Memorial Day Memories

Lewisville, Idaho, is near and dear to my heart.

This little spot on the map was founded in 1882 by some intrepid pioneers, including 2 of my

several-greats-back grandfathers - Richard F. Jardine and Edmund Ellsworth.

Perhaps one of my most favorite places in this corner of the world is the Lewisville Cemetery.

When I was a kid, the whole extended family used to gather there every Memorial Day.

Everyone pitched in to decorate the graves with large bouquets of flowers.

No florist arrangements, we just brought what was blooming in the yard.

 Sweet reminiscences, funny tales, and Kleenex were generously passed around.

It sounds odd, but I love that cemetery. Some of my beloved are there.

This headstone belongs to Vilate and Elizabeth Young.

The were the oldest daughters of Brigham Young and his first wife, Miriam.

Elizabeth is my 3rd-great grandmother. She was married to Edmund Ellsworth.

She was quite a gal - courageous, outspoken, intelligent and strong.

Elizabeth and Edmund led the first handcart pioneers across the plains.

I'd like to imagine myself like her, only far more sedentary. 

Eldon and Zoe McLing were my mother's parents. And the finest grandparents in the universe.

Grandma and Grandpa didn't always like each other, but they always loved us grandkids.

Grandma taught me how to make rolls, enjoy books, and play cards.

Grandpa taught me how to fish for trout, mix up paint, and how to cheat at cards.

So many memories...

My mom, who I miss every day.

Her spaghetti was divine, but her chili...not so much.

She adored Joe Namath, Clint Eastwood, and Dad.

Mom was genuinely artistic and frequently sarcastic.

So many more memories...

By the way, she loved her little dogs - sometimes way more than she loved us kids.

I get it now.

Happy Memorial Day!

Happy Anniversary!

Mom & Dad's Wedding Rings

My parents got married on April 10, 1964, so that would make today their 48th wedding anniversary.  I wish we were all together to celebrate. Mom passed away in 1999, so special family days like this are poignant.

Mom kept a diary for much of her life, and so today I thought I would share her entries from a few past anniversaries. By was of explanation, getting hamburgers was a big deal and Dad could fix anything.

Wednesday, April 10, 1974: Our 10th anniversary. Dale stayed home today to shingle and it snowed. We went shopping for a few minutes after I got my hair done. Fixed lunch and shopped again. Went to Primary and had a horrible time with one of the girls in my class. Bought a pizza and came home.

Thursday, April 10, 1975: Our 11th anniversary. Folks came down. Gave us each $5 and 2 pink carnations. Dale bought hamburgers.

Saturday, April 10, 1976: Our 12th anniversary. Dale actually gave me a necklace, a cake plate, and a planter. Wasn't the lamp I asked for, but at least he remembered the day. Dale fixed Aunt Mary's washer.

Easter Sunday, April 10, 1977: Our 13th anniversary. I fixed dinner. Folks and Aunt Mary came. Dale gave me another pink goblet to add to the set and 4 red glasses for another set. Gave him a suitcase.

Monday, April 10, 1978: Our 14th anniversary. Dale stayed home to do his term paper. I got it typed. Went out for dinner and got things ready for Relief Society tomorrow. Dale gave me another pink goblet and I gave him $10.

Tuesday, April 10, 1979: Our 15th anniversary. Hope we can have lots more. Folks tended kids and Dale and I went to the temple. Went out to dinner. He gave me the stainless I asked for and I gave him briefcase folders.

Thursday, April 10, 1980: Our 16th anniversary. Doesn't seem possible. Dale took vacation today and we went out for breakfast. He fixed the washer. Parts were $20. Also trimmed the tree in back. Snowed off and on all day. Went to the Bonneville Hotel for dinner. Dale gave me a small portable black and white TV. Couldn't believe it! Love it!

Friday, April 10, 1981: Our 17th anniversary. They have been such good years. I'm so grateful. Pray our lives together can continue. Dale stayed home and worked all morning on his class. I did my hair. We had hamburgers for lunch. Dale took me to the Bonneville Hotel for dinner.

It's hard to see, but their initials are engraved inside the gold band.

Happy Anniversary!

Doggie Day at Work

Today was the official 'Take Your Dog to Work' day!  Annie was very excited -- up early and ready to go.  Her bag was packed with doggie jerky, a pink collapsible water dish and poo baggies.  Other necessities included a comfy bed and good doggie manners.  After all, the workplace is supposed to be civilized.

The face says it all -- the @#$% phone just won't stop ringing today.

I agree with Annie -- it's too hard to work when there are birds and deer to watch from the window.

So, all in all, 'Take Your Dog to Work Day' was a success.  It was nice to work WITH a dog instead of working LIKE a dog.  Maybe Annie can persuade the powers-that-be to do this more often...

The Office First Aid Kit

Can you tell what kind of week it has been? Work can be stressful enough, but mix all the normal craziness up with ugly politics, stir in a heaping helping of uncertainty… and voila! Suddenly the collective blood pressure of the office is enough to launch the space shuttle. Time to break out the Office First Aid Kit – chocolate with a diet Coke chaser.


You know, this really could be a million dollar idea. Just think of it – first aid kits featuring comfort foods. Band aids? Check! Ointment? Check! Chicken noodle soup? Check and double check! Perhaps the kits could be arranged by ailment instead. Nausea? Saltines and 7up. Sore throat? Hot lemonade with honey. In-laws? Devil’s food cake.

So what kind of first aid kit could fix what’s going on at work? My mom would know. She was a first-class first aid foodie. If anyone in the neighborhood was sick or afflicted, Mom was there with the perfect meal to make everyone feel better. Honestly, her spaghetti could cause world peace. Hey, maybe that’s what I should do! Spaghetti for the local warring political factions, followed by, what else, angel food cake. Of course, there would be chocolates and diet Coke for all.

Yep, a food first aid kit. It is a million dollar idea, so kindly keep your hands off of it. If the politics don’t cool down, I will be unemployed and in need of that kind of cash. But in the meantime, the office first aid essentials can be found in the bottom drawer of my desk – help yourself.

Laundry

What grows faster than the laundry pile?  No, really...what does?  Kudzu?  Blackberry vines?  Kids?  Well, since the pile grows so fast, doing a load or two of laundry every day is the modus operandi.  And it is so nice to have helpers when it comes to folding hot, straight-from-the-dryer towels...

Seriously, I only turned my back for a second before these two "helpers" were right there.  Gee, thanks.

Girl Scout Cookies

What do you get when you combine one office full of cookie-loving women with one cookie-selling Girl Scout?  You get exactly what you ordered!  Honestly, it was just like a holiday today when our office cookie order was delivered.

So this was my order.  Samoas because can't go wrong with the perennial favorite.  The lemon cremes are so good that really I can't be trusted with more than one box.  The berry cookies, as demonstrated by the open top, were delicious.

Yep, it was a holiday -- right there at my desk.

Resolution Time

Well, whaddya know…’tis the season once again for making those pesky New Year’s resolutions.

Growing up, Mom would encourage me to set out some goals for the year. Good grades, a clean room, and no fighting with my brothers constituted the usual and customary list. I was usually pretty good at keeping those resolutions, too – right up to January 3rd. As an adult, my annual resolutions have nearly always included losing weight and exercising more. And I do great – right up to January 3rd. Oh well. I just do resolutions my way. In honor of my fine make-it-and-break-it resolution tradition, enjoy these…

Happy New Year's resolutions, everybody!

String Me Along...

What’s your favorite part of the holiday season? Fudge? Greeting cards? Scotch tape? Personally, I’m a sucker for Christmas lights. Whether the light strings are dangled from the eaves, draped across the shrubs, or twisted around the trees – the colors, variety and wattage are just amazing.



My love of Christmas lights began way, way back when I was a kid. The whole famn damily would pile into the old Dodge station wagon for a drive around the neighborhoods to look at the lights. The snow diffused the colors into big pools of holiday Technicolor while the icicles magnified the lights’ brightness. Combine the sights with treacherously slick roads and no seat belt laws and there’s a ride to remember!


Dad was a sucker for Christmas lights, too, even though they almost killed him…


According to family legend, on one fine January clearance sale day, Dad found the best price EVER on Christmas lights. He bought every single box and stashed them away in anticipation of the best EVER light display. Months later, he opened all those boxes only to discover they were not the string-to-string variety. After considering the extension cord complications, Dad decided to splice all the lights together into one big, long, giant string. He worked along methodically, carefully splicing one string to another, holding the bare wire ends in his mouth as he went. It was at one such critical molar-clenching moment that one of my brothers (who shall remain anonymous) decided to plug in the lights.


Snap! Crackle! Pop! Not in the good cereal kind of way either. More like the electrocution kind of way. The current surged through Dad’s molars and knocked him off his feet. My guilty brother quickly unplugged the lights while the innocent brother checked to see if Dad was dead. After Dad was able to sit up again, both boys asked if he could do that again…


So two root canals later, it really was an awesome light display.


Enjoy all of your favorites this holiday season and please remember to plug in carefully!

Ditto Dining

Have you ever been a Ditto Diner?  You know what that is – eating at the same place twice in the same day.  Ditto dining doesn’t happen often, but in my rural and restaurant-restricted corner of the world, it is always a possibility.  So last week, I was a Ditto Diner.

After a morning clinic away from the office, my co-workers and I enjoyed lunch at a favorite local place known for it’s mouth-watering menu.  Personally, I like the half-salads.  They have only half the greens but a full-salad amount of tasty toppings.  After all, lettuce can’t hold a candle to bacon…  That being said, the half Cobb salad with honey-mustard dressing was very yummy indeed.  Please see Exhibit A.

At the end of the workday, my husband and I arrived home at the same time.  I was tired and he was hungry.  Round one of Rock-Paper-Scissors determined that we were eating out rather than subsisting on cold cereal.  Round two determined he was choosing the restaurant.  And thus I became a Ditto Diner.  In and of itself, that’s not bad.  I just didn’t want to be a Ditto Diner with the same waitress.  Awkward!

While the half-salads are not to be missed, neither is breakfast.  And what is better for dinner than breakfast?  I recommend the French toast.  It comes with a little cup of fluffy butter, assorted fruity syrups, and good ol’ fashioned warm maple syrup.  Please see Exhibit B.

If you can, please try to be a Ditto Diner soon.  It is a full-filling experience.

Two items of note:  The diet Coke was simply a calorie neutralizer.  You will also notice bacon in both exhibits.  In my defense, I only ate the salad bacon.  The dog ate the entire amount of ditto dining bacon as a reward for not chewing up the car interior while she waited for her humans.

Alas poor Yorick, 'tis the season!

Alas, poor Yorick!  He was a fellow of infinite jest, now subject to the whims of Halloween and my kitchen.

And so 'tis the season...er, the seasonings to which all mankind, common or not, will turn.

That's gotta hurt, getting salt AND pepper in your eyes at the same time.



Many thanks, Uncle Dale, for the funniest, creepiest, Shakespeare-iest     salt-n-pepper combo of all time!

I just don't know if I can put Yorick away after Halloween...

The Holey Land

I've always wanted to travel the world and see the sights.
London, Paris, Rome, Cairo, Jerusalem-all just waiting for me.
Little did I know that the world would come to me instead.
Welcome to the Holey Land!

Yep, the Holey Land -- right in front of my house.
Holes everywhere up and down the street.
Big, deep ones! Covered with giant metal slabs!

This slab didn't entirely cover the hole.
Be careful -- this one goes all the way to China!
Yes, you can visit the Holey Land and have egg rolls at the same time.
Practically the entire town has become part of the Holey Land, thanks to stimulus dollars.
Thank you, Mister President, for the new sewer lines.
And thank you, dear reader, for touring the Holey Land.
Come again another time and tour the Repaired and Repaved Land.

Tail Light Tale

So this is what my tail light looked like after work.

Notice that bits and pieces are missing.

Notice the white paint smudges the perpetrator left behind.

I know it's only a tail light, but geez...

If you are the guilty party, please write me a heft check and wrap it nicely around a large chocolate bar.

Leave the check and the chocolate on my doorstep.

All will be forgiven.

The Magic of Powell's

I am not the least bit ashamed to say, er...write, that Powell's City of Books is a magical place.

For many a published writer, Powell's is just another stop on just another book tour. However, for those of us who attend such events, it is a time to gather and enjoy bookworm esprit de corps. Tuesday evening was was another gathering for another author. My husband and I arrived early, staked out good seats, and began our people-watching vigil. After all, the next best thing to reading books is reading people.

As the chairs filled in, the parade of humanity did not disappoint. What wondrous variety! From my vantage point, these were the highlights:

• Lots and lots of tattoos. I want one. But I'm a chicken. So should I get a chicken tat?
• A cute couple with matching iPads. I want an iPad, too.
• A Hagrid look-alike with a Kindle. Sigh. I want a Kindle, too.
• A crazy cat guy wearing a sweater with kitties all over it. I do NOT want one, be it guy, kitty or sweater.
• A fabulous chunky pearl necklace on the crazy cat guy's date. Oh yeah! Want!

Wait a sec...who am I? Veruca Salt? Enough of the wish-list already. If I want that stuff, I'd better get my own book finished and sold!

Back to the author -- Lev Grossman is his name and The Magicians is his latest book. His presentation was humorous, articulate, and sincere -- all the things you want in an author. I should mention brave, too, because audience Q&A can be dangerous. Someone in the back asked the question I was too chicken (again) to ask about naming charactes. Personally, I was happy to hear him admit he has difficulty with this. Me, too! Honestly, it was easier naming my kids than my characters.

I've wandered enough. It's time to tie this up. So why in the heck is Powell's a magical place? Because for those few minutes, all of us who had gathered together put any and all of our differences aside for our common love of a well-told story. Between 7:30 and 8:30pm, none of us represented any particular demographic or tax bracket. We were all just children again -- listening and imagining and wondering. Magical, right?

Kitty Hooch

Look closely... See that green stuff? No, my floor isn't moldy. Dirty, yes -- but not moldy. That green stuff is catnip, aka Kitty Hooch. Considering how it affects the cat herd, it should be a controlled substance. Actually, I thought it was...but I was mistaken. I did not have control over the hooch at all. Or the herd. Hooch + Herd = Hilarity and Hangovers and Cat Chow Munchies.

I found these two rolling around on the kitchen floor, covered in hooch. I'm not sure which one was the culprit, but someone got the hooch down from the top of the refrigerator, ripped it open and proceeded to bathe in it. Seriously, they were flopping in it and scooting across the floor. Does that count as having swept the floor? Yes. I told you it wasn't dirty. So anyway, after the rollage and floppage, naturally the munchies set in. Luckily for them, the trough was full. And apparently, so was the recycling bin... Sheesh! Doesn't anyone clean up around here?

This is the hooch bag. Mangled. Punctured. Emptied. It put up a valiant fight, but in the end, the kitties won. It's impossible to stop a hooch-frenzied cat herd.


Notice the eyeballs -- the glazed, unfocused, hypnotic stare. Hours later, Domino is still buzzing. Apparently, it was really good kitty hooch.

Helping Hand Hamsa

A friend of mine recently returned from touring Jerusalem and the regions roundabout. Thankfully, he returned all in one piece AND he returned bearing gifts! In his hands were hands. Hamsas, actually. A hamsa is a hand-shaped charm which defends one against the "evil eye." It is sometimes known as the Hand of Fatima (after a daughter of the Prophet Muhammad) or the Hand of Miriam (after Moses' sister). No one knows for sure where the hamsa originated, but everyone agrees it is a very ancient traditional talisman.



I'm rather fascinated with the whole protection-against-the-evil-eye thing. The way I understand it, the hamsa works kind of like Wonder Woman's gold bracelets. Ka-powie! The evil spell is deflected! Ka-bam! The bad luck is bounced! I can hardly wait to try out the little silver charm and send all the unsavory karma in my life back from whence it came. I'm not sure where to put the big hamsa to get the most bang for the superstitious buck. Do I hang it in the car to ward off idiot drivers and radar guns alike? Do I hang it on the fridge to ward off my late-night food forays? If you have any suggestions, send them my way -- but only do so with good intentions. Remember, the hamsa says I'm rubber, you're glue, and whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you!

p.s. If hamsa hands ward off evil, what attracts good? Feet? The lucky rabbit kind? Well, not lucky for the rabbit anyway... Just curious.

Spring Break Bathroom Re-Do

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Indentured servitude is certainly one good way to celebrate Spring Break. Just look at their joyful, paint-splattered faces -- they are having the time of their lives painting, er, transforming the bathroom!

Painting is tedious to be sure, but working around all the bathroom fixtures is really a pain. Now just add to that balancing on the edge of the tub with a cupful of paint and all kinds of hilarity could ensure. Luckily, no hilarity. Just a smooth even coat of color.

Years ago, the bathroom was wallpapered with a lovely floral motif. The floral went bye-bye and the walls become a lovely lavender with a matching shower curtain. Years later...the lavender was no longer lovely and a more lovely brown was taking it's place. Pardon the cell phone photograghy, but if you look very closely...you can see the brown really is lovely. Viking daughter is painting with the dark chocolate brown whilst Wildcat daughter is painting with the milk chocolate brown. Oooh. Aaah. Lovely. To the lovely brown, we added a lovely new shower curtain and some lovely red mats with matching towels. It's kind of like cherry chocolate now. Lovely!

p.s. So somehow the finished product picture loaded first and I don't know how to un-do. Oh well. Enjoy it first. It's kinda like knowing who did it before the end of the book.

Being Sick, Part II: Daytime TV

Being sick at home for the last several weeks has led me to ask one of the great questions of all time. How much daytime TV can one person watch? A lot. A better question might be how much daytime TV can one person watch safely? Not much. After a while, you can feel your brain getting mushy and your backside getting numb.

However, those risks certainly didn’t stop me from watching hours of TV dressed in my old green sweats, kicked back in the recliner, with a cat or two draped over my lap and the dog snuggled up under my chin. Comfy and cozy to be sure, but still sick and miserable.

After many hours and many channel changes, I have discovered there are only a couple of shows worthy of my remote control efforts. The funny thing is that both of them are re-runs. It’s a good thing I believe in recycling… Anyway, my two top favorites of daytime TV are Britain’s Antiques Road Show and Wife Swap. Go ahead, mock me if you must, but honestly they are the best of the worst.

You know, the British have way cooler junk that we Americans do. For example, one woman brought an authentic Roman helmet to the Road Show. No kidding! Her family has owned a pub for literally centuries and the helmet was found wedged into the ceiling joists in the oldest part of the building. How cool is that? Another woman brought in a simple golden ring with an ugly blue stone that, according to the expert, was made between 1300 and 1350. Again, how cool is that? A man brought in a little ceramic cookie jar that didn’t have really any monetary value to speak of. But it somehow survived the Blitz while the rest of the house was bombed into smithereens. He even had a photo of his mum standing in front of the rubble pile, with that very same cookie jar in her hands. And once again, how cool is that?

I’m not exactly sure what’s so appealing about Wife Swap. Maybe it’s my family’s polygamist heritage peeking out. After watching Wife Swap, I must say that my husband has nothing to complain about. Neither do the kids. Oh sure, he jokes about being on the show, but I know he’s not serious. He could never survive the rule changes that happen when the new “wife” takes over. And what about some of those husbands? Hen-pecked fraidy-cats, pig-headed chauvinists, and uber-control-freaks all get to show off what great husbands they are. Yikes!

Now, just so you don’t think I’m completely without viewing taste, I did watch other stuff, too. It simply wasn’t as entertaining and didn’t make me wish for a British accent or make me thankful for my husband.

Being Sick, Part I

I must say that I have been blessed with extraordinary good health. As a kid, I remember having the flu, a few earaches, the chicken pox, and a broken cheekbone. I banged up me knee in junior high p.e. and sprained my back wearing stilettos in college. That’s me, no medical history to speak of.

Truthfully, I’ve always been afraid of being sick. My mom was a lovely woman, but she was always sick and it was scary for me as a child. Not that it was her fault by any means. Mom had a bad heart and that created all kinds of complications. But one day, she was really sick. Her gums wouldn’t quit bleeding when she brushed her teeth, so she went to the dentist. He sent her directly to the hospital and Mom’s fight with acute leukemia was underway. Back in those dark days of chemotherapy, patients checked in for weeks. Families weren’t encouraged to visit. It was awful. I was a junior in high school when this started, and it fully cemented my fear of illness.

Mom was a fighter and she fought her way back from the brink to bless our lives for a few more years. I watched her struggle with fear, pain, fatigue, and depression. Cancer is much more than just a physical ailment. She, without saying a word, taught me about grace, courage, love, determination, and faith.

So I got sick the week before Christmas – nothing as devastating as Mom’s, but still scary for someone who fears sickness. According to the doctor, I probably had H1N1 that blossomed into full-blown aggressive double-pneumonia. By the time I was sick enough to go to the doctor, I was almost in respiratory arrest and I won a ride in the ambulance to the emergency room. My winning streak continued with a 5-day stay in the hospital, complete with 24/7 IV antibiotics, chicken broth, and the nicest medical staff in the world.

I’ve been home for two weeks now, and am finally feeling recovered. The pneumonia is finally resolved. The secondary virus-with-fever thing is gone, the new medicine has worked, and my sweetest friends have been serving our family the most delicious dinners. Hopefully soon I will be released to resume my full normal schedule.

The last few weeks in the recliner have given me plenty of time to think about lots of things. I thought about my husband and our life together, my daughters and their lives, my choices, my mistakes, my dreams, and my mom. So, the next few blog entries may be more cathartic than anything else – please accept my apologies. I’ll also share with you my adventures with day-time television, some of my favorite late-night movies, and maybe even a few book ideas. After all, I’m gonna need a book deal and one giant garage sale to pay off those medical bills…

Moccasins

Having descended from a long and noble line of literary nerds, it shouldn’t be surprising that I’m fascinated with books. I love the stories they impart, the images they inspire and the feelings they invoke. I love ruffled pages, stiff covers, and don't even get me started on that new book smell. When it comes to books, what I love the most are the characters. And I do believe this love affair all began innocently enough…

When I was really young, before I loved books, I loved moccasins. They were my shoe of choice, regardless of occasion or weather, and my parents were indulgent. Black or brown, smooth or suede, embellished or plain -- I never met a moccasin I didn't like. I was certainly the only third grader in my school with high-top footwear that was both beaded and fringed. Speaking of third grade, one day my teacher gave us a wonderful assignment. “Write a story,” she said, “and make your main character like you in some way.” My imagination went wild and my first heroine ever arrived on the page. Princess Sego Lily was her name, nursing was her game -- and of course she wore moccasins.

In the years since then, my imagination has continued going wild and both my character roster and my shoe collection have expanded. Moccasins now share closet space with lots of different shoes and, likewise, my Indian princess nurse heroine has been joined by a host of other characters. After all, there’s nothing like variety when it comes to footwear or fictional friends and family.

New shoes come from shopping and new characters come from everywhere else. They are often inspired by people I encounter every day. Just recently I saw an elderly lady in a snazzy leopard-print ensemble jauntily walking through town. She was toting a big red purse on her shoulder and in her hands she carried an even bigger piece of cake on a paper plate. If that doesn’t have character stamped all over it, I just don’t know what does.

Now if only she had been wearing moccasins…

Name Game

This week I had the chance to attend a reading by one of my favorite authors. Of course it was great and so was the Q & A afterwards. But I had a question and didn’t ask it – I was overcome by celebrity cowardice. My question is, I think, something any writer of fiction has grappled with and must, at some point, find an answer. So here’s the burning question – how are characters’ names chosen?

Names are fascinating and so is the process of choosing a name. Volumes of baby names have been published and every year the media shares the Top Ten most popular boy and girl names. Where I work, I run across new names on a daily basis. Some are great, some are not so great, and some…well…I just hope those poor kids will change them when they grow up. I’ve met babies named after seasons, colors, movie stars, foods, constellations, plants, cars, historical figures, and geographical locations. I’ve met babies whose names are in the II, III, and even IV recycling. After more than 20 years of meeting babies, I have come to learn that names don’t reflect their ‘owners’ so much as they reflect the parents. What were some of those parents thinking at that oh-so-crucial naming moment? It’s practically cruel and unusual punishment to tag a sweet innocent baby with an awful moniker in the hopes of being unique or distinctive.

That’s what I worry about when I name my characters. I want them to be memorable, but not because of a ridiculous name. I’ve had a female villain in mind for a while now and I just can’t find the right name for her. I must have been subconsciously stewing about it the other night because I dreamed about her and she was named Saffron. No kidding. So where exactly did that name come from? Too much Food Network before bed? Too many yellow paint swatches taped to the kitchen wall? It’s truly a name dilemma – but I just can’t have my evil villain sounding like a Spice Aisle Girl.

And so the burning question continues to burn.