Thankful list du jour

• finding higher meaning in a dream about a speeding ticket
• while at the grocery store for emergency sickday oranges for Rob, running into three beautiful women—one, then another, then another—who all used to be "my girls" during the years I was a Young Women leader—and getting to observe them in context of being with their significant others
• remembering that it's better to love on people than to be shy about scaring them when I look and feel like a zombie but choose to go out into public anyway
• knowing that my friend (I'll call her Toots) is far from being a bad mother even though she adamantly claims she is after having kicked a giant hole in her brand-new wall today
• love notes from friends
• this craft I am determined to make
• bringing home far too many library books to read in three weeks, but enjoying just having them around
• making plans for my "10 for '10" new year's resolutions (and actually looking forward to making some this year)
• ginger-lemon tea
• my favorite "new" show on Netflix
• choosing poetry (not mine) for a chapbook
• 2 percent Lycra
• wool tights
• making it past the halfway point on my Master Gardener take-home exam
• Dad B.'s blood pressure rising to normal once he got to the E.R.
• the thought of free source of tubing for a drip irrigation system next spring (not many pros to a loved one doing home dialysis, but here's one)
• batteries
• new spending patterns
• remembering the mortgage
• spinach calzones smothered with roasted tomato sauce (made with buffalo)
• somebody I love gets to spend time in Oaxaca even if I don't
• June Roses Day in 8 days!
• Christmas letters and photos
• salad for breakfast
• this revelation:

Black and white

In a few short hours Rob and I will drive a borrowed car to a Salt Lake crematory, to watch over our dear Phoenix as she enters the fire, accompanied by the love of many of her family and friends.



I'll have to miss my haircut appointment with Patrick. Oh well, that's life. Or in this case, death.

As soon as we get home I will attempt to finish making this:



Now that's life.

In the evening I will get to watch and yell as one of my young women kicks this:



It's going to be a day of high contrasts, that much is sure.

Heading for the hills

Well, I ship off to girls' camp in the morning at dawn.

We're gonna rough it, you betcha!

There's no telling what sorts of adventures we'll run into!

It gets pretty chilly at night, so we'll probably build a few of these:

Because we'll burn lots of calories in the great outdoors, we'll need to keep our strength up.

(Photo by ctoverdrive.)
It should be a fun trip for everyone, but of course, there are always a few kids who get homesick for their cell phones and their mamas' cooking.

WISH US GOOD LUCK!

Gosh, I just feel so validated

So who knew that God's eyes (ojos de Dios) would be making a comeback?

Not to brag or anything, but I did.

At least I decided they were back for ME last month, when I re-taught myself the process and started obsessively making them and planning to teach my girls how to make them at camp this summer. I wanted to hang ojos all through my house. Color, color, bursts and blasts of it popping against the great expanse of whiteness I've been painting everywhere. Do you know that I'm even painting my floors white?

I was geared up to go into mass production and present bright happy handmade ojos to all of the 2008 spring crop of babies being harvested by my fertile friends, but I lost my nerve. I think it happened when I gave one to a dear young woman I know and love who was getting married and heading off for a rustic week of honeymooning in the back of a Suburban and then for two months living at a boy scout camp. (Say it with me: WOWWWWW.) Doesn't she seem like the perfect campy candidate for one of my giant eyes? But her response was one of confusion; she was definitely underwhelmed. And lest you think that's because it was the only gift I gave her to get her started down that gravel road to marital bliss, I should say that I also busted my piggy bank for her AND printed her wedding announcements, gratis. "I'm older than Mod Podge," I reminded myself, pointer finger self-waggling. "How can I presume to know anymore what's in? what's fresh? Who really wants a weird God's eye from a ol' lady?" You see how it is when the mean-spirited aging devils decide to pick on you? I for one am too quick to follow their lead.

Was I wrong to doubt myself? Of course! But not because Readymade has just put my latest obsession back on the cool map. But because I AM older than Mod Podge, and so I've been around the crafting block a few times, and so I ought to know a little something about what's timely . . . or find myself scheduled for a lucky guess now and then. But even if ojos de Dios were never of interest to DIYers again, I still love them. I love being reminded by the vibrant eyes of wood and wool and silk and cotton and acrylic that I am watched over, loved, and—probably more often than I could stand to know—chuckled at by the Source of all creativity, delight, and benevolence.

I think I'll collect some sticks and break out my yarn stash again.

So who wants a God's eye now?

The whole is greater than the sum of its parts

Today I:

•read scriptures while sitting on the toilet lid in the new bathroom
•helped Y. register for oodles of baby shower gifts at Wal-Mart (ack)
•ate a tofu-vegie wrap from Guru's and felt virtuous for avoiding meat
•was treated by Y. to a birthday pedicure at a school of aesthetics
•was friendly
•chose red nail polish
•screamed in the unexpectedly snowy wind and tried to run a block to our parking spot while wearing useless pedicure flip-flops
•pulled on a wonderfully soft pink silk-cashmere sweater that would have felt so much nicer with no layers between us
•ate ibuprofen by the fistful
•went to the house of some friends and asked their eldest daughter to consider a "job" staying with an elderly lady so she won't have to be alone at night (if the daughter doesn't accept, do you happen to know of somebody really trustworthy and caring who'd like to get paid to sleep in a nice room with a nice library in a nice house with a nice person downstairs for a nice weekly check?)
•made bison burgers for supper and felt virtuous because, well, at least it's hormone-free
•bloated and hurt
•accompanied an excitable group of teens to a batting cage, which was closed, and then to a miniature golf place, which was not
•shot some blurry photos at ISO 3200
•went to Target and bought a bath pillow, bananas, eggs, yogurt, and chocolate granola (which did not make me feel virtuous, but was really good with soymilk when I got home)
•prepped dining room windows for painting with froggy green tape
•felt inexplicably depressed
•designed a graduation announcement for my cousin who's about to be crowned a dentist
•let the answering machine do its job
•decided I need to give up blogging (but wouldja just look at me posting anyway)

Just another manic Sunday

Hold on, isn't it Monday that's supposed to be manic? Tell that to the butterflies in my stomach, which are beginning to flutter away now that my main stress event is past.

But not all stress is bad. This was actually good stress—it was my turn to teach today at church. I work with a small group of girls ranging in age from 12-18. I've had assignments in many different capacities with this organization for most of the last fourteen years. I've been president three times in two different congregations, and I've worked as counselor to another president, and I've had umpteen jobs as camp staff. Right now I'm the low woman on the totem pole, so to speak, the expendable assistant camp director, but I join the girls for their class on Sunday and their mid-week activities. Last Friday we went to a university production of James and the Giant Peach, performed by a traveling troupe that specializes in American Sign Language theatre. (Sad to say, they reworked Roahl Dahl's plot almost more than I could bear. Rrrrr!) Today I got to present the lesson, a free-style one, not from our usual curriculum. I seem to keep getting handed free-style weeks. Maybe the other leaders know how [ahem] great I am at following directions and so let me do my own thing. Suits me fine.

I had a really interesting week leading up to this class. I felt a queasy undercurrent of panic every time I thought of it. What am I going to teach them? What do they need to know? Honestly, I am at my ease when I write, but I am out of my element when it's time to open my mouth and make something comprehensible come out. I often get trapped by fear of failure, of dropping the ball. We don't get that many moments to work with these kids before they're grown and flown.

At any rate, I was given a very general topic to focus on: Individual Worth. I began to notice last Sunday that I was getting little bits and pieces of . . . something. I could feel my lesson floating around out there. Sometimes I could see it with my peripheral vision, but as soon as I'd turn to look at it straight on—poof! Gone. But every day I'd get a whisper, a hint, a puzzle piece. Drinking a cup of Yogi Tea on Wednesday, I read a dangling fortune that said: "Your infinity in you is the reality in you." I'd be in a conversation and something would grab my attention and I'd go frantic to find a piece of paper to write an idea on. My lesson was more like a scrap heap of thoughts till yesterday morning, when a Big Idea hit me while I was in the shower. Everything finally made sense, and I was excited. I spent most of yesterday and part of this morning working it out.

I've still got a whole lot to learn about teaching, but I think it went well enough. We had some good discussion and a sweet feeling attended us. I think some valuable concepts were spoken about with enough clarity to hit home. We taught each other.

My girls are such fine people. I know it goes against the grain a bit, but I love young people, hormonal misfortunes and mood swings and mystery notwithstanding. I wasn't wildly successful at being a teenager myself, so I guess it's something of an irony that I love them now that I could be their mother. I'm a survivor of adolescence at least; maybe that means something.

So, that's the way March rolled in for me. All in my head instead of out in the sun. Now it's time to roll up my sleeves and get to work—on renovating my house, on visiting with out-of-towner company, on beefing up the Morning Stories Blog, on enough work and reckless whims to overwhelm me if it wasn't suddenly spring, and everything a-popping with new life, and fresh air, and renewed energy for come-what-may. My husband is now down very sick like I was with the flu (don't know what took him so long). I will sand and paint the living room floor this week, then our new windows will arrive, and then it will be time to paint. I'm glad I'm busy. It feels like the right time to go a little too fast. But that means today I'll have to get organized if I intend to keep myself on track.

But before I break out my pencil and my at-a-glance calendar, I need a Sunday nap.

Happy March.

Epiphany, buffet, bubbles & living snow globes

3BT:

1. When I was struggling with intense feelings of loneliness this morning, an impression came like a voice in my mind: You can always talk to ME. So as I did slow laps in the fieldhouse before my walking partner showed up, I began to talk to God (very quietly and discreetly, so my track neighbors wouldn't become alarmed if they discovered I was having a conversation but not wearing a phone headset) about what I was thinking of and anticipating for the day. It felt a little awkward because I am not practiced at being . . . chatty, for lack of a better word . . . in prayer, but I realized that free-form open-ended communication with God, like the kind that happens between good friends, is a simple and accessible strategy for overcoming one of the particular effects of depression. The realization that I am never alone was very welcome.

2. I was invited to an impromptu lunch with two friends who blow me away with their beauty and goodness and grace. I feel incredibly fortunate to know them.

2-1/2. I got to see with my eyes and hear with my ears and feel with my heart that my prayers in behalf of a friend are beginning to be answered.

3. Rob agreed to go with me when I accompanied the YW to Salt Lake to see the Christmas lights at Temple Square. That made the evening even more lovely. Because he is an alpha driver, he relieved me of my designated chauffeur status, and I was free to sit farther back in the big van and play a game with another leader's 9-month-old daughter: I blew a bubble with my watermelon Extra, she watched the process with big eyes and great interest and then lifted her index finger to touch the bubble, the bubble popped, I chewed my gum and she mimicked me. Rinse. Repeat. When I took too long with a bubble, she squawked. Fun!

3-1/2. The Salt Lake Temple was marvelously beautiful as the snow, which danced and glowed in the spotlights pointed toward the angel Moroni, fell quietly upon it.

11 tips for feeling happier right now

I subscribe to some great websites and this morning I got an update from Life Remix that was just what I needed: a scant dozen happiness boosters with a challenge to use as many of these ideas as possible in an hour. Considering I'm driving in the slow lane right now, I decided to see how many of these mile markers I could pass today and call that good progress. Here's my report:

Listen to a great song. I dug up one of the very best and reminisced. I'll never forget the precious friend who dedicated this to me with her melancholy love, years ago.

The Whole of the Moon

I pictured a rainbow
You held it in your hand
I had flashes
You saw the plan
I wandered out in the world for years
While you just stayed in your room
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon
The whole of the moon

You were there in the turnstiles
With the wind at your heels
You stretched for the stars
And you know how it feels
To reach too high
Too far
Too soon
You saw the whole of the moon

I was grounded
While you filled the skies
I was dumbfounded by truth
You cut through lies
I saw the rain dirty valley
You saw Brigadoon
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon

I spoke about wings
You just flew
I wondered, I guessed and I tried
You just knew
I sighed
And you swooned
I saw the crescent
You saw the whole of the moon
The whole of the moon
The whole of the moon

The torch in your pocket
And the wind at your heels
You climbed on a ladder
And you know how it feels
To get too high
Too far
Too soon
You saw the whole of the moon
The whole of the moon

Unicorns and cannonballs
Palaces and piers
Trumpets, towers, and tenements
Wide oceans full of tears
Flags, rags, ferryboats
Scimitars and scarves
Every precious dream and vision
Underneath the stars
Yes, you climbed on a ladder
With the wind in your sails
You came like a comet
Blazing your trail
Too high
Too far
Too soon
You saw the whole of the moon

Fake it: put a smile on your face right now, and keep smiling. Since nobody's home, I pasted my broadest grin on my face, took it upstairs, and showed it to my dog. That wound him up—he, even more than most humans I know, is very susceptible to catching moods. After that, I wore a less tiring but steady smile as I made myself some lunch. Luckily, it was a quick and easy lunch; I feel a mite stupid just smiling at a sandwich. I'll admit though that the mere act of smiling positively alters one's mindset, with startling consistency. Strange but true.

Go outside. So my sandwich and I spent our lunch together outside, on the steps, enjoying the sky's threat of rain and the cars going by. I love to be outside. I imagined to myself God urging me to shed today's claustrophobia of walls and ceiling by saying, "Honey, why don't you come outside where I can see you better?" The thing is, he can see me just as well anywhere, but I am the one who seems to gain a clearer view when I step out of the manmade, and into the natural.

Create a calm environment. It's not like the game's ever over, but I scored some order points by getting my kitchen mostly straightened out after a couple days of pile-up. In the spirit of Mary Poppins, I found a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down; as I worked I listened to several episodes of a favorite podcast. Podcasts = happy. Things clean and in their places = happy.

Do a good deed. Also while listening to podcasts, I threw in two loads of laundry . . . for a friend. This friend has only one roommate, a neurotic little cat, and has no easy access to laundry facilities. She has a once-a-week deal worked out with someone else she knows who owns a washer/dryer, but recently this pal of mine showed up on my doorstep looking pathetic and begging a favor. "My cat threw up on my bed, and couldjacouldjacouldja-please-sorry-for-asking-let-me-wash-my-stuff-here? I've already prewashed in the sink!" It was no problem. Except that I was on my way out the door, so I told her to leave her cat-hack blankeys and I'd take care of them later while I was doing my own washing. Heck, I even had a dog-hack mat to throw in with her two loads. My friend is coming back for her things after work today, so this is what I'm calling my good deed for the day.

Rid yourself of a nagging task. That's easy. Today's my last day to pay mortgage without a late charge. Here I go. (This hasn't been my most put-together month.) The other thing I did was write my uncle who (a) is very sick, and (b) has been worried about me. I should have emailed him as soon as we got back from Oregon, but . . . well, there's just no explaining some things. Like waiting till the last day to pay your mortgage when you've got the money. Same deal. Anyway, I've already received a very loving email back from my uncle. I'm not expecting the same kind of warm fuzzy from the mortgage company.

Save the life of a stranger. I wanted to go to the Red Cross and donate blood today, but I haven't got enough time between now and when I have to leave for an early YW activity. I share my blood fairly regularly. If there was such a thing as Donor Olympics, my dad would have been the USA team captain and gold medalist, and I like to give blood partly to honor him and show him that I do follow in his footsteps in at least this one way. Did I just say I like to give blood? Let me amend that; I'm committed to the cause. That doesn't mean I like getting stabbed and having my blood sucked and going faint about every other time I submit to the needle. I do like the fig newtons and trail mix and o.j. the Red Cross so nicely provides to make it up to me.

But I can't give blood today. So, to put the life-saving happiness tip to work, I decided to make a little donation to the Pennies by the Inch campaign. Let's see, I'm 5' 7", so that's at least 67¢ I owe, right?

And rats, it looks like I'm out of time for the rest of the report. I've got to get on my way to a Young Women Halloween pizza and movie night. If it isn't too late when I get home, I'll yammer about the other tips, which I will be working on with what's left of the day. Here's the preview:

Boost your energy.
Reach out to friends.
Lay the groundwork for some fun.
Spend time with an energetic friend.

This just in from Camp MIA Shalom

You can never change your nature;
It is quite beyond your reach.
When a girl is born a lemon,
She can never be a peach.

BUT.

There's a law of compensation
And that's the law we preach:
You can always squee-heeze a lemon,
But you'll only squash a peach.

Nine days till camp!

I'm a lover, not a luver

I was released from my calling in my ward's Young Women presidency a month-and-a-half ago, only to be called right back into the organization last week, this time as assistant camp director. Don't know why, but it seems this is where I belong, with the teenage girls. I wasn't the most successful one myself, so I wonder what these 'leventy-million opportunities to work with kids have been about, lo, these past thirteen years. 13! One of my lucky numbers!

Tonight, at least, I am persuaded that this latest opportunity to serve came in small part so that I could introduce the concept of sexism to one of my Laurels, our sweet self-appointed sophisticate, our diva-in-process. She recently loaned me two books (for which just a tad of sleuthing around on this page will produce the twin titles). I spent the next few days in a heavy bipolar funk and these fat best-sellers supplied me with enough low-investment busywork to keep me somewhat distracted till I made it out of that dark place. About all I did during that time was read. Did I enjoy them? In a way. I certainly got through them in a hurry—over 1000 pages in far less than 72 hours. But I had many residual beefs, and tonight, when my beloved Opera Miss finally quizzed me about my take on the books, I gave it to her gently and broadly, but straight. Judging from her reaction, I think that she isn't fully aware of the meaning of "sexist," but I'm pretty sure the word lodged neatly in her brain and will stick there till her understanding grows. She did, however, seem to get it when I said that the books' heroine was weak because she allowed, and even relied upon, another person—a boy, of course—to call the shots, set the standards, draw the limits, etc., and that she was willing to trade everything—her family, her life, her future, her ability to contribute to her world, ad nauesum—for love, or rather, for LUV. I took issue with the points that nothing is more important than LUV and that LUV conquers all. Of course, love is at the heart of everything good, but it ain't necessarily at the heart of LUV. I told her that this wasn't my idea of true romance, or a great character, or real sacrifice. I did say I often thought as I read the books how glad I was that "our girls" are making better choices. (What I didn't say was that I am concerned that this may not continue to be the case for some of them.) I did smile a wry inward smile when, in the middle of my requested book report, which was received in a feeling-after-adulthood quasi-knowing style, lovely Opera Miss interrupted me and girlishly asked:

"So, who do you like better? Edward or Joseph?"

Um . . . the vampire? or the werewolf? Hard choice. How about no more steady boyfriends till you figure out "sexist"?

I didn't enumerate my more minute criticisms, which include but are far from limited to:

•Don't lie to your family.
•Don't use people.
•Learn to be secure in yourself—without a boyfriend, already!
•Don't have your boyfriend stay with you at night on the sly or otherwise, and especially not in your bed.
•When you get a bad feeling about something, trust it instead of fighting against it.
•How come a homegirl from BYU isn't writing more moral strength into her female character?

I swear, I didn't get up on my soapbox. I just answered my young friend's question because she wanted to hear what I thought. But I do know when to quit. When I did we went cheerfully back to our ongoing hammock-making project with the rest of the Tuesday evening group: ripping old bedsheets into strips, sewing the pieces together, and winding them up into fat fabric yarn balls. Teamwork. In two weeks I'll bring the wood supports and introduce the girls to power tools.

Nicely, my Opera Miss and I discovered that we both adore Cyrano de Bergerac, and twittered on about that a while, in a totally different, giddy, gushy tone. You see? I do loves me a good love story.

Looking back on Black Friday and a few other items of business

He's pink. I'm yellow. It's always been that way.
He's tired. I'm tired. It's been that way since about mid-November.
But dang if we didn't manage to get the first bound copies
of the edition to their destination by Black Friday.
That's why we took the photo. We were so relieved.
But we're still not getting enough sleep.
Self-employment is not for the faint of heart.
It's for insomniacs. Insomniacs who get along.
So, I've got our press's web page updated again, finally. Please tell all your pals. Especially your pals who like to spend money on nice letterpress. And even if you're broke, please go and have a look so your friends the printers don't get lonesome. Got feedback?

My next item of busines is this. I subscribe to This American Life's weekly podcast, and tonight while I was doing some bookbinding work I listened to the babysitting episode, #175 (you can listen to it for free--just search the archives). It's a great one all around, but I was moved by the second "act," a personal story told by Susan Burton about a time in 1988 when she and her little sister and a large number of other "unaccompanied minors" (or as she calls them, "divorced kids") were stranded in the Chicago O'Hare airport on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day during a terrible blizzard. It was a really insightful piece, and at the end Ira Glass announced that a film had been made based on this experience. Yeah! Sounds like one Rob and I would really enjoy! I looked up the movie title and watched two different trailers. What. A. Dog. Can I say it again? WHAT! A! DOG! After the great radio work I'd just heard I was completely bugged to see that the story had been so utterly and predictably dumbed down. I want to scream. Not because the junior high set gets to eat popcorn while wasting their brain cells on yet another insipid, ridiculously sterotypical piece of parasitic holiday schlock, but because dumbbody wasted a perfect opportunity to tell a real, good story. Phlllbbbttt!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And now, we return you to "Peace on Earth, Good Will toward Men," already in progress.

Alright, so I'm way behind in replying to comments on the blog. I'll just hit a few points here, in case those of you who were asking about Gary's tiaras and other things don't feel like going back to the original posts again to see if I ever answered.

The tiaras: Gary sells them; he doesn't wear them. At least not that I know of. Gary . . . want to back me up on this? He graciously allowed me to borrow them from his shop to help decorate for a Young Women event I helped with. It had a princess theme. Not my idea, but being the supporter of causes that I am, I supplied the tiaras. Thanks to Gary. But honest, I've never caught Gary wearing one. I know you're all disappointed. Is it any consolation to you that the first tiara I touched broke in my hands? Gary's not a princess, and I'm not either.

The spiritual experience at Beto's will have to wait for another day. Sorry, compulsive writer. But I will eventually tell.

Liz, I think you hit on a great point about when you talked about spending years first of all learning to identify the manipulators in your life, before you ever started being able to say no to them. It's funny how almost addicting the feeling of freedom can be once you get some of these things figured out. I read a good book a friend loaned to me called Controlling People and it really helped to open my eyes to the dynamics of such interactions and what's at the heart of them. Maybe you'd find it useful too. I also read a great book on sociopaths at the beginning of the year. Overall, I do better than I used to in the bully battle.

Lorien, I will certainly add "circumventing circumcision" to my gratitude lists. I am absolutely thankful I've been able to do that.

Azúcar, you and I have another connecting point in Andi, don't we?

Elizabeth (you're Liz to me always), are you writing your own lists now?

Chemical Billy, let's dance together on cocktail wieners next time you're in town.

B., Unlike you, I can't say I've outgrown much in my life. Maybe acrylic sweaters, but that's about all. I'm working on it.

Liz, Billy, Azúcar, and Julie, I like your at-home date input. Why would we ever want to leave our house again?

Last thing is this. As per the instructions my sister-in-law gave in a sacrament meeting talk a week and a half ago, I'm still rather diligently writing gratitude lists every night. Well, I missed one night, but that's because it was after 2:00am when I quit working and I was too tired to do anything but drag myself to bed, so I wrote that list in my head till the next day. I'm telling you, the regular exercise of remembering and recording things I'm thankful for makes a huge difference in my overall emotions and experience. I find myself noticing more good things, eager to remember (and share) them. The practice often has power to help lighten heavy and dark feelings and it even lifts fatigue, at least a little. Any time I've ever done this I've felt immediately rewarded and have wanted to go on doing it forever. It's amazing what sweet things can be wrung out of even the toughest kind of day. For instance:

#11
•the gorgeous, plump, perfect, mouse-glossy brown seed that fell out of the apple I cut for lunch
•The Ancestor getting the chance to go out and party with her visiting teachers (two senior citizens of the able-bodied variety) FOR FIVE HOURS
•finding a home for a lot of practically new socks I recently replaced with some that stay up
•good radio storytelling
•seeing a few more sales now that our website is updated
•hemp seed
•Miss Mary's unexpected turnaround after her near-death experience (Miss Mary is my Methuselah cat)
•getting an email from an old friend who admitted: "Whenever I spell your name I pronounce it in my head, Geeyourjeea, just so I can spell it right."
•hearing about other people's dreams
•a telephone headset that saves me from a crink in my neck
•having gratitude lists to read over again
•getting rid of a headache
•realizing it wasn't the flu after all, but just the bad gingerbread cookies