Book Review #30 - Skeletons at the Feast

I know it seems baffling to be writing book reviews on Christmas Eve. But, the presents are wrapped, the house is relatively clean, the laundry is spinning, the boys are playing and I need to get these books out of my head so that I can relax. I do enjoy writing them, but when I get backlogged, I can feel a little overwhelmed by all the characters and plots in my head.

Skeletons at the Feast took me to a dark place - the Holocaust. If there weren't so many great books written about this black mark of the world's history, I would ban myself from reading any books on this topic in the future. I hate that such a horrific occurrence is repeatedly used as bait for novelists.

Bohjalian is a good author, though, and does a good job developing his characters, giving them interesting conflict, all the while threading bits of real history into his story that he obtained through diligent research. I'll give him credit for all of the above.

However, part of me felt like Bohjalian decided this was going to be his one and only time to write about the Holocaust so he was going to put it all in one book. The details he gives about the atrocities committed by the German soldiers, the Russian soldiers and the desperate and destroyed left in their wake is so graphic, so skin-crawling brutal that it borders on gratuitous. Including as much as he does has the opposite effect from the one I imagine the author intended and his book almost becomes a WWII caricature. I'm not saying the things he describes didn't happen. No, he seems to have read enough journals and letters to give each horror story credibility, but to include them all -- in the same book, witnessed by the same characters in the space of about a year -- it made these disturbing acts of cruelty seem made-up. I feel it was a disservice to take someone's real life nightmare and diminish it by setting it alongside so many other nightmares so that they all seem somehow....less. Because that is what happens. The first description was like a punch in the stomach, the next a slap on the face and all the rest...swats on an already numb backside.

As much as I wanted to, I didn't dislike this book. Bojahlian creates a complicated story about the fallout from ignorance, naivety, and privilegefound among the rural aristocrats of Poland and Germany near the end of the war. Not forced to witness the daily disappearance of Jews and other minorities, the Emmerilich family was living in relative peace and prosperity, along with their polite relationships with the POWs helping out on their beet farm, until the ugly consequnces of their fuhrer's decisions found their way to the family's country manor, Kamenheim. Anna, The Emmerlich's teenage daughter, falls in love with Callum, a scottish POW, and convinces her parents to allow him to remain with their family instead of sending him back to the prison camps. As Callum and the Emmerlichs flee the approaching Russian troops, the blinders of this family's eyes are removed and they finally see first hand the destruction throughout their land. Along their west-bound journey, they meet and become dependent upon Uri, a young, vigilante Jew posing as a German soldier in order to survive. There is an additional, competely separate story involving a french, Jewish girl named Cecile who is trying to keep herself and her friend, Jeanne, alive while prisoners in a concentration camp that does eventually intersect with Uri and the Emmerlichs but not soon enough to be satisfying

There are plenty of lessons to learn within the pages of this book, but I can't say that it is one I recommend. The author tries to write too many stories at once-- a romance, a look at Nazi sympathizers, stereotypes the Polish people had of Russians, allied prisoners of war, a coming of age story, the gore and sadism of war, Jewish resistance, Jewish survival and an unnecessary epilogue, to make this novel truly great.

Book Review #29 - The Painted Veil

Kitty is a beautiful young woman, raised by her shallow and socially aggressive mother to be equally shallow and ambitious. In spite of her beauty, Kitty finds herself unmarried at the age of 25 and losing her place as her mother's beloved when her much younger and less attractive sister, Doris, becomes engaged to a baron. Embarrassed by her sister's superior match, desperate to leave the disappointed glare of her mother and panicked that another decent offer won't come her way, she says "yes" to Walter Fane, a bacteriologist working in Hong Kong, whom she barely knows.

They marry and she accompanies him to Hong Kong where she finds herself bored, ambivalent and unmoved by her husband's love for her. Quickly, she falls in love and begins an affair with Charles Townsend, a handsome, suave politician who, like her, views life as a shallow thing to be lived as selfishly as possible. When Walter discovers their relationship, he coldly gives her an ultimatum: accompany him to inland China where there is a cholera outbreak or he will cause a scandal and divorce her (this was written in 1925 when an affair such as this would, indeed, be an actual scandal) unless Townsend will agree to divorce his own wife and marry her within the week.

Predictably, to all except Kitty, Townsend's true colors appear and he disappoints her. Disillusioned and actually afraid of her husband who she believes only wants to kill her, she travels inland and her deeper, more understanding, more aware life begins.

The title comes from the English poet, Shelly's, sonnet, "Lift Not The Painted Veil Which Those Who Live/Call Life." I love the multiple layers found throughout the book that stem from its title. There are several descriptions of reflections on water, camouflaging the death and disease of the village condemned by cholera with scenes of light and beauty. As Kitty is a front-row witness to death, she observes the veil that lifts when life leaves a body several times. Most poetically is her own veil, lifted to experience a life so different from the superficial one she had expected.

I hate that I wanted the Hollywood ending (apparently...there actually IS a Hollywood ending. The book was made into a movie and I hear it gave the story the satisfying ending I didn't even know I wanted until it didn't happen). Seriously, why do I feel disappointed? Maugham writes a fantastic portrayal of a shallow woman developing into something more. I suppose I wanted her progress to have an effect beyond her own awareness. I wanted it to fix her marriage, alter her relationship with her sister and parents, and finish the relationship with her adulterous lover for the right reasons. Eventually, Maugham allows those things to happen but not at a pace which allows Kitty to avoid loss, pain and humility. Once again...why do I feel disappointed? Those consequences are truths and I appreciate and respect truth. Maugham unflinchingly writes Kitty's growth as a woman as it would have realistically happened.

But, it's a gritty reality.

Book Review #28 - A Christmas Dress for Ellen

I needed a nice story to read at our Relief Society Christmas party and my sister in Canada immediately suggested this one. Having never heard of it before, I read its summary on Amazon.com and, from the convenience of my computer, ordered it.

It did not disappoint. Originally told by President Thomas S. Monson during the 1997 First Presidency Christmas Devotional, A Christmas Dress for Ellen retells of the Jeppson family's frozen and desperate 1927 Christmas. Living in Hillspring, Alberta Canada, the family had suffered two straight years of failed crops and was living in poverty. Without the means to provide any kind of Christmas for her five children, Mary Jeppson wrote to her sisters in Idaho and modestly asked for help. The subsequent response to her humble request is filled with love, service and sacrifice - the very gifts our Savior offers us.

I'll enjoy this addition to our Christmas library for a long time.

Book Review #27 - Lone Survivor: The Eyewitness Account of Operation Redwing and the Lost Heroes of SEAL Team 10

I'm not sure I can separate this book review from my politics. Although, after reading some of the other reviews of this book, I'm not sure anyone reviewing this book has yet, so I'll just add my own bias to the pile.

Marcus Luttrell, a Navy SEAL, writes a first person narrative of his four member covert SEAL team's failed Operation Redwing mission: to take out a high ranking leader of al Qaeda, protected by members of the Taliban, in the remote and forsaken mountains of Afghanistan. The mission, attempted during June of 2005 and risky to begin with if everything went perfectly, turned into a bloody retreat as their location was apparently leaked to the Taliban by some unarmed goat herders Luttrell and his team mistakenly, or rightfully...depending on your ideology, set free after the goat herders stumbled onto their hidden location.

Luttrell and his SEAL teammates faced 4 against 100+ odds against a heavily armed, better positioned Taliban army and the results are disastrous for the SEALs. Within 24 hours, Luttrell turns out to be the sole survivor and his injuries and position give him little chance for rescue. Days later, dying of thirst, his legs destroyed from a grenade explosion and from seven miles of crawling, he is found and protected by an independent and stalwart Pashtun tribe who refuse to hand over Luttrell into the hands of the Taliban. With their protection, Luttrell is eventually able to send out an emergency beacon picked up by the US military and is later rescued by an elite team of Army Rangers.

Brave and physically fit as Luttrell is, elite as the Navy SEALs are, courageous and patriotic and confident as his team was...Luttrell does not give this story, or his team, the justice they deserves because he fills his book with so much personal bias, so much political and military rhetoric, and much too much tangent-flowing-pat-on-the-back-extraneous-information that this story of survival and valor is weakened to the point of failure. He failed to share his story in a neutral, matter-of fact way that could appeal to the masses, instead choosing to propagandize it to those who already agree with his personal political philosophies. The entire book reads like a Toby Keith song.

Recently, I was watching What Not To Wear on The Learning Channel and after a woman's boss told the video camera that she didn't feel like she could send her employee to certain meetings because of how she dressed, Stacy and Clinton told their victim that her clothing should never have a negative impact on the workplace. Neutral or positive....yes...but if her choice of clothing was hurting her opportunities for progress and promotion, she needed to change how she dressed for work.

Both for its perspective and understanding about the sacrifice and heroism those asked to defend our country display - this is an important story to tell. Unfortunately, I feel like Luttrell's choice of voice is like this woman's personal choice in clothes: it may be exactly what he thinks but how he tells it is not very helpful and perhaps even harmful. The writing was poor to distraction. According to the cover, there was a co-author involved but the writing felt so juvenile - it read like a high school, or worse, junior high school essay. First hand accounts of history are, of course, invaluable, but a grown-up story should be given the benefit of grown-up writing.

Beyond that, I lost track of how many times Luttrell veered off track his story of survival. Whether it was the detailed account of exactly how extremely physically fit Navy SEALs are through rigorous training is (his Bud/SEAL training fills the first 2/3 of the book), how liberal, unfair and anti-military the mainstream media is, personal stories of his family members and childhood, or the unnecessary repetition of military procedures and his personal racism, (I found his stereotypes of the Arab people disconcerting, particularly after Afghan men risked their lives, and the lives of their entire tribe, to protect and help him) this book ended up having too many objectives than the one the title claimed: the story of Operation Redwing and the fate of the SEALs who gave their lives to the cause.

Not ever having served in the military, nor knowing many people who have, I can only imagine the indoctrination that must occur to train and prepare soldiers for battle. Luttrell clearly believes certain things to be so but that does not necessarily make them so. The laws protecting human rights given in the Geneva Convention, the criminalization of torture, humiliation and harassment of an enemy, rules of engagement - all, according to Luttrell, written by a bunch of liberals in suits - might seem misplaced and unnecessary in Luttrell's mind, who has a Machiavellian belief that in the military realm, the desired end should justify any means. However, history has shown that without checks of power, mankind is notorious for disregarding human life. I'm not saying those rules and regulations make his job easy or fair, because, just as he complains, too many of our enemies do not abide by these same rules. He contends that unless the members of the military are given free-rein to do "whatever needs to be done to win" we will lose not only this war, but any war.

Maybe he's right. I don't know. Maybe he should have killed those goat herders who he believed betrayed their location. Maybe the coalition guards in Abu Ghraib had every right to humiliate and treat their prisoners like animals and slaves for the sake of their own morale. Maybe the only real way to be patriotic is to believe your country is stronger and tougher than any other. But I hope not.

I hope there is room for a little humanity in the world. I hope, like that Pashtun tribe in Afghanistan, there is room to do the right thing regardless of the guns pointed at you. I hope there are people everywhere who do the right thing because it is right and not because there is a law against doing something else that is wrong. I did not get the sense from Luttrell that in his world of war games and war, he believes many human beings are capable of doing the right thing. Except, of course, Americans and only if those Americans happen to be from Texas, think Bush is the greatest commander-in-chief ever or members or relatives of members in the military. Otherwise, those actions are a surprise and perhaps even an anomaly.

Luttrell may be brave, tough and patriotic. He may be highly trained, confident and a finely tuned warrior.

But....I hope, for my own sons' future, that he is wrong.

The Dancing Doll

During the summer of 1990, before my brother left for college and eventually his two-year mission and before any of us girls got married, my parents took our family on a sort of "last-hurrah" three-week, National Lampoon style vacation that started and ended in Chicago but included a two vehicle caravan through Ohio, Washington D.C. and New York state. During our stint in New York City, my not-small family of eight stayed in the much more affordable borough of Queens and navigated through the Subway system to get into Manhattan each day. There, I had the magical experience of seeing my first ever live performance of Les Miserables, my absolute most favorite musical, on Broadway.

To fully appreciate the emotions involved in the following story, you need to understand that I was not quite the suave and world-savvy woman that I am now. ;-) For example, earlier in the day, my brother, Jon, and I were walking along the streets of Manhattan, killing time until we met up with everyone else at the theater when we saw a person producing one of those "where's the ball?" type games atop a cardboard box. Jon and I added our two bodies to the already formed throng, and stood to watch the shells move rapidly around each other...the hidden ball lost to all but the the sharpest eye.

When the man stopped moving the shells, Jon called out confidently that the ball was under the middle shell. The street hustler told him if he were sure, he needed to put his money where his mouth was and, confident as Jon was, my brother took out a $50 bill and handed it to the man. At the point the bill touched the man's fingers, the cardboard box was overturned and the man and money quickly gone. We stood there, stunned, until two blond-haired women walked over and commiserated about a similar thing happening to them earlier. In their thick Scandinavian accent, they asked us where we were from, and we sheepishly replied, "Montana."

Jon told me not to tell anyone what happened (although I'm sure that statue of limitations has expired by now. Right?) and we entered the theater frustrated, embarrassed and a little sick to our stomachs. My dad had managed to find eight tickets to the show but the seats weren't all together and so the members of my family were scattered throughout the theater in pairs. Jen and I were seated next to each other, at the end of the next to last row in the upper balcony, when a confident and stylish woman came up to me and said, "I love your outfit. Where did you get it?"

Shell-shocked, young, intimidated, distracted...and out of state, I inanely uttered, "Not here."

Well....duh. She sort of lowered her brows, in that confused way of not understanding if that was my real and only answer, and eventually made her way back to her seat after I avoided any further comment.

Jen immediately asked me why I didn't simply tell here where I got my outfit. I don't know why I didn't. I was incapable of glibly replying, "Oh...you mean this cream cardigan sweater, multi-colored button up and coordinating plumish-mauve stretch pants? I got this ensemble at Maurices in my local mall. Do you have a Maurices in New York City?" I didn't not say that, I said, "Not here." and as a result, I spent the rest of the show, and far too many moments to count during the last eighteen years feeling the sting of embarrassment that followed my now infamously lame answer.

THE outfit only I completely the look with a cream cardigan sweater. Yes, it would have been the same color as my coordinating purse.

For anyone that has managed to live their entire lives without ever feeling stupid, you must certainly be confused how such a quick, seemingly painless conversation could have such a lasting impact on me. It doesn't make sense that the above scene should be the first thing to pop into my head when asked, "What's your most embarrassing moment?" In fact, I don't even think it is anymore. Certainly, the hot August night when a SWAT team stormed into our poorly insulated apartment bedroom and ordered Jay and me out of our bed when we were wearing nothing but our underwear outranks telling someone, "Not here." But the "not here" story always pops up in my mind first because, unlike the extremely unfortunate but oddly hilarious misunderstanding involving 8-10 black-clothed police men, I still get that thud-in-my-stomach feeling when I remember how dumb and uncouth I felt in that metropolitan theater, so many years ago.

Unfortunately, or not, a magic trick during a holiday party I attended last night might now replace my "not here" reply as the briefest-moment-in-history-I-wish-I-could-take-back.

My sister-in-law, Patty, co-hosted a party last night and was gracious enough to include Jay and me on her list of invites. As most everyone there were members of her, and not my, ward...the guests included mostly seen-before-but-not-comfortably-familiar faces. The co-host, an absolute darling of a woman whose home the party was at, tapped me on the shoulder during dinner and said she needed to ask me something. I followed her into the kitchen where she asked me if I'd be willing to do something not-at-all embarrassing during the party. A sort of magic trick. Not wanting to seem a scrooge and having no reason other than really not wanting to....I obliged.

I, along with another woman, followed her into her bedroom where she proceeded to confide in the pair of us the secret magic of the dancing doll - a tradition she has enjoyed with her family since she was a girl. Like most magic tricks, I imagine, the magic was simple enough....smoke and mirrors, if you will, and I spent a few minutes practicing my technique in her room. Her husband came in the room and declared us both lucky as he spent the first ten years of their marriage in the dark about the secret of the trick. Now justifiably nervous....I practiced some more.

With complete nonchalance, the two hostesses lead their guests in singing Christmas carols and I knew the charade was about to begin. Sure enough, the hostess brought out this magic doll, and while everyone was singing, she let go of the doll and the doll dropped to the ground. She exclaimed that we must not being singing well enough if we couldn't get the doll to dance and invited my co-conspirator up first to see if she could get the children to sing well enough to make that doll dance.

Just like magic....she did.

The children were fascinated by this trick - especially the very young. They had just seen a doll, dancing in mid air because they sang so beautifully.

Of course, a few of the children wanted to try. They came to the front of the room and held the doll and when they let go, the doll dropped. When she called Sammy up to try to make the doll dance, I knew my turn was quickly approaching.

Sure enough, when Sammy let go, the doll dropped. She asked Sam if he wanted his mom to come up and try and he looked my way and nodded. I stood up and animatedly told the group that I was sure they were going to sing so well that the doll would dance for me and, with my heart pounding, I took my place.

The piano started playing, "Deck the Halls," a carol familiar enough but not so familiar that my brain can sing it effortlessly. Trying to remember all the words, trying to joke with the boys and girls to sing louder....better....more....while simultaneously trying to perform this magic trick was beyond my abilities. I let go of the doll and, worse than the doll just dropping to the floor (which would have been no big deal) the doll danced upside down!

I didn't realize it at first and sat there, singing along....relieved that now all I had to do was sort of bounce up and down, when I noticed a few of the children pointing to the doll. Then I noticed her - legs up, head down, arms all askew.

I think I said something about the doll being dizzy, or maybe I am only wishing I said something that would have made some sense to that confusing scene, but I know I grabbed the doll by her legs and got her right side up.

My turn not yet over, the group started into the second verse of Deck the Halls. By this time, I was only capable of the "Fa la la la la"s while my sweaty hands were desperately trying to pull off this magic trick. Once again, as soon as I let go, the doll flipped 180 degrees into a headstand.

The minutes that followed are a blur. The doll became stuck and I knew if I tried to get the doll un-stuck, the trick would be revealed. Knowing that none of her five children knew the secret either, I desperately wished I could disappear but mostly I wished I could get the doll out of its current mess without the children a foot away seeing me do it.

The hostess came over to help. I whispered, "She's stuck. I'm so sorry." but, amazingly, she and no one else seemed all that frazzled by it. It's as if it wasn't the disaster I knew it to be. Didn't they understand the horror of the situation? How could anyone in the room still be smiling? I was single-handily ruining Christmas for an entire generation.

The magic trick ended. The doll was put back in her box. No one said anything to me. The party went on like my inability to perform a simple trick was....no big deal. In fact, I asked someone about it and she said, "It was no big deal."

Post-party, however, I'm sitting through Les Mis all over again, replaying my lame, "not here" over and over. Only this time I'm stupidly bouncing up and down, dancing with an upside down doll. The party's memory -- fun, festive and almost totally delightful -- has been tainted by this moment of personal shame. I can't explain why except that I'm obviously hyper sensitive to humiliation.

Had the hostess known me better, she would have known that Lucy and magic tricks do not go together. Had she known me better, she would have chosen someone...anyone...else. Now she does, and I have a new reason to cringe.

Book Review #26 - Recovering Charles

If ever a book was to get a "meh" rating, this would be it. Not bad but not necessarily good, Recovering Charles tells the story of a son who finds a way to forgive his alcoholic father by searching for him throughout the wake of Hurricane Katrina's devastation. Like most "meh" books, it has some highs and lows.

The highs would be the description of New Orleans. For the first time, I felt a deep sense of horror and urgency about saving that great city. Blame it on the over-saturation we get from the media, the almost non-stop global disasters whose images stream through our T.V.s and computers through-out the years, but I admit that I was not personally affected with New Orleans flooding. Reading this book didn't give me a complete turn around, but I do think it allowed me to feel how much was lost for the individual citizens there - albeit the people I was mourning for were completely fictional.

The lows included an unnecessary love story, a completely unnecessary love triangle, and a weak protagonist.

If you're interested in a story involving New Orleans and its recovery, you might enjoy this book. For anyone else...all I can say is...."meh."

A Snowy Mess

I've never been a snow hater. Sure, it slows things down. It's cold. It's wet. But, in a way, it soothes me. I love the way the snow muffles the surrounding sounds and how it blankets and softens nature's lines. Mostly, I love the hot chocolate it gives me permission to drink and justification for climbing into a steaming hot bath. For those reasons, I wasn't dreading the forecast predicting snow everyday this week.

It began yesterday about the time I picked the boys up at the bus stop. The roads were covered in a mere skiff then and, as I didn't leave my house again, enjoyed a pleasant chili dinner, helped the boys finish their chores and once Jay got home, spent the evening wishing, hoping and celebrating when Jay learned his team earned its way into his work's fantasy football superbowl (Thanks Donovan McNabb!).

Jay was on call last night and although the evening was quiet (only one call came in before 11:00) the ER called him at 3:00 AM with a patient who needed an emergency procedure to save his leg (or foot. The loss of either warranted haste on Jay's part).

The series of phone calls between the E.R, the surgeon and Jay took me in and out of consciousness but it wasn't until the garage doors kept opening and closing and I could hear Jay's fretful conversation on the phone that I finally became aware of Jay's snowy plight.

At 3:00 AM, none of the roads in our neighborhood had been plowed and Jay couldn't get out. He tried his car first and got stuck. He abandoned it on the road in front of our house and came back for my van and got stuck again, this time even further from the house.

I wasn't the only one alerted to Jay's comings and goings. Henry also woke up and in an attempt to get him to go back to sleep, I cuddled with him in my bed all the while wondering what in the world was going on.

Finally, at 4:30, I put Henry back in his crib, went down to the garage and found Jay out in front of our house digging his car out. Ignoring his protests, I put on some snow pants, my boots, a hat and gloves and took turns shovelling a path that would allow his little Volkswagen Passat to recover in the comfort of our garage.

By 5:00, Jay's car was in but he had long before called another Radiologist in his practice to handle the emergency procedure. If you know Jay at all, you know making that call and asking for help was the worst part of his long, cold night.

We got an automated call at 5:30 am, telling us that school was canceled and when Seth and Sam woke before 7:00, I told them to be as quiet as possible and go play the Wii. We both woke up around 9:00 feeling like we'd been drugged. It was a rough night.

Jay immediately set out to go rescue our abandoned van about a 1/2 mile away and was pleasantly surprised by John, Michelle's husband, and their oldest son, Gabe, with a heavy truck if he needed a tow and some extra shovels. As they don't exactly live next door, it was beyond nice of them.

The van made it home and the day has felt like a preview to the upcoming two week Christmas vacation. Fun...but hard. I think the boys have had a good time playing outside. The plows came and created a perfect sledding hill and I smiled as I watched them enjoy their Winter Wonderland from the warmth of my living room window.

From my indoor perch.

I did go outside for a bit in an attempt to get a better picture.

Both Seth and Sam were very sweet with Henry, making sure he had plenty of sledding opportunities.

Seth passes them on the left

A crash at the bottom.

Jay had signed up to ring the bell for the Salvation Army at a local grocery store several weeks ago and nearly froze after jing-a-jangling for two hours. Seth is there now, with his Cub Scout pack, and I am dreading heading out on the icy roads tonight for a RS presidency meeting and concert.

Can you spare some change???

That hot bath will have to wait until later.

Book Review #25 - The Peacegiver

I've been wanting to read this book for years. Literally. I'm not quite sure why it has taken me as long as it has, other than the fact that it's a church book and being the literature heathen that I am, righteous books sometimes stay at the bottom of my often tall stack.

However, now that I've read it I can say that I am glad that I did because it changed how I think. I consider myself on the stubborn end of persuadable so that is saying something.

The Peacegiver uses a story format with conversation, philosophy, parables and Dickens-esque-out-of-body-experiences to shed light on Christ's atonement. The main character is Rick, a 30-something year-old man who thinks his marriage to Carol is beyond repair but the lessons he leanrs about forgiveness can be applied to any struggling relationship. Using two Old Testament examples, Abigail and David (which, embarrassingly enough, was a story that was previously unknown to me) and Jonah's mission to Ninevah, Rick's grandfather guides him like a Greek philosopher to new understandings about sin, blame, forgiveness and peace.

I hesitate to give you the conclusion. I guess I'm being as annoying as Rick's grandfather (and, believe me, he is plenty annoying...even as a kind of guiding angel) who wanted Rick to figure out for himself what the the scriptures were teaching instead of handing over the big "ah-ha!" but those conclusions are powerful. Without question, it has brought additional peace and harmony to my home, my marriage and my relationships with others in the three weeks since I've read this book. That's exciting.

I can't promise ease and enjoyment if you read The Peacegiver. The author uses descriptive similes like a germaphobe uses hand sanitizer (catch that?) and it's very, very slow. Rick's lightbulb takes much longer to turn on than any human I know so it can be frustrating to stay at his pace. However, because the book's reward, an easy and applicable understanding of the most important principle given to us from God, is made possible without first attaining a degree in Old Testament studies OR philosophy...it's worth your time and patience to read this book.

Saturday Eight (Who says an alliteration is required for a catchy title?)

1. Henry had a big week full of therapy, assessments, tests, observation, yada, yada, yada. Sometimes, when I watch others work with him, he looks like a little science experiment. I didn't have the guts to take a picture, but at one point, three adults were sitting on the floor surrounding Henry while he silently played with a puzzle. With pads of paper and pencils in their hands, they watched him while asking me, "Can he do this?" Yes/No. "What about this?" Yes/No. It doesn't help that as soon as someone asks him to speak, point, draw, eat, jump, dance... he won't do it. He has been granted super stubborn powers and seems to instinctively know when someone expects him to perform. Full of dramatic flair - he shows his stuff only on his terms. As a result, he always appears even more delayed than I think he really is and I feel like I have to defend his progress. He has made a lot of progress in the last two months but definitely qualified for the pre-school program (which was the reason for all of the visits this week. His transition from Early Intervention (2 and under) to Pre-School/Head Start stuff following his third birthday in January).

2. Jay had the day off on Tuesday and we decided to avoid Wal-Mart and head to a Target located about a hour away. I know we didn't save any money doing this, especially when you consider the cost of gas used, but it was so worth it. In spite of the heavy cart and almost ghastly bottom line (Jay helped me shop but waited by the door while I payed because he really didn't want to know how much it all cost. Isn't that funny?) I left humming a happy little tune. It was a nice day with Jay that included lunch at Chili's where they serve a gluten-free baked potato soup (double score!).

3. About a month ago, someone in my ward who is a professional musician (conducts a local barbershop choir, gives piano lessons, used to teach choir for the middle school before she burned out) asked me if I would be willing to accompany a few of the barbershopper's songs for their Christmas concert. I said, "yes" but it has turned out to be a lot bigger deal than she originally lead me to believe. I said "yes" to two songs which turned out to be five, four of them requiring quite a bit of practice. The first performance was on Tuesday night at a nursing home. The playing went fine, but they wheeled a woman right next to the piano who must have had Alzheimer's or dementia because she was so scared all night. Kept looking at me like she was going to cry and saying, "I don't know where my ticket is. I don't know how I'm going to get out of here. I don't know where I am." I tried to reassure her that she was o.k., but I think I only upset her more because she didn't know who I was and kept saying she couldn't hear me. Eventually, I had to ignore her and I left that night feeling sad and unhelpful.

4. We put up our Christmas tree today. I've had the boxes of ornaments out for about two weeks now, cluttering the living room, so it's nice to have them out of the boxes and on the tree. My shopping is also done, so I'm hoping that I'll actually start feeling Christmas-y soon. Maybe I need to make a batch of fudge for my brain to believe that there is a reason for the massive noble fir in my front room.

5. Seth and Sam had an assembly at school this week. They both came home with yellow slips of paper advertising how they just watched "the most popular assembly in America" followed by all sorts of information and pricing for all the stuff they could buy because of it. RACKET!!! I told them that motivating a group of kids shouldn't equal motivating them to buy their Yo-Yos but they were unconvinced. $17 dollars of Seth's hard-earned money later (Seth sweetly bought his brother a yo-yo), they each own a NED yo-yo (NED standing for Never give up, Encourage others and Do your best. I guess if you have a cool acronym then you get to sell your stuff in school). I begrudgingly admit that they have both spent their weeks practicing and getting better at yo-yo-ing....particularly Seth. He's been taking it to school via his handy dandy matching holster (sold separately) and practicing at recess. He's way better at it than I am already (but not better than Jay. A similar traveling assembly made its way through this part of the country way back when Jay was a sophomore in high school. He's still got skills from the yo-yo HE bought afterward), but then again, I never had the motivational assembly.

6. Now that I'm in Relief Society, I find myself signed up for a lot more things than those two blissful months of primary service where clipboards bearing sheets with lines to sign your name never see the light of day. This week, I volunteered to go to the temple to do initiatory work. Most people who sign up decide to carpool, as the temple we attend is 100 miles away and takes about two hours to reach (two lane highways...towns to drive through) but I went over by myself. Those were four, lovely, peacefully reflective hours. I love the temple, love the spirit there and am happy that I went. It gave me much-needed rejuvenation and I'm so glad I "sacrificed" my time by signing up to go.

7. Last night was the ward Christmas party. Jay had to work late, so I took the boys to the church myself at 5:30, which I thought was kind of early to start on a Friday. Sadly, I arrived in an all-too-present-lately grumpy mood. Seth and Sam were decked out in full-program costume (hand made by a serious super-star in our ward) and Henry only wanted to run laps in the gym, ruining the dimly lit, hushed tone atmosphere attempted by the Ward Activities Committee (a calling I do not miss). Thankfully, Jay showed up soon after and since he can't eat, he dealt with Henry the rest of the night. A nice program followed that the boys enjoyed being a part of and I can attest that I left, once again, in a better mood than I arrived with.

8. I intended to add pictures all day but still haven't managed it so I'm going to publish without giving free advertisement to NED yo-yos, proof of Henry's awesome speech therapist and the red and gold glow of our decor. Maybe later.

I've still got nothing.....

My blogging rut is rapidly turning in blogging apathy so I'll give a meme a try.

1. Do you like blue cheese? No. But I have had a few salads with blue cheese crumbles on it that I liked. But as a creamy dressing....no.
2. Have you ever smoked? I've had a puff but I'm fairly certain that, like Clinton, I didn't inhale (I know. More things you didn't know about me, Mom and Dad. Sorry).
3. Do you own a gun? No. I don't know if I could actually shoot someone and having one around the house seems like an accident waiting to happen. Although, I won't say "never."
4. What flavor Kool-Aid was your favorite? Fruit Punch.
5. Do you get nervous about doctor appointments? Only if they expect me to stand on a scale. Seriously. Stirrups have nothin' on that scale.
6. What do you think of hot dogs? I don't really think about hot dogs. I don't really think a great deal about any meat because if I did, I'm pretty sure I'd be a vegetarian and I enjoy being a carnivore.
7. Favorite Christmas movie? I'd say Christmas Vacation, because it's funny, but I had my very first kiss during that movie and it isn't my favorite memory. I love About A Boy.
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Oddly enough, I don't habitually drink with my meals so I can't say my breakfasts regularly include a beverage, BUT, if I'm at a hotel and there is a schmorgasbord of drink choices, I usually choose cranberry juice.
9. Can you do push-ups? On my knees. But I don't think those count. So....no. Sad.
10. What's your favorite piece of jewelry? Definitely my engagement ring. It's perfect for me.
11. Favorite hobby? Reading. No question.
12. Do you have ADD? I don't think so. I can sit still for QUITE a while without a problem.
13. What's one trait you hate about yourself? I'm too moody for my own good. If I could simply stay up all the time, I think I could fly over any hurdle in my path.
14. Middle initial? NMN (that stands for No Middle Name). But I did give myself a middle name...Beth. So, it could be B. But I use an H for my maiden name in my signature.
15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment? Why haven't I taken off my shoes? Stephen Colbert doesn't seem as funny as he used to be. I need to go pick up my holds at the library.
16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink? Water. Milk. Diet Dr. Pepper.
17. Current worry? I have to come up with some games for the neighborhood Christmas party this weekend. I have a few ideas but they all require quite a bit of effort and I'm trying to avoid a big production.
18. Current hate right now? A full garbage can. It always seems to be three things too full.
19. Favorite place to be? In a hot bath reading a book.
20. How did you ring in the new year? I honestly can't remember. Obviously nothing very memorable. If I was with you....sorry.
21. Where would you like to go? Anywhere. Seriously. I can't name a place where I wouldn't like to go. Well...perhaps Somalia right now. With the pirate problem and civil war, tourism is probably down.
22. Name 3 people to tag? I don't tag because then Memes like this give me anxiety and this is just for fun.
23. Do you own slippers? I do. I usually have hot feet though so I only wear them in the morning. If I happen to know where they are.
24. What shirt are you wearing? A red sweater with a black Shade shirt underneath.
25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? I don't think so. Too slippery. We have flannel sheets...probably as opposite to satin as you can get.
26. Can you whistle? Yes.
27. Favorite color? Chocolate brown.
28. Would you be a pirate? Why? I can see no advantage to a pirate's way of life, at all.
29. What songs do you sing in the shower? I do like to sing in the shower. Good acoustics. I can't think of any regulars, though. Today I kept singing O Holy Night and kept changing keys to see how high I could go on the big note (di-viiiiiiiiiiiiiiine). I'm happy to report that my range has improved from my Alto II days.
30. Favorite girl's name? I'd name a daughter Clara Beth. Clara because I think it's beautiful and Beth after me:)
31. Favorite boy's name? I truly love the name Henry. I wanted a Henry long before we had our children. But I equally love Seth and Samuel now, too. And, of course, I love the name Jay. Hearing it, saying it, reading it makes me happy.
32. What's in your pocket right now? No pockets in my black skirt.
33. Last thing that made you laugh? Something I heard while listening to Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me today in the car.
34. What vehicle do you drive? A 2004 Chrysler Town and Country.
35. Worst injury? Dislocating my shoulder while jet skiing when I was 17. It still gives me trouble.
36. Do you love where you live? I do love it. It has its flaws, like everyplace, but I have to admit I'm pretty blessed to live where I do. As far as our house...no.
37. How many TVs do you have in your house? 2
38. Who is your loudest friend? Hmmm. Interesting question. A lot of my friends tend to be on the quiet side. But I'm not quiet. I hope that doesn't mean that I am the loudest because loud people can bug me.
39. Do you have any pets? No. Been there...done that. Big mistake.
40. Does someone have a crush on you? Sam does right now. He frequently says he wants to marry me. Awwwwww.
41. Your favorite book? Mrs. Mike, for sentimental reasons. To Kill A Mockingbird for scope and purpose. Angle of Repose for pure feeling.
42. Do you collect anything? No. But I could collect not quite finished soda cans. Something about those last 2 ounces I can't force myself to drink.
43. Favorite sports team? I cheer for the Broncos and the BYU Cougars. But I was a much bigger fan when we actually lived in Denver and Utah.
44. What song do you want played at your funeral? I'd love to have Arethra Franklin sing Amazing Grace at my funeral. My favorite hymn is Know This, That Every Man Is Free. I'd love someone with a really nice voice to sing that acapella. And a full choir with orchestra accompaniment to sing My Shepherd Will Supply My Need. Good thing I'll be dead so I can't be disappointed.

Growing Pains

Two days ago, Seth dropped a non-sequitur while I was making dinner in the kitchen (I don't know why I added that detail. Where else would I make dinner?) Out of the blue, he says, "Mom, I'm going to get the award for the loneliest eater." Mind you, he says this with enthusiasm in his voice and an animated face.

"What?" I say as I chop onions.

"I'm going to get the award for the loneliest eater."

"Is this something someone told you? Is there an actual award?" I say, trying to make sense of his announcement.

"No. I just would if they counted who sits by himself the most in the lunchroom. I've had the whole table to myself more than once!"

Rip. Thud. Splat.

That's the sound of my heart breaking.

I think the reason his innocent cry for attention hurts so much is that I know exactly how he is feeling. I do know what it's like to sit alone. I know what it's like to be afraid to sit alone. I know what it's like to pretend there's nothing weird, embarrassing or sad about sitting alone. I know. I know.

So what do I do? Besides give him a hug and ask if he's still playing tag with the same group of girls at recess? I sign him up for youth league basketball beginning in January. Maybe he'll make some friends there. Or maybe it'll be another place where he stands alone.

I feel like I am to blame. I should have signed him up for something in the fall. I should invite church friends over more often, or find out the names of his classmates (I know a couple). I should volunteer in his class so I see what's going on!

Jay feels like he is to blame for moving us around so much the past three years. Which is silly because none of the moves were avoidable.

I don't know exactly what's going on with him...if it's just a transition that will resolve itself or if it's his school or Seth's slight social immaturity (Am I supposed to want him to act older than he is? Because sometimes, like the other day when we were giving his 5th grade neighbor friend, Hunter, a ride home from school, Seth become really goofy and hyper and I could see that Seth was annoying Hunter. Right then, I wanted to explain how to back off and act cool. But then I remember he's EIGHT and should be free to be as nerdy as he wants to be), but I feel like everything is changing all at once.

Seth doesn't feel smart anymore. He's always been bright. Really bright. Now he says he feel like he's in the middle. Which maybe he is. Or maybe his feelings about academics merely parallel his feelings about his lack of friends.

Seth is also getting more and more moody and less able to talk about it. I can see our future - not know what's going through his mind and trying to guess based on the little bits and pieces dropped here and there. Exactly like this.

I'm probably making way too big a deal out of it. And to be clear, it's not like I'm praying for him to be Mr. Popular. I'm totally down with him being a geek. I just want him to have some geeky friends too.

Wanted: Good friends for this top-notch, goofy kid!

Book Review #24 - 84 Charing Cross Road

I was guided to this book by several people after I raved about my love for The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. Now that I've read it, I can see how the two books are similar, although I did prefer the satisfying fiction in Guernsey.

84 Charing Cross Road is a sweet, short book containing the correspondence between Helene Hanff, a gregarious and irreverent writer living in New York, and the much more formal workers of the antique bookstore, Marks & Co. in Great Britain. The letters begin following World War II and Helene's warmth and generosity (she sends them things that are difficult to get over there with rations. Eggs. Nylons. Canned tongue Blech!) brings down their professional front until a clear friendship develops.

Obviously, each correspondence isn't included as the book progresses 20 years and there is sometimes nearly a year between letters. Still, I found Helene's humor and charm to be every bit as disarming as Frank Doel and the others at Marks & Co did. To be centered around their common love of books makes it only more lovable.

As it is non-fiction, the story ends realistically and not nearly as satisfying as a feel-good novel. Still, I love that Helene published these hard copies of proof about the power of correspondence and friendship.

Book Review #23 - The Pillars of the Earth

I hated this book. Let's just get that out of the way so there is no confusion later on.

Ken Follett describes a gloomy, dismal, nearly barbaric society whose citizens' greatest concerns seem to be their egos and their lust for power and control. He uses the building of the great European cathedrals as the impetus for his story; the magnificent structures were made possible through trickery, lies, greed, criminal acts and selfish ambition. Forget about the Glory of God...that's just history's cover story. But Follett's cathedral in Pillars of the Earth serves as much purpose as the hospital in the soap opera General Hospital. He focused much more on the personal drama, romance, and rivalry of his weak characters. This was historical fiction a la Daytime television.

The story didn't even feel historical. Follett tried. He mentioned eating with a knife almost as frequently as the tunics his characters wore (Setting it apart from modern day. We no longer wear tunics, you know). But everything felt too modern - their speech, their attitudes, even their relationships. I read the mammoth 1,000 page story quickly but I can just as easily get sucked into Guiding Light. The plots are interesting enough...just mind-numbing and unlikely. For example, the Alfred-Aliena-Jack love triangle had my interest but then the high drama of Aliena's secret pregnancy followed by her truly unbelievable delivery (during the same time the ceiling of the cathedral fell....underneath the stone rubble....really?) along side Jack's odyssey was just too much. And could someone please just get kill William Hamleigh before he rapes someone else? (They don't. The reader is required to experience one too many grotesque acts by an inhumane man who supposedly fears hell. Once was MORE than enough, Ken. We get it. He's baaaaaad).

Even if there is some historical truth to the background story - the difficulty in building a cathedral (oh yeah..remember that?), it is overshadowed by all the non-historical melodrama. I don't think Follett did that period of history any favors by making it all seem so salacious.

Here Be Dragons does a much better job of storytelling the tumultuous middle ages. Read it if you want to experience the pettiness of power. I'd even recommend Philippa Gregory's novels over this. It was about 900 pages too long.

It's Like My Brain Is Frozen

I'm trying not to panic but I cannot think of anything to blog about. Not a single thing. Nothing for SPT, nothing about the magical spirit of this month and certainly nothing about how ridiculously jam-packed this entire month is with TOO MUCH STUFF. Who sent out the memo that every single stinkin' party anyone has ever thrown needs to fall somewhere between the first two weeks of December? And I'm not even invited to most of them. I just know about them. Consider me bugged for other people. My busy-ness stems from much less fun stuff.

So, here are some things that I'm thinking about right. this. minute.

I just saw one of those "before" and "after" photos advertising some sort of weight loss program or pill or book or DVD or berry or enema. The "before" photo was disturbingly familiar. I've never been tempted to buy any of that stuff, because I get the calories-in-needs-to-be-less-than-the-calories-burned formula. But I can still see that tummy. And I'll probably see it again right before my shower tomorrow.

My lips are chapped.

Jay isn't home yet. I'm supposed to be a bookgroup. It's a new bookgroup and I only really know one person and everyone drinks wine for the first hour and then they eat and then they talk about the book. For a few minutes. I'd be more upset if I was missing out on hot chocolate or wassail. I love wassail. I have a great wassail recipe. Pineapple juice, orange juice, apple cider, cinnamon, cloves, sugar. Mmmmmm. I'd throw a party to give me a reason to make it but I've already expressed my feelings about that.

I went to the new library today. It's gorgeous. So much better than the ghetto building it used to be in. But their hold system is even more retarded than it used to be. They still don't pull books off shelves for holds if they aren't already checked out. Isn't that what librarians do? Find books for people? I really thought they'd become a real grown-up library once they moved into their real grown-up building...but no. Plus, the books the do put on hold are identified with the last four digits of our library card number. I don't know that kind of information off the top of my head! I just want my books, people!

I'm enjoying our new treadmill. But my shins are already hurting. Must find way to get rid of the jiggly belly, though.

The soup project is going strong. So far, I've made the taco soup, black bean stoup, a broccoli cheddar, tortilla soup, chili, and the butter-nut squash bisque.

Nope...I'm getting frozen again. I thought this would help but I've got.....nothing.

Here's a funny picture, though.

Hands-free cell phone. You Washingtonians might want to try it if you don't have bluetooth.

Thanksgiving 2008

Just going through my semi (quarterly?) blog rut over here and thought I'd post some pictures in an attempt to get the juices flowin'.

We had Thanksgiving dinner at our home this year and I actually enjoyed being the hostess. It was A LOT of work. The shopping, the food preparation, getting the house clean and keeping it clean for company, cooking, cleaning up the mess afterward even though I could have sworn I did hundreds of dishes along the way as a preventative measure.

If I had my way, thanksgiving dinner would be a formal affair. Not prom dress-formal, but nice clothes, nice dishes, nice music....nice. Not to be high-flutin' or showy but just to set the day apart that much more (because having a casserole dish full of candied yams already sets it apart quite a bit).

Unfortunately, I have five plates. Five. Which meant I either had to go buy more plates (and my plan is to just wait this Pfaltzgraff Heritage series out. Stoneware, tile and boys whose job it is to set the table should make that happen sooner rather than later) or simply swallow my pride and go with disposable plates. Swallow I did, although I did upgrade to poorly named Chinet (not even close!) and upgraded even further to the banquet platter size (which didn't turn out to be a foolhardy decision. We needed the room.). No one complained and when clean up time came around, I was glad that the dishes needing to be cleaned were limited to serving dishes.

Now for the pictures:

The grown-up table. Jay's brother, Vaughn, and his wife, Patty, his parents and the two of us made up our party of six. Their two children, Derek and Delanie, along with our three boys sat at the other table.

I think we need to call super Nanny. Henry's latest joy is to run laps around the table during dinner.

Playing The Great Dalmuti after dinner.

Of course, we had football on too. Notice Patty sitting on Vaughn's leg. She's not being mean, she's helping him straighten it (he had surgery).

Patty brought Cherry pie, pumpkin pie without crust (Gluten-free) and a gluten-free raspberry cobbler.

Henry and his older cousin, Delanie.

You want to know what I noticed? Unless I long-arm-weird-neck-angle-it...it's like I'm not even there. Or anywhere. It's not like I love the camera, but sometimes, it's nice to have proof that you were part of the day too. And not a too-close, tilted-head shot either.

I WAS there. I wore a fantastic chocolate silk blouse (I'd say shirt but it really was more of a blouse) and some cute herringbone trousers (I'd say pants but they're so much more than that). I made a butternut bisque (I'd say soup but the recipe says "bisque") that was too-die-for (I thought so, anyways) and felt grateful for my sweet family, this bountiful land that I live in and the luxuries and everyday blessings (even the Chinet) that I'm sure I take much too much for granted. I do love Thanksgiving.

Book Review #22 - The Mother In Me

Written by a group of smart, articulate and thoughtful women who write for Segullah Magazine and Blog Segullah, The Mother In Me compiles essays and poems whose topics cover pregnancy, miscarriage, infertility, adoption, birth, the loss of a stillborn (I wept), parenting special needs children, and several on the challenges of being a mother to small children.

I think this book is best read in small doses - first, because each essay has its own feeling and message to experience and second, because after reading multiple essays at a time, the book starts to feel redundant. Smart woman....smart woman sacrifices (time, energy, body, mind)....smart woman resents challenge...smart woman feels grateful for challenge...smart woman better because of challenge.

As someone who considers herself a smart woman (I hope we all do), I can certainly identify with the whole cycle. Motherhood is hard. Motherhood is sacrifice. And yet, motherhood is the absolute best teacher I could have ever hoped for in life. Every essay chronicles the development of a God-like trait: patience, hope, faith, forgiveness, compassion, and pure, pure love. After reading, I'd want to hug my children, read them a story, take them somewhere to teach them something, play hide and seek, cook together. It made every experience that every mother knows is difficult and frustrating to be looked upon as a cherished opportunity. I really enjoyed it.

It's only flaw, in my opinion, was that sometimes the essays felt overly essay-ish. It's not like I prefer authors to dumb their writing down, particularly in this book because their writing isn't difficult to read or hard to understand. But sometimes...only sometimes...I felt the superfluous descriptions of leaves, food, weather, etc, etc were added because the authors were English majors going for the "A" instead of mothers writing for mothers. That's all.

This would be a GREAT book for any young mother, any mother who ever was a young mother, any woman who one day hopes to be a young mother. In other words, this would be a great book to read for any woman. I'm sure some men would even like it too.

Highly recommended.

SPT - Thank YOU, Commenters

The Last Few Days

I have absolutely no creative way to blog about the past few days. This is pure regurgitation - blogging in its elemental form.

Thursday - pack meeting. Seth earned his Chess belt loop and Citizenship belt loop. After seeing what some of the boys earn each pack meeting, we need to double our efforts. First things first - update his scout shirt. He has earned his Bobcat, after all.

Their opening skit. I'm not sure what it was about, but Seth was the lightpost (no speaking lines). With his straight skinniness - he was perfect.

During Jay's fellowship last year, one of his attending radiologists, B.J. Manaster asked him to be the medical text editor for her newest textbook. Jay spent about three months editing pages on his days off and in addition to paying him, they sent him a copy of the mammoth $400 textbook.

Look! There's his name!

I have no pictures of Friday night, but it was a good day. Jay had the day off and my sister-in-law, Patty, came and picked up all three boys for an afternoon and evening full of fun. They ATVd with their cousin, went to McDonalds for dinner, went to the rec center to swim and go down the water slide and then finished up the evening with a trip to Dairy Queen for dessert.

In the meantime, Jay and I drove around looking at vacant lots and imagining ourselves living in different places around town and then later met up with our friends, John and Michelle, for some BBQ (Jay was up for trying) and the 007 movie. I was more than happy to watch unrealistic car chase scenes and Bond crash to the earth after jumping out of a plane without breaking a bone, especially after passing the throngs waiting for good seats to see Twilight.


Saturday.....ah, Saturday. We cleaned. We shopped. We invited people over to watch the BYU/Utah game and suffered terribly after Max Hall threw FIVE interceptions and fumbled once. Being a BYU fan is an experiment in patience and endurance.

Somber during the fourth quarter. Of course, they smiled because I was standing in front of them with my camera - but believe me....those smiles were only on the outside.

Proof

More proof. Ouch.

Sunday - I almost wrote a really long "woe is me" post, but then didn't because that's not the spirit of this week at all! I did manage to catch "A Thanksgiving of American Folk Hymns" on BYUTV and saw myself on the screen a few times. That was fifteen years ago now. The musical memories were definitely the highlights but it didn't hurt when Jay proclaimed my eighteen year old self a hottie.

If you haven't watched this or listened to the CD - you should. It's THE perfect Thanksgiving music. And I'm not just saying that because I'm in it:)

Today I have been busy doing Relief Society things. I've made a ton of phone calls, organized a December Hot Chocolate social and put together my new announcement board with the vinyl letters I ordered last week. I think it looks fabulous and it's such a great idea. We plan on taking the board in with all the announcements to primary during the second hour and then moving it back to the relief society room for the third hour.

I used the computer's "Paint" program to scribble out my town's name and fake write on the board.

That's it. Probably the most boring post ever but....I'm thankful for it. Just trying to tie in some Thanksgivingness somehow.

Shopping in a Small Town

• Three pairs of shoes from Zappos.com
• Teacher gifts and name tags from Stationary With Style
  
• Two coats, seven pairs of pants, one argyle v-neck sweater, two turtlenecks and a button-down oxford from GAP.com
• Lego table, two Wii games, and three little people sets from Ebay.com
  
• one book, DDR for the Wii from Amazon.com
• one sparkly bracelet and pair of earrings from Charmed Designs
• vinyl lettering for my future fabulous looking Relief Society Bulletin Boards custom made from Mellow Yellow Decor.
• Throw in the book 84 Charing Cross Road that blogger and Goodreads friend, Holly, sent me this week and getting the mail has been the highlight of everyday.

I still miss Target, but I guess my computer will do.

Soup For Our Souls

My husband, Jay, is a private man. The tightrope I am forced to walk along in order to satisfy my need to share and respect the comforting walls he prefers sometimes seems a ridiculous way for me to get from point A to point B.

It is no secret that two years ago, Jay was diagnosed with Celiac Disease. I frequently mention the gluten-free-ness of our lives and gratefully admit that we are comfortably adapted to the many alternatives offered in place of wheat, barley, rye and oats.

Merely forgoing gluten wasn't enough of a gastric challenge for Jay's body, however. If the lower GI tract is what suffer as a result of Celiac disease, then his upper GI must have felt left out because it stopped working. Known in the medical world as Achalasia, the smooth muscles in Jay's esophagus that automatically contract (peristalsis) to push food down into his stomach after chewing no longer function. In order for his food to go down, he needs the help of gravity, liquid and a quite a bit of luck. Unfortunately, because his lower esophageal sphincter uncontrollably spasms anyway (I know...the title of my blog suddenly makes sense!) his food often...way, way, way too often....gets stuck.

The stuck food hurts and if it won't go down then it must come back up. I honestly can't remember the last time I've witnessed a meal when Jay hasn't gagged up his food at least once. Usually twice. Very often three or more times. He has to be extremely conscious of what he eats, taking small bites, chewing and chewing and chewing some more and then following it all with a carbonated beverage (water and milk don't seem to do the trick).

The effects of Achalasia go way beyond his trouble swallowing, however. He can't eat as quickly as the rest of us and by quick I mean in under an hour. To eat a normal plateful of food, it takes him about five times as long to eat as me and the boys. He can't talk while he's eating or he gags. Add the two together and we've realized it's best if Jay just eats by himself while I clean up and put the boys to bed. It's not even close to ideal and on nights when a little devil sits too long on my shoulder, I fall into the temptation of wallowing in the unfairness of it all.

Eating in front of other people is also a very difficult and uncomfortable experience for Jay. His desire to not draw any attention to his "condition" isn't very likely when he's forced to leave the table two or three times during a meal to gag. I've watched him sit there and try to act normal when I know he has a lump of food painfully wedged in his esophagus. It's heartbreaking. So mealtime has become quite isolating.

We live during a time when eating is a major social event. Having anyone over or going to a restaurant seems like a rosy picture of the past. The motivation to do either isn't there anymore. It's not like he can talk and eat anyways. If we do have people over, or, somehow, miraculous make it to a restaurant, Jay manages the event by hardly eating. When the waiter asks if we need boxes, I know most of Jay's meal will be coming home where he can spend the next hour or so peacefully trying to get it all down.

He often comes home with his lunch cooler untouched because he can't dictate and eat on the side like he used to do and if a radiologist takes a lunch break, the images needing to be read pile up and he only has to stay at work later. His body and mind are starving and exhausted from a lack of fuel but even in his hungry state, he doesn't look forward to eating. It's so much work for him.

Crazily enough, Jay rarely complains. I'm not sure I could do anything BUT complain if I were the one cursed with this disease (although I'd take his 30 pound weight loss as a result of all this. In fact, why didn't this happen to me???). His patience is mind boggling.

Thankfully, there is hope ahead. Jay will be undergoing surgery on January 15th at University Hospital in Salt Lake City. The surgery is called a Heller Myotomy and there is a surgeon there that Jay feels confident will do the best job. He'll miss about a week of work and then be restricted to a liquid diet for about a month afterward. We have a lot of hope that taking this radical step will get us back to the business of only worrying about gluten. Those days seem so long ago and fancy free.

In the meantime, I have decided to cook soup. Only soup. For about the next three months. It's the easiest thing for him to eat and the most nutritionally packed "soft" food I can think of. This week, I've made chili and cheeseburger soup and have ham and potato soup planned for tonight. But I need help. I need recipes of tried and true belly filling soups. I need these to be family friendly and I need enough of a variety so that I don't go crazy. Please, please help.

Leave a link in your comment or if you have the patience and typing skills, type it out. If they are gluten-free...all the better but I've become pretty savvy at adapting recipes that aren't.

I hope this post won't embarrass him. Actually, I already know it will. To counteract my over-exposure, if you do happen to leave a comment, make sure and mention how cool Jay is because he likes that. And because he is:)

Help me feed this man!

Seriously...do I actually click on "pubish post"? I'm so nervous. I'm doing it!