Last post May 7, 2011. Hmmmm. My week away sure knocked my routine out of whack, but it was worth it.
Sisters week--a time around Mother's Day when my three sisters and I try to get together--is always fun. If it isn't laughing, or eating, it's playing highly competitive card games or putting puzzles together or walking or quizzing our mother on her memories of her early days.
Winter has been reluctant to release its hold on northern Utah this year and the wet weather forced us in most of the time. But we still managed to spend a day buying and planting flowers in my mother's yard. It's the gift that keeps giving all summer (if summer ever comes this year!!), and Mom loves looking at them from the house or while sitting out in the shade.
I arrived home to find my own flower beds clogged with weeds. Evidently the prolific nuisances like stormy weather. At least when the rain clears it should be easy to yank the pests out by their roots. Between the yard and this dirty house--which I'm sure I left clean--there's plenty to keep me busy--and might help my weight!
Unfortunately this past week involved too much eating and too little exercise and the few pounds I'd been able to chalk up on the negative side of the scale are now a plump plus! And, since I've been home I haven't been able to get back into my previous regime--ughhhhhhhhh! Maybe I can blame that on the rain too! Comfort foods just sound (and taste) much better on stormy days. :}
Look for an account of the high and low lights of my "Sister's Week" on Saturday.
This space will consist of ramblings, funnies and thoughts. Hopefully I'll be here (at least) once a week. If you enjoy reading my blog, please forward my address to others. See you again soon. Thanks, Lynda
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Happy Mother's Day
Happy Mother's Day to all my Mom friends--and all of you who aren't mothers also. Don't you deserve a special day just for being kids of mothers!
The other day I witnessed a mother in action caring for her five babies. I'm not certain I'd have followed her if she was my mother, as she was leading her little ducklings across a busy four lane road. But, she must have had a duck angel sitting on her shoulder because not only was she crossing with the light, she was only a few feet outside the crosswalk!
Somehow that reminded me of another instance of following in blind faith. Many years ago Mike and I made a last minute "investigative" trip to NYC, with reservations to fly out and shadow a subject the next day. We rose early with plans to head to the city in our few hours before we flew out at 5 pm. A senior at our hotel asked if he could tag along with us. Obviously, he didn't know us.
We took the shuttle to the train station--no problems. Bought tickets--no problems. Then we followed the directions to Track One. On our way we heard an announcement--"Train on Track One now leaving." With our limited time, we did not want to miss the train, so we ran--with our senior dutifully running after us. We sighed with relief when we rushed on the train just before the doors closed. All was well!
Then the conductor came around. When he looked at our tickets, he said, "These are for the Path train."
"Isn't this the Path train?" we asked, stunned.
"No, you're on Amtrack," he said, rolling his eyes.
Visons of heading to Washington D.C., or Boston flooded our minds. What about the senior following us?What about our five o'clock flight??????? How would crack PI's explain getting on the wrong train and missing the plane????????????
"Where are we headed?" Mike asked.
My stomach churned waiting for the answer.
"Well, you're lucky. We're going to New York City. Our stop is only one block away from where the Path stops."
The relief on our faces must have softened his heart. "I'm supposed to charge you extra, but I won't."
After making our way the extra block to the Empire State building--with our senior still following us--we found fog prevented our view of the city!
At least we got the senior back to the hotel with no further mishaps, caught our plane, and followed our subject back to Salt Lake City. Mission accomplished with our reputation intact!
The other day I witnessed a mother in action caring for her five babies. I'm not certain I'd have followed her if she was my mother, as she was leading her little ducklings across a busy four lane road. But, she must have had a duck angel sitting on her shoulder because not only was she crossing with the light, she was only a few feet outside the crosswalk!
Somehow that reminded me of another instance of following in blind faith. Many years ago Mike and I made a last minute "investigative" trip to NYC, with reservations to fly out and shadow a subject the next day. We rose early with plans to head to the city in our few hours before we flew out at 5 pm. A senior at our hotel asked if he could tag along with us. Obviously, he didn't know us.
We took the shuttle to the train station--no problems. Bought tickets--no problems. Then we followed the directions to Track One. On our way we heard an announcement--"Train on Track One now leaving." With our limited time, we did not want to miss the train, so we ran--with our senior dutifully running after us. We sighed with relief when we rushed on the train just before the doors closed. All was well!
Then the conductor came around. When he looked at our tickets, he said, "These are for the Path train."
"Isn't this the Path train?" we asked, stunned.
"No, you're on Amtrack," he said, rolling his eyes.
Visons of heading to Washington D.C., or Boston flooded our minds. What about the senior following us?What about our five o'clock flight??????? How would crack PI's explain getting on the wrong train and missing the plane????????????
"Where are we headed?" Mike asked.
My stomach churned waiting for the answer.
"Well, you're lucky. We're going to New York City. Our stop is only one block away from where the Path stops."
The relief on our faces must have softened his heart. "I'm supposed to charge you extra, but I won't."
After making our way the extra block to the Empire State building--with our senior still following us--we found fog prevented our view of the city!
At least we got the senior back to the hotel with no further mishaps, caught our plane, and followed our subject back to Salt Lake City. Mission accomplished with our reputation intact!
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Spring???
Oh, yes. The beauty of spring is evident in the yellow-headed daffodils standing sentry over the emerging tulips--being covered in snow! Yes, it snowed five times here today, with some accumulations in the mountains reaching a foot. This April in Utah will be one of the coldest on record, isn't that something to jump up and down about!?!? Everyone is grumbling about this "damn long winter," and some are even threatening to move away, but do you think old man cold and frost cares? No, he's hanging around like stink. It sure puts a crimp on getting out and enjoying the weather--unless you like winter sports. In that case, you might be able to ski in July this year.
The golf course hates it. Every time there's a tinge of blue to the sky, a parade of golf carts wobble through the muddy fairways, leaving ruts all over the place. They've staked some areas to preserve the grass, but it's a soggy mess.
I joined our complexes "Condo Babes" (snicker, snicker--we're none of us babes!) for the first time last Friday. I should have stayed home. Not only did I get mud covered, I missed the ball on three out of every four swings! The "Oh, it will be fun. Don't worry if you can't play well, we understand." became "Keep your head down! Did you hear me? Keep your head down!" before we'd finished the first hole. Actually, I thought the other three lovely ladies in our foursome were very generous with their patience and advice. I'd have driven off and left me to sink to my knees in the muck! I don't even dare suggest joining them again--and I'm sure they won't either.
But, tomorrow we're meeting for our "Skinny Bitches" exercise. I have no clue where the name came from because we're not skinny and we're not bitches. And, we really do exercise--before we indulge in sprinkled donuts. But...I lead the Yoga section and we'll see how the great golfers do at bending like a pretzel tomorrow. :}
Oh. Just a final word of encouragement. My grandmother Teola had a favorite (aggravating) saying: "It always snows on the lilacs." Our lilacs haven't begun to bloom yet. Maybe it is time to move!
The golf course hates it. Every time there's a tinge of blue to the sky, a parade of golf carts wobble through the muddy fairways, leaving ruts all over the place. They've staked some areas to preserve the grass, but it's a soggy mess.
I joined our complexes "Condo Babes" (snicker, snicker--we're none of us babes!) for the first time last Friday. I should have stayed home. Not only did I get mud covered, I missed the ball on three out of every four swings! The "Oh, it will be fun. Don't worry if you can't play well, we understand." became "Keep your head down! Did you hear me? Keep your head down!" before we'd finished the first hole. Actually, I thought the other three lovely ladies in our foursome were very generous with their patience and advice. I'd have driven off and left me to sink to my knees in the muck! I don't even dare suggest joining them again--and I'm sure they won't either.
But, tomorrow we're meeting for our "Skinny Bitches" exercise. I have no clue where the name came from because we're not skinny and we're not bitches. And, we really do exercise--before we indulge in sprinkled donuts. But...I lead the Yoga section and we'll see how the great golfers do at bending like a pretzel tomorrow. :}
Oh. Just a final word of encouragement. My grandmother Teola had a favorite (aggravating) saying: "It always snows on the lilacs." Our lilacs haven't begun to bloom yet. Maybe it is time to move!
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Yes I DO have a blog!
As I've been reminded, it's a month since I last posted here. So much for my planned schedule, thanks to being away, picking up every bug along the way, and trying to work. Funny how feeling rotten knocks the heck out of priorities.
Spring in California was lovely, the kids and grand kids were amazing and making it back all in one piece (snotty-nose and all) felt incredible. Coming home to green lawns, trees budding and the spring ritual of male ducks chasing females (or as in the case of what my neighbor calls "the slut duck"--a female chasing the males) it took away from the sting of additional snow and rain and flooding in various nearby areas.
Spring is also time for more "Mikeism's". Sorry, but I just can't ignore the fodder he feeds me. :}
Since we hadn't seen our neighbors following our return, Mike called Chris. A man--who sounded like Chris--answered saying, "Michael."
"Hi Chris. This is Mike," Mike said, thinking the voice on the other line greeted him by name.
"I think you have the wrong number. I'm Michael," said the man.
"Yeah, sure Chris. Are you busy? Since I haven't seen you for awhile, I thought I'd come over and visit. I'll bring my own coffee."
"Ah. I think you've got the wrong number."
"Come on Chris. I haven't got time to play games. If you don't want me to come over, that's okay."
"No. Really. You've got the wrong number. I'm Michael," said the very patient man. By this time I would have hung up on Mike, but perhaps this guy was bored at work.
"Chris. Knock it off. I know it's you. Do you think I don't know your voice?"
A long pause. "Well, I may sound like Chris, but this is Michael. You've got the wrong number."
"Chris," Mike said, probably rather huffy by this time, "your number's programmed in my phone. I've called you before. I know this is you!"
"Sorry," the man said.
At this point Mike began to think maybe he did have the wrong number and hung up after a sort-of apology. "Okay Chris. Sorry to have bothered you. Bye."
Two days later Mike saw Chris out in the yard and walked over. He told Chris about the call and laughed, saying, "you thought you could trick me, didn't you?"
Chris laughed, but said, "Mike, I didn't get a call from you. Are you sure you have the right number?"
"Of course I'm sure. I've called you lots of times with that same number. Did you change it?"
"No, not for several years. I'll tell you what. You call me now and we'll see who answers."
So, Mike pulled up the number he had listed for Chris and pushed the call button. For some mysterious reason Chris disappeared into the garage just as Mike placed the call. This time he got a voice message: "Hi, this is Michael. I'm sorry I'm unable to take your call (yeah, he probably recognized the number from this weird guy calling him Chris). Please leave me a message." Mike hung up without leaving a message and was so pissed at Chris for perpetuating the joke, he took off on his bike and didn't talk to Chris until the next day. After confronting Chris again on his "little joke," Chris said, "okay. I'll call you and you'll have my number in your phone, and then we'll compare the numbers."
Chris called Mike and it turned out Mike did have the wrong number programmed for Chris. Now the question is: Who did Mike talk to in his previous calls to this number? or, did the number in his phone somehow get changed by the airwaves ghost? :} Whatever the answer, life with Mike is never boring!
It's great to be back. Thanks for reading.
Spring in California was lovely, the kids and grand kids were amazing and making it back all in one piece (snotty-nose and all) felt incredible. Coming home to green lawns, trees budding and the spring ritual of male ducks chasing females (or as in the case of what my neighbor calls "the slut duck"--a female chasing the males) it took away from the sting of additional snow and rain and flooding in various nearby areas.
Spring is also time for more "Mikeism's". Sorry, but I just can't ignore the fodder he feeds me. :}
Since we hadn't seen our neighbors following our return, Mike called Chris. A man--who sounded like Chris--answered saying, "Michael."
"Hi Chris. This is Mike," Mike said, thinking the voice on the other line greeted him by name.
"I think you have the wrong number. I'm Michael," said the man.
"Yeah, sure Chris. Are you busy? Since I haven't seen you for awhile, I thought I'd come over and visit. I'll bring my own coffee."
"Ah. I think you've got the wrong number."
"Come on Chris. I haven't got time to play games. If you don't want me to come over, that's okay."
"No. Really. You've got the wrong number. I'm Michael," said the very patient man. By this time I would have hung up on Mike, but perhaps this guy was bored at work.
"Chris. Knock it off. I know it's you. Do you think I don't know your voice?"
A long pause. "Well, I may sound like Chris, but this is Michael. You've got the wrong number."
"Chris," Mike said, probably rather huffy by this time, "your number's programmed in my phone. I've called you before. I know this is you!"
"Sorry," the man said.
At this point Mike began to think maybe he did have the wrong number and hung up after a sort-of apology. "Okay Chris. Sorry to have bothered you. Bye."
Two days later Mike saw Chris out in the yard and walked over. He told Chris about the call and laughed, saying, "you thought you could trick me, didn't you?"
Chris laughed, but said, "Mike, I didn't get a call from you. Are you sure you have the right number?"
"Of course I'm sure. I've called you lots of times with that same number. Did you change it?"
"No, not for several years. I'll tell you what. You call me now and we'll see who answers."
So, Mike pulled up the number he had listed for Chris and pushed the call button. For some mysterious reason Chris disappeared into the garage just as Mike placed the call. This time he got a voice message: "Hi, this is Michael. I'm sorry I'm unable to take your call (yeah, he probably recognized the number from this weird guy calling him Chris). Please leave me a message." Mike hung up without leaving a message and was so pissed at Chris for perpetuating the joke, he took off on his bike and didn't talk to Chris until the next day. After confronting Chris again on his "little joke," Chris said, "okay. I'll call you and you'll have my number in your phone, and then we'll compare the numbers."
Chris called Mike and it turned out Mike did have the wrong number programmed for Chris. Now the question is: Who did Mike talk to in his previous calls to this number? or, did the number in his phone somehow get changed by the airwaves ghost? :} Whatever the answer, life with Mike is never boring!
It's great to be back. Thanks for reading.
Friday, March 18, 2011
A Week of Firsts
Sunny California has given way to rain and wind this past week during our stay here, but anytime with the kids and grand kids is a delight. We've encountered some surprises, including many first time unexpected events.
The most surprising of these occurred when my 42 year-old son developed an itching rash, which turned out to be chicken pox! Being of a certain, somewhat forgetful age myself, I can only guess what childhood illnesses he encountered, but surely he had chicken pox! Alas, a search of the baby book I so carefully kept up-to-date until he turned three (and then totally neglected) provided NO clue! My limited memory does recall exposing my children to every sick kid within miles. How could he escape chicken pox? The doctor came to my defense with an explanation that someone with a weakened immune system could develop a second go-round, but my son isn't buying it. :}
The next surprise happened when I mentioned something about Stan being my son within hearing distance of our seven-year old grandson. "You're my daddy's mom?" he asked in amazement. Further questions followed, such as: "Who's his daddy?" When I replied, "Grandpa Bill," you could see the wheels turning as his eyes got wide. "You were married to Grandpa Bill?" I know. Seems hard for me to believe now, too.
Then came the first of Zoey the cat disappearing. She's a mostly inside, sometimes outside wanderer cat, but she never let the call of the wild deter her from a soft, warm and dry bed before. Tears were shed by all the following morning when she still couldn't be found. Adults began to search sides of roads and map out a plan for posting flyer's and calling shelters, when wonder of wonders, a crying meow dropped from a tree--a large tree. There sat Zoey, drenched and clinging to a branch. Stan, chicken pox and all, retrieved a ladder and held it while Tracy (our wonderful daughter-in-law) climbed 15 feet up the side of the tree to rescue the sorry-looking feline. Whatever chased Zoey up the tree left her with a big bite on her tail, but otherwise she seemed to fare the elements without major problems. We sure wish she could talk! This morning she seemed to forget her harrowing experience as she tried to run out when the door was open. Perhaps she's looking for revenge, but someone needs to tell her she only has eight lives left!
Another wonder occurred this week when the seven-year old grandson began receiving visits from the "Little Leprechaun," prior to St. Patrick's Day. This charming fellow left notes: "Ha Ha, He He, you can't catch me," and "I played in your room, but nobody caught me. PS I left you a cookie," and "Time is running out to catch me. PS. I'll be watching you," and "You didn't catch me, but good luck next year. PS. I brought Zoey back for you." The notes accompanied toys left out on Jay's bedroom floor, a trail of green glitter (where the Leprechaun walked) and treats. I'm not sure who had more fun with this "visit."
Mike (still a kid at heart) and 14 year-old Zac drove to San Francisco for the St. Patrick's day celebration on March 12th. As they zoomed their way along the bay on bikes, Grandpa (aka the bad influence) let loose with a "farmer blow!!" and learned from Zac the new terminology for this disgusting trick: "Snot Rockets! Is it any wonder this is Zac's first (and probably last) bike ride alone with Grandpa!!!
Next week it's crazy, weird Santa Cruz and the five-year-old twins. :}
The most surprising of these occurred when my 42 year-old son developed an itching rash, which turned out to be chicken pox! Being of a certain, somewhat forgetful age myself, I can only guess what childhood illnesses he encountered, but surely he had chicken pox! Alas, a search of the baby book I so carefully kept up-to-date until he turned three (and then totally neglected) provided NO clue! My limited memory does recall exposing my children to every sick kid within miles. How could he escape chicken pox? The doctor came to my defense with an explanation that someone with a weakened immune system could develop a second go-round, but my son isn't buying it. :}
The next surprise happened when I mentioned something about Stan being my son within hearing distance of our seven-year old grandson. "You're my daddy's mom?" he asked in amazement. Further questions followed, such as: "Who's his daddy?" When I replied, "Grandpa Bill," you could see the wheels turning as his eyes got wide. "You were married to Grandpa Bill?" I know. Seems hard for me to believe now, too.
Then came the first of Zoey the cat disappearing. She's a mostly inside, sometimes outside wanderer cat, but she never let the call of the wild deter her from a soft, warm and dry bed before. Tears were shed by all the following morning when she still couldn't be found. Adults began to search sides of roads and map out a plan for posting flyer's and calling shelters, when wonder of wonders, a crying meow dropped from a tree--a large tree. There sat Zoey, drenched and clinging to a branch. Stan, chicken pox and all, retrieved a ladder and held it while Tracy (our wonderful daughter-in-law) climbed 15 feet up the side of the tree to rescue the sorry-looking feline. Whatever chased Zoey up the tree left her with a big bite on her tail, but otherwise she seemed to fare the elements without major problems. We sure wish she could talk! This morning she seemed to forget her harrowing experience as she tried to run out when the door was open. Perhaps she's looking for revenge, but someone needs to tell her she only has eight lives left!
Another wonder occurred this week when the seven-year old grandson began receiving visits from the "Little Leprechaun," prior to St. Patrick's Day. This charming fellow left notes: "Ha Ha, He He, you can't catch me," and "I played in your room, but nobody caught me. PS I left you a cookie," and "Time is running out to catch me. PS. I'll be watching you," and "You didn't catch me, but good luck next year. PS. I brought Zoey back for you." The notes accompanied toys left out on Jay's bedroom floor, a trail of green glitter (where the Leprechaun walked) and treats. I'm not sure who had more fun with this "visit."
Mike (still a kid at heart) and 14 year-old Zac drove to San Francisco for the St. Patrick's day celebration on March 12th. As they zoomed their way along the bay on bikes, Grandpa (aka the bad influence) let loose with a "farmer blow!!" and learned from Zac the new terminology for this disgusting trick: "Snot Rockets! Is it any wonder this is Zac's first (and probably last) bike ride alone with Grandpa!!!
Next week it's crazy, weird Santa Cruz and the five-year-old twins. :}
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Have you missed me??
Sorry! Life sometimes gets in the way of posting!
Saturday came and went while I enjoyed spending time with two of my sisters. Our other sister--the blonde one (who isn't blonde) couldn't make it, so of course we didn't talk about her--except to say how sweet and cute she is. :}
Tuesday blurred past in tax preparations. If spring wasn't such a beautiful time of year, taxes would make it easy to get depressed. But, blooming crocus' (even snow covered) can't help put a smile on your face. However, I also saw another sign of spring yesterday. A fly!! Since we're getting ready to leave on a trip to CA, I didn't want to come home to a house-full of maggots (yes it doesn't happen, but that's a story for another day), so I cornered the little pest in the bathroom. He turned out to be very good at hiding (I guess I would be too if some crazy woman with a washcloth came at me), and I would have nailed him if my six shots came anywhere close to him. Anyway...he outlasted me and for all I know he'll have lots of little companions while we're away. I will not think of this while I'm away. I will not think of...
Wednesday wouldn't be complete without meeting with my wonderful writing Divas, and working my rear off exercising with the Skinny Bitches. Just for the record, we're neither skinny nor bitches, but we have a fun time working up a sweat. Of course after burning all those calories, we need a little sustenance, and one of our ladies complies by bringing sprinkled doughnuts. :} So far I've gained six pounds.
This is a rather round about way of saying I haven't done well at keeping to my Tuesday/Saturday post schedule. And...as I said, we're traveling for the next two weeks, so I may be erratic, but I'll be here.
Saturday came and went while I enjoyed spending time with two of my sisters. Our other sister--the blonde one (who isn't blonde) couldn't make it, so of course we didn't talk about her--except to say how sweet and cute she is. :}
Tuesday blurred past in tax preparations. If spring wasn't such a beautiful time of year, taxes would make it easy to get depressed. But, blooming crocus' (even snow covered) can't help put a smile on your face. However, I also saw another sign of spring yesterday. A fly!! Since we're getting ready to leave on a trip to CA, I didn't want to come home to a house-full of maggots (yes it doesn't happen, but that's a story for another day), so I cornered the little pest in the bathroom. He turned out to be very good at hiding (I guess I would be too if some crazy woman with a washcloth came at me), and I would have nailed him if my six shots came anywhere close to him. Anyway...he outlasted me and for all I know he'll have lots of little companions while we're away. I will not think of this while I'm away. I will not think of...
Wednesday wouldn't be complete without meeting with my wonderful writing Divas, and working my rear off exercising with the Skinny Bitches. Just for the record, we're neither skinny nor bitches, but we have a fun time working up a sweat. Of course after burning all those calories, we need a little sustenance, and one of our ladies complies by bringing sprinkled doughnuts. :} So far I've gained six pounds.
This is a rather round about way of saying I haven't done well at keeping to my Tuesday/Saturday post schedule. And...as I said, we're traveling for the next two weeks, so I may be erratic, but I'll be here.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
The Nag
The mother in me came out yesterday, however when it's aimed at your spouse it becomes "nagging." Little, thoughtful questions like: "You know you only have 30 minutes until you have to leave for your appointment, don't you?" or "It's now five minutes until you need to leave," somehow get misconstrued as an attempt to control.
In my defense, perhaps I feel a bit responsible for being the person who taught the spouse how to use the computer, so like the rest of us he no longer blinks or tells time.
Or...maybe I have something in common with Mubarak and Gadhafi, and others in that region who are finding themselves out on a very weak limb. If I had just thought to provide the equivalent of a months salary--to be spent however the recipient desired--my "mothering" would be welcome. Then replies of "I'm leaving!" "You should be happy to be all by yourself today," would be spoken only in the privacy of the vehicle once said spouse left. :}
But, being a dictator doesn't work well for a marriage, so I guess I'll give it up and save the "mothering" for my kids. Just kidding!!!!
At least the spouse doesn't hold grudges. As we were saying goodnight last night, he rolled over and whispered in my ear: "Goodnight my sweet, thoughtful, cheerful, patient wife."
Or wait...was he being facetious??
For those of you who now can't wait to read my next post on Saturday--Hello. Is anyone there?? Well, if anyone is there, I'm headed to SLC to spend the week with my sister from Maine, so Saturday's post will get moved to Sunday.
Catch you then!
In my defense, perhaps I feel a bit responsible for being the person who taught the spouse how to use the computer, so like the rest of us he no longer blinks or tells time.
Or...maybe I have something in common with Mubarak and Gadhafi, and others in that region who are finding themselves out on a very weak limb. If I had just thought to provide the equivalent of a months salary--to be spent however the recipient desired--my "mothering" would be welcome. Then replies of "I'm leaving!" "You should be happy to be all by yourself today," would be spoken only in the privacy of the vehicle once said spouse left. :}
But, being a dictator doesn't work well for a marriage, so I guess I'll give it up and save the "mothering" for my kids. Just kidding!!!!
At least the spouse doesn't hold grudges. As we were saying goodnight last night, he rolled over and whispered in my ear: "Goodnight my sweet, thoughtful, cheerful, patient wife."
Or wait...was he being facetious??
For those of you who now can't wait to read my next post on Saturday--Hello. Is anyone there?? Well, if anyone is there, I'm headed to SLC to spend the week with my sister from Maine, so Saturday's post will get moved to Sunday.
Catch you then!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The Joys of Travel
It sounded like a great idea–see the country and let someone else pay for it. What could be easier? Pick up two small buses at the assembly plant in High Point, North Carolina and drive them 2500 miles to Salt Lake City, Utah. “Uh-oh!” I can hear you sage travelers say, knowing much better than the naive young couple we were at the time the pitfalls of driving an untested vehicle across the country.
Like moths in the flame, we were dazzled at thoughts of all the sights we would see. We packed bags, farmed out kids, picked up Mike’s parents and hopped a red-eye flight.
Excitement overrode our travel weariness the next afternoon as we loaded suitcases into buses and headed west. Lush vegetation, new foods, a foreign language they claimed was English: the first day was a marvel. After a good nights rest and a biscuit and gravy breakfast, we fueled the buses and hit the road, ready for another day of adventure. Thirty miles later, Mike flashed his lights–our signal to take the next off ramp (this was LONG before cell phones, remember). Coasting into a gas station, he said the gauge showed empty. We shook our heads because we refueled only twenty miles previously, but he attempted to fill the tank. The automatic shutoff on the nozzle kept clicking off, allowing only a gallon or so at a time to be pumped. By the next day, an airlock in the tanks prevented filling more than a penny at a time in both buses. (We later learned a defect in the chassis installation crimped the vent tubes.) Thank goodness this was when a penny’s worth of gas was more than the fumes it is today, and it only took two to three hours, many angry station owners, ranting from others trying to use the pumps and much frustration on our part to fill the tank.
Being creative individuals, we amused many, angered more and became the focus of much discussion and finger pointing as we tried rocking the buses, driving up on the curb to create a downward flow and even using a toilet plunger in attempts to clear the airlock.
At one point I said aloud I’d love to have a book of matches. My wonderful father-in-law took over the nozzle and continued to be the gas-pumper the rest of the way home. No. I wouldn’t have really set the bus on fire, but I sure thought about it!
Our wonderful “adventure” consisted of many bizarre fuel stops, no sight-seeing, and many late nights trying to make up lost time, but thirty years later we can still laugh about it.
Like moths in the flame, we were dazzled at thoughts of all the sights we would see. We packed bags, farmed out kids, picked up Mike’s parents and hopped a red-eye flight.
Excitement overrode our travel weariness the next afternoon as we loaded suitcases into buses and headed west. Lush vegetation, new foods, a foreign language they claimed was English: the first day was a marvel. After a good nights rest and a biscuit and gravy breakfast, we fueled the buses and hit the road, ready for another day of adventure. Thirty miles later, Mike flashed his lights–our signal to take the next off ramp (this was LONG before cell phones, remember). Coasting into a gas station, he said the gauge showed empty. We shook our heads because we refueled only twenty miles previously, but he attempted to fill the tank. The automatic shutoff on the nozzle kept clicking off, allowing only a gallon or so at a time to be pumped. By the next day, an airlock in the tanks prevented filling more than a penny at a time in both buses. (We later learned a defect in the chassis installation crimped the vent tubes.) Thank goodness this was when a penny’s worth of gas was more than the fumes it is today, and it only took two to three hours, many angry station owners, ranting from others trying to use the pumps and much frustration on our part to fill the tank.
Being creative individuals, we amused many, angered more and became the focus of much discussion and finger pointing as we tried rocking the buses, driving up on the curb to create a downward flow and even using a toilet plunger in attempts to clear the airlock.
At one point I said aloud I’d love to have a book of matches. My wonderful father-in-law took over the nozzle and continued to be the gas-pumper the rest of the way home. No. I wouldn’t have really set the bus on fire, but I sure thought about it!
Our wonderful “adventure” consisted of many bizarre fuel stops, no sight-seeing, and many late nights trying to make up lost time, but thirty years later we can still laugh about it.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Other Duh's
Isn't this a shocker. I'm actually posting early! I'm headed to Salt Lake to spend a couple of days with a dear friend while she has some outpatient surgery, and since I'm still living in the dark ages, I don't have a lap-top. I'm heading down tonight because she has to be at the hospital at 5:30. YES, 5:30 AM. This will be tough for a night owl. It might be easier on my body to just stay up! :)
I'm feeling so pleased because for once I'm not Lyn-duh. I've caught others in the DUH act, as follows:
My mom. (I know--easy target!) She and my step-dad went to IHOP for breakfast recently. As they were leaving, Mom went to wait by the door, while Jack paid the check. When she saw him approach, she reached out and took his arm for him to help her to the car, except it wasn't Jack and she had the arm of a stranger. He and his wife were gracious and laughed, though I'm sure my mother turned every shade of red available.
Mike. Last week I couldn't find a big brown tray we use occasionally. I asked Mike if he knew where it was and he said he hadn't seen it. Following a lecture on leaving it somewhere and had I remembered to put our name on it, the matter was closed (though I KNEW I never took that tray out of the house because it's so ugly!). Yesterday, he came to me and said, "I have something to tell you that will make you happy, but mad at me. I found the tray. It was with some of my things." I was so proud of him for not hiding the tray in a different cupboard and "discovering" it later, I couldn't be mad at him.
Mike. Same day. He had been working in the garage and came in to refill his Windex bottle. After he finished he headed back to the garage, but found instead of the Windex bottle, he was carrying the remote! (Yes, he is male, isn't he!)
My sister. On pain of death, I have been warned NOT to use her name, so we'll call her Bonnie. Bonnie stopped at a fast food restaurant (What is it with our family and restaurants??). After she left the counter, she heard her phone ringing and started looking for it. She couldn't find it in her pocket, in her purse and it wasn't on the table. Knowing she was on the phone when she entered the restaurant, she checked to make sure she didn't leave it on the counter when she picked up her order. While this was going on, her daughter asked what she was looking for. "My phone," Bonnie answered. "I know I had it when I came in here." After a long pause, her daughter said, "Mom, you do realize you're talking to me on your cell phone, don't you?" And Bonnie isn't even blonde.
There. I feel so much better!
Quote of the day: Pride goeth before a fall. I can't wait to see what stupid thing I'll do now after laughing at everyone else!
I'm feeling so pleased because for once I'm not Lyn-duh. I've caught others in the DUH act, as follows:
My mom. (I know--easy target!) She and my step-dad went to IHOP for breakfast recently. As they were leaving, Mom went to wait by the door, while Jack paid the check. When she saw him approach, she reached out and took his arm for him to help her to the car, except it wasn't Jack and she had the arm of a stranger. He and his wife were gracious and laughed, though I'm sure my mother turned every shade of red available.
Mike. Last week I couldn't find a big brown tray we use occasionally. I asked Mike if he knew where it was and he said he hadn't seen it. Following a lecture on leaving it somewhere and had I remembered to put our name on it, the matter was closed (though I KNEW I never took that tray out of the house because it's so ugly!). Yesterday, he came to me and said, "I have something to tell you that will make you happy, but mad at me. I found the tray. It was with some of my things." I was so proud of him for not hiding the tray in a different cupboard and "discovering" it later, I couldn't be mad at him.
Mike. Same day. He had been working in the garage and came in to refill his Windex bottle. After he finished he headed back to the garage, but found instead of the Windex bottle, he was carrying the remote! (Yes, he is male, isn't he!)
My sister. On pain of death, I have been warned NOT to use her name, so we'll call her Bonnie. Bonnie stopped at a fast food restaurant (What is it with our family and restaurants??). After she left the counter, she heard her phone ringing and started looking for it. She couldn't find it in her pocket, in her purse and it wasn't on the table. Knowing she was on the phone when she entered the restaurant, she checked to make sure she didn't leave it on the counter when she picked up her order. While this was going on, her daughter asked what she was looking for. "My phone," Bonnie answered. "I know I had it when I came in here." After a long pause, her daughter said, "Mom, you do realize you're talking to me on your cell phone, don't you?" And Bonnie isn't even blonde.
There. I feel so much better!
Quote of the day: Pride goeth before a fall. I can't wait to see what stupid thing I'll do now after laughing at everyone else!
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Mike and Front Runner
For those of you who know my husband Mike, this story will not come as a surprise.
It started with good intentions. Mike would meet a friend at the transportation hub in Salt Lake City and help her discover the ease of Front Runner and visit our home in Pleasant View for the first time.
Front Runner is Utah’s answer to a high-speed train, which in the future will link many of Utah’s Wasatch Front cities and hopefully remove many cars from the road. Somehow Utah’s version lost the high-speed concept. You’d think an enormous engine pulling three or four measly cars would be able to fly through the countryside, but no. The train, with bit in mouth, seems to prefer loping from station to station, making the commute easier, but not faster than the average gas-guzzler.
On the day of Mike’s trip, he made it to the train station in plenty of time to purchase a ticket, board the train and find a comfortable seat. He called ahead to our friend and advised he was on schedule, and provided her with the address of the transportation hub where they were to meet. As the train approached Salt Lake City, nature called and Mike made his way to the only restroom onboard. Somehow his timing was off because as he exited the potty he noticed the train was moving north again. He also noticed he was the only passenger onboard, and he was headed to the service center. When the train came to halt, his suspicions were confirmed as his train car pulled up on a ramp awaiting repairs or servicing.
Mike pushed button after button trying to get a door to open, to no avail; he tried the emergency phone, but no one answered. He checked the escape window and thought of breaking it out, when he decided to try the door button one more time. It worked and the door sprang open! Now however he found himself eight feet off the ground.
Looking out the door, to his delight he saw a portable stair ramp about four feet away from the door. By holding onto the door handle and swinging his body toward the ramp, on the second try he grabbed it, drug it over to the door and escaped.
About that time he received a call from our friend telling him there was no transit hub at the address he had given her–and Mike confessed he was miles from their rendezvous spot. The friend finally found the hub and Mike finally found someone to give him directions to the office. When he reached the office everyone had a good laugh and they gave him a ride to the hub. Miracle of miracles, he and the friend met at exactly the time they originally scheduled.
But, for the friend’s first train trip, all did not go well. A man seated across the aisle talked to Mike and our friend non-stop from the moment they got on the train until his stop. And, our animal lover friend was distressed to see an overweight, shaggy service dog with a couple seated nearby. To make it worse, the couple spoke roughly to the dog.
Mike and our friend made it to our house, and in spite of the eventful morning, we all enjoyed a pleasant lunch before Mike and our friend departed for the trip back to Salt Lake. All went well until they reached the next stop on the line, where they saw the same couple with the service dog waiting to board. The couple chose to sit in the same car, right near Mike and our friend, ruining the return trip for her. I don’t think Mike will talk her into riding the train again anytime soon.
It started with good intentions. Mike would meet a friend at the transportation hub in Salt Lake City and help her discover the ease of Front Runner and visit our home in Pleasant View for the first time.
Front Runner is Utah’s answer to a high-speed train, which in the future will link many of Utah’s Wasatch Front cities and hopefully remove many cars from the road. Somehow Utah’s version lost the high-speed concept. You’d think an enormous engine pulling three or four measly cars would be able to fly through the countryside, but no. The train, with bit in mouth, seems to prefer loping from station to station, making the commute easier, but not faster than the average gas-guzzler.
On the day of Mike’s trip, he made it to the train station in plenty of time to purchase a ticket, board the train and find a comfortable seat. He called ahead to our friend and advised he was on schedule, and provided her with the address of the transportation hub where they were to meet. As the train approached Salt Lake City, nature called and Mike made his way to the only restroom onboard. Somehow his timing was off because as he exited the potty he noticed the train was moving north again. He also noticed he was the only passenger onboard, and he was headed to the service center. When the train came to halt, his suspicions were confirmed as his train car pulled up on a ramp awaiting repairs or servicing.
Mike pushed button after button trying to get a door to open, to no avail; he tried the emergency phone, but no one answered. He checked the escape window and thought of breaking it out, when he decided to try the door button one more time. It worked and the door sprang open! Now however he found himself eight feet off the ground.
Looking out the door, to his delight he saw a portable stair ramp about four feet away from the door. By holding onto the door handle and swinging his body toward the ramp, on the second try he grabbed it, drug it over to the door and escaped.
About that time he received a call from our friend telling him there was no transit hub at the address he had given her–and Mike confessed he was miles from their rendezvous spot. The friend finally found the hub and Mike finally found someone to give him directions to the office. When he reached the office everyone had a good laugh and they gave him a ride to the hub. Miracle of miracles, he and the friend met at exactly the time they originally scheduled.
But, for the friend’s first train trip, all did not go well. A man seated across the aisle talked to Mike and our friend non-stop from the moment they got on the train until his stop. And, our animal lover friend was distressed to see an overweight, shaggy service dog with a couple seated nearby. To make it worse, the couple spoke roughly to the dog.
Mike and our friend made it to our house, and in spite of the eventful morning, we all enjoyed a pleasant lunch before Mike and our friend departed for the trip back to Salt Lake. All went well until they reached the next stop on the line, where they saw the same couple with the service dog waiting to board. The couple chose to sit in the same car, right near Mike and our friend, ruining the return trip for her. I don’t think Mike will talk her into riding the train again anytime soon.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
I survived the big day!
Following my COLONOSCOPY yesterday, I felt like Mrs. Rip Van Winkle; it took me all day to emerge from a doped up feelings. I expected to be all cheerful at having it behind me (no pun intended!) and coming home and being a bundle of activity. But, instead a slug took over my body. I couldn't find the couch and a blanket fast enough and dozed off immediately. I'd wake long enough to make a trip to the bathroom, eat or drink something (thanks to Mike), then doze some more. The strange part was with each period of sleep, the dreams became more bizarre, including having my dead step-mother very much alive and showing up at my door unannounced. Talk about a nightmare!
But, (again no pun intended) I passed the test with flying colors and the GI doc said I don't need to come back for ten years!!!! Yippee! Perhaps by then they'll develop an exterior method of checking your colon--though I imagine you'll still have to go through that nasty prep to make sure your pipes are clean and shiny.
Our doc told us a story of a woman who came in for the procedure, who was very angry with him. It seems she did NOT read the prep instructions which include not eating solid food (clear liquids only) the day before and starting the prep at six the evening prior to the exam. Perhaps the instructions don't spell out the need to remain VERY close to a potty, but if something is meant to clean you out, it has to go somewhere!
So, the lady explained to the doctor how embarrassed she was the evening before the procedure when she ordered a meal at a restaurant and then spent the next two hours in the restroom. She hadn't been able to eat her meal or visit with her friends! As the saying goes: they live among us! (And drive, and vote and carry weapons, AND have children!!)
Now that I've made this sound like so much fun, PLEASE GET CHECKED. It's worth it all to know you're squeaky clean--and they give you photos to prove it!
Happy day.
But, (again no pun intended) I passed the test with flying colors and the GI doc said I don't need to come back for ten years!!!! Yippee! Perhaps by then they'll develop an exterior method of checking your colon--though I imagine you'll still have to go through that nasty prep to make sure your pipes are clean and shiny.
Our doc told us a story of a woman who came in for the procedure, who was very angry with him. It seems she did NOT read the prep instructions which include not eating solid food (clear liquids only) the day before and starting the prep at six the evening prior to the exam. Perhaps the instructions don't spell out the need to remain VERY close to a potty, but if something is meant to clean you out, it has to go somewhere!
So, the lady explained to the doctor how embarrassed she was the evening before the procedure when she ordered a meal at a restaurant and then spent the next two hours in the restroom. She hadn't been able to eat her meal or visit with her friends! As the saying goes: they live among us! (And drive, and vote and carry weapons, AND have children!!)
Now that I've made this sound like so much fun, PLEASE GET CHECKED. It's worth it all to know you're squeaky clean--and they give you photos to prove it!
Happy day.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Snaggle Tooth
My dentist advised I'm experiencing another wonderful benefit of aging--my teeth are all moving toward the center, giving me a snaggle tooth appearance. My last encounter with orthodontics left much to be desired, but maybe I'll get luckier this time. At least the last one left me with a funny story.
About six months into my previous treatment, which required a hefty down payment, I noticed my bite didn't match. When I mentioned this to the orthodontist, he explained in a rather pedantic tone that I could either have straight teeth or a bite, but not both. I set out to obtain a second and third opinion, and possible validation for recourse if Dr. X would not refund my money.
On the day of my appointment for the first consultation, I ran into road construction. When two lanes narrowed down to one, drivers began the every-other-car routine. The car next to me went, then I attempted to go, but another driver cut in. As it was my turn, I pushed to stay in place, but when fenders came within inches, I gave way. I looked at the female driver, held my palm up and said, "Go ahead." She flipped me off! I fumed, but slipped in behind her. As the construction cleared, I lost sight of Ms. In a Hurry, but saw her car when I turned into the orthodontist's lot. When I entered the building, there she sat at the reception desk, smiling like she'd never seen me before.
Oh, and just for the record, both the second and third opinion doctors said my orthodontist was wrong and should refund my down payment. Would they put it in writing? "Well, ah, well, you see, ah, I don't think I'd feel comfortable doing that."
So, perhaps I'll be a snaggle tooth until I find a GREAT orthodontist!
About six months into my previous treatment, which required a hefty down payment, I noticed my bite didn't match. When I mentioned this to the orthodontist, he explained in a rather pedantic tone that I could either have straight teeth or a bite, but not both. I set out to obtain a second and third opinion, and possible validation for recourse if Dr. X would not refund my money.
On the day of my appointment for the first consultation, I ran into road construction. When two lanes narrowed down to one, drivers began the every-other-car routine. The car next to me went, then I attempted to go, but another driver cut in. As it was my turn, I pushed to stay in place, but when fenders came within inches, I gave way. I looked at the female driver, held my palm up and said, "Go ahead." She flipped me off! I fumed, but slipped in behind her. As the construction cleared, I lost sight of Ms. In a Hurry, but saw her car when I turned into the orthodontist's lot. When I entered the building, there she sat at the reception desk, smiling like she'd never seen me before.
Oh, and just for the record, both the second and third opinion doctors said my orthodontist was wrong and should refund my down payment. Would they put it in writing? "Well, ah, well, you see, ah, I don't think I'd feel comfortable doing that."
So, perhaps I'll be a snaggle tooth until I find a GREAT orthodontist!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Lyn-Duh!
The cold I've had is losing its grip, hallelujah! so after today I'm hopeful I can get back to my Tuesday/Saturday post schedule.
Everyone loves a laugh, but how many of us love laughing at ourselves??? Not me, but some of the stuff I do is too dumb to keep. Here are some recent examples:
Everyone loves a laugh, but how many of us love laughing at ourselves??? Not me, but some of the stuff I do is too dumb to keep. Here are some recent examples:
- I broke the cardinal rule of turning while driving last week: look right twice, and left once. I looked right--NO cars anywhere in sight. Looked left--several cars two blocks away. I started making my left turn and out of nowhere a pickup truck appeared in front of me, from the right! I have no idea where that guy came from! We both stopped (several feet from point of impact), but instead of completing his turn (he DID have the right of way), the pickup driver just sat and glared at me. I know I was in the wrong, but what was I supposed to do at that point?? A car had pulled up behind me--I couldn't go back; the pickup blocked a right turn, and the cars from the left were approaching. Finally I just stepped on the gas and continued my left turn, while the pickup driver sat blocking at least one of the lanes for the approaching vehicles. Perhaps I scared the begebbers out of him and it took a while to get his shaking hands under control. Since there were no screeching tires, no horns, no contact, I didn't pull over after I completed the turn, wishing instead to just slither away with my lesson learned. If you're reading this pickup driver, I'm sorry!
- Same night ( I guess you could call this a bad day!). I set out my night pills and stored my morning pills in a little container. Then I opened the container, swallowed the morning pills and stood looking at the night pills on the counter! Hopefully they all worked out which way they were supposed to go and when, because I'm still here. Come to think of it, that was the day this cold started...
- The second Thursday of every month is a set date with some of my friends--so set that occasionally I don't mark it on the calendar. Big mistake. When another invitation came along this week, I accepted--after all there was nothing on the calendar! DUH!!! (See my mother knew what I'd be like when she named me!)
Monday, February 7, 2011
A New Post
No post Saturday. No post Sunday, and only a very short post today before I head back to bed. Last week a virus attacked me leaving me with a sore throat, head and body aches, the whole gamut of a drippy, stuffy nose (how can it do both at the same time!!??), coughs and sneezes--plus my belly doesn't feel well either. I swear this developed because my mother introduced me as her sister (!!) last week and my immune system shattered from the shock.
So. Now that I've said hi, I'm off to bed again. Hopefully I'll be able to post some "Lyn-duhs" tomorrow.
PS. My mother-in-law, Maralyn, told me she has the same thing--and has had for two weeks!! If I'm not better in a week, will someone please come shoot me??
So. Now that I've said hi, I'm off to bed again. Hopefully I'll be able to post some "Lyn-duhs" tomorrow.
PS. My mother-in-law, Maralyn, told me she has the same thing--and has had for two weeks!! If I'm not better in a week, will someone please come shoot me??
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
A Beautiful Day
Today dawned cold, crisp and clear--a big change from this past weekend when Northern Utah suffered under a red smog alert. Left over fall leaves are being pushed south and snow on the mountains framed in my window is being blown into billowing puffs. It's a wonderful view--from inside. Outside the briskness lowered the wind-chill factor to the minus range. But...I'm not complaining. I'm warm and toasty looking out at it.
Today turned out different than I expected it would yesterday, as I anticipated my five year colonoscopy appointment this morning. As you all know, it isn't the physical "act" of whatever goes up your a**, it's the prep. I fasted all day on clear, no red or purple dyed drinks and was about to mix that wonderfully cleansing cocktail called MoviPrep when I checked over the instructions one last time and discovered my appointment wasn't until the 15th!! It might have felt like relief, except it's still ahead of me. I even rejoiced in perhaps shedding a few (of the many) unwanted pounds until I began compensating for going hungry all day by eating breakfast, lunch and dinner in one sitting.
How could the 1st and 15th get mixed up? If you're not already where I am in age, you'll find out soon enough. My email inbox is full of charming movies or clever comments on the wonders of losing your memory. I think I've seen them all before (haven't I?), but it's a nice reminder that I'm not alone in this hide and seek "golden" age.
I told my mother-in-law, Maralyn, when I REALLY start losing my memory I'm going to jump off a curb so my kids won't have to listen to the same story 15 times a day. "Honey," she said, "by then you won't remember what you're supposed to do." Ain't it the truth!
Enjoy the day, whether you can remember it tomorrow or not! :} As Mae West said: "Old age ain't for sissies." I'm a believer.
Today turned out different than I expected it would yesterday, as I anticipated my five year colonoscopy appointment this morning. As you all know, it isn't the physical "act" of whatever goes up your a**, it's the prep. I fasted all day on clear, no red or purple dyed drinks and was about to mix that wonderfully cleansing cocktail called MoviPrep when I checked over the instructions one last time and discovered my appointment wasn't until the 15th!! It might have felt like relief, except it's still ahead of me. I even rejoiced in perhaps shedding a few (of the many) unwanted pounds until I began compensating for going hungry all day by eating breakfast, lunch and dinner in one sitting.
How could the 1st and 15th get mixed up? If you're not already where I am in age, you'll find out soon enough. My email inbox is full of charming movies or clever comments on the wonders of losing your memory. I think I've seen them all before (haven't I?), but it's a nice reminder that I'm not alone in this hide and seek "golden" age.
I told my mother-in-law, Maralyn, when I REALLY start losing my memory I'm going to jump off a curb so my kids won't have to listen to the same story 15 times a day. "Honey," she said, "by then you won't remember what you're supposed to do." Ain't it the truth!
Enjoy the day, whether you can remember it tomorrow or not! :} As Mae West said: "Old age ain't for sissies." I'm a believer.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Help. I need a laugh!
I Melt with You, the title of the Sundance screening I viewed while working as an usher last night, left me depressed. Besides the 3k decibel background music (I plugged my ears with my fingers through 3/4 of the movie!) this darkly intense, drug-weekend gone wrong, demoralizing movie seemed to me to contain no redeeming educational or entertainment value. The faces of the audience members as they left the theatre (both those who fled early and those who suffered to the bitter end) matched my mood.
This, coupled with distressing news from a dear friend this morning, left me in dire need of a laugh. With gloom overcoming any funny, creative imagination I could conjure, I turned to the past. Many of you may have heard this (true) tale, but it still might add a little sunshine to your day.
Being a long-distance grandma, I jumped at the chance to stay overnight with then, 2 1/2 year old twins Dylan and Cole while I visited a few years ago. My daughter Shannon and her husband Scott deserved some alone time, and I needed to bond with the kids. Perfect! Or so it seemed until two hours before the parents were due to arrive home.
Dylan, a beautiful little girl with curly chestnut locks, and Cole, a handsome superhero with golden curly hair, played outside while I made lunch. I checked on them every few minutes from the window and all seemed well. They moved from the backyard to the living room as I finished preparing their plates.
"Who's ready for lunch?" I called from the kitchen.
"Wash hands," said Dylan, to my amazement. They are learning, I thought.
Perhaps you can imagine my face as I rounded the corner and observed the twins sitting in a pile of dirt, Cole sitting wide-eyed with dirt falling from his blonde head as he turned to look at me, and Dylan, laughing, with the rest of the bucket of dirt overturned, princess-hat-style on her auburn head. The executive decision I made was undoubtedly the wrong one, as I felt the strong need to remove the dirt before it became one with the light-colored carpet. How different the scenario if I had just washed the kids and put sat them at the table while I swept up the mess. But...I thought the kids were afraid of the vacuum and instead chose to put them in their bedroom (at that time they were still unable to open the door to escape). I laughed and tried to let them know this was not meant as time out, and hurried to retrieve the vacuum. Most of the offending dirt responded to suction and within minutes the carpet reappeared. Once the vacuum was stowed, I went to retrieve the kids for lunch.
Now, I swear the process took less than five minutes, however my previous shock was multiplied ten-fold when, after pushing away objects blocking the door, I stuck my head in the room. Every book was off the shelf. Every item had been pulled out of drawers. Beds were bare of all blankets and pillows. Toy boxes had been over-turned. The train and village from the train table were scattered all over the floor, and the train table was overturned. And, Dylan (not liking messy pants) had removed her dirty diaper (poop also appearing within said five minutes) and had moved to no less than three sitting places after being bare-bottomed!
After seating the kids at the table and cleaning up poop, I closed their bedroom door and reached for a bottle of wine.
This, coupled with distressing news from a dear friend this morning, left me in dire need of a laugh. With gloom overcoming any funny, creative imagination I could conjure, I turned to the past. Many of you may have heard this (true) tale, but it still might add a little sunshine to your day.
Being a long-distance grandma, I jumped at the chance to stay overnight with then, 2 1/2 year old twins Dylan and Cole while I visited a few years ago. My daughter Shannon and her husband Scott deserved some alone time, and I needed to bond with the kids. Perfect! Or so it seemed until two hours before the parents were due to arrive home.
Dylan, a beautiful little girl with curly chestnut locks, and Cole, a handsome superhero with golden curly hair, played outside while I made lunch. I checked on them every few minutes from the window and all seemed well. They moved from the backyard to the living room as I finished preparing their plates.
"Who's ready for lunch?" I called from the kitchen.
"Wash hands," said Dylan, to my amazement. They are learning, I thought.
Perhaps you can imagine my face as I rounded the corner and observed the twins sitting in a pile of dirt, Cole sitting wide-eyed with dirt falling from his blonde head as he turned to look at me, and Dylan, laughing, with the rest of the bucket of dirt overturned, princess-hat-style on her auburn head. The executive decision I made was undoubtedly the wrong one, as I felt the strong need to remove the dirt before it became one with the light-colored carpet. How different the scenario if I had just washed the kids and put sat them at the table while I swept up the mess. But...I thought the kids were afraid of the vacuum and instead chose to put them in their bedroom (at that time they were still unable to open the door to escape). I laughed and tried to let them know this was not meant as time out, and hurried to retrieve the vacuum. Most of the offending dirt responded to suction and within minutes the carpet reappeared. Once the vacuum was stowed, I went to retrieve the kids for lunch.
Now, I swear the process took less than five minutes, however my previous shock was multiplied ten-fold when, after pushing away objects blocking the door, I stuck my head in the room. Every book was off the shelf. Every item had been pulled out of drawers. Beds were bare of all blankets and pillows. Toy boxes had been over-turned. The train and village from the train table were scattered all over the floor, and the train table was overturned. And, Dylan (not liking messy pants) had removed her dirty diaper (poop also appearing within said five minutes) and had moved to no less than three sitting places after being bare-bottomed!
After seating the kids at the table and cleaning up poop, I closed their bedroom door and reached for a bottle of wine.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
IT HAPPENS
Yesterday was one of those weird energy days. Thankfully, it didn't start out that way. It waited until I left the house. The first instance occurred when I tried to pull out of the library. I had plenty of room (I swear!), but the oncoming driver decided to speed up and honk rather than slow down. Hmm. Would you really rather crash into another car just to prove you were in the right? I made the turn before he hit me, and I didn't push the odds by trying to make eye contact with him.
Once I arrived for my volunteer shift for the Sundance Film Festival, tension only mounted. Peery's Egyptian Theatre was screening My Idiot Brother to a sold out crowd (800 +), plus 70 die-hards who braved the cold and hours of waiting for a chance to get in--they didn't. Now the theatre has a policy of "No Seat Saving," which generally means two people can't arrive early and save a whole row for friends who arrive late. However, when you arrive early, find a great seat and then nature (or popcorn) calls, you might think you would be okay to leave your coat on your chair. Not so for several last night, who returned to find coats on the floor and defiant seat occupants not willing to relinquish a good seat. Add to that those who came late who also expected a great seat and got a little testy when only the front row was available. One "gentleman" asked about seats at the back. When it was explained those seats were reserved for volunteers who performed a role in the theatre (ushers, door keepers, etc.), the "gentleman" complained, "So volunteers have priority over paid ticket holders?"
With a great movie and lots of laughter from the audience, things settled down--or so I thought, but this weird energy wasn't through. Driving home on a stretch of 50 MPH highway, a guy in dark clothes attempted to dart across the street in front of me. I did not see him until he turned around and headed back to the curb--where he began waving his arms as if to draw attention to himself to get traffic to stop. As no one could see him, no one stopped. My heart did though once I realized how close I had come to hitting the guy without even seeing him.
As I neared home I smelled smoke and saw an ambulance and firetruck on a street near mine. From my angle I couldn't observe what was going on (nor did I try as there was enough traffic congestion already), but I added the weight of someones misfortune to my already anxious heart and only breathed a sigh of relief when I reached home and closed the garage door, sealing that weird energy out!
I expect only good things today, though I'm somewhat concerned about leaving home. One of the perks of being a Sundance volunteer is getting a few tickets to shows. Since I'm not working tonight I can watch "The Music Never Stopped" (about a man whose memory is damaged by a brain tumor and music from his past is his only window for reengaging with the world), and not care if fistfights erupt around me! Wish me luck.
Once I arrived for my volunteer shift for the Sundance Film Festival, tension only mounted. Peery's Egyptian Theatre was screening My Idiot Brother to a sold out crowd (800 +), plus 70 die-hards who braved the cold and hours of waiting for a chance to get in--they didn't. Now the theatre has a policy of "No Seat Saving," which generally means two people can't arrive early and save a whole row for friends who arrive late. However, when you arrive early, find a great seat and then nature (or popcorn) calls, you might think you would be okay to leave your coat on your chair. Not so for several last night, who returned to find coats on the floor and defiant seat occupants not willing to relinquish a good seat. Add to that those who came late who also expected a great seat and got a little testy when only the front row was available. One "gentleman" asked about seats at the back. When it was explained those seats were reserved for volunteers who performed a role in the theatre (ushers, door keepers, etc.), the "gentleman" complained, "So volunteers have priority over paid ticket holders?"
With a great movie and lots of laughter from the audience, things settled down--or so I thought, but this weird energy wasn't through. Driving home on a stretch of 50 MPH highway, a guy in dark clothes attempted to dart across the street in front of me. I did not see him until he turned around and headed back to the curb--where he began waving his arms as if to draw attention to himself to get traffic to stop. As no one could see him, no one stopped. My heart did though once I realized how close I had come to hitting the guy without even seeing him.
As I neared home I smelled smoke and saw an ambulance and firetruck on a street near mine. From my angle I couldn't observe what was going on (nor did I try as there was enough traffic congestion already), but I added the weight of someones misfortune to my already anxious heart and only breathed a sigh of relief when I reached home and closed the garage door, sealing that weird energy out!
I expect only good things today, though I'm somewhat concerned about leaving home. One of the perks of being a Sundance volunteer is getting a few tickets to shows. Since I'm not working tonight I can watch "The Music Never Stopped" (about a man whose memory is damaged by a brain tumor and music from his past is his only window for reengaging with the world), and not care if fistfights erupt around me! Wish me luck.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
WHAT WOULD YOU DO?
There's a television program entitled, "What Would You Do." For those of you who haven't seen it, actors create a situation in a public area while the cameras roll. It's a test to see who will get involved, and why, when they see something wrong.
Mike had his own test recently, though it wasn't filmed. Here's how it went:
He took the Front Runner (the Wasatch Front commuter train) from Ogden to Salt Lake, then transferred to the light rail train (Trax) in Salt Lake to travel to Murray. My sister Bonnie and her daughter Cathy were with me and our plan was to meet Mike at the 4500 South stop. We waited, but no Mike. We wondered if he missed his connection and would be on the next train, so we waited longer. Soon I received a call from Mike, who was at the 5100 South stop.
Trax was crowded when it left Salt Lake and Mike, who had gotten on early, gave up his seat to a woman. As Mike never meets a stranger, he stood nearby and visited with the woman, until their conversation was interrupted by an obscene outburst. All eyes were turned toward a man lying on the floor in the junction between two cars. A man, who appeared to be high or crazy--or both, screamed every vulgar epithet possible. People became upset, children displayed frightened faces and a couple of women cried. A group of men circling the wild man seemed to be egging him on, including a 6'5" giant, whose appearance perhaps deterred thoughts of intervening by all except Mike. He approached the group and in a firm voice told Wild Man to knock it off.
"Yes, sir. Yes, sir," said Wild Man, and he did--until Mike returned to his place. Then, with further encouragement from his cheering squad, Wild Man became even more belligerent and violent, all still while lying on the floor. Mike returned to him, grabbed him by the top of his hood and drug Wild Man toward an exit. When the train stopped, Mike tried to get Wild Man in position, and asked other to open the door, but the train was already in motion again. Mike called and alerted UTA (Utah Transit Authority) of the situation. By the next stop, people hopped to get the doors open and to the applause and cheers of the passengers, Mike drug Wild Man off the train and thrust him into the arms of the waiting officers.
Mike may not have been the oldest passenger on the train, but there were certainly others much more physically capable than he. Why didn't they react? Why is it easier to turn a blind eye than to get involved? I hope if I ever get into a situation where I need help, Mike--or someone like him, is nearby.
Mike had his own test recently, though it wasn't filmed. Here's how it went:
He took the Front Runner (the Wasatch Front commuter train) from Ogden to Salt Lake, then transferred to the light rail train (Trax) in Salt Lake to travel to Murray. My sister Bonnie and her daughter Cathy were with me and our plan was to meet Mike at the 4500 South stop. We waited, but no Mike. We wondered if he missed his connection and would be on the next train, so we waited longer. Soon I received a call from Mike, who was at the 5100 South stop.
Trax was crowded when it left Salt Lake and Mike, who had gotten on early, gave up his seat to a woman. As Mike never meets a stranger, he stood nearby and visited with the woman, until their conversation was interrupted by an obscene outburst. All eyes were turned toward a man lying on the floor in the junction between two cars. A man, who appeared to be high or crazy--or both, screamed every vulgar epithet possible. People became upset, children displayed frightened faces and a couple of women cried. A group of men circling the wild man seemed to be egging him on, including a 6'5" giant, whose appearance perhaps deterred thoughts of intervening by all except Mike. He approached the group and in a firm voice told Wild Man to knock it off.
"Yes, sir. Yes, sir," said Wild Man, and he did--until Mike returned to his place. Then, with further encouragement from his cheering squad, Wild Man became even more belligerent and violent, all still while lying on the floor. Mike returned to him, grabbed him by the top of his hood and drug Wild Man toward an exit. When the train stopped, Mike tried to get Wild Man in position, and asked other to open the door, but the train was already in motion again. Mike called and alerted UTA (Utah Transit Authority) of the situation. By the next stop, people hopped to get the doors open and to the applause and cheers of the passengers, Mike drug Wild Man off the train and thrust him into the arms of the waiting officers.
Mike may not have been the oldest passenger on the train, but there were certainly others much more physically capable than he. Why didn't they react? Why is it easier to turn a blind eye than to get involved? I hope if I ever get into a situation where I need help, Mike--or someone like him, is nearby.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
UGLY
I lacked courage to post this blog the other day, but it gnawed on me and wouldn't let me be, so here it is. Disclaimer: I apologize in advance to those I offend. Blame the imp sitting on my shoulder who made me do this.
A few days ago I received an email portraying beautiful images of women of one political party and horrible pictures of women of another party--Gabrielle Giffords was not included. It saddened me, not just in light of what happened in Tucson, but because I too have forwarded such messages in the past.
How do we reach the point of ugly references to people who oppose us politically? When we're in a grocery store, do we pick people we think might be of another party and give them the evil eye? Do we avoid friends and neighbors--and even loved ones--who might not agree with us? Does spouting "vitriolic rhetoric" (a phrase we've all become too accustomed to this last week) make it easier to like or work with our opponent? Does such speech engender trust and cooperation?
I think most of us are beyond racial slurs, ethnic jokes and name calling, yet how many of us denounce others over beliefs or ideology opposite ours?
Yes, I'm aware this attack may not have been politically motivated, but does that condone screaming insults in anger, perpetuating mistruths or exploiting opponents? There's been a great outcry for more civility in our country in the wake of the Tucson tragedy, yet we can't just look to political leaders. It must start with you and with me being aware of our actions, of the words we use and the message our intolerance conveys. Just as hate perpetuates hate, so can kindness perpetuate kindness. Closing the door to judgment, superiority and intolerance might just help us learn to like each other.
So, starting today, I'm going to bite my tongue and smile when I'm tempted to yell "You Jerk," at the driver in the car that just cut me off. Who knows. It might be my next best friend who's just having a bad day.
A few days ago I received an email portraying beautiful images of women of one political party and horrible pictures of women of another party--Gabrielle Giffords was not included. It saddened me, not just in light of what happened in Tucson, but because I too have forwarded such messages in the past.
How do we reach the point of ugly references to people who oppose us politically? When we're in a grocery store, do we pick people we think might be of another party and give them the evil eye? Do we avoid friends and neighbors--and even loved ones--who might not agree with us? Does spouting "vitriolic rhetoric" (a phrase we've all become too accustomed to this last week) make it easier to like or work with our opponent? Does such speech engender trust and cooperation?
I think most of us are beyond racial slurs, ethnic jokes and name calling, yet how many of us denounce others over beliefs or ideology opposite ours?
Yes, I'm aware this attack may not have been politically motivated, but does that condone screaming insults in anger, perpetuating mistruths or exploiting opponents? There's been a great outcry for more civility in our country in the wake of the Tucson tragedy, yet we can't just look to political leaders. It must start with you and with me being aware of our actions, of the words we use and the message our intolerance conveys. Just as hate perpetuates hate, so can kindness perpetuate kindness. Closing the door to judgment, superiority and intolerance might just help us learn to like each other.
So, starting today, I'm going to bite my tongue and smile when I'm tempted to yell "You Jerk," at the driver in the car that just cut me off. Who knows. It might be my next best friend who's just having a bad day.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Decisions
After I checked in for final training and picked up my new down jacket for my Sundance Film Festival volunteer position yesterday, Mike and I went to see The King's Speech. What a fantastic movie. It highlighted for me again the importance one decision can make in your life, and in the world. If Edward hadn't been so besotted with Wallis Simpson and abdicated the throne, the outcome of WWII might have been much different--for all of us.
It reminded me of the choices I make each day--some minor, some life-changing. Where would I be today if I had chosen another option even once in my lifetime? I doubt I would be sitting at my computer in Pleasant View, Utah, on this gray Sunday writing this blog. Perhaps I wouldn't even know Mike, wouldn't have my children--but let's not go there! It's too scary!
How could our neighbors Chris and Kim know what their lives would be like when they chose to purchase the home next to us? We seemed innocent enough, but I'll give you one example of why they may regret that decision.
Chris likes to do special things for Kim's August birthday and he told me he was going to take her to Park City and stay in a fancy place. As the day drew nearer I asked what they were going to do with Rudy while they were away. Rudy is the smartest, cutest, most energetic Jack Russell terrier alive, by the way. Chris said they were just going to leave him home. I was shocked! Kim comes home on her lunch break every day to let Rudy out to romp and play, and do his business, even if on most days she has to coax him from his comfy bed and run around outside to get him to walk off the porch. Now they were thinking of leaving him overnight???
"Do you want us to put him out?" I asked.
"You can if you want. You know where we hide the key," Chris said, in a nonchalant voice.
That should have been a clue that maybe their plans changed, but no... Wanting to wait as late as possible so Rudy could make it overnight, at eleven o'clock I started bugging Mike to go with me to let Rudy out. Mike was already down for the night and not fond of the idea, but I persisted. So, pajama clad, we made our way via flashlight to the hiding place for the key, walked around to the front of the house, and opened the door. Rudy gave a muffled bark and Mike called out: "Rudy. Rudy. Let's go outside."
From upstairs we heard a voice. "Mike. Is that you?"
"Oh, #$%@," crossed both my mind and Mike's. (I know because we compared notes later!)
After uttering embarrassed apologies, we hastily locked the door and replaced the key and returned to bed, though the grumbling from my spouse didn't cease until sleep overtook him.
Outside our kitchen window the next morning (next to Chris and Kim's front door), a sign was posted: "HOUSE FOR SALE. GREAT NEIGHBORS. GREAT NEIGHBORHOOD NIGHT WATCH PROGRAM. WILL CHECK ON PETS ANY TIME."
Of course they didn't move, so they're still reaping the rewards of their decision to move next to us. Oh...and they make sure someone else checks on Rudy while they're gone now!
Not every attempted good deed is appreciated!
It reminded me of the choices I make each day--some minor, some life-changing. Where would I be today if I had chosen another option even once in my lifetime? I doubt I would be sitting at my computer in Pleasant View, Utah, on this gray Sunday writing this blog. Perhaps I wouldn't even know Mike, wouldn't have my children--but let's not go there! It's too scary!
How could our neighbors Chris and Kim know what their lives would be like when they chose to purchase the home next to us? We seemed innocent enough, but I'll give you one example of why they may regret that decision.
Chris likes to do special things for Kim's August birthday and he told me he was going to take her to Park City and stay in a fancy place. As the day drew nearer I asked what they were going to do with Rudy while they were away. Rudy is the smartest, cutest, most energetic Jack Russell terrier alive, by the way. Chris said they were just going to leave him home. I was shocked! Kim comes home on her lunch break every day to let Rudy out to romp and play, and do his business, even if on most days she has to coax him from his comfy bed and run around outside to get him to walk off the porch. Now they were thinking of leaving him overnight???
"Do you want us to put him out?" I asked.
"You can if you want. You know where we hide the key," Chris said, in a nonchalant voice.
That should have been a clue that maybe their plans changed, but no... Wanting to wait as late as possible so Rudy could make it overnight, at eleven o'clock I started bugging Mike to go with me to let Rudy out. Mike was already down for the night and not fond of the idea, but I persisted. So, pajama clad, we made our way via flashlight to the hiding place for the key, walked around to the front of the house, and opened the door. Rudy gave a muffled bark and Mike called out: "Rudy. Rudy. Let's go outside."
From upstairs we heard a voice. "Mike. Is that you?"
"Oh, #$%@," crossed both my mind and Mike's. (I know because we compared notes later!)
After uttering embarrassed apologies, we hastily locked the door and replaced the key and returned to bed, though the grumbling from my spouse didn't cease until sleep overtook him.
Outside our kitchen window the next morning (next to Chris and Kim's front door), a sign was posted: "HOUSE FOR SALE. GREAT NEIGHBORS. GREAT NEIGHBORHOOD NIGHT WATCH PROGRAM. WILL CHECK ON PETS ANY TIME."
Of course they didn't move, so they're still reaping the rewards of their decision to move next to us. Oh...and they make sure someone else checks on Rudy while they're gone now!
Not every attempted good deed is appreciated!
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
So much for Resolutions!
Here it is eleven days into 2011 and I'm bruised and battered from the long fall from the resolution wagon! As you know if you've checked this blog lately, my hope of posting at least twice a week (Tuesday and Saturday) has taken a long vacation. This is dismaying especially in light of the begging email I sent out asking for followers, before I disappeared over the edge of the world without further notice.
What made me doubly conscious of my decline was feasting on my second piece of chocolate cake this morning. Does the fact that it was my breakfast, I preceded this devilish delight with my typical four mile walk and brushed my teeth for a second time after succumbing to this pleasure count at all in my favor?
The good thing about resolutions is they are not just for New Years, so I hereby pledge to renew my posts and eat right and get on with all of the other things I resolved!
As a way to banish the grayness of January (which I blame for my aforementioned shortcomings), here are a few funnyisms:
My mother: After receiving days on end of phone calls for "Jacques," (a foreign translation of Jack, my step-father), who had won $185,000 and would collect as soon as $400 was sent by Western Union to an address in Jamaica, my mother complained to the phone company. Being the phone company, and with an eye for further profits, they recommended my mother subscribe to caller ID so she could avoid these noxious calls--not withstanding most of these callers are not identified in the first place! My mother complied. Her first call so aided with this new wonder in technology was from my sister Bonnie, in Montana. Having never been acquainted with caller ID before, my mother pushed the "talk" button first, then checked to see what number showed on the screen. As no number appeared, she said, "There's no number here. How do I know who it's from?" On hearing the faint screams of my sister saying, "Mom, it's me. Don't hang up," my mother realized she could confidently answer the call.
My mother (again) (no disrespect intended, but she provides such useful fodder!): While my sister Bonnie, her daughter, Cathy and I were visiting my mother recently, my mother received a call on her home telephone. By this time the procedure to check the caller ID screen before answering the phone had been learned and my mother said, "Oh, it's just Jack calling from the bedroom upstairs." She answered the phone and after scolding him for being lazy, continued with the conversation--by walking up the stairs and entering the bedroom. Bonnie, Cathy and I looked at each other and smiled, but moments later when we heard Jack say, "I'm right here," and Mom say, "Oh, yes. Well, goodbye," before hanging up the phone, we couldn't contain our laughter.
My husband, Mike, while caught wearing a watch on both wrists: "Well, this one had the wrong date."
My five-year-old granddaughter Dylan: Somehow the logic of being old and having white hair had become a sure death sentence to Dylan and she asked me one day, "Grammy, will you cut your white hair, so you won't die?" "Honey, if I cut my white hair I won't have any left," I said. "Well, can't you just cut it like Papa's (Mike, whose hair is 1/4 inch long!), so you won't die?" After a silent chuckle, I assured her I wasn't going to die soon--and I intend to keep my promise. (Okay! No more chocolate cake for breakfast!)
My seven-year-old grandson Justin talking to Grandpa Mike: "Grandpa, who's your favorite out of Zac, Ryan and me?" Grandpa: "I love you very much, Jay, but it wouldn't be right to say you're my favorite. Zac and Ryan would get their feeling hurt. It would be like me asking you who's your favorite between me and Grammy." To which Jay responded: "You are Grandpa!" I still love him, even if he loves Grandpa better.
See. The sun is brighter now, and if I look right straight up I can see blue sky! Hope your day is filled with sunshine and joy.
What made me doubly conscious of my decline was feasting on my second piece of chocolate cake this morning. Does the fact that it was my breakfast, I preceded this devilish delight with my typical four mile walk and brushed my teeth for a second time after succumbing to this pleasure count at all in my favor?
The good thing about resolutions is they are not just for New Years, so I hereby pledge to renew my posts and eat right and get on with all of the other things I resolved!
As a way to banish the grayness of January (which I blame for my aforementioned shortcomings), here are a few funnyisms:
My mother: After receiving days on end of phone calls for "Jacques," (a foreign translation of Jack, my step-father), who had won $185,000 and would collect as soon as $400 was sent by Western Union to an address in Jamaica, my mother complained to the phone company. Being the phone company, and with an eye for further profits, they recommended my mother subscribe to caller ID so she could avoid these noxious calls--not withstanding most of these callers are not identified in the first place! My mother complied. Her first call so aided with this new wonder in technology was from my sister Bonnie, in Montana. Having never been acquainted with caller ID before, my mother pushed the "talk" button first, then checked to see what number showed on the screen. As no number appeared, she said, "There's no number here. How do I know who it's from?" On hearing the faint screams of my sister saying, "Mom, it's me. Don't hang up," my mother realized she could confidently answer the call.
My mother (again) (no disrespect intended, but she provides such useful fodder!): While my sister Bonnie, her daughter, Cathy and I were visiting my mother recently, my mother received a call on her home telephone. By this time the procedure to check the caller ID screen before answering the phone had been learned and my mother said, "Oh, it's just Jack calling from the bedroom upstairs." She answered the phone and after scolding him for being lazy, continued with the conversation--by walking up the stairs and entering the bedroom. Bonnie, Cathy and I looked at each other and smiled, but moments later when we heard Jack say, "I'm right here," and Mom say, "Oh, yes. Well, goodbye," before hanging up the phone, we couldn't contain our laughter.
My husband, Mike, while caught wearing a watch on both wrists: "Well, this one had the wrong date."
My five-year-old granddaughter Dylan: Somehow the logic of being old and having white hair had become a sure death sentence to Dylan and she asked me one day, "Grammy, will you cut your white hair, so you won't die?" "Honey, if I cut my white hair I won't have any left," I said. "Well, can't you just cut it like Papa's (Mike, whose hair is 1/4 inch long!), so you won't die?" After a silent chuckle, I assured her I wasn't going to die soon--and I intend to keep my promise. (Okay! No more chocolate cake for breakfast!)
My seven-year-old grandson Justin talking to Grandpa Mike: "Grandpa, who's your favorite out of Zac, Ryan and me?" Grandpa: "I love you very much, Jay, but it wouldn't be right to say you're my favorite. Zac and Ryan would get their feeling hurt. It would be like me asking you who's your favorite between me and Grammy." To which Jay responded: "You are Grandpa!" I still love him, even if he loves Grandpa better.
See. The sun is brighter now, and if I look right straight up I can see blue sky! Hope your day is filled with sunshine and joy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)