Mother bear

It may be too soon for you to tell, but I'm doing a daily photo challenge, CY365. It's fun to have a go at the prompts; I feel free to interpret them as loosely as I like. Today the prompt was FUR. I had an image in my mind, a shot of one of our microphones with the blimp--the fur cover that acts as a buffer against wind. The day took on a different shape than I'd anticipated and I never got that picture. 

I did, however, snap this quick image while bouncing and entertaining a new little friend today. I don't know how her mama would feel about naming her here so I'll just call her Peach Noggin. She herself had a kind of soft electrified fur on her head. As for me, today I was keenly aware of my furry sense of mother bearness. Peach Noggin's mama, whom I will call The Phoenix, and I share a mutual friend and we met while supporting this dear friend during a particularly rough trial. 

The Phoenix and I took to each other quickly that day. She told me about her years of suffering terrible abuses at home and in a circus of foster homes, before she finally sought and won her legal emancipation as a minor. She's tough and loving and honest, a great soul. Put out by the stories of unkind, unhealthy people, I told her that, sheesh, I'd be willing to adopt her myself and she accepted the offer with enthusiasm and good humor. Today she drove 3 or 4 hours total just to come and visit, to meet her new dad(!), and to show off Peach Noggin, who very obviously has a beautiful big soul like The Phoenix. 

Why isn't it the least bit weird to have a person who's a quarter of a century old calling me (mostly, tentatively) Mom, or unabashedly referring to us as Peach Noggin's new gramma and grampa? We haven't been married THAT long! But what a purposeful piece of sweetness. I feel guided to these relationships and I embrace this new chance to love and protect, fiercely. 

Don't let me catch you messing with my cubs, if you know what's good for you. Not these cubs nor any of  my others.

Giving Thanks, Day 10

One of my soul friends lost her sister today, unexpectedly. My heart is weeping with hers.

And yet, death is no victor. That's more than a comfort. It's an endless mercy.

I'm thankful for what I know.

To all the girls I've loved this year

Last time I posted I shared a shortlist of some things I'd like to write about—one was loving Relief Society. I've been serving in three different presidencies of this unique women's society in our ward (aka church congregation) over the past year—first as a counselor, and then as president since the first week of January. I'm already on my second set of counselors and secretaries; a big shakeup in our geographic boundaries took place in the spring and necessitated rebuilding the organization from scratch. I've loved all three groups of leaders. I'm excited that in this new configuration we're finally hitting our stride. It's a joy working with such intelligent, funny, compassionate, energetic, kind, faithful, imaginative, motivated, inspired, and no-nonsense young women. So far, I've been the sole Resident Ancient, but that doesn't bother me in the least. I've never been hung up on age differences, in either direction. These women are my sisters and friends, and it's a privilege to work together to serve the nearly 200 women (and many families) we have responsibility for.

The way we get things done looks something like this:

I bet these pioneering gals could do a pretty righteous hand jive themselves:

From the University of Utah archives—Relief Society, 1916.

Tomorrow I go out for Indian food with the first presidency I worked with last year. Last week, I had happy contacts with both the counselors who endured me as a fledgling president: one just birthed a gorgeous baby on the bathroom floor of her home (unintentionally, though she is Superwoman), far far away in my old home state, and the other called me the same day to tell me I'd "won" a home pedicure at her house. (She said it wasn't a rigged contest, but when everyone wins, isn't that rigged?) In two days I have my weekly meeting with my newest counselors and secretary, so we can do that hand jive thing that we do. 

It's hard work and takes lots of coordination and even more practice. I'm in good company. I am blessed, and lucky.

Eat and Sleep

New month, new challenges. I've signed up for a month of detoxing as well as a September-long blog-run. I made one of the best and simplest soups today and so far am feeling very enthused about my fruit and veg regimen. I'm off to a good start with that so now it's time to answer the NaNoBloMo daily prompt...

"What magical creature would you love to meet?"

The magical creatures I would most dearly love to meet are the two beautiful hummingbirds I dreamed of some years ago, the ones I am always thinking of, the ones that keep me looking to the future with hope. If you don't know what I'm talking about I'll tell you. I'll be guest posting for a friend soon and these birds are part of a bigger story that wants to be told.

For now, goodnight.

Miracles Are

Exhibit A.
You flew in the sky from there to here, to see your family, but you came to see me too, and I got to wrap my arms around you, and you are still you are still you are still my dear darling girl, my friend, my you-know-who. That's the sweetest blessing and benediction to a week that began with my getting dumped (thankfully not by Rob). That was the worst. You are the best. I love that we are still heart and soul friends and I hope I hope I hope that will always be our joy. I believe I believe I believe it will be.

Exhibit B.
You, amazing person who also flew in the sky from there to here, are exactly the person I expected. I don't brag like lots of people do that I am a good judge of character, because really, who can suss out that sort of information without a great deal of work and actual revelation? Such a declaration always embarrasses me. What I do claim is that it doesn't take long to love people, and every once in a while that feeling seems to predate the friendship itself. So when did I start knowing you, anyway? Logic says it must have been the first time I studied you in photos. But even then I felt a sense of recognition, so it must have been earlier still. Huh. Well, nice to meet you and finally get to say I like you out loud and to your face.

Exhibit C.
Thunder and rain. Comfort sounds.

Exhibit D.
After my third hamburger in less than 24 hours, I am completely ready and can hardly wait for The Great Garden Produce Purge of September. I wish I was starting my juice fast tomorrow, I am that tired of food, but I still have some prep to do. I am so ready to wash my brain and my whole system with veg and fruit. A full month of harvest season relief and bliss! It was that final devastating hamburger, the one at the ward picnic this evening, that pushed me over the edge. I don't care if I eat meat again till autumn. Or maybe ever. Ack!

Brown Paper Packages

This morning a mysterious box appeared on our porch from some of our favorite people on earth. I laughed when I discovered it. I brought it inside and set it on the dining room table. I waited all day to open it. All night too, nearly. Wasn't that nice of me not to rip right into it when mine wasn't the only name on the package? Wasn't I the epitome of self-control? I had to pretend it wasn't there, had to ignore it. Wasn't easy. I mean, these are best beloveds we're talking about. And a history of interesting packages from said beloveds.

Hey, it's a coffee machine! (Wait, we don't drink coffee!) Hang on...

It's a box of John's incredible pickles! Party time! (Could you hear me wishing for some of your okra spears? I've been craving them since October. Seriously.)

And a bee-YOO-tee-full Christmas photo of the kiddos and one heckuva lucky red cat, but I'm not sure if I should post it. What do you say, pickle pals? Mugs or no mugs? 

Now we are waiting for one very special occasion to crack open these bottles. We are waiting for, say, tomorrow. That's special enough, or will be once the beets and okra start flying.

Thanks, friends! We love you and are working on a plan which will allow us to take a tuck in the western U.S. so we can be close enough to see you once or twice in a while, at least. 

I've been hearing this song in my head since we opened the box:

Green pickles, red pickles
Send 'em to Utah with a stamp
The stamp of love (the pickle stuff)
People people
Paper paper
Paper paper
People people
People people
Pickle pickle
Pickle pickle
Paper paper
Put the pickles in the package
Send the package to the people
Let the people eat all of the pickled beets
And okra baby
Yeah

Parts that don't photograph

So we went on a vacation, and it was great. If you're someone who knows how I reacted to coastal Oregon my first time there you may have wondered if I would make good on my old dream of moving there, but I came home. I kept a journal every day as we traveled—mostly I wrote late at night, so it's going to be tough to go back and decipher that chicken-scratched fatigue-speak, but I expect some of my notes will find their way here. Tonight I'll mention a couple moments, not the stuff of scrapbooks, but for me very memorable. They took place on the first and third of three progressively sick days, which happened to coincide with a planned hike and many hours of driving from There to Home Again.

Moment #1: After climbing to the top of Multnomah Falls, I stood staring into the waters as they rushed over the rocks and down, down, down. It was there that an unusual impression came to me: the elements are my friends. Something seemed to say, Whatever comes your way in the future—if there are lonely times—you can always find support and friendship here. It seemed like a love declaration, an expression of family solidarity. From the earth. Huh.

Moment #2: On the long road between Nampa, Idaho and home, I was in lots of pain and was sadly no help at all with the driving. I flopped, a twisting turning passenger, trying to sit up and be company to Rob, trying to talk, trying to read, but quickly I had to go horizontal again, so I lowered my seat till it was nearly flat. As I lay back and breathed into the hurt, I sensed someone sitting behind me, female, very gently stroking my hair, the way you might do when you want to help someone relax or feel better, or when you're just being quiet and close. Another unexpected friend? Huh.

Okay. I'll take them where I find them when they're true.

Most of the other parts I'll share about our time in the Pacific Northwest are concrete experiences, stuff I actually took photos of (or at least could have if I'd been quick enough), the great fun we had, the wonderful visits we enjoyed with people we cherish, the lovely views we applauded, the interesting meals we ate, the beached jellyfish we poked at. So don't worry that I'm going all funny on you. Just a little funny. No more than usual.

Day One

Some joke, that post title. Day One, my eye! It's Day Six Thousand and Something, at least. Maybe Seven Thousand Plus. But I suppose it is Day One in a sense, since today's the day we signed our names and laid our money down, so far down. By tomorrow we'll have an official file—after I go in the morning to stand in line at the Social Security office and get a replacement card, then I will drop off a photocopy to LDSFS. And our initial paperwork will be complete.

Now that we've made it through our orientation/intake meeting, the sickness I've been feeling begins to melt away. Might take another day or two to feel normal, but it's better than it has been for several days. As soon as the meeting was over we went for ice cream at The Creamery on 9th and overdosed on sugar. Not too smart, but it was right there, and both of us were in the mood for some emotional eating.

The meeting was run by two social workers from the agency. We were there just one hour but covered a lot of ground. I am still having something like an out-of-body experience as we go through this process. Is this happening? Is this real? It felt real enough at home when I was scrambling for some addresses for our references at the last minute. We were undoubtedly the oldest couple there at the meeting. Ha. We might have been able to adopt a few of the young hopeful parents present. Should have thought to ask.

When it was time to hand over a check to the secretaries in a different part of the office, I said, "We're here to make a downpayment on a person," and the two mild women at the computers laughed and laughed. "We've never heard that one before!" And after we made the transaction, they smiled and said, "Congratulations, you two!" as if we were walking out with our child right then.

Twice I heard a social worker telling some couple that adoptive parents have been chosen as soon as three days after being approved. While I'm sure that's true, it's a crazy thing to have to hear when you're just starting. It's too easy for hopes to rise too high too fast. I won't be a pessimist though; you never know. But I do imagine it's very likely Rob and I will have to wait longer to be chosen than some younger couples.

The thing I keep saying to myself is God's hand will be in this, whatever the result. I have great confidence in him to help us find the right souls to receive into our family. I mean, hey, if the hand of Providence was kind enough to bring the two of us together, then why not kind some more in continuing to bring together the right people at the right time? A precedent's been set. I'm not afraid to put my faith in that kindness. (That doesn't prevent me from feeling the wait and the mystery in my stomach though.)

Chris and Amy came by this evening to show us their sweet rides: terrific new bikes. I shared the Day One report with them. It's nice to not be keeping this a secret anymore. While they were visiting, another set of dear ones (who shall remain nameless till they're ready to reveal their own secret) came by... to tell us they're pregnant with #1. After a few rounds of bear hugs and big hurrahs, I shared our own family-growing news with them, and we were all happy for each other. Nothing's certain at this point for either of our families, of course, but it's good to be on the road, traveling.

And now, I'm pooped. Time for sleeps, time to head for tomorrow.

Human Beans, Indigestion

Do this:

Go to Pandora.
Scroll down and click on "Genre Stations."
Select "Latin."
Then select "Mexican."

Now you can celebrate Cinco de Mayo with me while doing your day's work.

Sick at my stomach. Umpteenth day.
Nerves.
Adoption orientation/intake in a few hours. Step one.
Budgeting.
Paperwork.
Self-doubt.
Kneeling. Praying.
Pep talk.
Pepto-Bismol?
Aiee!
Couldn't eat a taco now if I tried.

¡Gracias al cielo de Pandora!

And gracias to our dear ones who are sending prayers and happy thoughts our way.

P.S. Thanks to you-know-who for paying more than we asked for the guitar amp. You are sneaky and crazy and we love you.

Sowing seeds, reaping media

NEIL: [who has been hoeing—picks up a large bag of seed packets] OK, I've plowed this bit, right. And now I'm going to sow it. [throws packets of seed down] This self-sufficiency thing really is amazing. We sow the seed, right. Nature grows the seed, and then, we eat the seed. And then, after that, we sow the seed, nature grows the seed, and then, we eat the seed. And then, after that again, we sow the seed, nature grows the seed...

RICK: Oh, shut up, Neil! Shut up! Shut up. It's pathetic. I mean, what about radical magazines? What about Kicker boots?! Can we grow them? No, we can't, can we?! The beauty of your plan, Neil, seems to rest on everyone being really into seeds.

NEIL: No no no, Rick. You don't understand the timeless wonder of the whole thing. We sow the seed! Nature grows the seed. We eat the seed. And then...

[Rick clobbers Neil with a shovel. Neil collapses, unmoving.]

So it has come and gone, the big project that's been burning a hole in my brain for the past season—the first-ever Utah County Community Seed Exchange. It was fun, and successful. Several local businesses were very generous with their donations, providing us with all sorts of seeds, seeds forever, packet after packet of swappable-edible-beautiful seed bounty. The folks who braved the weather (snow and slop) to take part and trade their treasures and tips were wonderful; I met so many delightful people. Some of them had questions. Some had answers. All had enthusiasm and interest. This event was sure proof that gardening builds character, because there wasn't a dud in the bunch! I feel really grateful to everyone who helped make it work—the donors, the swappers, the Extension service. We even had a few reporters on hand interviewing, photographing, videotaping—and I appreciate them very much. Old friends were reunited. New friendships were begun. Holy moly, what a treat! The day just flew. 

Now it's time to turn my attention to other projects, but half my brain is still taken up with a growing obsession (yep, pun intended). My yard and garden need a heckuva lot of work. And now I've got a revamped stash of beautiful seeds, all ready to be planted and nurtured. Wow! Exciting!

I got so caught up in the details of the exchange that I forgot to do things like pick up copies of the local paper when the pre-swap story ran and again when the post-swap story appeared. But I did read them online. Did you catch any of our newscaster's shout-outs? Here's the media lineup (and big thanks again to all who spread the word):

UPP online article

Daily Herald (pre-swap) article

Daily Herald (post-swap) article

BYU Universe Daily News at Noon video (you'll find the exchange story about halfway through)

If anyone who attended took photos and is willing to share, please contact me. My personal photographer experienced some technical difficulties that day, so I am essentially pictureless. 

Mwah! Now get planting, friends!

This one's for a girl named Thunder

I applaud you, dear. Go ahead and stomp. Let them deal with it. Some of us find you delightful. See?

Love you,
Geo