital. Yup. After the usual tests and another trip to see her ob/gyn this morning it was confirmed and she was ordered to bed. She can get up to go the bathroom and that’s it. Surprisingly, I am not overly alarmed. It is a relief that her doctor is aware and will monitor her closely (unlike my first pregnancy where I just ‘fell through the cracks’).

Her baby measures a little small and the doctor would like to buy some time for her and if her blood pressure and other symptoms can remain stable then so much the better. If not, then they will induce her Monday, or maybe Thursday. She is 37 weeks and the baby should do fine. Still, send up a prayer her way, will ‘ya friends and fam?

Even though the situation is a little stressful for Kenz I am happy to be hanging out with her. Yesterday was a very emotional and tiring day as we buried a dear friend and member of our ward. After all the funeral dinner clean up, I finally made it down to Provo to check on Kenz. She wasn't doing so well and when Brig got home later that night he took her to the hospital. In the middle of the night I get this text:

Brig:They are saying that 'lil munchkin has pre example or something.

That brought a smile to my face.

Things are looking up today and it's a comfort to know that there is a 'game plan' for her delivery. Banana flavored laffy taffy's are also comforting and I'm afraid I've eaten almost all the bag by the side of Kenzie's bed. (Sorry Brig, Kenz said I could:)

Proof

They do not love that do not show their love.

~ The Two Gentlemen of Verona (Shakespeare)

Which is why I bake him special cookies and let him stamp all my money.

a singing valentine

No one sings it better than Esther. Here, ld. This is for you.

Bad food choice. Again.

Lunchtime rolled around and found me making a meal out of the big bowl of leftover carmel corn, the one I fixed last night for ld’s home evening group. Meghan came home in between classes and work and joined me in the snarfing.

Me: Heeeyyyy, quit eating this! Stop! ( I swat her hands away) It’s for the poor and the needy.

Megs: What? (She's all indignant) I AM THE POSTER CHILD OF POOR AND NEEDY!

Me: hmmmm.

We devoured the entire bowl.

Strawberry Love

Yesterday’s Sunday chicken turned out a little dry and the potatoes were not their usual best but I redeemed myself with this:

This brought rave reviews all the way around. And why not? As it is simply heavenly tasting and very Valentiney. Okay, I’ll share. First, bake a white cake. Either in a heart shaped pan or a square one and a circle one and then cut the circle in half and attach to the square to make a heart. Let cake cool.

Then fill the layer with frosting which consists of 1 block cream cheese, 2 cups whipped cream, 2 cups powdered sugar. Oh, and I tinted it with just a hint of Strawberry Danish Dessert and added a few sliced berries to the filling.

Then after I frosted the whole thing and refrigerated it for a couple of hours, I topped it off with a Strawberry glaze consisting of strawberries and Danish dessert.

It was sooo good. But don’t take my word for it.



Go make this now.

Saturday funsters

This is how fun ld and I are. We spent the day stamping money (by ‘we’ of course I mean ld), cleaning up the mess made from my baby burp cloth making, and did a little shopping (ala Costco and Walmart).

We also bought some new super absorbant towels at Bed, Bath and Beyond. Ld and I both agree that the towels are very nice. Whoo Whee, it’s come to this. New towels are the highlight of our middle aged day. But (!) just when I thought (yawn) that the day could not get anymore ordinary and ho hum, the internet comes through yet again. Look what I found:

http://www.wikihow.com/Fold-a-Towel-Elephant

Totally awesome. Towels as a creative medium.

hymn

A couple of days ago I received the following email. It was sent/forwarded to all Northern Utah Valley Piano teachers. I thought it was interesting. Maybe you will enjoy reading it. Attached to the email was an actual copy of the hymn text and music. I don’t know if I can make that happen in this post (as my tech skills are so lame, help ld!) but in any case, if you want a copy email me and I’ll send it to you.

From: Janice K. Perry
To: Senior Missionary Friends
Sent: Saturday, February 02, 2008 8:28 AM
Subject: story behind hymn that will be sung at funeral today


During President Hinckley's funeral the Tabernacle Choir sang a hymn text written by President Hinckley which I set to music
in December. I would like to share the story of it with you:

About two months before my niece Kathy Blacker died, on January 11, 2008, she found a three-verse poem by President Hinckley among her files. Although she was resigned to dying, she had some fears about the dying process and his words greatly comforted her especially the second verse which described exactly what she was feeling. She wrote to Pres. Hinckley's office to ask permission to have the poem printed on her funeral program, and she received a very nice letter from his secretary Don H. Staheli saying that President Hinckley gave his permission for her to do so. The letter also conveyed some very comforting words from Pres. Hinckley which were helpful to helpful to Kathy in her final weeks, and he said he would remember Kathy in his prayers.

Then Kathy suggested that I write and ask permission to give the poem a hymn setting. I did so, and Brother Staheli conveyed
President Hinckley's permission for me to write the hymn. After offering some heartfelt prayers that I might be able to write
appropriate music for his profoundly beautiful and moving text, I wrote the hymn setting and sent a copy to President Hinckley's office for approval at the end of December. I received no immediate response.

Kathy passed away January 11 and after her funeral I sent a copy of her funeral program to President Hinckley's office so he could see how nicely his poem was displayed along side my brother Gary Kapp's painting of Christ.

When I heard President Hinckley had passed away last Sunday night I was feeling a little sad to think I hadn't received a letter
with his official approval. But the very next day after his passing, the hoped-for letter arrived with his approval, his
permission for me to publish it in a future volume of my series Inspirational New Hymns for Choir and Home, and leaving it to my discretion as to whether to submit it to the Church Music Division. The timing was so unusual and I was extremely grateful to receive the letter as a tender mercy in my life.

Then on Monday afternoon Craig Jessop, Tabernacle Choir Director, heard about the hymn and had his office call me to obtain
a copy of the hymn for consideration for President Hinckley's funeral. On Tuesday, while traveling in California, I learned
that the hymn would be performed by The Tabernacle Choir at President Hinckley's funeral on Saturday.

Having seen the great comfort this hymn brought to my niece who died just two weeks before President Hinckley passed away, my great desire is for people throughout the world to have a free copy of these magnificent words of President Hinckley to comfort them in times of the loss of loved ones. This is just one more way his influence could be felt down through time.

Janice

******end of email**************

Looks like I can't get the music to come on. But here are the words to the hymn.

What is this thing, that men call death,
This quiet passing in the night?
‘Tis not the end, but genesis
Of better worlds and greater light.

O God, touch Thou, my aching heart
And calm my troubled, haunting fears
Let hope and faith, transcendent pure,
Give strength and peace beyond my tears.

There is no death, but only change,
With recompense for vict’ry won.
The gift of Him who loved all men,
The Son of God, the Holy One.

the way we judge the value of a goal is what we become in the process

The year before I turned 13, I wanted a sewing machine badly. I wanted one because my new sister-in-law Cathy had one and I was fascinated by her sewing feats. She routinely churned out homemade gifts, beautiful clothing and even made her own wedding dress. She was/is an incredibly skilled seamstress.

I was sure that I could learn to sew as well and had over the top fantasies of turning out crafts and hip clothing. Only I didn’t have a machine, so I did what I usually did when I had a need, I went to my Dad. He sat me down and told me that he would buy me a sewing machine if I would practice the piano for 1 full hour a day. Everyday. That was the deal and we shook on it.

That was in the fall and for the next 10 months I did that. I practiced and practiced and practiced some more. I endured my brothers’ comments, “Can’t you play anything else” or “Do you know anything else besides loud?” and to my surprise, (and I’m sure everyone else’s too) by the time summer rolled around I had improved. A lot. Even more importantly I discovered I loved playing. Really loved it. The practicing wasn’t so bad, after all and for my 13th birthday my Dad, true to his word, bought me a slightly used White sewing machine that did zigzag and sewed buttonholes. I was thrilled beyond anything and I loved my Dad for keeping his word.

I never mastered sewing. Not really. I could never make my attempts look like anything my sister-in-law ever created. But(!) the year I turned 14, I received a call from my Bishop (Kathleen’s dad, btw) to serve as the Ward Organist. I played the organ until I left for BYU. Then I played in student wards, and as ward organist for many, many years. It’s so funny now to think about how all my years of piano playing came about because of a sewing machine. As so often happens in life, I discovered a valuable skill while in the pursuit of something else. Life is funny that way.

I was thinking about this last night as I sat at my kitchen table sewing on my new sewing machine (given to me by ld) and whipping out baby burp cloths for Cate. My skills still aren’t great but what a happy little seamstress. Think of the puppets and dress up clothes. Oh, the possibilities.

Done Is Better Than Perfect

I am holed up in my bedroom trying to finish a project on my lap top that I should have completed back in early January. I am a procrastinator of the first order. This is because I always have such high expectations and make thinking about doing a job so much more difficult than actually just doing it. Why, oh why do I do this?

After surfing and visiting many psychology sites on the net I have learned so much. Helpful insight really, stuff like my energy sensor is not in perfect alignment. For you non new agey folk that means my mind is such a twisted mess of barbed wire, er, neural connections that I have formed coping patterns that allow me to escape the pain of doing something I don’t really wanna do. And this is all because my parents pinned my diapers on too tight when I was small. As a result there really is no hope for me because I also suffer from menopausal crapola and get too pooped just thinking about bending over to pick up a dropped pen.

Sadly, the cure for overcoming my condition isn’t looking real good, as this Psychology Today article offers not a whole lot of solace.

"Procrastinators can change their behavior — but doing so consumes a lot of psychic energy. And it doesn’t necessarily mean one feels transformed internally. It can be done with highly structured cognitive behavioral therapy."

Highly cognitive behavioral therapy? Oh, man. I haven’t got time for all that and cognating and cognivitation gives me a headache like no other.

So, nobody bother me as I buckle down and finish my Society of Relief Planning Guide for the Year. The one that was supposed to be finished by January 1 and with cute little clip art.

I’ve decided to just DO IT. And I’m doin’ it NOW.

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.