School Is Out

Wha???? Suddenly, a seven year-old is going to be around all day needing activities and entertainment? Isn't there supposed to be some sort of huge relief when a break comes? Like, "No more schedules, no more routines...just lakes and sun and parks and play!" But, in case you haven't noticed, it's turned a bit nippy outside. No swimming and water parks for us. There are some corn mazes. That might last all of two times.

To cope, I am thinking about a road trip. I have some doctor appointments next week for Seth and Sam. Henry had his this morning, had four shots and had an ear infection that I had no idea about! He hasn't even been cranky. And sleep...well...he's never been that good. Oh, and this doctor and I are like bizarro twins. He had a baby four months ago and named him Henry. Said Sam was their #2 name. Then, he asked me what my girl name was and when I told him Clara, he said, "We have a Clara!" Crazy.

Anyhoo....we'll stick around for the doctor and conference and then I think we'll head north. I still need to hammer out the details, but there is no way I can stay sane and stay here at the same time. Even if seven of the 11 or 12 days are in the car...it's still better than remaining here and staring at each other, wondering what to do each day.

Here's to my sanity. Here's to an odd and misplaced vacation time. Here's to year-round school!

Insert Photo Here - SPT

This week, Lelly choose a rather simple SPT. In her words:

so this week, i am going to give you the caption of your spt. all you have to do is go out and take the picture! easy enough, right?

the caption is

i've been meaning to do this for a long time. i'm so glad i finally got around to it!

I realize that this week's SPT was only supposed to be a picture and a caption (I also realize that it was supposed to be done on Tuesday but we don't live in a perfect world). But...this picture does not tell the whole story.

First, the intended picture and said caption:

I've been meaning to do this for a long time. I'm so glad I finally got around to it!

Yes, yes...I've been having Good Mail intentions for...well...a year now? Mailing things overwhelms me. The handwriting, the envelopes, the addresses, the stamps and entering hell itself to get anything larger than a letter mailed. I did buy a scale when I was doing some ebay stuff last year, and it helped a lot, but with our current locked mailboxes in a row, I don't know how to do a post office pick up here at a "complex".

So, I braved the post office. Is there ever a time of day when it isn't jammed packed with people? The minute I walk in, the air turns socialist with the long lines, drab interior, and unfriendly workers. I wait and wait and wait, slowly moving inches per minute as the other helpless victims of inefficiency trudge forward as well. Really, it's like we're in some bizarre Pink Floyd video.

My boys are running around like nutsos and I just let them because, frankly, they deserve it. Why can't there be other options for mailing stuff? Like pediatric dentists or haircuts for kids where they provide things to entertain children during a necessary evil?

The line didn't improve behind me. In fact, one of the "windows" closed, so we were down to two workers and the line was even longer by the time I got up front.

Twenty-five minutes later we leave. It did feel good to get those packages mailed off. But it's not an experience I want to re-create anytime soon. So...for those who are on the receiving end....cherish! For those who I plan on getting to next time....patience! It may be awhile.

Trouble in Myanmar

About a month ago, I noticed some headlines here and there about protests being made in Myanmar (where my parents are serving a mission) after the military government raised the price of diesel to more than twice what is was and natural gas rose by almost five times its previous cost.

I asked my parents about it and they said that it was, indeed, a hardship for the Myanmar people who could no longer afford bus and taxi prices and that it was causing a lot of inflation. For those who don't know, the Myanmar government is led by a military junta, or committee of military leaders, who prevented the winner of a parliamentary election held over 17 years ago, named Aung Sun Suy Kyi, from taking her place as leader of the government. She was awarded the Nobel peace prize in 1991 in conjunction with her non-violent campaign to restore the democracy, but has been under house arrest for the last 10 years.

I hope the words they carry are true

There were 50,000 monks marching yesterday. They are holding pictures of Aung Sung.

During the last month, things have escalated. The country is predominantly Buddhist and as a result, there is a large presence of Buddhist Monks. In an effort to reclaim the democracy they chose to have almost twenty years ago, they have been peaceably marching past Aung Sung's home compound the last several days. Every day it has grown and as protests are meant to do, peaceably or otherwise, the government has noticed and has been forced to react. Unfortunately, their reactions have involved tear gas and guns.

Both of these pictures make me terribly sad.

I heard from my parents this morning. They, obviously, are not out joining the throngs of protesters, so are relatively safe but it doesn't sound good to me. Here is what my mom said in an email:

We are spending a lot of time watching TV news. We went to a briefing at the US embassy this morning, but there wasn't much information. Today a curfew was announced--the staff here at our hotel was put on 7 to 7 schedules, so no one would be traveling during the curfew. Usually there is staff that works until 11:30 and a "ferry" takes them to their homes.

With the announcement that no groups larger than 5 people--a ruling that has always been in place during martial law--our classes are suspended until things quiet down--and we don't know when that will be. There will be no church meetings either for awhile. The announcement of the curfew was for 60 days.

So we are safe. We'll avoid going where there are crowds and probably watch a lot of TV for the next while.

No one really knows what to expect. The monks demonstrated again today after being told not to and there were warning shots and tear gas used on a group of monks. So it's wait and see what happens.

I'm glad they are safe but wonder how this conflict will resolve itself. My sisters, Jennifer and Sarah, and I all have tickets to go visit them in two months. Our tickets were purchased months ago, and two weeks ago, I spent $350 obtaining an expedited passport renewal as Myanmar's visa requirements include having a passport with a six-month validity and mine expires in March 2008. The fee included the new passport, the travel broker's fee, Myanmar's visa fee and the consulate fee. That might have been money better spent. We also have tickets to go to Thailand, but we're all waiting to see what happens. In the meantime, I'm glad that my parents are safe and that we live in a country, that might have lots and lots of problems, but at least we have the freedom to complain about them.

Potatoes, Piano Lessons and the Post Please Me

It's been a good day. This morning was relaxing (maybe too much so, I never did take my walk). I talked on the phone with some friends, I picked Sarah up from the airport and we went and had lunch at Cafe Rio before she headed off to work. Then I got some organizing done and cleaned out our coat closet downstairs (can you believe it was already horribly in chaos after only three months of living? Games everywhere, wrapping paper shoved in, vacuum parts hidden in corners). That made me motivated to hang some more pictures on my walls. Nothing earth shattering, just more reminders that we actually live here, and it's not just some motel we're staying at for awhile. I like seeing my boys above the T.V. The frames are too small for the wall, but I'm going to have to deal for a year.

It's time for a new picture of Sam and Henry. Henry still has his long baby hair in the picture!

A weird thing about living here, is that I forget about getting the mail every day. I have to walk down a street and use a key and there are many days where it simply does not register on my "to-do" list. I remembered today and inside my small, metal box there were a couple of keys to the bigger boxes which means there were packages (it's kind of like Let's Make A Deal - except I get to keep the small stuff too. Yippee....credit card offers and job offers for radiologists in Florida!). Inside the big box There was an envelope full of homemade cards from my super-talented sister-in-law, Tara. She has been making cards with stamps for years now, and hers look completely professional. I LOVE them. Additionally, an old friend proved a kinship with me by mailing me a late birthday present! Thank you Rebecca! It's a perfect smelly candle, all warm and cozy and yummy smelling. And I totally would still have an unsent birthday present for a friend months later. I love that you sent it.

I never posted a picture of this, but as I was reading tonight, I was using my bookmark that RoRo sent me a few weeks ago. Very thoughtful and it added to my pleasant mood.

I love hand-made stuff! Why don't I like to hand make stuff????

What really contributed to my pleasant mood, though, was my sister Maureen coming by after her class at the U and playing with my boys. We had just gotten back from the park, so I felt like I had done sort of o.k. by my boys...getting them outside and such, but she took them back outside and played catch with them for over half an hour while I picked up and thought about dinner.

Afterwards, inside, she gave them their second piano lesson. Seth really takes to it. It's not like he's a prodigy or anything, and he seems to struggle with the rhythm a bit, but he loves the structure of it. When he was done, he clapped his hands together, and said, "Well, mom, I just had my second lesson. It's coming along!" Sammy followed and was really frustrated but Seth went over to reassure him that he had thought it was hard too, but he just kept trying and it turned into a really fun time! They've both practiced several times already this evening, in the spirit of mastering their tasks for next week. Maureen is a great teacher and I love that she is willing to do this for her nephews.

We had Nuke Potatoes (a la Staggering Ox for my homies) tonight for dinner, which, for us, is the equivalent of spaghetti or mac-n-cheese. Nice and easy. Microwave the potatoes, cut them up in bowls and cover them with onions, green peppers, ham, pepperoni and cheese. Then broil them until the cheese is bubbling. We top ours with a little ranch dressing and it's the perfect easy dinner.

I got in half of a great book, Their Eyes Were Watching God, and went on a soda run with Maureen before she went home. My downstairs is clean (I'm not saying anything about my upstairs) and I'm feeling content with my day.

Who knew piano lessons, potatoes and the post could have me feeling so at peace?

Book Review #21 - Those Who Save Us

I've been on a sort of "girl-power" kick lately. Not overtly, but the last few books I've finished, I can't help but think of the independent, but limited-to-express, spirit of women throughout the ages. O-lan, in The Good Earth, felt all the things we modern women feel (anger, jealousy, humiliation, yearning, pride) but wasn't allowed to change her circumstance because of the culture and time she lived in. But her womanhood was there. God of Animals had a female protaganist, Still Summer was about the courage and will of females, albeit not my favorite characters, and Christabel LaMotte broke the mold of a victorian spinster with her intelligence and will.

The order of these books have been chosen purely on chance and yet the theme of a strong woman dominated my latest read as well.

Those Who Save Us, written by Jenna Blum, is an historical fiction novel set in Germany during World War II. Anna is an eighteen year old girl who falls in love with a Jewish doctor and finds the courage to finally stand up to her domineering father, a Nazi sympathizer and altogether unkind man, and hide her lover in her own home. When her father turns him over to the Gestapo, Anna leaves and lives and works with a woman who works with the Resistance Movement. Anna, pregnant and alone, is ultimately left with her own resources and determination to survive and protect her infant daughter. She does this by becoming the mistress of an SS officer after the woman she lives with and works for is executed for being a traitor.

My favorite thing about this was the recurring weaving of the title/theme throughout the many different story lines. The young daughter and her father. The Aryan and the Jew. The resistence worker and a pregnant woman. The SS and his mistress. The mother and her daughter. The Germans and the Americans. The daughter and her step father and ultimately her own adult lover, a Jew. What is the price of survival? What are the faces of those that save us? Our parents, our friends, our lovers, our enemies? This is a complicated story about the difficult and sometimes ugly choices a woman makes to survive, and the shame she endures for her choices.

A Helpful Hymn

When upon life's billows you are tempest tossed,
When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,
Count your many blessings, name them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.

Refrain
Count your blessings, name them one by one,
Count your blessings, see what God hath done!
Count your blessings, name them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.

2.
Are you ever burdened with a load of care?
Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?
Count your many blessings, every doubt will fly,
And you will keep singing as the days go by.

Refrain

3.
When you look at others with their lands and gold,
Think that Christ has promised you His wealth untold;
Count your many blessings. Wealth can never buy
Your reward in heaven, nor your home on high.

Refrain

4.
So, amid the conflict whether great or small, (as mine definitely is)
Do not be disheartened, God is over all;
Count your many blessings, angels will attend,
Help and comfort give you to your journey's end.


Blessings:

1. I am married to an incredible man who lives to make us happy and comfortable.
2. We live in a land of plenty with freedom to attend things like wet and rainy football games.
3. We enjoy our health and bodies that allow us to run races and chase after toddlers.
4. My children are curious and independent and growing up to be fine people.
5. I have an abundance of clothes that are clean.
6. I have a large and spacious place to live in.
7. I have information and support at the click of my mouse.
8. I have access to countless books at free and public libraries.
9. I have friends and family who love me despite my less than spectacular moments.
10. I have faith in my Savior, Jesus Christ, who loves me.

Yes....I went to bed singing this hymn and needed to acknowledge some of my many good fortunes.

All Good Things Come To An End

No silver linings here. My good and optimistic mood couldn't last forever. Instead, expect some whining and woe-be-gones from me. And no themes or organized thoughts either. I'm looking to purge.

I haven't been in much of a blog mood lately. So, I've mostly stayed away and now I'm way behind with reading and writing. I think it's because I have been trying so hard to be...well...witty. Keep it light and frothy, you know? But sometimes, I feel too annoyed or tense to produce froth. Sometimes...all I've got is flat, fizzless drama.

I'm going to jump back to Wednesday. No...back to Tuesday night. I'm feeling done with trying to make the best of this year. I still don't really know anyone in my ward and by now, after three months of going to choir practice and enrichments and volleyball, I think a connection would have been made if it was ever going to be made. I suppose I'll still go, but without any expectations of finding a playdate or kid swapping friend.

I decided not to go to Volleyball on Tuesday because it has kind of turned into this flashback of my junior varsity team in high school. We were sort of a bickering, moody squad with an incompetent coach. When I mentioned a few weeks ago that I was called by the "coach" I wasn't really expecting a church volleyball team to maintain that coach/player relationship. The man who called, whose calling is sports coordinator, asked one of the women players there on the first night, if she would take over the organizing of the women's team. Now, in my opinion, if I had been asked, I would interpret that kind of assignment as I'm now the gal who makes the calls to remind people of games and such. But this nice sister, she took his meaning of delegation completely different. She's become our "super coach". We do drills and she stops play to instruct us what our positions are at any given time and has set up a 6-2 offense. Don't know what that means? Just some volleyball lingo that is confusing most people that come to play and over-doing it a bit, I think. You'd think I'd be excited about this serious play, about finding another like-minded dodgeball player, but I find her bossiness and take-charge attitude irritating. Most people there have the basic skills to play. So let us play. I don't need a coach who gets after me for not going up for a block when the other coming-out-for-a-fun-game-of-jungleball team we are playing Saturday morning finally zings one over the net for one of their three total points. There is a time and a place...

I know! I sound so snarky and judgmental! Maybe I'm being proud and annoyed because I don't like not being in charge. I don't know what my problem is but I didn't hide it very well at our game on Saturday. Jay made a comment about how I didn't even try to be nice and I'm embarrassed that I displayed my uglier, pettier side. I can't even look at her in the eye when she talks to me anymore. Anytime she talks to me, she's reminding me of something I need to do (snap your wrist, cover that tip, call for it) and it's gotten to the point where anything she says or does now bothers me.

Then, on Wednesday night, I went to the Blogger Bookgroup, which I invited myself to. I knew it was open to whoever, but when I showed up on Wednesday night, and walked through the doors of someone I'd never met, or even knew of, I felt completely overwhelmed by my own lameness and neediness. Hi! Be my friend, please! I put on my attentive eyes, my I'm-a-friendly-girl smile and tried to contribute bookish things to the actual discussion of the book (which I am not all that used to!) and mostly tried to fight off the urge to get up and go home. I knew if I left early - earlier than everyone else - that I'd be announcing my discomfort and I didn't want any of those lovely ladies present interpreting my discomfort as having to do with anything they were saying or doing. Everyone there was gracious and welcoming. I had a very nice conversation with Amie and Hannah and several other people made eye contact and smiled at me.

It was completely my problem, my head shouting that I am tired of showing up for first dates like I'm on the prowl for friends. Really....I'm not. It just seems like that from the way I've been behaving. What I am looking for are experiences for making this year....the extra growth at the end of this great medical journey that is seeming more and more like a skin tag for me (totally pointless and awkward looking) and a third brain for Jay (because the other two are already full), meaningful and worth the effort. I mean, a year is a year! I don't want to write off #32 for me! I won't get a do over! So...off to volleyball and dinner and book discussions with people who don't know me and won't really get the time to get to know me, I go!

You'd think the perfect solution to feeling out-of-sorts among relative strangers might be spending an exorbitant amount of time with one's family. You'd think so.

I thought so. Thursday, Jay had an academic day (basically a day off...but it's named such so that he can spend it studying guilt-free or not studying with shame and trepidation), so instead of volunteering, I accompanied him to the Salt Lake Temple for a live endowment session. I'd only been there one other time, so was looking forward to being in that historic and beautiful building.

It was lovely. Almost perfect. The only time I didn't act completely grown up was when the somewhat large and moustached man sitting behind me in the chapel beforehand started energetically and without tone, humming along with the organ music. Jay was sitting reverently reading the scriptures and I found my shoulders starting to shake with a shameful giggle. I stopped, but with my head bowed, my eyes darted sideways to Jay's equally bowed head and I saw his smirk. My shoulders and stomach betrayed me again and Jay tried to gain some composure by pointing out some doctrine in the scripture he was reading. It might have worked, had the humming not continued, but one set of scriptures was not enough to halt the tide over our rapidly growing out-of-control fit of hysteria. I stood up and got my own set of scriptures off a bookcase and returned to my seat. It worked. Other than that...our experience in the temple was very nice.

To repay Kelly for what turned into a five hour babysitting session (we timed our arrival poorly so that we had to sit for almost an hour before our session started - a whole hour of humming!), I offered to watch her two children for an equal length of time and feed them dinner so that she and her husband could have a nice dinner together, alone. But, I forgot that I had offered to take my sister, Sarah, to the airport so had to load all five kids into the van during late rush hour as Jay was now appropriately using his academic day and off studying at the library. This turned into a McDonald's night for us and yet another day where I didn't get my laundry done or house picked up. Some of you might not be able to go to bed with fruity pebbles on the carpet and unfolded baskets of clothes on the floor of your bedroom, but I did.

This weekend, Jay and I planned to play our alumni card and really experience BYU homecoming. We spent the morning putt-putting around. We kept Seth home from school thinking we'd leave for Provo early but ended up only leaving about a half hour before his school day would have finished anyways. We drove over to the newly discovered Chipotle after Jay researched online about it's friendliness towards the gluten intolerant. Happily, they declare all their food, minus the flour tortillas, to be gluten-free. We ate there on our way out of town and then got to Provo and discovered we really didn't know what to DO there. We had tickets to the Homecoming Spectacular later that evening, and I racked my brain for memories about what I did in my free time the five years I lived there. We decided to drive up Provo Canyon and stopped at Nunn's Park. I kept expecting, hoping for some sort of play area for my kids, but after walking a ways, and passing all of the many, many engaged couples (it is THE place to be for the young and in-love), we turned around and headed back towards the van.

At the beginning of the walk. We were all still hopeful of finding some sort of playground or open area to run.

I remember tubing down this river. It looks kind of wild now!

Two of my cute boys

I love Bridal Veil Falls

Sammy had the spirit of things and splashed around a bit.

Proof that I was there.

Jay called our niece, who is a freshman at BYU this year, and we went and picked her up for dinner. We ate at Tucanos, which is another Brazilian steakhouse patterned after Rodizio Grill that assured us all of their meat was gluten-free. Our niece, Karin, is so enthusiastic and upbeat about her experience at BYU so far. I think it's great! BYU can be a hard place to be for some, and it was entertaining to listen to her excitement about her FHE group and dorm friends.

Cousin Karin

After dinner, we drove her back to her dorm and parked at the Marriott Center for the Spectacular a full half hour before the show was scheduled to begin. As BYU runs on Mormon Standard Time, it was closer to 45 minutes early. Our kids were ready for it to be over before it began and the next two hours weren't pretty. We had strangers offering candy to help us appease Henry and both of us were left wondering what we were thinking, bring our children to that show. We expected it to be a little more...peppy. It was beautiful and well-done but very adult and concert like. We left early, me carrying out a heavy and sleeping Sam whose dead-weight legs kicked every single head in sight on my way out. Jay had already exited with Henry.

Then Jay got sick. Gluten sick. He was miserable the rest of the night and could hardly sleep for the ache in his stomach. I could hardly sleep knowing he was miserable and sitting in a chair in our dark room trying to find comfort. Henry could hardly sleep because he had a softy for a mom who would snuggle with him to try and keep him quiet. Seth could hardly sleep because he was so cold. Sammy did just fine.

The morning came quickly as Jay, Seth and Sam were all entered in the Homecoming races. Seth and Sam ran a half mile and Jay signed up for the 5K. The boy's race started at 8:15 so I dropped them and Jay off at the track while Henry and I searched for a parking spot. There is no parking in Provo. Especially around the stadium and track. I drove around for a while, but then fearing that I'd miss my little one's efforts at 800 meters, parked at the out-of-business pizza restaurant parking lot across the street from Helaman Halls.

The boys did great. Seth came in 22nd and Sam was 26th. Sammy scored a medal for being the third fastest in the boys 1-4 year old bracket. No doubt Seth wished he, himself, had earned a medal but quickly put things in perspective by telling Sammy that his bracket was less crowded so it was statistically easier for him to place in the top three. He didn't use the word "statistically" but that's what he meant. Luckily, Sammy paid him no heed and enjoyed his showcase of bronze.

Last minute instructions from dad

Seth's turning the corner and Sammy is on the far right side of the picture.

Seth working hard to pass a three year old (notice how far off the ground he is. He sort of lopes around when he runs.)

Sammy strong at the finish

On the winner's stand (and yes...the first place winner was Seth's three year-old nemesis.)

Jay left for his race and we hurried back to the van hoping it wasn't booted or towed. It wasn't and we drove over by the Maeser stairs for a pancake breakfast and to watch Jay's race and subsequent Homecoming Parade. The line for the pancakes was long, the pancakes blue and a bit undercooked, and the eating messy and exhausting. You wouldn't think eating blue pancakes would be, but in between balancing four plates with two hands, going back for more milk after cups were spilled, chasing after Henry who took off in the parking lot...I was ready for my hands to be syrup free.

Jay came along and I discovered my camera was out of batteries. I felt bad as I know he threw in some good form for the camera on his way by. We waited for him to make his way back to our parade spectator spots and set out our two camping chairs. My camping chair is appropriately green and beige, but Jay's is a bright orange and black shrine to Tony Stewart, NASCAR's bad boy.

It soon attracted the attention it was obviously meant to attract, and within minutes, I found myself in conversation with a friendly NASCAR fan, showing off his Tony Stewart cell phone. I politely alternated between talking about the controversial switch to Toyota next year and chasing after Henry who had discovered a pile of leaves in a gutter. When Jay arrived, the conversation really got going and we spent the next hour clapping for judges riding in old convertibles, a few marching bands, some re-used floats from the Days of '47 parade and competing for the odd piece of candy thrown every now and then.

But we hadn't had enough of struggling with Henry yet. Or listening to how thirsty Seth and Sam were. So, we headed back to the Days Inn, our Homecoming weekend splurge, and showered and changed into Cougar Blue for the big football game against Air Force.

I thought Henry would be so tuckered out from his late night, fragmented sleep, and parade chasing that he'd fall asleep on my lap during the game. It was not meant to be. He screamed and clawed and arched to get away from me. I was already uncomfortable because I was determined to hold my own against our row of seat encroachers. During the last game, when Jay didn't come until half-time, our fellow row dwellers sort of spread out until we were left with only three of our four reserved seats. We made do then, but we arrived early enough to sit me down on #34 and Jay on #31, with our boys comfortable and little in between us.

Soon, our row filled up and before long, I found myself thigh to thigh and arm to arm with a rather large gentleman. He and his wife had brought a couple of those folding bleacher chairs and with us on one side, and another group to their left, they couldn't fit both of their chairs side by side on the bench. He never asked me to scoot over, and I wouldn't have if he had because I was legally on #34, but it was a mental battle not to move when I had the space as our boys don't quite fill their entire spot. But I knew if I gave, then he'd just take and I had a point to make. I paid $30 for my seat as well, and if he needed more room, then he could buy one of our tickets. So I sat there...touching. Very uncomfortable and I couldn't concentrate on the game. Ultimately, Henry forced us out of there anyway with his screeching and carrying on. All of the old, grumpy men there to WATCH the game kept giving me the evil eye.

I spent the second quarter underneath the stands and finally had a run-in with a blogger. I've been waiting for it to happen and was pleasantly given the opportunity when Lindsay came over to say "hi." We had a nice chat and I went back to our seats at halftime with an asleep Henry. He stayed asleep until the start of the third quarter, when our side enthusiastically shouted "Cougars!" after the "B!" "Y!" "U!"

I didn't matter because by that time, BYU was so far ahead and it started to rain. We were definitely not good scouters, as we were reminded by the numerous rain parkas that were pulled out in almost synchrony. When we were wet enough (which was pretty wet) we left the game.

In a different mood, all of this would have been felt and reported with a happier and more fun spin. It was fun. All of it. The volleyball, bookclub, Homecoming weekend. But it was also hard and that's the part that feels real to me right now.

Lucky for you, this, too, has now come to an end.

One Thing

Several times now, I'd say around five, I've finished my morning walk at a park (yes, yes...THE benchdip park....but I've only succumbed to my inner fit demons on one other time and bench dipped away) and witnessed a group of three adults sitting on their front porch in red camping chairs having a conversation. Of the three, one is a man who has been wearing the EXACT same thing each time I've seen him: a black t-shirt, black jeans and a black beret. I admit to not being close enough to really tell, but he reminds me of the guy on Mythbusters on the Discovery Channel. He even has the goatee.

Strip off the white overshirt and you've got my guy.

Anyway, it got me wondering if he only has that one shirt, one pair of pants and one beret (although that is one too many, in my very humble and unqualified fashionista opinion), or if he has a closet full of black shirts, black pants and...oh...let's just roll with it for fun....lots and lots of little black berets. What kind of person only wears one thing? If you think about it, it'd be kind of nice to not have to worry about what goes with what, what's clean, what best shows off...you.

I do think what we wear tells a lot about us. I think you get some sense of a person's vanity rating, what their hobbies might be (it's especially helpful if some sort of logo is involved), what kind of music they like, and sometimes, even what their religion is.

But can you really judge a book...a person...by their cover? No, not really, of course. My three pairs of capri pants and four t-shirts I've rotated through the summer don't really say anything about me except that fashion and trendy clothes aren't high priorities for me. Although...that actually does say a lot about me. But there is more to my story, and everyone's...hopefully, than what I wear.

The other day in target, I watched a woman with a very young daughter push a cart around wearing the highest stiletto heels with cropped jeans. She looked great! Hair just so, nails done, perfect make-up and those oversized, Hollywood sunglasses. I immediately thought, "I could never, ever, ever pull that off. But why in the world would you wear four inch heels to shop at Target??" It looked kind of painful. Now, I don't think comfort trumps all. Jeans and sneakers has to be one of my least favorite looks, but I don't think high fashion does either. A time and a place for everything, I think. Sadly, I also admit to thinking, "What kind of hoochimamma is she?" Mean, yes...but allowable because she chose to wear the street walking shoes. I don't think we get the right to control other people's thoughts along with the right to wear what we want to.

Combine these two thoughts and I'm left with what me, a Target shopping mom, would choose to wear if I could only wear one thing every, single day. What would be my look?

Definitely not the sporty mom. I've tried it and feel very uncomfortable wearing work-out clothes all day. Remember my tracksuit disgrace?

I haven't been able to wear this since I posted this picture. This is to reinforce that decision.

And nothing too trendy...because this is my one and only outfit and I don't really want it to be outdated in a year. Can you imagine if I would have had to make this decision right out of high school and was stuck with my favorite but very dated button down silk shirt? No...I want something classic.

Not bad...not really my color but I bought it in China so it was extra special.

Gah! What was I thinking? See? This could be me everyday if I try to follow a trend. How could that shirt have ever been part of a trend? And how did it become a top choice for senior pictures?????

Here's what I'm thinking. A pair of black capris (because I'd rather have cold shins in the winter than sweaty, hot legs all summer) and a red three quarter length sleeved collared button down shirt with just a hint of spandex in it to make it comfy while I did housework. Why red? It seems to be the color that doesn't have a season. And, for a color, it's kind of neutral. And I can't think of a time when red was out of style....like my favorite color brown. The collar, I think, keeps me from looking too casual. The three quarter length sleeves are just capris on my arms. Same rationale. For shoes, a cute pair of black flats.

Boring, perhaps, but multi-functional. With my red and black momiform, I can easily shop, clean, volunteer at the school, be seen at a restaurant with other ladies that lunch, go to bookgroup, enrichment...even a symphony without seeming out of place. Of course, it's not ideal for working out...but that just shows my priorities, I guess. Maybe in a month or two, with more of these walks, I'll swap my capris for yoga pants and my button down for a sweat whicking, breathable top. For now, my momiform is suitable for walking.

I think it works. I mean...thank goodness we do have a choice and change and options. But what if?

Oh....and I'm omitting any head wear from the whole ensemble. It just seems like the right thing to do.

What would you choose as your daily uniform if you had to?

A Week of Silver Linings

I was going to title this A Week of Stupid Lucy Moments but Stupid is a bad word in our house if it's being used to describe a person and I need to follow the rules. Instead, I'm going to twist and angle my gaffes into things that are a little more cheery.

• Seth's new friend, Ethan, invited Seth to his birthday party last Saturday. Seth was super excited to go and I even remembered to RSVP (something I frequently forget to do). When I called, the voice on the other end sounded young and I know Ethan comes from a large family. Not wanting to leave a message with a child and not knowing Ethan's parents' names, I asked if I could speak to his mom or dad. The voice responded, "You mean Judith or Wade?" Already knowing what was happening, I cringed and replied, "Yes." He said, "This is Wade." Uhhh.....Uhhhh....Uhhhhhh.....this is Seth's mom (big neon lights flashing around me as I identify myself as the fool who thought a man clearly in his fifties was younger than 12) and he can come to the party! Seth had a great time and there seemed to be no discrimination towards him based on his genetic relations.
• I scratched the driver's side door of my minivan pretty bad yesterday. I was parked too close to the garage door's rock trim and by the time I noticed, either direction I moved (forward or backward), the door was going to scrape along the stucco. It looks pretty bad but maybe now I can get the hole in my rear fender fixed(from when I backed over my double jogger and one of the bars poked through) that I chose not to report to my insurance company because there is already a claim on file from me backing into a car that was illegally parked behind my driveway, at night, that I hit as I was backing out of my garage to go to volleyball. I mean...that's what insurance is for, right?

• While driving to the Dining Diva's dinner on Saturday night, I took Jay's Passat because it's just cooler than driving my minivan. I thoroughly enjoyed sitting with LaraLee and Dana out on the patio next to the creek and having Jeremy, the waiter, fetch me more Diet Cokes. Sometime on the drive to or from, a hubcap came off of Jay's left front tire. Thank goodness for Ebay! One's on the way right now! Girlfriend conversation and Ebay can pretty much fix anything:)
• This morning, I drove down to the Jordan River Parkway for my morning walk and took Sam's bike so he could get some exercise too. We had a great time! The path is scenic and well-maintained and I even managed, to my delight, to jog some. Back at the car, while folding the stroller back up, my cell phone must have fallen out. I noticed it missing, but was still hoping that I had simply misplaced it when nice gentleman called me, telling me he had found it in the parking lot. I drove over to his side of the valley and on my way passed a newly opened Chipotle! Discovering good honest people, and a delicious restaurant all in one day is sort of a low price to pay for losing my cell phone. It all could have been worse (except maybe the car...no....I'm remembering that I have insurance. It definitely could have been worse). Life's good. Life forgives.

Book Review #20 - Possession

Wow.

Wow.

What an original book! A.S. Byatt was awarded the Booker Prize of Fiction in 1990 for her ambitious love story between two fictional poets from the 19th century, R.H. Ash and Cristabel LaMotte, and two modern day literary experts on their works and life, Maud Bailey and Roland Mitchell, who uncover a series of unknown love letters between the poets and piece together clues that have been well hidden for over a century. Journal entries, poems, fables, letters, dialogue and narrative are all used by the author to progress the plot and expose the century old secret love affair. The fierce competition over discovery and possession of the recently discovered documents within the world of academia explains the urgent drive and need to uncover their past.

The result is not always easy to read. The poetry, for me, was especially difficult. Reading poetry, complicated poetry...not Dr. Seuss or Shel Silverstein, is like reading a foreign language that I only had one semester of in middle school. I can read it, pronounce it but simply don't have the patience, background knowledge or vocabulary to comprehend it. Victorian era poetry is like multiplying that difficulty ten fold. And, many times, it wasn't a few lines or stanzas to muddle my way through, but pages and pages of subtle irony and word play about relationships or observations embedded in a poem about a garden or insect.

That's the hard stuff. But the conversations about life, creation, religion, independence, gender, and language within a charged current of attraction and need had me on edge and completely absorbed in the story. The characters are impossibly real. Byatt captures a unique personality through past writing of each of her historical characters. Ash's writings are consistently and clearly his. Christabel has a completely different style in communication and poetry. Even Ash's wife, Ellen's writings (yes, he is married. It's a romance but not a happy, feel good one) are purely hers. There is no contamination from other characters or limits created from the author herself. I really thought the italicized print were reprinted documents. Not being a poet or scholar of Victorian English literature, I had no idea that Ash or LaMotte were actually fictional. I knew the story was fictional, but I assumed the author took license with two actual historical figures. They are so tangible, so smart and their voices and thoughts so believable and detailed that it wasn't until I finished the book and googled Ash and LaMotte that I discovered their lives were limited to this book. The letters, the poems, the journals...each had their own tone and style. What a feat to accomplish in one book. No wonder it won such a prestigious award!

Incredible fiction. I'll remember this book for a long time.

Book Review #19 - Still Summer

From the author of The Deep End of the Ocean, Still Summer examines what happens to the bonds of friendship between four old high school buddies when they take a summer cruise together in the Caribbean (actually, only three do, one gets stuck home taking care of her wimpy husband so one brings along her stunning, adopted 19 year-old daughter) that goes horribly awry.

I'm critical of several parts of Mitchard's story. I like the idea of examining what everyday people might do and become under extreme stress and circumstance, but I didn't enjoy these characters enough to love or hate them or even root for them. The foreshadowing she uses is too obvious so that when everything falls apart and the characters react, there are no surprises.

While the overall story is engaging and interesting, there were too many gaps in the plot, the "big reveals" were too predictable and the characters too boxed into their allowed behavior. It's too bad because this could have been a better book.

Balance

One of the many reasons I enjoy having boys is that I truly enjoy "boy"ish things. I love camping and sports and I've tolerated the whirlwind that has been NASCAR becoming the "thing-to-love" in our house.

Sammy running errands with me and "racing" the other cars.

But I grew up in a house full of girls and with parents whose tastes run a little finer. Oh, sure, my dad enjoys sports, but he's not your average cheesehead. His style is watching in his button down shirt, jeans, and slippers and occasionally yelling "That was an awful call, ref! Boo!" while eating his bowl full of apples. And yes...he actually says the word "Boo".

A more typical choice of entertainment would be reading a good book (for my dad, usually a biography or church book; for my mother an English mystery) while listening to classical music. They usually have season tickets to the community concerts and we grew up very comfortable with Opera, piano concertos, and symphonies as part of our vocabulary.

The fine arts tend to be pricey, however, and I've noticed that during these lean years of medical training, I've lapsed in my attention to this area. My sister, Maureen, called last week and with enthusiasm, invited us to attend the season premier of the Utah Symphony. They were doing the Emperor's Concerto (Beethoven's famous 5th Piano Concerto) and Holst's Planets Suite. More out of a desire to go along with the invitation, than a personal passion, I agreed and Jay sort of absent mindedly consented to go along too.

Yesterday, the day of the symphony, turned busy. I ran around trying to get my passport and visa problems worked out while Jay got new tires on his car which required me to pick him up and drop him off. We also decided to drive to BYU's campus to get the "Fully Required" t-shirts on a day that we wouldn't be fighting 60,000 other fans for a parking spot. We managed to get back in time, but I picked up our babysitter a little late, and my plan of dinner at P.F. Chang's beforehand didn't work out. We ended up at Wendy's. Not exactly what you think of when you think of a night at the symphony.

Just your typical "let's-get-dressed-up-for-a-night-at-the-symphony" restaurant. Wait...don't all restaurants have a cardboard cut-out for photo opportunities?

Our seats were on the second tier in Abravanel Hall and we could see the pianist's hands clearly as he and the symphony took turns playing the delightful themes of Beethoven. As soon as the first chords were played, I felt the familiar tug of my adolescence. I know this music. i love this music. I am comfortable in this atmosphere. As the concerto ended and the applause about to start, a single word defined the gulf between this world of violins, oboe's, tuxedos and high heels and the world of sweatshirts, logos, statistics and sports.

The word: Bravo.

I heard it many times throughout the thunderous applause that brought the soloist out for his third bow. Bravo! Bravo! (Jay even managed to shout it a time or two to show that he was fully participating.)

I thought, "No one would EVER yell Bravo at a NASCAR race or a Football game. And yet...here we are...cheering because we are pleased. Cheering because we've been entertained. And yet...."

There is a difference.

I'm happy shouting "Defense!". I'm willing to shout "Go! Go! Go!" at a restart.
But, last night reminded me that I'm a girl that needs to shout, "Bravo!" every so often.

Before the concert. Next time, I'm wearing sparkles.

An Alternative

I must admit I thoroughly enjoyed the many comments about toilet seat covers. But, my sister sent me a link today that eliminates the controversy. No more worrying about rustling sounds or germs or the throb in your quads from "hovering".

Check out this groundbreaking invention.

Did you read the "how to use?" Can I be a woman of taste if I just shake it off?

Oh great...a whole new worry for me.

But, with this post, I think I'm completely out of the running for any "tasteful blog" award.

The Comforter

I've had a stressful week. My mom got really sick. My dad sent an email explaining her situation and that they were flying to Thailand to get a better diagnosis and treatment, but, if you know my dad, you appreciate his unshakable calmness in situations like this, and that we, their poor offspring, were left wondering what was going on with no way of contacting them.

So, I've been fretting. And worried. And sad.

But also strangely O.K.

On Monday night, we had Family Home Evening, and Jay gave a lesson about the Holy Ghost and his purpose. As part of his lesson, he used the scripture found in John 14:26...

But the ^aComforter, which is the ^bHoly Ghost, whom the Father will send in my ^cname, he shall ^dteach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you.

Our children didn't know what a comforter was, so Jay pointed to our blue down comforter we keep downstairs for T.V. watching that was folded up in the corner. He explained that a blanket is a "comforter"....it wraps around us and keeps us warm and safe.

Sammy, who was sitting on his lap, looked up and said, "Oh...comfy? Yeah...but I think I'd be more comfy if I had a pillow too."

Jay and I had a great laugh at his innocent interpretation and agreed that yes, pillows make us even more "comfy".

I added my own "pillow" to my "comforter" by tracking down my mother last night. I looked online and found a phone number to the Thailand mission office. I called and the Elder I spoke to was actually one of the elders that picked my mother up at the airport and transferred her to the hospital. He gave me the number to the hospital they took her to and I called the hospital, spoke and spelled my mother's name slowly so that the sweet receptionist could understand my English and ten minutes later was talking to my mother on the phone, something I've only done twice in the last year.

Our prayers are being answered and she is receiving top notch medical treatment. I'm grateful to Heavenly Father, for listening to the prayers of six worried children who needed their mother to be o.k., and for the Comforter, for letting me know in an unspoken way...that she was.

SPT - School Memories

what is your favorite childhood memory of going back to school? were those good times, or stressful times for the younger you? were you decked out in new clothes? did your mom give your hair a trim the night before school? did they still use chalk in the classroom then? did you have to walk uphill through the snow both ways?!?

A day late. Almost two. But...this SPT was a must for me.

The awkward years. Tween. Puberty.

Middle School.

I was a pretty cool cat in sixth grade. My best friend, Lisa, and I had a firm social standing in the school and the year ended just like Bon Jovi declared, in a Blaze of Glory (although that particular song wasn't released until a few years later. We were actually belting out Livin' On A Prayer instead). I had a boyfriend that I never, ever talked to and broke up with weeks later at the County Fair and my parents gave the O.K. to start wearing make-up. Life was good.


Middle school quickly put an end to all of that.

Look how cute and innocent I was in 6th grade. Except...I was totally rebelling by using the scenic background. My mom was pretty annoyed at me for scribbling out her checkmark on the charcoal backdrop and checking the scenic one. I wanted that wheelbarrow in the picture!

I shared a room with two of my sisters. Jen had her own twin bed that was separated by a chest of drawers from the bunk beds that Sarah and I shared; I slept on the top bunk and Sarah slept on the bottom. The night before the first day of seventh grade, the first day of middle school, the first day to meet all of those other equally awkward pre-teens, I went to bed with several of the drawers on the chest of drawers pulled out. I can hear someone...my mom perhaps...maybe my brother, telling me to push those drawers in. I didn't.

During the middle of the night, I rolled off that top bunk. I hit one of the open drawers with my chin, flipped around with the force of the impact and landed on the ground. I lay there screaming and bleeding, one of my sister's didn't wake up (I can't remember which one) and my parents got me to the ER. I needed lots of stitched at my lip and on the underside of my chin and missed the first few days of school.

When I did go, I had to face the stares of all of those new, curious faces. I could barely talk, my face was so swollen. Honestly, I can't believe I went at all. I think I was excited to show off my new white boots with fringe down the back (like the popular girl wore in the movie Can't Buy Me Love. Remember?).

With that ominous beginning, it wasn't the best two years of my life. I had to make new friends as most of my elementary school friends started drinking and partying and I had to go through a massive growth spurt that left boys my age in the dust. I wanted to hide my developing body with long shirts and thick sweaters and my face decided that would be a great time to develop acne.

It was also the only time of my life when I didn't have the protection and status of my siblings to give me an edge. I suffered through those two years, got de-pants in front of my classmates only once (those stretch pants were such a fashion statement but incredibly easy to pull down), and made it safely to high school where life made sense again. There were boys tall enough now so that I didn't have to duck to go under their arms during the dance section of Gym class, I discovered brown and plum eyeliner and threw away the turquoise and navy blue, and had big brother Jon and big sis Jen to help me out socially.

This was the re-take picture. The original one, taken only a few short weeks after the bunk bed incident was ghastly. But...I had the cutest pink shirt, and Bon Jovi Silver Belt with those white fringe boots on that day. So sad...but I can't find a single picture of me in that divine outfit. Although..c'mon...my turquoise turned up collar ain't so bad! Can you tell how much more mature I was in only a single year. It was brutal!

8th Grade.

But there are a few choice memories I hold from those years. Pushing the pause button on the tape player without my social studies teacher noticing, so that it took him an extra fifteen minutes to start his lesson as he tried to figure out how to get the machine to work. My oral presentation in English about how to braid hair using a friend with really long hair. The trouble was...I don't actually braid hair that well and got the rubber band tangled in her hair and spent more time trying to get the knotted mess out than I did on my presentation. Putting on a kick-butt dance with Guns-N-Roses Welcome To The Jungle as the theme. Since I was in charge, I got to dance on the stage. I invited a few other VIP's and we thought we were pretty tough.

So...it had it's moments. Not many. But some.

I suppose middle school is a necessary evil in life.

Book Review #18 - A Short History of Tractors in Ukraine

Part of this is very funny. Part of it is very sad. Another dysfunctional family. But, I learned some things about Russia and the Ukraine.

An eighty year-old man marries a young 30 something woman from the Ukraine. She needs the marriage to stay in England, he needs someone to look after him and he likes her bosoms. His two fifty-something daughters highly object. Conflict. Broken English conversations.

I actually liked this. I remembered the workers on my old house and perhaps gained a better understanding of their take on the West and Capitalism. Through the old man's memory of Ukraine's history and agriculture, the horrors of Stalin and the corrupt communist government is told. That's some of the sad stuff.

But a plump, platinum blond 30ish Ukrainian woman calling her 80 year old meal-ticket a "meanie husband with squishy-squashy-flippy-floppy" when he won't buy her a Rolls-Royce on his pension is pretty funny.

Not really, but some of the conversations and parenthetical comments are. What I'm taking away from it? A lot of who we are is a product of the times we are raised in. In this story, know-it-all socialist younger sister learns a lot about her fur coat sporting sister who experienced starvation and Stalin's collectivization. I think we'd all be nicer to each other when we understand the circumstances that shaped us.

Book Review #17 - The Good Earth

Written by Pearl S. Buck, an American citizen who spent most of her childhood and much of her adult life in China, in 1931. It was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in 1932. I've heard much about it, mostly about a moment in the story when a woman gives birth and then goes back to work in the fields the same day, and have wanted to read it for quite some time.

I think it's always intimidating to read a classic. They are usually reserved for English classes or intellectuals and I worry that my understanding won't be up to snuff. Here goes:

The story begins on Wang Lung's wedding day. He is a peasant farmer, in China, who goes to the house of a wealthy farmer to pick up the bride his father has arranged for him to have: a plain, unattractive slave whose feet have never been bound and appear hideous to him. Large feet notwithstanding, he quickly learns to admire his hard-working and frugal wife. With their hard work and savings, Wang climbs up the economic ladder by being able to buy additional land to farm on. It's ALL about the land, in Wang's opinion. Land is forever. Land cannot be taken away.

Sure enough, what I heard about birthing and returning to work in the fields the same day was true. O-Lan, Wang's wife, is this incredibly docile, unassuming woman. She's the kind of woman that made me feel like a slacker for sitting around reading a book. Or taking a few weeks off of going to church after having a baby. I longed for more O-Lan, but that wasn't what this book was about. There were moments when I saw her pain, when I understood that in this culture, no one really loved O-Lan, despite her humility and service. Not her parents, who probably considered having a girl a burden and sold her as a slave when she was very young, not her owners, not her husband, and eventually, not even her own children. Wang appreciated her but all his appreciation did was allow him to feel ashamed when he brought a concubine to the home.

The beauty of the book, to me, was the irony that Buck skillfully weaves throughout the story. The rise and fall of the House of Hwang, where O-Lan was a slave, parallels Wang Lung's own story. It's the whole Nephite Pride Cycle! In fact, Buck's style of writing felt a bit like reading the scriptures. It was written dispassionately, even when writing about the character's passion. I also appreciated the Epic nature of the story. There is something to be learned from the successes and the tragedies.

As much as I liked it, and I liked it very much, I wasn't completely smitten. I read some of the original reviews which led to the Pulitzer Award, and most of them focus on the groundbreaking honest look into China. Apparently, up until that time, China, or the Orient, was poorly understood and most of the stories about it were romanticized and mystifying. Buck wrote about the China she saw, the day to day work and customs, the glory of sons to their families and the disregard to their daughters. While many parts of the story transcends time, parts of it felt obsolete and simple. Kind of like the first of anything. An original...yes. Groundbreaking...definitely. But then other books follow suit and readers have a choice of style and characters. I've read several books before that tell the chilling tale of peasant life in China. Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress and Snow Flower and the Secret Fan each detail the beauty, simplicity, horror and hardship of pre and post revolutionary China. Perhaps that exposure kept me from truly loving this story. Or maybe my expectations were too high.

No doubt, some of you who did read this in a class and had the opportunity to dissect it with an instructor, see what I am missing. If so...please share.

Until being convinced otherwise, my opinion is that this is a great book. Definitely a classic. But not one of my favorites.

8 Random Things

I love how simple lists make writing a post. It's called 8 Random Things About Me and these are going to be random!!

1. I thought, until only a few years ago, that Les Schwab was french for "The Tires". I never looked it up, but somehow, I decided it was pronounced "Lay" Schwab - because Les sounds like Lay in french. Jay and my sister Sarah called me on it, but I still didn't believe them. Until I saw the old cowboy with his hat in a commercial saying, "I'm "Less" Schwab. Come on down and check our low, low prices on tires."



2. I only had to shave my armpits about once a month until college. My high school volleyball team dubbed me "perfect armpit girl". I guess I was a late bloomer. Except for the seven inches I grew in seventh grade.

3. I frequently fluctuate between wanting to live a modest life in a modest house and a modest car, to wanting an enormous house with radiant floor heating and an ostentatious Beamer parked out front. I really, really wish I just didn't want it, didn't have any materialistic leanings at all (like my dad), instead of having to choose to have it or not.

4. I've started to get little black hairs that grow on my neck that I have to pluck out. During this time of my life, when I have so much less time and energy to worry about my looks, why, oh, why is my body making it so difficult for me?

5. A drought is the natural disaster that stresses me the most. Perhaps it's never having lived in a place that worries about hurricanes, tornadoes, floods or even earthquakes, or being raised by parents who both grew up as farmers and ranchers who depended on rain and snow, but news stories about low water levels in reservoirs, or low snow packs in the mountains and record amounts of days without rain snow is a concern for me.

6. I wish more people lived by the Golden Rule.

7. Sometimes, if I'm with friends and we all use a public restroom at the same time, I'll use a toilet seat cover just because it seems like something a woman of taste should do and if they hear that rustling of paper...they'll be convinced I'm a woman of taste (did you ever expect to see "woman of taste" and "rustling of toilet seat cover" in the same sentence?). But really, I find the whole punching out the center and balancing and aligning it on the toilet seat unnecessary and mildly annoying. I rarely use them.

8. As a rule, I don't enjoy restaurants where you have to hold a tray. I make an exception for Cafe Rio because and only because, their salads are so...darn...good. And fast food is not included in my interpretation of restaurant.


I'm not sure any of you needed or wanted to know any of those things, but after 100, then six more, then the threes and fives....I'm kind of exposed. This is what's left:)


I tag:

Babs
Libby
Amber
Shelah
KariAnn

Thanks for tagging me Amy M.! I'm still hoping that there isn't another Lucy out there you actually meant. How embarrassing to jump up on stage, take hold of the microphone and start singing while the real Lucy waits patiently for me off the side of the stage to figure it out and give up the mike.

Book Review #16 - The God of Animals

Alice Winston is a 12 year-old girl whose dysfunctional and isolated family life has left her unable to cope when a classmate of her dies. Her father, Joe Winston, a horseman with too many of his own problems to worry about his daughter's, leaves her emotionally starved and physically overburdened. He doesn't notice as her clothes become too small and too tight and expects her to muck the horse stalls, take care of the horses and help out with her clinically depressed mother who hasn't left her bedroom in over a decade.

In this burdensome environment, her sixteen year-old sister elopes with a rodeo cowboy creating an even wider gulf between Alice and other girls her age. Sheila, a girl her age but from the other side of town, starts coming out for riding and showmanship lessons. The family financially depends on this girl and her money, forcing Alice to befriend Sheila although she has few of the necessary social skills to do so.

As the family business struggles financially, her father submits to what he calls his last resort and allows other people to board their pedigree horses in their barn. A group of rich women, dubbed the Catfish by Alice, start coming too frequently to socialize, ride their horse and drink out of paper cups and one of the women begins a dangerous flirtation with Alice's own emotionally starved father.

There are so many things I enjoyed about this book. The writing is beautiful and the author, Aryn Kyle, does an amazing job weaving in the landscape and weather to amplify the mood and the world of horse breeding and shows as the catalyst for Alice's coming of age. This would have been a much different story if told by her father, or her mother or even her older sister. But it was told through Alice and we understand her low self-worth, her confusion and desire to please, her ultimate need to know that she was being taken care of. I wanted to reach through the book and hug her and reassure her that she was doing a good job and that I noticed. All she wanted was to be noticed and accepted for who she was and what she was good at.

A haunting family story with a beautiful but harsh landscape, Alice grows up understanding that dreams don't always come true, the good guy doesn't always finish first and that nature can be cruel.

PG-13

I am not a fan of the PG-13 rating. I think if you tallied all of the cheesy, raunchy, sleazy and devious movies ever made and sorted them out by rating, the PG-13 pile would much higher than you might guess. I can understand the reasoning behind it...that the particularly rated movie is not intended for young children regardless of the parent's ability to guide, but I find a lot of the movies in this category like wolves in sheep clothing. Kind of like the old trick of pricing something a $_.99. You see the "PG" first and sometimes you don't think about the 13. Especially when you get into the thirty something years. Thirteen seems so young. It can't be that bad.

Preaching wasn't really my purpose when I started typing. My original purpose was simply to warn anyone reading this post that it was PG-13, then I started thinking about PG-13 and all of the reasons I didn't like it and all of the movies I've seen and wished I hadn't with that rating and I became distracted. A while back, many blogs posted their blog rating. I copied, but not publicly and wouldn't you know it, my blog got a PG-13 rating! It highlighted words like "missionary" and "murder" found in my text. Murder must be from a book review and who knew missionary made me such a rebel? Vroom!

So, back to my PG-13 post...

Thursday is the day my sister-in-law, Kelly, and I swap kiddos. This afternoon was so beautiful, so...almost autumnlike that after we picked Seth up after school (on time!!!), I followed the signs to a never-been-played-at-by-my-kids park. It was small, secluded and empty! With five young people to keep track of, I was grateful for its unpopularity.

Dirt never fails to keep young boys entertained.

My charge

Henry sporting his mother's high school colors!
Stand and cheer for the gold and brown....

Everyone was having a grand time running around, climbing, digging with their sticks when I mozied over to the swings. There weren't any baby swings with the swaddled seats, so I placed Henry on my lap and we swung in tandem. That's when I saw THEM.

I heard the cars stop and park. As nobody came to the the playground, I figured the cars belonged to owners or guests of the homes in the cul-de-sac. I was wrong. It was a rend-ez-vous!

There, not far from the innocent eyes of my precious littles, were a couple of middle aged somebodies engaging in very PG-13 behavior. Once my attention was caught, I found myself constantly rubbernecking to see if some sort of emergency evacuation of the park was necessary.

The clothes stayed on, but the positions were compromising, to say the least. This was not some lovers picnic. In fact, if I put on my little private detective hat, my guess is that the meeting was clandestine, and that my discovery of an unpopular, secluded park might have been a spoiler for them. And with my private detective hat on, I pulled out my handy, dandy digital camera for the photo op.

Matt innocently digs in the sand, while the tasteless couple carries on in the background.

My private-eye zoom lens!

They left before we did. Once they sat up, rolled up their blanket and walked back to the place they parked their car, I saw that he wore a ring, and she did not. They got in their separate cars and drove off.

Mind you, I had recently finished reading The Good Earth, and wasn't feeling very optimistic about the male species in general, but watching them left a very bad taste in my mouth. Of course, they could have been a busy couple in a house full of 10 kids, and this was their moment to themselves to reconnect as a couple....and her ring doesn't fit her anymore because she's lost so much weight and hasn't had it resized yet.....

Or not.

There. Now my PG-13 rating is justified.