Blank

What to write. What. To. Write. WhAtToWrItE...

I haven't been too busy to write. I just haven't had anything "grab me" and beg to be written about. A few random thoughts, but nothing that could become a stellar essay. Not that I'm in the habit of writing "stellar" essays, come to think of it.

Some random thoughts.

Why do people continue as Education majors after working in our After School Program (ASP)? Wouldn't that be a huge deterrent--sort of like "Scared Straight" for the primary set? (Note the lower case 'p' as opposed to upper case. Used as an alternative to 'secondary' rather than an LDS church auxiliary. Just thought I'd point out that random little thing)

Why is it that once I'd finally chosen something to get my Masters in, made contacts, and had enthusiastic and positive feedback from said contacts, I realized I could probably never a) find a job in this market (both economic and geographic) and/or b) never find a job in this market that would allow me to see my family on a daily basis? That, my friends, is called 'cruel irony.'

Why is it that once I'd finally settled on my backup plan and chosen a different career to pursue, the necessity of taking Math 110--for the 4th time!!!--would become brutally obvious? This time I have to get an 'A' in it, which is alternately terrifying and hilarious. College Algebra is a huge challenge for me. I've always felt that math is like liquor--best to stay away from the hard stuff. Looks like I'll be drinking alone--again. (You know I mean "math" when I say drinking--don't scare the neighbors)

I have a big scar on my face from an accident when I was 11. I've had plastic surgery, so now it's not too noticeable. I think plastic surgery is fabulous, and I would love to have more done. Just thought I'd share.

Sometimes people think I'm weird because I live in Utah and hate guns. The very sight of one makes me want to pass out. There's a reason for that, and it might become a blog post someday. Or maybe not. (Just to clarify, people DO think I'm weird because I live in Utah, but I was trying to point out that in a state with a very high gun to possessor ratio, hating guns is the weird part, not that fact that I live here)

I love to read, but I'm a little overly critical with the books people recommend. This does not explain why I loved the first couple of "Twilight" books so much. The last two, not so much, but with the first two I was a little scarily obsessive. I'm much better now, and back to my nitpicky self. So over it now. Pretty much.

I like to knit, too. I knit during my "downtime" when I'm playing the piano for the little bits in church on Sunday. I tell people it's to keep my poor fingers warm back in my cold corner. Really it's because I have a LOT of downtime and I can at least keep my mind occupied while the kids scream their heads off. (To be fair, it's really only a few spoilsports who do the screaming, but they give their peers a bad name by association)

I wonder sometimes if I have ADD. I've joked about it for years (SQUIRREL!!), but sometimes I think I do. I wonder if a person can train themselves to develop ADD just by living a chaotic life? One would surmise then, that by streamlining and simplifying said life, the ADD could go away. That assumes that my first supposition was correct, and I'm only supposing at the moment. I could be supposing erroneously. Hupidubidu!

Worth the month-long wait between posts?

In the Ghetto

Elvira and I were standing in line at our pharmacy the other week. This is not an unusual occurrence, unfortunately. The staff there and I are on a first-name basis--we ask about each other's families, share recipes, compliment new hairstyles--you get the picture. The pharmacist was on the phone to some pharmacy staff member at a different location who wasn't familiar with our part of the world. She said, "I don't know about where you live, but here in Provo we have a definite ghetto. Our store is right in the heart of the ghetto, and you wouldn't believe the things I've seen here."

Wow. I've driven past Cabrini-Green in Chicago (fast), seen the Robert Taylor Homes on the South Side, and walked dozens of times through gang and prostitute infested areas on the way to our friends' home on Chicago's North Side. I had no idea that all this time in Happy Valley I was living in the ghetto, being exposed to who knows what! I'm sure that to someone who hasn't lived in more "colorful" areas, Provo's West Side can look a little rough around the edges. Yes, there is gang activity, yes there are homeless people and panhandlers. But I've never had bullets whizzing over my head like Sweetie did while building a fence at Judi & Albert's house. And I've never seen syringes on the ground like I saw nearly daily walking down Sheridan Road, Clark Street, or in the park. When it rains in Chicago, the streets smell like a mixture of urine, oil, and cigarette smoke. Here it just smells like rain.

I've been reading a book called "Almost French" by an Australian woman who falls in love with a Frenchman and moves to Paris. She recalls her long period of adjustment to the French way of life and the way they interact with each other and outsiders. I've always been fascinated by France and have imagined myself living there any number of times, so of course the book is fun to read. But I identify with it so much because no matter how long I live in Utah, which is coming up on 25 years now, I will never be a Utahn. I still find it a very foreign place to me, even though I grew up LDS. I don't speak the "secret code" that Utah Mormons seem to speak, virtually all of my friends are expats like me, and I still have no idea why people put Ranch dressing on everything, including pizza. I pronounce my t's in kitten, mitten, and mountain which automatically flags me as a transplant. It took me years to appreciate the mountains here and not feel like I was imprisoned by them, though lets be honest, I really am. I've lived in so many interesting and sometimes difficult situations, but I've never encountered the fear and distrust of "the outside world" like I have here in Utah. Anything on the other side of Denver is considered "back East". There is a real feeling of "them" vs. "us" here.

I guess it's just a matter of perspective. Lucky girl that her idea of a ghetto is 500 W. Center in Provo and that she doesn't know what a real one looks like. Not that I do, either. I just laid down on the seat while Sweetie drove really fast through them. If bullets were going to fly, he has much better reflexes than I do.

The Voices In My Head

I've mentioned Public Radio any number of times on here, and it is an extremely important part of my intellectual life. I've listened to it for over 15 years now, nearly every single day. Sometimes it's just the news, but I love it when the timing works out for me to listen to "The Diane Rehm Show" and "Radio West." Diane Rehm and Doug Fabrizio are so interesting and entertaining to listen to, and their voices are so familiar to me now that I

find them enormously comforting in stressful times.

Here's a link to a dream-come-true interview for me: Doug interviewing Diane here in Salt Lake.

Utah NOW

It's so cool to actually see the people that I normally only hear. Who knew she was so beautiful?

Thoughts on Aging

Getting older is a drag. It's way better than the alternative of course, which is pretty much, well, dying. It's a privilege to get older, and I am conscious of that, but it's still a drag.

We've lived in our house for 15 years now. One problem with moving into a brand-new house is that all the appliances are exactly the same age. After 15 years, they're starting to wear out at the same time. This past weekend it was the furnace and water heater that gave up the ghost simultaneously. With no notice, the water heater ruptured, with water spraying all over the back of the bathroom wall that Sweetie had just recently finished painting. The blower on the furnace then kicked on, sucked some water into it, and fried our furnace in just seconds. $5,400 later, we are now in a warm house with hot water to spare, but with a few economies that need to be made.

Where to start? Obviously, the big one is the food budget. I could certainly do better about meal planning and using leftovers more wisely, so that's one. I've been wanting to get rid of cable TV forever, so this might be my chance. But yet another potential "hole" in the budget occurred to me.

My hair.

Ouch. After a second grader kindly pointed out how gray my hair was getting last year, I starting coloring it. Well, I started having it colored. I have a terrible history of pretty spectacular hair disasters, most at the hands of others but a few at my own, and I don't dare take on this task by myself. Rather than going lighter, which I have always done, I went quite dark. I liked it. The Morticia Addams vibe works for me. No more gray, and it looks good with my eyes. But it's pricey. I'm a notorious tightwad, and it's hard for me to even justify a pedicure, let alone having my hair colored every few months. I've managed to rationalize it one way or another for the past year though, and haven't lost any sleep over it.

But here's where my brain won't just quit and be happy. Yes, I covered the gray. But it's still there, underneath the dye. The same goes with Botox or "fillers" like Restylane. It's not as though your wrinkles disappear--they're still there, just frozen or filled with something. I can pretend that I'm not 46, but I am. Is that a bad thing? Am I supposed to be embarrassed by that and do everything I can to look 36? Is looking younger than you are really being your best self, or is it trying too hard to be something you're not? Why not just let my hair go gray again and wear it proudly?

Jamie Lee Curtis does. I think she's awesome. I've always liked her, especially in "True Lies", so when she decided a few years ago to just "let it all hang out" and wear her years proudly, I cheered her on. It's a little harder when it's me, but I really do think she's gorgeous and makes 51 look good. I don't make 46 look all that great, at the moment. But I will. Even with gray hair.

Just in time for the dishwasher to die on us.

Oh, and Happy Anniversary Sweetie. Thanks for 22 years!

The Posts That Never Were

I write a lot. Way more than I ever actually post. Mostly it's because I'm in a questionable state of mind at the time and upon further reflection think it might be best if I refrain from sharing my thoughts publicly. Sometimes it's because what I want to say is just "right there" but I can't seem to put it into any cohesive state. Other times it's more than coherent, but polite society dictates that I show some serious restraint. Here are a few of the posts of 2009 that were written, could have been written, or were worked out in glorious detail in my head but never written down.

1. Why Doesn't God Know Who I Am? He Knows My Neighbors ...
2. Oh, God Knows Who I Am All Right--He Just Doesn't Like Me.
3. What Lovely Etchings You Have! Why, I'd Love To See Them, Thanks Ever-so!
4. I Think We'll Move To England!
5. When The Kids Are Grown, Sweetie And I Are Moving To Italy!
6. To Hell With Them--I'm Running Away To Paris.
7. I Love My Family
8. There Are Just So Many Of Them!!!
9. Let's Compare Scars
10. Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels
11. I'm Sick And Tired Of Twilight
12. Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin-Eater

Aren't you happy that I didn't publish these? I will try to post more in 2010. I'm also going to add two new sidebars--all the movies I see in 2010 as well as all the books I actually finish (I'm reading five at the moment but will probably only finish a couple of them). I'll try to give them star ratings if I think it's relevant.

Happy New Year to All!!!

Merry Christmas To All

Merry Christmas to you all, dear ones!

For the first time since we started having kids many years ago, we don't have anything to assemble tonight. No "batteries required" or "some assembly needed." No dollhouses or train sets. They've graduated to Wiis, books, and cameras. I can say all this because they don't read my blog! Kind of sad to be past that stage, but the upside is that Sweetie and I get a few extra hours of sleep, which is nice too.

Drummer Boy just got back from Las Vegas where he played with the band for BYU's bowl game. Finally, after four months, all four of my children will be sleeping in their beds here at home, which is the best present I could ever ask for. He'll probably stay in his apartment for most of the holidays (rather than share a bunk bed with Kitty Boy), but I'll try to entice him to stay as much as possible.

I hope your holidays are just as sweet and you get exactly what you want most.

XOXOXO

The Best of 2009 Cont'd.

Best Books I Read

1. Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society--Mary Ann Shaffer & Annie Barrows
This is an amazing book. So well written, funny, sad, engrossing, educational. Can't recommend it highly enough.

2. A Year In Provence--Peter Mayle
I don't know why, but I love nearly everything Provencal and I have for years. I've never been to that part of France before, but I'm dying to go. This book is a sort of love letter from a British ex-pat to his adopted home in southern France. Affectionate and funny with amazing descriptions of the most delicious food. Very fun to read.

3. The Whistling Season--Ivan Doig
This is a beautifully written coming-of-age story set in Montana in 1909. It's funny, sad, mysterious, and, again, so beautifully written. I loved this book.

4. These Is My Words--Nancy E. Turner
I wasn't so sure about this when I first started reading it. I couldn't quite get past the writing style of the main character (it's all in journal form), but as she ages her writing changes as well. I ended up really loving it and feeling like I knew these people so well. It's an amazing story that made me a little more confident in my own resourcefulness and tenacity.

5. Listening Is An Act of Love--Story Corps
I'm a huge fan of NPR (National Public Radio) in general and look forward to Fridays when a new installment of Story Corps is broadcast. This is a collection of some of their most memorable recordings. While I laughed out loud at some, others actually made me cry. It just reinforces my belief that everyone's life is fascinating.