Late morning I needed to make a trip to the grocery store for a few things. Our lunchtime was about 45 minutes away, so I put a pot of fish stew on low so it would be warm and ready to eat by the time I got home, and off I dashed. I got back on the dot but when I opened the door there was an odd, unpleasant smell. Rob was putting on his shoes to take Izzy out for a quick walk but stopped and described to me how he was back in the office working when his head started to ache and he began feeling sick. Eventually he went into the kitchen and discovered that there was no flame beneath the soup pot; the burner was releasing gas into the house, and he'd been breathing it up. I could smell it strongly everywhere so, cold as it was today, I threw open the doors and windows and let the house exhale the danger. I felt horrible. Rob felt ill the rest of the day, and I can understand why. It made me sick just to be in the house for only a few unventilated minutes. I'm glad he discovered the problem and the outcome wasn't worse. I don't even want to think about What if . . . ?
I was reminded of something. A close friend of mine had an awful dream a couple years ago where she saw Rob and me asleep in our bed, asphyxiated from a gas leak. It was so real, she said. I woke up and cried all night, begging God to spare you. I told him I couldn't handle life without you. I had my house checked after that, and there was a leak, but the gas man fixed it. Looks like we might need some more divine intervention over here at Sundog house, so I don't accidentally kill us both; I hope my friend has renewed her can't-do-without-them contract with God.
What can be done with just one persimmon? Have you ever been stared down by a grasshopper? Shave my head, or dye what's left? Can you guess which petrified body part I found on a mountain trail today? (TB, you are disqualified from answering that last question.) How long does it take for fresh garlic to get picklish sitting in the fridge in leftover brine? Do you have this song memorized, so you can sing it to your SO?
• Rob's beautiful Sabbath lunch • sorting • tidy brown acorns smooth as fingernails • canyon air • two spills of yellow on a moody grey mountainside • a lost set of retractable earphones • walking shoes • conversational water, rushing along • a step-hushing carpet of aspen leaves • primeval horsetail • trail hugs • a lost ruffed grouse feather • being allowed to watch a dipper at work, from only a few feet away • finding gold in South Fork • 40 wild turkeys, grazing soundlessly (it's not mating season) • a tubful of aromatic bath salts, a salty grilled cheese sandwich, and a cheesy vampire novel • stillness • kindness • sleep
"I don't like standing near the edge of a platform when an express train is passing through. I like to stand right back and if possible get a pillar between me and the train. I don't like to stand by the side of a ship and look down into the water. A second's action would end everything. A few drops of desperation." —Winston Churchill (1874-1965)
savage god, noonday demon of the soul's dark night the black dog snaps at my heels
Question: Why did Winston Churchill leave me his dog? Statement: Muzzling doesn't ultimately help. Question: Who wants to dog-sit for me? Question: Can a bad dog be rehabilitated?
I'm excited about what I'm learning in my Master Gardener class—today I swooned over the "wine tasting" party (freshly-juiced grapes, don't get excited) at the end of the lecture, and made myself promises to build an arbor, hunt down the very most excellent grapes that will grow in Utah, get some gooseberry and currant starts, and so on. Small fruits day was an inspiration to say the least.
I'm also enthused about the three days of WDA staged readings and feedback sessions I was privileged to sit through. The experience motivated me to get writing and showed me the strength of a supportive writing group—creativity by committee, as it were.
It's time for my day to end—I'm tired and I missed Bunco Night—but I have big ideas trailing after me as I slowly make my way toward Slumberland.
•taking advantage of the opportunity to sit in on a playwriting workshop at the university,
and most importantly,
•coming home to find that Rob had completely built and bolted the wall o' Billy bookshelves.
Hurray!
These blessings more than make up for the fact that the nurse must have forgotten to put the usual numbing juice in the syringe with the meds. Owee. But I refuse to be a sorehead about it.
So tonight I started unboxing basement books that haven't seen the light of day for a long, long time. Which do you think were the first books to be placed on these pristine shelves? Pogo comics!
WHAT?! You don't know what I'm talking about? You've never met Pogo possum? Why, you simply must get acquainted. My mama had me reading this stuff as a pre-school tyke, and look how I turned out. (Was that a good selling point? or not?)
Here is an entire book of the stuff, posted online for your enjoyment. It's one I don't have in my collection, so it's new to me too. Have fun going back in time—Walt Kelly was a genius, if you ask me.
I'm sorry this day was so tough for you to navigate, Cap'n. We've got to find a way to get you into your true element(s). You've been landlocked too long.
This is second day in a row I've had to slip away from the crowd and lock myself in a bathroom for a cry. Yesterday the annual Primary program sent me there; they sang and spoke about eternal families and the kids were more killingly adorable than I remember them being in years. Tonight it was my own little nieces fawning over their pumpkins an uncle and aunt helped them carve that turned on my waterworks again. Then I ended up snuffling quietly to myself all over the Moondoggie house because our last big family fling before Annie flies home to Hawaii was just so beautiful. That, and I can barely stand to say goodbye.
• a wonderful meal
• people I love so much it actually hurts sometimes (like tonight)
• pumpkin guts and seeds and a long line of crazy jack-o-lanterns grinning in the rain
I never knew what joy in a family looked like till I married into The Tribe. I'm grateful to them all, particularly my Rob, for accepting me and allowing me to be part of something so marvelous. I'm grateful to know that I can choose to continue these relationships forever.
Rob and I had a little council tonight and discussed a new-fangled schedule which includes regular times for meals, pulling in the shutters, early-to-bed and early-to-rise, decompression, and de-stressing. You're wondering, maybe, why this is a topic of discussion after—how many years of marriage?—but that just means you aren't well-acquainted with the general disorder of my brain. Yes, I'll take the fall for this one; Rob is far more successful at being steady and stable. But to my credit, I initiated the conversation. Guess who's been watching reruns of Supernanny? I may not have kids, but I'm picking up some helpful tips. Routine is not a dirty word after all.
Anyway, part of my plan is to cut out late nights. Strong words from an insomniac-by-inheritance! But really, I know my ongoing sleep-deprived state is a terrific aggravator of so many seemingly unrelated parts of my life. What's that peppy slogan—? "I can do hard things."
So, it's just past 9:00—time for me to call it a day now and begin winding down. All y'all night owls have fun without me. This zombie is going to try and reform. Goodnight, Mac! Goodnight, Moon!
I almost forgot to mention that amidst the purple pleasantries happening at my house this weekend, there's been one piece of purple mischief which has really cheesed me off. I've been growing chives in a garden box in front of my house, transplants from my mum-in-law's garden. Two surprise purple onions appeared in there as well. I've kept a proud eye on their progress, and was planning to ceremoniously harvest the larger of the onions this week. But. Sometime in the past 24 hours, some person got hold of one of my hand tools, dug up part of my garden box, and made off with my big purple onion! I've got a giant bag of onions inside my house, thief. If you'd have come knocking, I would have been willing to share. But you stole my smelly purple baby! Not okay!
By the way, are you the same person who broke into my car a couple weeks ago and helped yourself to my ashtray stash of quarters, on the one day I didn't lock up at the public pool adjacent to the high school? You might think you're pretty tough, stealing change, but let me tell you, kid, the bad karma's far worse when you steal somebody's lucky color. Your tell-tale onion breath may lead you to ruin. All I can say is, brush your teeth. Brush your teeth!
I was away from home most of the day, but had my knitting bag with me. I completed my first Christmas gift! My goal is to be finished with the gift-making and gift-choosing by Thanksgiving at the latest, and if I can, as soon as the end of this month. I managed such a feat one year and had the most relaxed holiday season ever. I'd like to enjoy that experience again, and perhaps even make it a personal tradition.
After I got the gift done I decided to make myself a hat, since I don't have a lovable one anymore. I stole a moment at home in between things to rummage through my basement stash of yarn—I'm trying to use up what I have before I let myself buy any new fibers (we'll see how long that resolution lasts)—and to my delight, I found two forgotten skeins of a soft beautiful wool a friend gave me a few years ago. What color were they? Can you guess? PURPLE!Again with the cookie. Well, what's to do be done with my one and only bonafide superstition, except to eat and obey? Sometime I'll have to tell you the story of how a fortune cookie led Rob to me. Maybe you'll be a believer too after that. Ha!
So I'm now in the process of knitting myself some good luck. I look forward to wearing my rustic royal handknit lid. As good as any crown, I say, and far less heavy on the brow.
Yesterday I went to the Gap to buy myself some yellow tights I've had my eye on, but they were sold out. To console myself, I made a quick trip to my favorite department store to see what I could find. It wasn't until I went into the dressing room with a healthy armload of second-hand bargains that I realized I had gone on an unintentional color spree: practically everything I'd pulled from the racks was purple. PURPLE! The complete opposite of what I'd originally gone out for. I don't think I had one single purple item in my closet before this visit to D.I. I certainly took some home though, loving and laughing at every royal bit of it.
When I think back a few days, it may well be that my morning poo-rambulations with my dog Izzy might actually be responsible for my new-found interest in purple. There's a woman who lives a short leg stretch from my house. I have a friendly crush on her. We've never actually met, but have greeted one another in passing and she feels like soul kin. She's got a lush, crazy yard full of beautiful vining and blooming things. She's grey-haired and groovy. AND. She drives a dark purple VW bus. It's terrific! Did I say I had a crush on the hippie lady? I have a bigger crush on her auto. Just recently a "For Sale" sign appeared on its windshield, and every morning I pass by that bus I imagine myself behind the wheel. Sure, I'd get plenty of ribbing for it. Think I care?
We don't need a second vehicle or the expense of one, but I can't help thinking about it.
Oh, you're brave enough, absolutely. After all, it's only a play. Just make sure you're sitting next to someone you can hold onto for dear life, someone who won't mind if you scream. And make sure to buy a homemade concession cookie; you're going to need that comfort food.
If you don't believe me, click this link and read five pages of folk remedies featuring garlic! I bravely started eating it raw today (and let me tell you, that can be a painful experience), and not only have I been bitten by zero vampires, I also believe there's some kind of aggressive garlicky hoodoo beginning to be worked on the virus passing through my body. It's as comforting as having a big brother with bad breath just waiting for me to say the word so he can pound the living daylights out of anybody who bothers me.
Don't let its peaceful demeanor fool you. Garlic wants to kick butt.
And she picked too, but wasted precious picking time taking the already overly-bosomous fashion statement flaunted by local grape gals to an embarrassing extreme.
And they picked. (Kudos to you for your modesty, ladies. Thanks for keeping things covered.)
Heavens, even he picked. Do you think it had anything to do with all those concord coquettes?
And today, finally, we worked together to help get the harvest ready for a winter store.
Well, here's a milestone—my 500th published Bright Street post. What a lot of words! Pictures too though, and here's another, hot off the flash card, a picture of some of the sweetest and dearest blessings in my life—a beautiful husband I'm completely smitten with and a tribe of in-laws I love so very much. Nearly all of us gathered this weekend; everyone was present except for our New Yorkers. After a rowdy supper those of us with cameras handed them over to our friend, Gary of the Tiaras. He was such a gracious photographer; we weren't easy subjects. Though I suspect Becca may have more frame-worthy ones on hers, this image was my favorite from my camera—seems like it's always the in between and off-center pictures I like best. It's not a perfect shot, but hey, it's the only one of the bunch where you can see everyone's face, the image isn't blurred or blown out, and there's no stink-eye passing between children.
Egans, we all wish you were here with us. You need to know that.
I don't have anything grandiose to say in honor of my #500, only that I am blessed and grateful. Blessed and grateful times 500. Rather, blessed and grateful to the 500th power. Then multiply that by eternity.
There really is no place like home.
As an extra celebratory treat, here is a rare recording by the Von Trapp Family Singers the Tribe, performing a rousing rendition of "Happy Unbirthday to Us," captured onsite this very evening at Tribal Headquarters. Please enjoy!
P.S. This was our third and final round of the song as kids took turns blowing out unbirthday candles. Mart was totally falsetto by this point.
Did: • drive a friend to work • survive an episode of bad brains • give my best advice • do some pro bono work for another friend • clean and sort tomatoes all afternoon • listen to good music and talks while I worked • hug and hug and hug and kiss Annie • embarrass myself • eat dinner with family • surrender my Costco chicken sausages to the greater good • pray • enjoy in person an old friend I haven't talked to in months • loan my banjo • talk to myself • buy fresh spices • sneeze repeatedly • hear an obscure hymn, which became a favorite this morning, played on classical radio tonight • try to talk someone else into taking up the accordion • make a promise • appreciate irony
• I had my second quinoa dream in two nights. Are these food storage messages from Slumberland? • Natasha wrote a great post on marriage. • Kim was in Utah for the weekend but never near enough to visit, so we talked on the phone this morning instead. • I watched the city cement guys pour two slabs of fresh sidewalk to replace the broken ones next to our driveway. Rob and I both withstood the temptation to write our names in it. Graffiti = regret. No graffiti = regret. What a choice. • I discovered that a shirt and jacket I recently bought on sale make a great outfit with an orphan skirt in my closet. • Ralph the German accordion superhero called us for a repair consultation today, so we drove to his shop in the next valley up. He kept calling me Virginia, but must have liked us because he offered to squeeze some lessons into his crazy busy schedule. Ralph is an incredible character with knobbly fingers and many cool trophies. We had a bug planted in Rob's man-bag, so I'll soon have our stealthy recording of the lovely and talented Ralph to play for you. • Rob and I might be sharing a stomach bug. We split a brown Swedish fizzy drink, something to do with the holidays (Santa on the label), from Ikea. It helped diminish the urps. • If you can't talk yourself out of eating fast food, at least go to Taco Time because they play great music. I always end up dancing in the restroom when I duck in to wash my hands. (Scroll down for today's solid gold hit.) • Tonight I gardened by lamplight—two LED shop lamps. I think I killed my back harvesting the Great Tomato Landslide of 2009. Anyone have any especially good green tomato recipes? • I put the next-to-last coat of paint on the baseboards in the office tonight. It's almost time to move the furniture back in and put up bookshelves. • We share a city with some of our family. It feels good to be near enough to help each other out when there's a need. • When Chris cut off the end of his finger tonight while chopping basil, Amy's gram—a nurse—was just walking in their front door. She got him first aided and ready to make it safely to the E.R. • Rob and I made a beautiful new friend, an old one. We adored her while she got her storytelling groove on. • Tomorrow Annie flies in from Hawaii!
Today's General Conference sessions were wonderful, just like yesterday's. It's been a great weekend of pushing back my internal curtains and letting in some refreshing sunlight. A moment ago I checked the Church website, and discovered there are already mp3s of all the conference sessions posted—great news for listeners like me without the patience to wait for the videos and transcriptions which will be uploaded within the week. Talks and music—it's all available now. I love that because I was able to enjoy again one of my favorite pieces of music performed this afternoon by the MoTabs. Because we had some trouble with our streaming radio connection, we ended up having to listen to this heart-stirring piece on a scratchy little radio, but it was still so beautiful it made me cry, static notwithstanding. But here it is, clear as can be. This is one of the songs of my soul.
This evening Rob and I joined my cousins for dinner. They lost their dad, my uncle, this summer and their mom, who's now traveling around the country to spend time with her many children, is here visiting for a few days. When everyone finally arrived, we all gathered in the dining room. Sean, true to his family heritage, is a bit of a tease, and called upon "the Widow Bowen" to ask for a blessing on the food. It felt a bit uncomfortable until Sean's small daughter Bethany piped up and began to loudly pray; she'd heard him invite the widdle Bowen and, being the clever girl she is, quickly did the math and figured she was the widdlest Bowen present who could actually talk, so she stepped up to the plate. There were quite a few muffled snickers around the room but no one interrupted her, and it was a very sweet and thorough prayer. Good job, Bethany. Bless your brave widdle heart.
Lastly, here's a little memento of sorts for those who were present at yesterday's dino-dipping dinner at Tribal Headquarters. Since I didn't have my recorder with me, this is the closest I can get to being able to play back our sweet suppertime serenade. I have to tell you that I thought everyone involved in that scene was so gracious, even those of us who kept on sneaking little bites of chicken nuggets through our soloist's song. (You weren't alone, Becca.) And here is one conclusion I reached: awkward and beautiful can easily co-exist. And really, they have to at this stage of our existence.
Feeling a little subdued now at the end of a long, good day. I listened to both the morning and afternoon sessions of General Conference while doing light work around the house, stopping here and there to write down some thoughts. It was time well-spent, and an atmosphere which felt like coming home. There was so much love and light in all the talks I heard—I find real intelligence so compelling, and completely irresistible. It's funny though; always after the words and music and prayers are past, I feel melancholy. It's like having to end a long-anticipated visit with family or best friends before you feel ready to say goodbye, knowing it'll be a long time before you're together again. I'm glad there's one more day of this conference. It's a beautiful way to enter into the changing season and get ready for the chill of winter.
This evening Rob and I got together with all the Tribal locals to celebrate two birthdays: baby bro Chris, who turned 26 today, and our most excellent friend Gary of the Tiaras, whose age he won't commit to. We enjoyed a quick and rowdy multigenerational dinner—a hodgepodge of foods featuring Dinosaur Bites served with a gourmet chipotle dipping sauce from the farmers market. While we dined on this haute cuisine, a talented guest at our table graced us with a vocal performance of "A Boy Named Charlie Brown." I feel relatively sure professional jazz singers don't typically give private concerts to the chicken nuggets crowd. We were lucky.
The menfolk knotted their neckties and took their leave of us for their priesthood meeting. The wimmen and chillun hung around and made Halloween crafts, told stories, and experimented with acupressure points. Yeah, the usual. I couldn't seem to get enthused about the spook-making business, so I set to work fashioning myself a pair of black pipe cleaner horn-rimmed glasses, complete with giant googley eyes and Betty Boop lashes. Big hit with the under ten crowd. Next, my niece D. and I worked together on a pair of diminutive yellow Devo glasses for her, also well-googlied. From haute cuisine to haute couture. We are nothing if not trendsetters in this family. (I wish I'd had my camera with me.) It was good to be with these people I love, though I never fully shook off my inward melancholy. Becca knitted away at a beautiful pair of warm house socks and wrote out her pattern for me. My niece E. and I managed to ruin a few fingers each with superglue while being ingenious. Jeanne gave me two hand-me-up sweaters and a dollar store crow which will be great for my Halloween costume. Amy made Kleenex ghosts, focusing most of her attention on a pair of cyclops lovers. My Nephew S. tonight traded in his daffy love of duck talk for a new fascination with the roar of dino-speak, and proudly wore googley eyes in the back of his head. Mum directed the blowing of eggs and the making of holiday garlands. My namesake niece wandered around being adorable and opening and closing doors. The elderly ladies sat together at the opposite end of the room and enjoyed some lively senior commiseration. (I wish I'd had my recorder with me.) I had a hard time staying awake till the guys arrived, just after 8:00. Not enough good sleep recently; there have been people trying to kill me for several nights in a row in my dreams, no joke.
When the fellas showed up, we all ate again(!), sung birthday songs (sans jazz soloist but not without some attempts at show biz), presented cake and ice cream and cheesecake and gifts, and enjoyed our collective sugar rush. The night slipped away and then suddenly the baby was squawking and it was time for the travelers to head north, so our party broke up, and the day was done.
I really ought to mention here that early today I pulled out a great chocolate cake recipe shared with me last year by Azúcar, and it was divine. 'Course, I owned it with the addition of BLACK MENNONITE COCOA which I bought in New York this summer. I've never seen a black cake before that wasn't burnt, and oh, it was lovely. Thank you, Azúcar. Thank you, Mennonites. Layers of the blackest chocolate you've ever seen filled and glazed with plum, peach, and raspberry sauce. Oh, ho ho ho!
I'm wondering now if I'll ever get to sleep tonight, after that delicious dose of pitch-black caffeine. This evening, when I was making my glasses, I told the kids they would enable me to appear wide awake at all times—say, in boring meetings, or classes—when really, I was enjoying a secret nap. They approved of that option. I'm afraid tonight I won't need to wear any special specs; my own googley eyes may not shut for several more hours. That's just the way chocolate and I get along.
I hope you'll tune into General Conference with me tomorrow. Doesn't matter whether you're LDS or not; I feel sure there's plenty you could find to appreciate—comfort, counsel, courage—a rare uplift. I hope you'll take some time to listen and feel and then meditate on what it is you want to do next to make your life a little better. That's what I'll be working on tomorrow.
I forgot to include this piece of good fortune on yesterday's lucky list:
• Last night while Rob and I were waiting to be among The Chosen for standby theater tickets, we conspicuously entertained ourselves by reading M. F. K. Fisher on an overstuffed R.C. Willey ottoman-cum-advertisement in the middle of the foyer. Rob interrupted my narration and said, "Hey, isn't that . . . ?" And sure enough it was. Lovely Amy. We knew her sister Lisa way way way back in the early days of us, and only just barely know Amy. I like her and think she'd be fun to have as a friend. She was there with her husband and two kids and instantly it clicked. Justin Hackworth! She's married to one of my favorite local photographers. I'd seen images of them together on his blog and KNEW I knew her but couldn't place the connection. That ever happen to you? Anyway, it was fun to finally meet Justin, although I was a little disappointed, knowing that now I am forever disqualified from participating in his annual 30 Strangers project. Realizing that we know many of the same people in our little town, I have made it a point NOT to meet Justin, because I was determined that next year would be the year I would be one of his subjects, maybe even with a child. (Yes, you read that right, but it's a dream to be discussed another day.) I can't deny the pleasure it was to meet Justin, so I guess it was lucky and unlucky both at once. But far more lucky than un-.
*siiiiiigh*
But I reallyreallyreally wanted to be one of your 30 Strangers in 2010, Justin. Can't we just rewind, and meet again next year? Anyway, how can you actually KNOW someone before you've had more than five minutes' chat? or recognized the color of her eyes (don't say green)? or eaten Middle Eastern food together? Aughh! Help!
Take a look at Justin's work. It's easy and natural and elegant. I love following his blog and reading the stories in people's faces. Keep up the straight shootin', Justin, ol' pal. Not that I know you or anything.
This evening after a dinner of cheap Chinese I cracked open my fortune cookie and found out two fortunes:
1. Seek friendship and you will find someone special this month. 2. An unexpected visitor will bring you good blessings.
Sounds like October may just live up to my expectations. I've got high hopes.
But there were other surprises today I enjoyed today as well, other pieces of good fortune:
• Ibuprofen and a hot shower made an effective pain killer team today, in less time than it usually takes to take my mean and nasty cramps down to a bearable level. (By the way, last night I dreamed a friend gave me a handful of the most lovely blue jewels of pain killers, as magical as any fairy tale beans. Wish I could remember who that friend was; I'd be calling her to make good on that offer.)
• Because of the above, I was able to drive to Salt Lake with Rob, on business. He willingly listened as I read my Master Gardener homework aloud, and also didn't mind when I pulled out my tweezers and gave my eyebrows, etc. the once-over. I told him it would entertain the other drivers on the freeway. The time passed quickly, and I was grateful to be well enough to go with him.
• But before we left, Rob went on some "errands," and when he came home he brought in Recanati accordion for me and delivered it with a sheepish smile. Craigslist. And I thought he was going to the P.O. It's got about six different voices and needs a little work here and there on the reeds. A few of the old Bakelite(?) keys need to be reglued. But it's a beaut! A Recanati Soprania Silvio, and it looks like a small Cadillac. It was cheap, so much cheaper than the one we waited too long for at D.I. So now we finally have a 120-bass. If you had told me at 17 that when I was this age I would want to pick up an accordion with the intent to actually play the thing, I would have laughed in your face. Now I laugh in my own face as I stand before the hall mirror with this vintage behemoth strapped onto me, trying to figure out where my hands should go.
• We dropped off some letterpress for a juried show at the U and got to have a fun chat with a guy we know who works with the Book Arts program, and also made a new friend who introduced me to the question "Are you lamb enough?" (I started to Google it and then realized I don't care what it really means. It's just a great question.) If our books make it into this show, guess which VIP will be coming to town and seeing them? Laura Bush!
• We ran into a great friend in the U parking lot; he was going to do some research on papermaking. It was a perfectly-timed crossing of paths. I like it when that happens.
• We stopped at REI and I finally got a replacement for my well-loved and shiveringly-missed down coat, which disappeared over a year ago. (Did somebody steal it from my porch in time for last winter? All I have left is the red hood.) This new one is plain but it has a more tailored fit, and doesn't make me look quite as much like a stuffed sausage.
• Coming home on I-15, I finally learned a successful way to cope with heavy rush hour traffic and keep the awful white knuckle panic out of my system: I close my eyes. When I'm in the passenger's seat, that is.
• This evening, we went to Chris Clark's production of Charlotte's Web at UVU. First we went to the wrong theater and ticket counter; they were closed. Then a nice woman named J.C. who works with suicide prevention found us wandering around and gave us a ride to the right theater. We asked for standby tickets, and the fellow at the box office very nearly rolled his eyes; told us, essentially, that we had about a snowball's chance. But I insisted, and I think we were something like #367 and #368 on the list. But guess what! When showtime rolled around, miracle of miracles, every last one of the crowd of hopefuls hanging around in the foyer was eventually able to get in. Rob and I found the last pair of seats together, and we didn't even have to miss the beginning of the show. Now, that was lucky! (It was a fun and imaginative production, by the way. Good job, Chris and company!)
• I almost forgot to mention the moon. When J.C. was chauffeuring us around campus, we came around a bend and the moon was enormous! and white! and sitting smartly atop a perky mountain peak like it was watching for us. It made me laugh. An eager moon, watching the show.
• Last thing. Before we went to Salt Lake, Rob stopped at his folks' house to pick up some of Mum's and Jeanne's books to take to the U. I could tell he wanted me to wait in the car so it would be a quicker stop. The women were out somewhere but I really wanted to say hi to Dad, however, I respected Rob's sense of urgency and stayed put. A few minutes later, sick Dad and his rumpled hair came slowly outside with Rob just to say hi to me, and he gave me such a sweet greeting and loving hug that it melted me on the spot. I thought of this at different times through the rest of the day, and it choked me up each time. My own dad's been gone so long, my mom too, and I continue to really miss them as well as the chance to be somebody's daughter. Dad B.'s been my only father now for almost two decades. When he connects with me like he did today, I feel cared about, and I feel dadded. I know you don't read my blog, Dad, and that's fine, but I'll say this to you anyway and trust in the Universe to whisper it into your ear—I love you very much!
I think I'll give it a go—a month of daily posts in celebration of October. Sometimes just a list maybe, like today's inventory of gratitude:
• starting the day with a clean kitchen (thanks, Rob) • resurrecting my best recipe for freshly-ground whole wheat pancakes (thanks, cookbook shelf) • then fancying them up with chunky plum syrup made by the lovely and talented Shakes (thanks, Emily) • receiving a sweet visit from my favorite Jehovah's Witness girl (thanks anyway) • after a couple days of stress, finally prying the Hi, Tony! website from the dysfunctional clutches of MobileMe and transferring services to Bluehost (thanks, online support team—I'm especially talking to you, EricW) • beginning a new class, the Master Gardener Program (thanks USU Cooperative Extension) • learning from two knowledgeable teachers, not just one (thanks, Larry and Adrian) • coming home with two unexpected sacks of vegies—pumpkin, tomatoes, hot peppers—from the local "jail garden" (thanks, inmates) • leftover love note (thanks again, Rob) • still loving the care package our friends in Seattle sent (thanks, John and Mary) • especially cooking to their mix CDs (thanks, John and Mary and iTunes) • dropping dinner plans in the middle of boiling pasta water, throwing on shoes, and racing to Taco Time so we could make it into the dollar theater in 15 minutes (thank you, spontaneity) • sneaking two vegie burritos and salsa into the movie—yes, I know they say "no outside food or drink" but it was that or starve (thank you, deep fleece pockets) • finally getting to see Up and crying over a good story (thanks, Pixar) • priming the baseboards while Rob installed hardware for hanging curtains (thanks, teamwork) • reading great essays to Rob when his job took longer than mine (thanks, M. F. K. Fisher) • remembering what I learned this morning while reading scriptures (thanks, Friend) • looking forward to beating the chill by borrowing some warmth from my sleeping bedmate (thanks, my radiator)
