I'm back and I'm supersized!

This neglected blog of mine has been trying to coax me back into the writer's seat. I've gotten pretty bummed out by Facebook and internet haps in general, and think I need to revisit my own little corner of the web, dust off the ol' keyboard and make this place habitable again. 

I've got a backlog of subjects to explore, but the sunshine's so beautiful and I've been indoors too much lately, so a bike ride seems like the thing. What I will do is share a quick recipe before I pedal off into the morning light. 

I made this up last week as a survival technique, following an enlightening allergy test which left me—a long-time smoothie lover—dairy-less, banana-less and sugarless (among other things). This smoothie is not as sweet as you might be accustomed to, so you may wish to add some kind of sugar. I've noticed that when I'm off sugars for a while I rediscover the more subtle flavors of foods, so I actually like not sweeting everything up, but hey, no judgement. Do what ya gotta do to make your breakfast work.

Talk to you again when the sun's finished with me. 

BRIGHT STREET SUPERSIZE SMOOTHIE

1 cup frozen peaches, berries or other fruit

2 small handfuls almonds
1/4 cup coconut flour
1/2 tsp chia seeds
rice milk, or any milk you prefer
optional ingredients: vanilla, pinch of spice (cardamon is the bomb), a splash of rosewater, sweetener

Put frozen fruit, almonds, coconut flour and chia seeds into your blender. Add enough milk to bring the level of the mixture to 3 cups. Add optional items to taste. Pour smoothie into a ridiculously large glass mug from the dollar store and enjoy. Serves 1 to overflowing.

Sometimes Monday evening looks like this

Family Home Evening with Rob & Georgia

Peasant picnic on the living room floor
• Red lentil dhal soused with tender corn and fresh cilantro
• Whole wheat pitas w/spreads
• Crunchy Fuji apples
• All-u-can-drink tap water
• After this we were too full for the ginger-pumpkin pie, phoo.

Opening hymn: #96, "Dearest Children, God Is Near You"
• Piano accompaniment was sight-read and played badly by Georgia.
• Verse 1 was sung nearly twice through by Rob before he skipped on to verse 3.

Opening prayer

Intro

• "As he thinketh in his heart, so is he." (Proverbs 23:7)

• "For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." (2 Timothy 1:7)

• Thinking = being. How can we change negative, unhealthy patterns of thinking and become more discerning? 

Scripture

• Explore the scriptures for a few ideas on the subject of discernment, thinking well, good judgement, perception, etc. and share reflections. (Our quick picks: Romans 8:26-28; 3 Nephi 22:11, 12; 2 Nephi 21:1-3; Ether 4:12; Doctrine & Covenants 88:67, 68.)

Discussion

• Review the basics of reframing, cognitive distortions, negative and positive explanatory styles. 

• Choose a shared concern and brainstorm ways and times when this concern can actually be a good thing. (Our pick: money worries. We came up with almost a full page of positives available through this challenge, and could have named more.)

Fun

• Explain a new game: "Good, Bad, Interesting." To demonstrate how it works, watch Demetri Martin comedy videos on Attention and Control.

• Go for a late walk while playing "Good, Bad, Interesting." (Our plan was aborted, due to Crazy Monday Exhaustion.)

Closing hymn: #95, "Now Thank We All Our God"

• One-handed piano accompaniment played admirably by Georgia.
• Both verses were sung without mishap by Rob.

Closing prayer

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Good, Bad, Interesting"

Rules: 

1. A player introduces a topic.

2. Another player repeats that topic and presents three scenarios which fulfill the topic—one good, one bad, and one interesting.

3. That player then introduces a new topic for the next player to fulfill. 

4. Please keep it family-friendly, folks.

5. Repeat 1-4.

Want to play?

Here's a topic to start: CLIMBING THROUGH A WINDOW.

Day Two

(Celebratory Cinco de Mayo wall art done by Bec o' my heart. 

If you don't know what "Sophie" means, maybe I'll let you in on the secret sometime.)

We attended our first Adoptive Couples Education Workshop this evening. By the time the two+ hours had passed, my brain was ready to explode. But it was good. The topics for tonight included (but were not limited to) presentations and discussion about open vs. closed adoption, adoption tax credit, and gift ideas for birth mothers. Both our heads were buzzing when we left the BYU Law School tonight. I think all the cute scrapbooking stuff at the end is what finally did Rob in. (Okay, and me too.)

I didn't make it to Social Security today for my replacement card. I was feeling too raunchy today for an errand I knew could wait till tomorrow. I'm guessing it's perfectly normal to feel as if I'd been hit by a truck, under the circumstances. On our way home and after an emergency stop for a hospital cheeseburger with fries, Rob swung by Smith's and bought me an adoption-sized bottle of pot pourri-flavored chewable sidewalk chalk tablets to kill my rot gut. It's helping a little, but I may be up a while yet, waiting for some "Peace, be still" to happen.

By the way, did you know the law says you may only ask Social Security for three replacements per year, and ten total your entire life? Even though I've gone for many years with the same card, learning there was a limit sent me into a small panic. Suddenly I'm thinking of scenarios that might make it necessary for me to repeatedly order replacements and reach the dreaded quota. What then? Would I be assigned a new identity or simply exiled? 

Neurotic Question of the Day: What if the child(ren) we adopt can't stand us? I mean, we are from Planet 10. That makes us high-risk parents.

And since I think I missed asking my Neurotic Question of the Day yesterday, here's the most basic one I can think of: Will anybody choose us?

You don't have to answer those. I just need to get them out of my system, one by one. If they get too personal, I might have to go underground.

Inspiration of the Day: It's time to start praying for the protection of our kid-to-be, whether in or out of the oven already. It's also time to pray for the birth mom.

Haps Du Jour:

• Clean sheets and pillowcases 
• Loving messages from people I adore 
• Being treated to another mini-concert by our neighbor the rockstar 
• Birds of my neighborhood 
• Listening to The New Pornographers on Lala (you'd better get your fill of Lala by the end of the month, y'all) 
• Cooking my first Pad Thai 
• Inventing a new sweets recipe in honor of a new friend—I call them "Blueberry Hackworths," and they're a cross between fruit snacks and Turkish Delight. They didn't set up in time for delivery this afternoon, but might by tomorrow. They need time to breathe. 
• Looking at proofs with Mum and Justin and talking about beautiful Haitians 
• Getting the hang of the budgeting program 
• Jeans getting loose, even if it means having to make alterations 
• Becca's bright color wall—better than a lava lamp! better than Consuelo's door-to-door chicken tamales! 
• Clean sheets and pillowcases (oh yeah, those—time to sleep)

But first, this, to empathize with my ailing guts (and thanks so much for the loan of your cute baby Henry's face, YouTube user oregone)—

(Becca, I vote that you try living with that red for a while. 

I'm betting it'll win you over in no time.)

Since Yesterday

I promised you bullet points, and I mean to deliver. I'm especially grateful for—

• birthday eggs from Joh Pokeysmith: blue, green, buff
• Stephanie Nielson's "Mormon Message" 
• big fat blueberries, even in so-so muffins
• rediscovering the word "honkey," thanks to Justin
• iWork's budget template
• someone worth working for to work things out with
• figuring out a recipe for honkey lasagna to help out friends who don't like vegies or spices
• a toddler who stays inert indefinitely for tickles and backrubs
• Johnny's Mary (I heart you)
• Really? Somebody actually wants to dress like me? Well, that's a first! (Okay, here's how, just not at thrift store prices. Sorry, Darly, I just got lucky.)
• Asics
• kid-pronunciations: "crotch-eting" (crocheting) 
• my dear friend and her two little girls are still alive and safe after a man using his cell while driving hit their double-stroller on 3rd South today (thank you, thank you, thank you, Father)
• a friendly pair: one cop, one channel 2 news guy
• Cher & Evan
• being given a stolen pink tulip by a beaming child and wearing it proudly, Billie Holiday-style
• houseplants with an unconquerable will to live
• continuing to do despite being terrified (see: adoption process)
• "Ya can't steer a parked car."
• change
• eavesdropping on conversations while walking along Center Street (especially on Tuesday night, after a City Council meeting)
• a pair of sugary elephant ears from Shirley's bakery given as a love offering after patching up an argument (elephants never forget to listen sweetly?)

Shady characters

Rob and I began a project together tonight: a shadow play. It's been five whole years since the first time I was involved in a shadow theater production. What a great experience that was. It's been on my mind off and on since then to create a shadow stage here in our house—and I think I may have finally hit upon just the right place for one, in the library. Oh, big ideas over here. Rob's been hearing me talk about shadow puppets since 2004, and bless his bones for getting into it with me tonight. We chose the story, got the characters worked out, and outlined the basic scenes. It's a start.

I have to say, I really love that Rob. What a wonder he is. And such a delight to be with. He's trying to support me in my right brain/well brain cause. Offers to play Set® with me in the evenings, brings in nice paper from the shop so I can fill it up with amateur stuff. Now this. It is a great thing to focus on and share, not to mention a natural step to take for two people so steadily involved with paper. Feels good to even be considering a creative project. The nice thing about shadow theater is that it can be effective even without much polish. If all we had were our hands and a wall a light, we could tell a story.

Look what these kids did—



Makes me smile. And smiling is good.

That man o' mine, he would sail on

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.

With love,

First Mate

About a boy, a girl, a skirt, and another girl

This is the boy


who married the girl


who learned to sew


and made the skirt


which Georgia wants.


(It's a giveaway.)

Comfort food

Every night since Gigi died, Rob and I have suppered with his folks over at Tribal Headquarters, a block away. Two beloved out-of-town family members have been with us, and they have been spoiling us with great food, along with a handful of friends and neighbors who know that bringing over something delicious is one very nurturing way to care for the grieving. This has been doubly good for me, as I have been under the weather physically for the past three days; it's been nice sharing the bounty and having a break from cooking.

Tonight, we enjoyed the last of several wonderful family meals before one of our guests leaves tomorrow. This supper was the most beautiful and delicious and colorful of them all. First we et:

—Gary of the Tiaras' fresh figs stuffed with bleu cheese
—Aunt Jean’s red wine beet pasta
—her cheesy yellow squash casserole
—Gary's fruit salad made with honeydew, wild strawberries (red and white), lemon basil, mango, and lavender
—fresh garden tomatoes and cukes with basil and vinegar
—an exciting assortment of Pepperidge Farm cookies from the Parkers

AND then to finish the meal (and ourselves) off:

—Shenandoah’s chocolate orange cake with Grand Marnier ganache served with Breyer’s french vanilla ice cream plus Gary’s killer Costco chocolate Christmas truffle and dried cherry “sauce”

Then when none of us could stuff another bite in through our mouths, we stuffed more in through our eyes as we watched a tasty food movie: Mostly Martha. Do you sense a problem here?


But don't we look happy?


The master's touch.


The master's natural impulse.

Nie times three

First, this:
Please notice my sidebar and the link for donating to NieNie. If you don't know yet why it's there, please do read my previous two posts and, more importantly, check out C Jane's blog to get yourself caught up.

Second, this:

"Celebration of Hope" Balloon Launch
Saturday, 23 August 2008, time TBA (5:45/6:00 p.m. till ?)
Kiwanis Park, Provo, Utah

Please come prepared to launch your good wishes, prayers, and support in behalf of our friends. Helium balloons will be available for purchase at $1 apiece. Every dollar will go to the Stephanie and Christian Nielson rehab fund.

Come and enjoy food, entertainment, hot air balloons, and most of all, extending your love and help.

If anybody wants more details, Denae is the woman in charge, and you can email me—pogofig at gmail—for her contact info.

Third, this:
Rob and I hiked to the Y in honor of Nie, who reportedly has a habit of running all the way to the top and back down again. I can't say that I even kept a respectable walking pace the whole time, but it was a lovely perambulation just the same. We took our headlamps so we could find our way back down the mountain. I think we'll do it again and take our guitars next time.


Trailhead.


A gentle start.


Foreshadowing.


Good advice for life!


The happy hikers.


Pretty stickyheads.


Magpie nest.


Japanese girls, out of breath.


Give this wood a sniff—it smells like hard-breathing, sweaty hikers.


Friendly, half-naked, law-breaking trail enthusiast (friends also on motorized bikes not pictured).


Geneva Steel's still on the map.


Sunset.


The top of the Y.


Tired feet, big city.


Resting on the Y.


See the temple?


Due west.


Utah Lake and beyond.

*sigh*

Listing to the right

This morning I checked in on a friend's private blog and found she'd posted a list of books, reportedly circulated by the NEA, of their Top 100 Books . . . of all time? of readers' choice? of modern culture? Not sure about that part. I searched the NEA site to try and find the answer, plus #99 and #100 on the list, since my friend had inherited a truncated one from another blogger. I didn't find what I was looking for, but spotted several other similar Top 100 Books lists from other groups as I was Googling about. There's a healthy overlap among these, as might be expected. I'll share a few links with you, in case you like to peruse lists like I do.

Harvard
Radcliffe
Guardian UK
Us and Them
Jackpot!
Waterstone
An illustrated guide—page one—page two—page three—page four
Project Gutenberg
NY Times Notable Books of the Year
College Board
Banned Books
Entertainment Weekly's "The New Classics"
100 Best Children's Books

And so it goes on for 22,100,000 results.

So I had lists and 100s and books on my brain first thing today, and I was immediately primed and ready to obsess over reading—you know, get busy absorbing and check all those neglected books offa those lists. But I had a workday laid out before me that wouldn't allow for the leisure of sitting down with any book, good or bad, so I decided to strap on my iPod and let my ears do the page-turning for me while I painted. I looked over the NEA list and sort of did an eeny-meeny-miney-mo; the first title for which I could quickly find a free audio recording would be my listen du jour. Whaddya know? I came up with Dumas' The Three Musketeers, thanks to Librivox, my old haunt. So much for random selection. But okay, I thought, at least that will provide me with some light entertainment.

Trouble was, it took a while to download the TWENTY-FOUR PLUS HOURS of recorded readings (ack, what an investment!), so while I waited for the main event I thought I'd give a new podcast a try. Last week I subscribed to the New Yorker: Fiction podcast, and was eager to see what it was like. Oddly enough, I was surprised that the very first episode I listened to was A List of Books, featuring a terrific short story by Bernard Malamud called A Summer’s Reading, about a young man who, in order to make a good impression, claims he is spending his summer reading through a list of 100 books recommended by the library. Perfect! That's what I call happy synchronicity.

I took it as my sign to forge ahead with a serious reading/listening plan. Today while working I enjoyed several amazing short stories (thanks to the New Yorker), all I could handle of The Three Musketeers, several chapters from The Book of Mormon, and an episode of This American Life.

I highly recommend reading . . . and iPods . . . as work and mental health helpers.

What are you reading with your eyes or ears right now?

If I had a hammer . . . wait, I do have a hammer . . .

My favorite personal holiday has come and nearly gone for the year—just a quarter of an hour left of March Forth.

What? You don't celebrate March Forth? You don't know what I'm talking about?

Obviously we need to walk together for a moment down memory lane . . . and see what we can find on the sidewalk.

Now, wasn't that educational? Don't you want to join me in Marching Forth? Well, as the smug founder of this great day, I grant you permission to celebrate it on the 5th this year, in case you missed your chance. Can't hold it against you if you simply didn't know, poor thing. In fact, why don't you spend the rest of the week Marching Forth? Just choose something worth marching for, preferably something new, and go for it.

What did I do today? I got in touch with my inner construction worker, and I found that I kind of like her. I am going to be sore tomorrow, but after moving furniture (including a 35-ton antique piano, with Rob's generous help) so the living room floor and also now the dining room floor can be sanded and painted and refinished this week (by yours truly, Queen of the March), and after a somewhat disheartening talk with Rob about construction/budget issues, I took hammer and crowbar in hand and started the next phase of change all by myself. Whack! Smack! Pry-pry-pry-PRY, creeeeeaaak, wham! Crash! Crumble! (Angels singing.) Whirrrr! OW!

I've got the molding and floorboards off now, and all but part of one door frame. I used the shop vac repeatedly to try to keep the fallout under some kind of control, but it's gotten beyond me. Thanks to Rob's careful and clever switch-flipping at the fuse box, I did not electrocute myself. I am now completely worn out. But man, am I marching.

I hope I can move tomorrow. I refuse to let lathe and plaster be the bedriddening of me. Maybe I need to swallow a nurse-dose of ibuprofen right now, just so I'm ready.

Tomorrow, I rent a 150-pound sander and spend the day with it. Please pray it doesn't turn on me.

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.

Swallowing my recommended daily allowance of irony

Two days left before we leave for El Paso, and I'm pulling long hours, trying to finish up a mountain of work and make trip preparations. I hit the ground running this morning—shot off bleary-eyed to the track almost late for my walking date, and now I'm home again, about to put my nose again to the grindstone. Bran cereal, rice milk, banana. Rob filled my yellow sunshine kettle with water and made us both some herb tea. "What flavor do you want?" he asked. (I have an herb tea collection that could knock your Birks off. Yogi Tea is my favorite brand.) Agony. Some days little decisions like this are torturous. "I don't know! Eeny meeny miny mo?"

A little later when it was time for our morning study, Rob brought in two cups of Stress Relief—how appropriate. One of the fun things about Yogi Tea is that each tea bag comes with a fortune dangling from its string. Rob's steaming mug warmly reminded him that "Love is where compassion prevails and kindness rules." And what did my cup of Stress Relief say to me?

"Keep up."

That's supposed to relieve my stress?

Me-Me U

Devise a list of 5-10 courses you would take to fix your life. It's more fun to be in classes with friends, so include one class from the person who tagged you that you'd also like to take. Tag five.

I've been tagged! Well, this meme-turn comes at exactly the right time, smack dab in the middle of my dreaming about going back to school. So here's an unexpected opportunity to make a dreamy new start and transform my entire life with just a few easy classes! Whoopee! Watch me work.

A class which I would jump at the chance to take is Humor 101 with am'n2deep, my friendly bloggerhood tagger. I think a full semester of serious belly laughs in good company would go far toward clearing my mind and possibly tightening my muffin top so I could squeeze back into my old jeans.

Next, I'd fill my schedule with the following classes, recent additions to the Me-Me U academic catalog:

•PSYCH 413: Sugar Aversion Therapy (lab required)
•EXSC 171: Swimming for Water Chickens
•BIOL 347R: Forty and Fertile
•REL C 090: Remedial Visiting Teaching (non-credit)
•TMA 121: Breathe, Relax, Find Your Voice
•ENGL 518R: Just Get It Written, Already!
•CHEM 698R: Kissing—Master's Project
•VASTU 220R: Art Techniques for the Undiscovered
•DANCE 184: Living Room Salsa Dancing
•WS 392R: Mood Swings for Fun & Profit

Who want's to play next? How about rc cola!, andi, lois, nigel, and livs, if you can stand it? I don't think I've picked on any of you with this meme stuff before.

P.S. Any of you other lovely chums who wish to be picked on, please pick yourselves for this meme. I already picked you as friends, and as far as I'm concerned it's a standing pick. xo

Yammit!

Grateful for:

•yam fries
•4-minute eggs from happy hens, with yolks the color of yam fries
•relief from the constant, unanswerable food cravings, clear through the day till early evening
•a surprise session of energy work with my true sister Jeanne
•finally hitting on just the right inspiration for a present for Rob
•getting a start on making a gift for she-whose-name-I-drew-for Christmas
•paper that glitters like gold
•bone folders
•spray adhesive
•X-acto knives
•resisting the French bakery when I was practically next door (those almond croissants and pear tarts were crying for me)
•free patterns and ideas from the internet
•reading this article together and setting individual MORE and LESS goals
•simple plans
•Rob's miracle soup
•curried pilaf
•talking out a vexing situation together, getting one another's input, and making progress toward resolution
•working to keep others' names safe in my mouth
•re-learning that to forgive does not mean to ignore my feelings
•discovering more about the concept of unity, which in the ideal sense means bringing whole selves together, not elevating one while sacrificing another
•a massage table
•my trusty old fuzzy black Gap sweater
•a friendly drive-by from my cousins just to the north
•a hand-delivered, handmade party invitation, complete with a random Crayola sketch of a blue tuba, from a three-year-old
•the promise of sleep
•writing lists when the paragraphs won't flow
•the ecstatic news that the bowels of she-who-would-hurt-me-if-I-named-her finally started moving again
•knots
•rephrasing
•a toddler niece who pretends to have a baby in her tummy, just like mommy
•Burt's Bees lip stuff
•choosing quiet together time over a DVD
•the computer's atomic clock
•Big Foot (second only to me in my husband's heart)
•one last beautiful warm day
•lamb burgers

Still below ground, thankful anyway

•finally making enough room in the basement to dance without knocking over a stack of something dusty
•an acupressure session followed by a great talk with my sister-in-law
•hope that it's possible to completely outgrow cool cravings
•a box of found 8mm home movies from the 1950s and an old projector for watching them, all from D.I.
•salty olive oil seaweed snacks from Chao's (don't knock 'em till you've tried 'em)
•letting go of old projects I'm no longer interested in
•rediscovering a 1956 Sally Victor hat pattern in my sewing stash
•rekindling old musical loves
•burlap as tablecloth or window treatment
•the feeling that follows good exercise
•watching the Air Force ROTC kids practice their moves every morning while I walk at the track
•creeping ever closer to home renovations
•a friend who collects Stargate SG-1 and loans her dvds to me, one season at a time (she brought #7 over today)
•the anticipation of a nice hot shower later
•Zupas
•Family Home Evening

Lost and found

Did you know Pandora had a basement? True. It's here in my house. And you thought her box was exciting. Whooee.

But we've managed to keep Hope from escaping out the door with all the junk. As we go through this monumental task of sifting through stuff by the years' worth, one of us will occasionally come across a treasure, something really gladdening. Rob located an old box of love letters . . . from him to me. You can be sure I'm dangling that box like so many sweet carrots in front of my face with the promise, Just keep working and once the basement's cleared out you can sit down with your letters and devour them. Then there are my formerly misplaced Honduran clay piggy banks, pure rustic comedy. This morning I found my missing Nick Drake cd. And just a little while ago, when I had about reached my wit's end with this dust-choking, seemingly never-ending cleanup task, I turned up a Top Ten list written on the back of a bank envelope that helped my humor revive.

Should I share it?

I don't know.

You might think it means something it doesn't. Like, that I'm an ogre.

But some of you will get it, because maybe you've had a taste of what long-term caretaking can be like, or you have a good imagination, or maybe you're just a little twisted like I am in your love abilities.

Okay, I'll share it with you, but first this disclaimer: I loved and I love The Ancestor and I did everything in my power to keep her happy, alive, and as healthy and comforted as possible. I did this up close and personal for just shy of ten years and I wouldn't trade the experience, or what we all gained from it. Things grew progressively rough for her in body and mind, and sometimes I really did wonder what kept her hanging on. And just—oh just!—eeeevery weeee now and again I found myself worn to a FRIZZY. FRIED. FRAZZLE.

So, are you convinced yet that I am non-malicious?

Oh, brother. What's the matter with me? David Letterman never feels the need for disclaimers. Here goes, and I believe Gram was listening when Rob and I chuckled at this over lunch. I would even venture a guess that she could also appreciate the humor in it, now that she's in a better state, her very self again, and able to spy on us. (I talk to her sometimes when I sense she may be close by, like last week when I got a new vacuum. Right up her alley, and I knew she wouldn't miss that moment for the world.)

TOP TEN REASONS WHY GRAM'S NOT DEAD YET
(undated)

10. She's got to tell the "I wanna pizzit!" story from my childhood at least 267 more times.

9. She wants to continue developing her theory that guilt is the best motivator.

8. She is trying to prove to medical science that the human body really can survive on less than 8 ounces of water a day.

7. She is tirelessly conducting important research and gathering critical data on the dark chocolate/migraine connection, and using herself as the subject, conducting daily experiments to uncover which candy pathologically causes diarrhea.

6. Somebody's got to keep telling Georgia that she has lost her figure.

5. The Bloodless Chicken Growers Society has asked her to be the keynote speaker at their next conference. Her remarks are entitled "It's What They Feed 'Em!"

4. Freddy Fender's gotta get to heaven first so he can be there to greet her with her favorite song: "Before the Last Teardrop Falls."

3. There are still a few things left to complain about.

2. God is concerned about his job security.

1. No grits in the after-life.



P.S. Freddy was waiting when she got there. I hope he sang perty.

Music for purging

And I don't mean your stomach. I mean your closet . . . your basement . . . under your bed . . . every dusty, forgotten corner of your life that needs to be swept clean. That's what we're doing this week. All week. Rob and I. We're in our underground hellhole, sifting through the rubble of life, making space, thinking yard sale thoughts, reclaiming what is rightfully ours—peace. It's an intimidating task, this basement blitz, but it's got to be done. We need to finish our house. We need to find room for life and expansion. All week we'll be down here. Hopefully the basement monsters won't win the war and take us prisoner.

Here's a secret that you probably know already: Awful tasks need a motivating soundtrack. How lucky am I that this month David Byrne's got a great playlist on tap? You really ought to check it out, directly through iTunes (look under "Radio" and then "Eclectic") or online here. This'll keep me going for . . . days, I hope. A spoonful of sugar and all that.

Hey! Good news! I set up two friends just over a year ago, and last night they called me on their way home from a trip to Canyonlands to tell me they got engaged beneath Delicate Arch! I'm so excited! And also now I am completely convinced of my supernatural matchmaking abilities. Yes, folks, I'm hanging out my shingle. Step right up. Grand opening specials!

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.

Buggles redux

This musical makeover goes out to my mate to hopefully take some of the manic out of our Monday, and replace it with some fun. (Thanks to Wendy from Wisdom of the Moon for drawing my attention to this video.)

UPDATE: The band's name is The Wrong Trousers. Check 'em out if you want to hear more or send 'em some kudos.