Today marks an overdue posting of gratitudes.  Friday’s temple trip worked it’s usual magic of helping me realign my perspective and I appreciated just missing a session’s departure so I had a full 15 minutes to read the scriptures.  I’d forgotten to take note of where I was at, however, and only one of the five chapters turned out to be “new.”  You get so old, and a lot of it always seems “vaguely familiar,” both for the reason that you’ve read it numerous times and for the reason that the aging brain treats most information like that!  J

Friday night and 95% of Saturday my internet was down.  Qwest came out and swapped out my modem and wireless.  It was interesting to take note of how much I missed it when it was gone.  Back in dial-up days I mostly waited until I got to work re speed issues, but yet was grateful to have it.  NowaDSLdays it would be true withdrawal to go long without it.  The biggest thing I missed was wanting instant answers!  And wondering how I lived before without them!  Are there any medications that use the three pain killers I can take, together, other than Vanquish?  Can I still get Vanquish?  What’s the bus schedule to get from the airport to my friend’s office?  When does the postage price go up?  Is it really true I should unplug my modem when not in use? What does DSL actually mean?

I’m grateful I still have one unoperated upon knee.  I can’t say “good” knee, but it definitely beats the “repaired” one.  I’m grateful I made it into this house before ruining the since “repaired” one, as that is now an impossible consideration unless of course someone else took care of that task.  I’m grateful I have a hoe.  When I moved in I wanted to garden a bit and figured soaker hoses were the best bet, considering I’d be planting up against the foundation and I’d be gone all day.  They were fine, but some of them have worn out and I’m currently too lazy, though I did purchase the supplies, to assess and assemble the parts, so I planted on the edge of the sidewalk and cut a slick furrow as far away from the wall as possible.  It brought back memories of hoeing with my Dad and Mom.

I’m grateful for my sense of smell.  My Dad lost his and I did too for a number of years but got it back as a tender mercy (Weigh Down timeframe, Janeil), and I love this time of year, smelling the lilacs.  I have four types and/or colors in my yard.  Trimming the deadheads off every year I could live without, but I do need the exercise, so that’s good, plus I did get my tender mercy wish of a great reduction in the number of cherry tree blossoms that actually fruited out!  J  I also so enjoy the smell (and taste) of the fruit Jewel sent me for Mother’s Day.  The oranges are from Fresno, CA, and breaking one open smells more like orange blossoms than the smell of your usual grocery store oranges.  Ummmmm.  Reminds me of my Dad’s cantaloupes which were greatly coveted by neighbors and relatives, and made you swear off the store versions.  When he and Norma were on their mission, he gave me a people list to deliver his garden surplus (from Manila to Dr. Nimer's downtown), and one recipient when he answered the door and I proffered a canteloupe, said, “He always brought me two.” !J!  Once I suggested he have a fruit stand because people would flock to it and the delivery part could be x’d, and he said no, he’d have to pay taxes on his produce if he did that.

I’m grateful for my heritage.  And since it’s mother’s day I make mention of just a few.  My mom’s mom I don’t remember.  The most I know about her I learned from Aunt Avera who lived with her the whole of her marriage, after all the other adult children moved out.  She said she was very quiet and unappreciated (the kind you get sometimes when you're long-suffering) but that she did her duty regardless.  She faithfully attended church and she bore her testimony regularly in Relief Society.  She was very ill towards the end of her life and her husband didn’t know it.  She got him off to work, went back to bed until it was time to get his supper ready.  I find that both admirable and disgusting.  I am sure she earned a great reward for her choices.

My dad’s mom was very quiet and unassuming too.  (That's my mom and me on the left.)  Once I commented about her lack of callings in the church which seemed odd to me since she did faithfully attend and therefore must have avoided acquiring any!  My dad immediately came to her defense and chided me, saying “callings” weren’t all there was to life, his mom was particularly shy, and she more importantly raised eight children who were faithful in the church.  Her grandchildren loved her.  She would give them a cookie when they came, a sugar cookie with a hole in the middle to put your finger through while you ate it.  She always seemed happy and pleased to see you.  She never got over worrying, but she was kind through and through and had a sweet sense of humor that made you wonder if she realized she was funny, which made her humor all the more amusing.  All three sons served as missionaries and bishops, two of whom served two missions, two as stake president, and two as stake patriarch; and five daughters, two who also served missions, and all with temple marriages; and all contributing countless missionaries from their posterities.  Grandpa Fugal once said that the best way to make converts was to rear them, and in this they were certainly successful.

I’m also grateful for two moms, both amazingly talented, hard-working and devoted to the gospel.  Both of them well into advanced age, as well as Daddy, accomplished daily more than I ever have in a day.  And I’m grateful for a dad whose patience was extraordinaire.  I used to say he loved me unconditionally, and he did, but that I thought so it dawned on me was more because he kept his mouth shut than any other factor.  He never ever complained about anyone or anything.  He was prompted to say “scrud!” once in awhile, however.  J

It is my prayer that one day I too may “get there.”  Not likely in the talent aspects of life, but improvements in the hard-working, devoted and patient categories.

In looking for these pictures, I found a copy of an undated note Norma wrote to Janeil, which ends with, “DON’T GIVE IN OR GIVE UP, THE ONLY TWO MISTAKES WE CAN MAKE.”

Nobody could have ever called me a movie junkie, even back in the days when I saw The Great Escape nine times.  J   First viewing was in an outdoor movie theatre with fixed theatre chairs, on Hickam A.F. Base in Hawaii.

 When Janeil gave me a Netflix gift subscription a year and a half ago, I had a hard time coming up with enough movies allowed per month which I wanted to see, and figured by the time it was over I would have  seen every single thing ever worth viewing since time immemorial.  I’ve never seen an R movie since the early 80’s when sworn off after seeing one a guest recommended that when asked what I thought of it, I said, “Well….  Have you ever wished you could turn back the clock?”

Now I can’t really swear to that – I guess I should preface "never seen in a theatre," in that there are a few late 60/early 70's movies I’d seen during my own free spirit days, which eventually earned the R rating, and I watched them again, not realizing.  I remember one, in particular.  Jewel was an older teen and I said she’d love this old movie, and then I died several slow deaths of embarrassment as we watched it, and she kept saying, ‘Maaa-mmm!’ and I kept waiting for the assumed saving grace which never came.  So much for all my good intentions, wiped out in one fell swoop.  I must add, however, that as an adult Jewel is respectful of my sensibilities, so it wasn't a total loss.  I’ve also seen a few TV rerun versions that people tell me are edited.  (And I should trust them!  Just like the guest!)  One I watched in the 90's for the first time on KSL-TV (church owned), I even wrote a letter of protest.  I got a letter back saying mine was the single complaint they received!  It was a sick movie (in my lonely opinion), Blade Runner.

By the time the Netflix gift ended, I was hooked (not unlike a zillion other people no doubt), and I currently have 80ish movies in queue.  No R’s, though I must also admit I’ve watched a few unrated foreign films, only one regret so far.  (A supremely sad movie about children growing up harshly in a pre-communist né socialist South American country.)  Netflix is amazing.  I usually drop my movie in a 6 p.m. pick-up box and get a received email the very next a.m.

Wasn’t long and I discovered I could watch an additional movie or two per month on my computer as well, and I’ve gotten so I watch the ones that come in the mail on it as well because my TV has some colorization problems that spoil the hi-def-ness.

The thing that’s so cool about watching it on computer is I can have a small internet window up and I can find out all kinds of info that normally would pass me by.  Watching the three Ocean movies was a hoot, finding the definition/history of all their thievery code words.  And the trois-Bourne movies (theme playing), bringing up a world map or what building is topped with a BT sign in London or just typing in a character name and getting a little summary synopsis.  [Looking for this picture, I found out there will be a Bourne quatre in 2011.  Had I known that, I'd have waited.  Same deal reading sequels, I'd rather wait until they're all out, to begin.]

So I’m afraid I am addicted.  Just like all those cyberspace junkies that post character synopses.  All things considered, however, it’s okay.  Pretty good bargain at under six bucks a month for four movies and better than some other entertainment I could pick.  It’s kind of laughable, however, considering how much flak I gave Jewel over movies during her teen years.  If I said it once, I said it bunches, “You’ll be 21 before you ever see a PG-13.”  She managed, of course.  We signed up for a short stint with cable TV.  I liked it because various and sundry could be blocked.  Jewel was intrigued by the movie advertisements, however, which you couldn’t block - so much for that plan.  Once I gave her a Clean Flix version of a movie favorite I found out she shouldn’t have seen, but the gift didn't turn out as funny as I thought it would be.  (You can give it back to me, Jewel, I’d love to watch it, though I doubt you still have it!  J  Probably never made it past the Christmas trash.)  And you can laugh at me for this, Jewel – I recently saw Titanic for the first time.

My Sunday FHE #3

I had to wait for the experience of becoming a mom, and went through a wide range of emotions, getting there.  I’d reached the bitter “why you” stage (which is after the “why me” stage) when a particular R.S. lesson struck me positively.  I’d heard the concept numerous times, that adversity has a purpose, but applying it to my situation was most comforting and I didn’t need to know what the purpose was, just so there was one.  It was a very liberating insight.  I was nearing 35 when Grant was born.  [Just for the record, that’s his left hand “waving” in the birth picture - does anyone out there know how to flip a picture-of-picture in iPhoto on a MacBook Pro?]

You’ll notice he’s on the skinny side in his six-month picture.   His half sister Gina, who was ten years older, called him her “Sweetheart Skeleton.”  He was a failure to thrive baby and it took the first five months to get him headed out of the woods of being so allergic he once got huge welts from projectile vomiting 100% hypoallergenic Nutramigen (first and last usage).  (At Relief Society, over himself, me, and several women!)  So I became a Le Leche League fanatic (eliminating dairy) and he finally started and continued putting meat on his bones. (Also the reason Jewel was the opposite if you look back at her picture - I wasn’t going to be accused of a second starvation!)  I’ve told him he can thank me for having so few baby fat cells he’ll be lean for life.  I want to make mention here that though I truly was fanatical about it, it still was for me a very private experience, and only close family and league associates were aware of the details (from me).  I also have to thank my sister-in-law, Chris, who after tons of useless advice including the doctor's, took me to the first meeting where for the first time someone asked me what I thought before giving me suggestions that actually worked.

This is Grant at the coast the year+ before Jewel joined us, and kinda explains why he is attracted to unusual colors in his attire.  J It was a trip we took with my Dad and Norma.  On the way home we spent a night in a motel and after being on the road the next morning 20 minutes, I realized I’d forgotten my nice down pillow.  Norma insisted we go back for it.  Grant’s dad was driving and had figured out where we’d get to before we’d need to gas up again, but pre this change in plans.  We ran out of gas, 12 miles short of LaGrande, OR, so his dad hitched a ride to town.  It left us a long time waiting in the car, me saying it was my fault for leaving the pillow, Norma saying it was hers for making us go back.  Grant, who was 2-1/2, finally settled it, saying, ‘It…it…it’s all…all, ALL your fault, Grandma!” and we burst out laughing. 

 When Grant was almost 4 years old I read him this poem, while he looked at the illustration:

 David L. Harrison, “The Boring Life of a Clam,” Friend, Aug 1983, Illustrated by Dick Brown

A clam who took a little nap Was swallowed by a turtle. SNAP!

The turtle found a cave and hid,
But he was swallowed by a squid.

The squid shot forward with a swish,
But he was swallowed by a fish.

The fish swam deep where things are dark,
But he was swallowed by a shark.

The shark was steering with his tail
And steered himself inside a whale.

The whale said, “Phew! That shark is tough!
I’ll spit him out. I’ve had enough!”

The shark said, “Ick! That fish is stale!”
Out he was spewed—head over tail.

The fish said, “Yow! That squid is trouble!”
And blew him out inside a bubble.

The squid said, “Wow! I don’t feel well!”
Out came the turtle with his shell.

“Boy!” said turtle. “Am I sick! I have to spit this clam out quick!”

The clam awoke and stopped his snoring.
“My life,” said he, “is just too boring.”

He asked me to read it again and again.  I thought he found it intriguing, which was true but not the half of it.  It was a matter of couple days of being asked to read it while he studied the picture and he could recite the whole thing from his first attempt, and even presented it two months later at a family reunion.  (His grandfather was renown for memorizing and forever after remembering long story poetry.)

See you later - next installment the last Sunday in May.  (Jewel, brace yourself for more of your  pictures!)  [P.S. to Dear Reader - In case you didn't notice yet, you need to slide down to my blog list and check out Jewel's latest post of Raygen.  Oh the wonders of modern technology!]

My Sunday FHE #2 (by invitation)

One of my favorite things the Saturday of spring conference is to wear ear buds, prepare the soil and plant my peas in my tiny garden. So snow changed that plan! (Interestingly, the sun broke through the still snowing clouds promptly at 10 a.m.) No accumulation, just cold.

Lest you think my comment in my last post about loneliness chimes in with the post prior, I’d best clarify. It’s largely from the cumulative effect of the gone-ness of my R. S. calling’s weekly visits on three days and at least one meeting on another, which has allowed me too much time to mull over my degenerative arthritis and all else that ails me. I’m going to plan on my new calling filling that gap: assistant C.S.L. The “real” C.S.L. needs an assistant when she’s busy with tax season and when she’s off visiting grands and great grands of whom there are many! She also, under her own magnification of her calling, visits the shut-ins, of whom I hope not to join ranks with other than accompanying her. I love visiting under the umbrella of a calling; otherwise, no. I won’t get to do it as much as I’d like, though, as she’s retired and won’t always be waiting around for me to get home.

Janeil’s blog last Sunday challenged us to write about a time our prayers were answered. I find it comforting that this can be for small things as well as big things.

Prov. 3:6 In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

A small thing -

When Grant took care of Norma’s yard, he on one occasion pretty much ran the lawnmower out of oil, so it needed a bit of extra TLC but I had no means of taking it in. I called around to see if anyone provided a pick-up/return plan with no luck (and I’d no doubt have dismissed it anyway due to cost). Finally worked up my courage to ask a ward neighbor with a truck if he’d do the honors sometime when he was headed to/from Orem and he said sure. Time went by and the mowing season was approaching. A lot of time. So I prayed about it and woke up with the idea to pull it up onto the front porch, back my car up to the steps and maneuver it into the trunk. It worked like a charm, both the loading and unloading. (I had a serviceman lift it in and out at the shop.) It was a nice and appreciated boost, courtesy of Heavenly Father, in the self-sufficiency department.

A big thing -

This is an easy one, because long ago I went through my journal and paperclipped the extra meaningful experiences. (My journal is my psychiatrist and so at times I’d feel guilty about the negative introspection [called written whining] and search to mark the good.) There are a lot of paperclips! (Meaningful [good/bad], spiritual, humorous.) My journal is, however, also my prayer and I often talk to Heavenly Father in it and have had answers as a result, such as -

On July 1, 1983, I wrote:

“I have been feeling down some lately about it [adopting], though the two-year ‘average’ [from being approved to actually getting a baby] isn’t up until September. I remember the closeness between Janeil and Lois, and the lack of it in comparison between them and me due to age [I was born 5-1/4 years later], and I want Grant’s brother or sister to be closer in age. He’ll be four in October and it’s beginning to depress me, yet maybe I’m making too much of it. Maybe it wasn’t the age different between us but rather the lack of it between them [15 months].”

Social Services used to tell us that the whole process was based upon inspiration and so if we had concerns, not to bother them, take it to the Lord. Their ceiling for adopting was 40 and I was 38-1/2. I worried a great deal that I might be lower on the inspiration list from being higher on that list. Heavenly Father answered my prayer.

Next entry, July 29, 1983: “Interesting you [Jewel] were born the day after my last journal entry [also keeping in mind that the one prior to that was three months previous]. We got you when you were five days old. I love you so much. Before, I wondered how I could love another baby, I so loved Grant.”

This is Grant’s picture taken late the year Jewel was born, and this is Jewel’s hospital picture. It was a closed adoption but a UVRMC maternity ward employee identified the blanket (which the nurses made). They also forgot to take out the picture from the packet they’d written the local doctor’s name on the back! They took definite steps as standard procedure to keep it private and it was very unusual that they placed her with us based on that nearness. March 13, 1984 entry: "I feel strongly that one of the reasons Jewel came into our family was for the support she and Grant will be able to give each other. In my prayers while we were waiting, I asked that if we were to be able to adopt it be because another child was meant to be in our family and not just that we needed one for our own fulfillment." Over the years I’d always tell Jewel she was meant to be with us … warts and all.

My "Sunday" FHE #1

Grant inspired me to email Ruth the pictures that go belatedly with one of their Monday Night Flashbacks, and even though they aren’t the greatest (picture of a picture), it also inspired me (without invitation) to horn in on their idea. I mean, old people living alone are not exempt from FHE either, you know. And it’s a pretty fun version of it. The idea all came about at the time Carl and Brenda and families came to dinner last Sunday and I realized just how fun it was to reminisce and how extra lonely I’d been feeling. Only I’ll just do it for Sundays once a month, so it’s not deemed a running competition!  (It's actually Sunday and all of you are still in bed, but apparently blogger counts it still as Saturday night which is nice actually, considering the theme music I picked.)  

Now Jewel never has been and I suspect never will be warm to the idea of sharing her growing up pictures, but since they’re relatively small and indistinct, perhaps she’ll get over it. This is Jewel at six months. She was quite the attraction at church and people were always asking to hold her but she’d have none of it. Our ward had about thirty adults and children who had been adopted and new arrivals were duly noted and extra exciting. One of the group, a young married sister, said she had everything any girl could want: a natural tan, naturally curly hair, and dark beautiful eyes with extra long eyelashes.

One of the ward families had adopted five children and the dad would tease me relentlessly -- when were we going to get another one (as good Mormons are supposed to do, you know). I got so I’d say I got my six kids’ worth in Jewel, but he continued to tease and make me feel uncomfortable. Their last, number six, was a major handful. Their home had windows that were about four feet off the ground, yet the little guy at age three, when put down for a nap, crawled out the window and was found downtown (miles away), on his big wheel! (It was downhill, so the ease was what got him that far.)  After that I would say every Sunday, “So Dennis ... when are you getting the next one?” and his face would turn beet red.

Another of the adoptee group, a grandma, made the statement that the best thing they ever got their kids was a playhouse, hours of unsupervised entertainment for them and their friends. Sounded good to me and we outfitted ours with a table and chairs, cupboard (the one in my current playroom), dishes (plenty left for today's kids to play with), play phone, play t.v., play piano, but I actually hated it and was glad to finally see it go. The biggest attraction it created was Jewel and friends using the utensils to shovel gravel and dirt inside, through the door and the windows, where it stayed until mom shoveled all of it back out! Repeated ad nauseam. They also thought it was a great idea to drag everything out … and leave it out. When it was sold, and the man and his wife came to get it, we all stood around trying to figure out how to load it. The biggest problem was it wouldn’t fit flat into the truck bed and created too big of tipping load for the adults to deal with. They almost gave up the deal when Grant who was seven, piped up, “Why don’t you use the camper jacks.” (Direct quote from my journal.)

Notice Butch in the foreground. Butch met an untimely death when Jewel was three, and when she noticed his absence and learned why, she said, “He can’t be dead! I love him!!” It was a Sunday morning. We’d been packing up Saturday and planned to move on Monday, but in our sadness we decided to just move the beds up that day after church and sleep there as a diversion to get our minds off it.

Tune in for the next installment, the last Sunday in April.  

I found him! My Wealthy Man!! Thanks, ABBA!!!

(...Just kidding.)

But I have to tell you this story, at the full risk of reminding you that I have an amazingly bad track record....

A coworker had a St. Patty's day party and gave me leftover corned beef to take home. I love corned beef! And her fiancé made it exactly like I used to (as there is more than one way to skin THAT cat). So as I'm eating it again for supper last night, it reminded me of the fond memory I have of starting a crockpot of it the morning of moving, in AZ, from one apartment to another. The helpers, every time they arrived with a load would smell/mention it and I assured them they were welcome to join us. Some of them said they weren't sure they'd like it, but all of them tried it, exhausted and hungry by the end of the chore. Got tons of compliments and it was a nice ending to a long day.

So then I'm thinking, I wonder what's happened to that crowd who were numbered as bosom buddies for upwards of six years. I looked up Mark Bonsall, whom we called Kram Lla-snob, and he's doing very well, CFE of the Salt River Project. Then I looked up my ex's girlfriend (yes, at the two-timing time), and she's doing very well also, though sadly she's never had any children (well, sad to me, possibly not to her). She even got an advanced degree and taught at OSU in the late 80's. Amazing. And then I looked up the "other Nancy" (which technically is a misnomer - we all called the first one that) and found her interests steeped in family research including being a volunteer contact on "Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness." She apparently still resides where I last knew she lived over twenty years ago. So then I looked up my ex and he's now the CPO of Dean Foods Dairy Division -- Dean Foods, whom I pay almost $300,000 per year for milk products, so multiply that by a zillion school districts. Based now in Dallas after living in Houston several years and back east before that for over 25. Kram professed for the years we maintained contact, that he'd end up in the gutter for his choices, but ... he was wrong, as the atonement is obviously available for all of us! (And aren't we glad about that!) ((That or he's yet to get his just desserts - just like the rest of us.))

And while I'm at it, I might as well admit that probably part of my bad track record no doubt includes such things as the fact that, poised to type it into google, I actually couldn't think of his full name for quite some time (whereas Kram's and the rest came easy!).... (It's the flak impact from an 'oh what a tangled web we weave' reaction, I'm sure....)

And in conclusion I might just as well also mention, I really never have nor would recommend ABBA's cleverly cynical advice.  It didn't influence me then, by choice, and my stand hasn't changed.  Well, hopefully you all stayed sane and sober on the holiday, and do end up in general with a better track record than mine.  ;-)  My St. Pat's wish for you, and something we'll all celebrate one day I'm sure.

And so whether you're looking to find -or be- the right person in a relationship, this is good advice:

“A sound head, an honest heart, and an humble spirit are the three best guides through time and to eternity.” Sir Walter Scott

(I have heard of, met, know and admire, a goodly number of those over the years.  And if my experience counts for anything, I can attest:  two out of three won't do.)

[Beg the Irish forgiveness, for quoting a Scotsman!]

Just now this was on the bottom of my clocks section. Humorous.

"Mormon Church
View 1000's of Pictures & Videos of Beautiful LDS Singles
-Join Free Now. Ads by Google."

And speaking of humorous, here's a graph I recently ran across:


Will be interesting to see how long the humor lasts.... My stock dividend is currently paying a whooping 5 cents per share as opposed to 35 cents the week before - the first time ever they've lowered it since the beginning of (their) time (60's). My 403-B has matured so I don't have to worry about the market fluctuation and it will flat-line just like my 401-K which is on the most conservative level. However. My 403-B is ING and I have a sneaking suspicion that ING though major-ly bigger is major-ly and scarily in worse shape than the "income" level of USR investments. Hummm. Someone should graph that for a local short-lived laugh.

When we were at the viewing last week, David Hanks, who has been to Europe twice on his retirement, is now contemplating kicking out his renters on what's left of his farm and going back to work so he has a means of survival. Hope it's not a dairy farm as that industry's on big skids of late.

Here's some more most interesting and varyingly humorous economy crisis blurbs (look quick before the humor bits kick the bucket):

Clever powerpoint by Jonathan Jarvis: http://crisisofcredit.com/
British Comedy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzJmTCYmo9g
NPR audio "Giant Pool of Money" (short version): http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=90327686
Then if you're not "full," a New York Times article: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/19/business/19leonhardt.html
(Note how old it is - and now a year later, the continued and exponentially multiplying "unprecedented actions to restore confidence"!)

And lastly, I am DEEPLY grateful to the church for all the self-reliance direction provided over the years. In some circles I've been stuck in, that concept was not well respected. I may not end up with much of a nest egg, beyond the late start, but I'm grateful no debt collectors will show up on my doorstep. Cross-my-fingers-and-say-my-prayers!, I might add in odd anticipation of formerly unforeseen signs of the turn "enduring to the end" may be taking. Such as: Do I have a fence cropping up I'll consider sitting upon (or falling off) when the day comes gifts to charity are taxed?

Formal introductions are in order for Jewel’s family, soon to be expanding. Jewel moved to Las Vegas the summer she graduated from high school. She was almost 18 (2001). I was not keen on the idea and was standing (trying to) in the way, but Janeil convinced me to look at it in a positive light, which was smart and a comfort, since obviously she’d have soon gone anyway! She got a good job almost immediately as a receptionist at Rebel Oil Company. Johnny Scarborough was a coworker and she always spoke highly of him as being an easy going and supportive friend, who would do anything asked, for anybody. Recently he told her that early on when she worked there, he was with friends and his mom, her name came up, and Johnny told her, “That’s the girl I’m going to marry one day.” Upon a bit of quizzing, he also said if he could ‘build’ a girl, she’d be it. Jewel says she was oblivious to all this. She lived with three sets of girls prior to getting married in the fall of 2004 and worked at Rebel for three and a half years.

Jewel renewed her Rebel acquaintances a year and a half ago, and she and Johnny grew closer. He’s 28 and from Beatty, Nevada. Beatty is a town of around a thousand on the border of California, near Death Valley. He has one brother, younger, Seth. They have played together since high school, Seth guitar and vocal, Johnny drums. They occasionally still play together including back in Beatty. Their parents grew up near and still live in Beatty, and they have grandparents in Las Vegas and Georgia.

Johnny has worked for Rebel for over ten years. He is their “trouble-shooter” and he travels around to the various stations (of which there are many in and around Vegas) keeping things in good repair and working order, from sprinklers to AC to fuel equipment. Jewel appreciates his skills, as he also keeps things at home in working order and good condition. She says he is “finisher” - likes to do projects and always gets them done quickly and professionally.

He has a dog named Chuck and unfortunately Jewel doesn’t appreciate him very much so they live mostly in an uneasy truce. Jewel loves dogs and has her own, Roscoe, a Jack Russell, but Chuck, a large purebred English Bulldog (picture - his “cousin”), through no fault of his own, isn’t prone to keeping things in what could be termed good condition. ☺ It will be a true test of Johnny’s gentle nature being stuck in the middle!

Jewel had a very good job in Provo for a few months when she started her divorce (which took
f-o-r-e-v-e-r I might add!), and they let her stay in one of their contract homes when she went back to Vegas, where she lived a year and a half, up until December. (Turns out you should think long and hard about marrying/living in Nevada, because she would have had to obtain his permission to live anywhere else [and still retain ANY custody rights]!) The house ended up in foreclosure. Johnny bought another foreclosed house a few blocks away, same builder, as they prefer its floor plan and it was a much better deal. His mortgage is close to the same as he paid for the house he’d been renting.

Johnny is a skilled quad runner and has a large circle of friends and family with the same interest. He bought Hayden a child’s size quad for his third birthday last year (complete with kill switch). Johnny is a happy and grounded person, and has a very wry sense of humor. I tell him he should be a radio announcer (deep melodious voice).

Johnny has been a very good addition to Hayden and Jewel’s life. I see Hayden being much more respectful of his mom, and I see a calmness in Jewel’s life she’s never ever had. Her job, due to the economy (high-end high-rise leasing), ended in December, and she “gets” to be a stay-at-home mom, courtesy of Johnny. I can’t imagine how she’d have survived her housing and employment crisis, without him. (Other than the fact that she’s definitely a survivor and would have regrouped surprisingly well, as always.) But I’m also glad they were already committed to each other before those storms arose. Pretty big step for a guy who’s never even been engaged. I wish them the best as they meet the challenge of soon adding a sister for Hayden to the family.

[Was thinking of picking music to go with this, but actually, I think the one that’s at the top of the list from the last blog, still applies. Great drumming and musicality in general, upbeat, supportive … composed the year Jewel was born. ☺ (I know, I know, Jewel's rolling her eyes….)]

I’ve been flopping from annoyed to angry to irritated to worried to sad to scared over growing anti-Mormon online local newspaper comments, so a particular forwarded email struck a chord. I was thinking of sharing it, but googled it because there’s so much ‘fact’ phony baloney out there. Found one of my suspicions was correct --

Some time ago ‘In a local newspaper in Provo, Utah, there had been an ongoing series of articles written by individuals who wanted to persuade LDS Church members to leave the Church. In response to the highly critical and spirited remarks, a local member wrote this rebuttal….’

-- if it really occurred (couldn’t verify that, including the archives), from reading the text it was a v-e-r-y long time ago and whomever first started the forwarded email flow deceptively left off those first three words! (It’s still a good rebuttal however, and entitled “Quit the Church.")

In looking for the “proof” that it was actually a published editorial, I ran across the funniest long dialog on www.bycommonconsent.com. The subject was people’s feelings about how boring and long church is. I’m sure it’s a timeless issue. Reminds me of Grant saying it was boring when he was four, and I asked him what would improve it, and he said, “Vending machines in the foyer.” Some of the funnier ones:

One guy who is an organist said, more well thought out and prepared music would help and that he was called ‘the Van Halen of church organists.’ Someone took offense to that and said, “You say you’re the ‘Van Halen’ of church organists, but can you play the keyboard part from ‘Jump’? Well, I can, and as anyone can tell you, that makes me REALLY COOL!” [Bitter mockery=envy throughout comment.] Organist’s answer: “Of course I can, Aaron. I played in a rock cover band in the 80s.”

“One way to improve a boring lesson is to make a thought-provoking comment. I haven’t tried doing this during a sacrament meeting yet, though I’ve been tempted to raise my hand a few times.”

“People imitating GAs is often worse than people that don’t know how to speak at all--the creepy staring at people or trite poems.” [Like the vice/monster one? ☺]

“A lot of the responses seem to be very self-centered: ‘If only I were in charge, church would be much better.’ I’m rolling my eyes so fast the friction is keeping me warm on this cool autumn night.”

“I’m just biding my time for the day when my wife gets sick of it. It probably won’t happen, and that’s okay. I’ll attend weekly for the rest of my life, if needed, but if she comes around, I’m gone.”

“In my laziest, I’m-never-getting-out-of-bed-again moments, I honestly can’t remember or believe how uplifting it is to do something generous or spiritually replenishing. But I have enough experience to know not to trust that amnesia.”

“I tend to spend my meetings reading my NIV or some good gospel or scripture related book (which excludes most stuff coming out of Deseret, IMHO).” [In my humble opinion.]

“I finally realized that I wasn’t at church to be stimulated, intellectually challenged, or even inspired. Church wasn’t about me. [She admitted naively bringing a book to read until she realized people noticed and were deeply offended.] I was there to love the people. This should not have come as news to me since I’ve known this on one level for a long, long time.”

In response to a commenter named “Rosalynde”: “(P.S.–can I just say that it makes me unreasonably happy to see your name on the screen? It’s just such a great name, especially with the ‘y’. / gush mode off /)”

“I find myself dreading Gospel Doctrine every Sunday morning before I go to church because I know it will be full of idiotic Republican comments. And when I go, I get very mad at those people. But then I take a deep breath, say a prayer begging for the ability to forgive and forget, and to be able to focus on the lesson. And, quite often, what happens is that I do focus on the lesson and have some of the most spiritually uplifting experiences of my week.”

“To be honest I hear far more anti-business comments than stereotypical Republican comments. About the only exception might be gambling, pornography, and abortion.”

“He [God] makes do with what is available. There seems to be a correlation between simple faith and diligence and pigheaded prejudice. I’m sure God is as grieved by that as you or I am.”

“I hate going to church, and I enjoy it. I hate the members, and I admire them. But I don’t hate Heavenly Father. If this is the best he can do, it’s not his fault. It’s up to us to make the church better.”

Well, even though my drawing attention to this issue in this way could be termed grossly ‘irreverent’ all by itself ;), might I just add that taking one’s family to church regularly teaches them a lot more than the gospel!  Went to a funeral awhile back of a member in an extended family of whom most were inactive, where I witnessed: children roaming around behaving well beyond just irreverent, adults wandering in late, people answering their phones and getting up to go talk to some live person apparently more important than the dead (I guess I should be glad they left the room), people visiting with their neighbor during hymns, adults dressed in starkly nonchapel attire, a speaker having to go back down and spend five minutes hunting through her assorted odds and ends to find her speech, even the husband of the deceased had something so important to do that well into the program he left the chapel for 10 minutes! And to top it off, having to wait an extra 10 minutes at the end for the family to exit while the chatters in the group blocked the isle. At first I thought this was the biggest live demo I had ever witnessed of genetic ADHD. Finally realized it was due to the untaught/unexpected need for respect and self-control. Which you get, over time (some longer than others), if you attend church regularly:  three hours’ disambiguation a week (though you only recognize it in retrospect).

[Note to self: refer 11/08 Ensign pp. 17, 47.]

One of the nice things about getting old is contemplating your navel. Not literally, of course. I am fully content not to lead the transitional hectic life of most families, though I do still fully, and always have enjoyed living my children’s lives vicariously! ☺

Jewel is totally excited to be in the house on 1/28 after relying on her future brother-in-law’s good graces since 12/7! It so happened when Seth and Johnny were emptying the storage unit, the power went out on the whole neighborhood block so they had to unload in the dark. Just as they were by truck-light squeezing the last of it into the garage, the power came on, prompting Johnny to say with an understated tone, “I could feel a little angry right now.” They took Hayden over a few nights prior and in the tour when they came to the kitchen, Johnny said, “And this is where you mother will be cooking dinner every night.” With all the kitchen gear buried in storage, it’s been basically fast food for the last seven+ weeks, as the stay with Seth was initially expected to last 10 days. Grant should blog about his close escape from a personal injury lawsuit…which he probably won’t, but I peaked your interest, didn’t I! It has been wonderful witnessing Ruth’s chronicling of their Houston lives, as it shortens the distance considerably.

But back to the musings of the aged. Morning baths in the winter are a tad on the cool side in my house. Replacing the water heater is next on the list after kitchen and TV-room flooring. So sitting in the tub collecting body heat under a towel, it makes me think of pioneer day Indians cross-legged with their blanket wraps (also musing, around the fire), and how poorly I would fair in that circumstance. Which made me think of the logic in spending winters in the valleys (if not St. George!), where a few subsequent conflicts with settlers arose. Which made me wonder just what is the difference in temperature, mountains vs. valleys around here. Which caused me to get out of the tub and look on the internet, where I found the minimum temp overnight at a certain weather station in the mountains was 14.7 whereas in my very neighborhood it was 19.3. Not as big a difference as I figured. But: wind chill made a bigger difference that I would definitely notice, as I would notice the big diff in humidity, 88.2% vs. 59.8. The 10 a.m. temp wasn’t so bad, 23.3 vs. 26.5., which surprised me. Wind 5.5 mph in the mountains, zero in the valley.  Humm, looking for just the right Timpanogos picture to plug in here, I'm thinking this little speculation project is lacking in that ...
                                                 I'm sure an inversion changes everything!

Regardless, we all have our relative thanksgivings – Jewel getting settled, Grant dodging bankruptcy, me “comfortably” shivering.

This is NOT a postcard picture!

It's my lame attempt to record the size of the currently falling snowflakes.

You'll just have to take my word for it - they are super-sized!

When I started blogging I promised myself it would be once a month. Ha! There is an outré addictiveness, perhaps mostly because it’s a literal invitation to expose your self-centeredness, and which is pretty apparent in mine. Not all of you, mind you. You decide for yourself on your own. I think my favorite part is listening to everyone’s music and having instant access to grandchild pictures. And it has been wonderful to peek into the lives of relatives I get to see so infrequently and this has made them become much more “real” to me.

I have no desire whatsoever to “join” MySpace, as you can’t avoid the eyeball shock of so simple a thing as what people call or profile-picture themselves (and their so-called friends). And I would pitch to EVERY family to stand in the way of it for as long as possible! It’s just a plain fact that if you allow the exposure, you WILL be effected. I’ve alluded to this poem before, which my Dad would quote:

“Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, we first endure, then pity, then embrace.” Alexander Pope (English Poet, 1688-1744)
Once I wanted to use this very poem in a R.S. lesson but the church-approved source guidelines excluded it. Then I stumbled upon it quoted by Monson so I got to use it after all. ☺ The “stumble” by the way was a very apparent spiritual gift, I must add. And speaks to the issue of preparing ahead, so you can have some interim spiritual opportunities.

As to facebook, people do seem to put a much better foot forward and behave themselves. Well, compared to MySpace, that is. I can’t say I’ve never seen anything inappropriate, but so far it’s been in the veiled catty indulgence category rather than in the monster vice realm. If it weren’t all so time-consuming, I’d be tempted. I spend entirely too much time on blogspot as it is. And other than moving snow on a rare occasional winter evening and bunches of yard work the rest of the year, that’s about all I “have” to do after work, so I don’t get how people manage who actually have “responsibilities”! Well, I can’t say I haven’t “joined,” having been first invited by an old friend I’d hear nothing from/of otherwise, who kept “poking” me last September, and a couple more along the way.

There was a recent news report as to some of the slimyness side of it all. A local child’s photo got anonymously Aryan-nationed and the family was so upset they hired a lawyer to find out who did it and were shocked it turned out it was within the immediate adult family circle. So let that give all of us pause and we all continue down this path of competing for the most friends and the longest blog list. For example, I wouldn’t recommend a facebook link to your blogspot. I’m sure all you more proficient participants could give us more/better advice, so the invite’s open. Obviously, if someone out there is innately devious, there’s no way to be perfectly protected sans bowing out to assuage one’s paranoia.

There is a good part to it all, of course, and the list is long. Just seeing Velvet’s bound family photo books is one pudding proof (not that hers began with blogging). It’s always good to develop your skills as to the ins and outs of the computer world no matter how involved you anticipate it might end up via your family or your employment. It’s a fun way to learn. Right now I have an elaborate Excel worksheet I’ve created to divvy up our cooks’ association profits for the upcoming annual convention registration based on each one’s involvement in earning those profits. Which is small potatoes --say potato pearls (as in instant) -- I’m sure, compared to --what was it?-- Ubuntu??!! ☺

Reminds me (not Ubuntu, just this post in general) of when I had to go to a group therapy session at the State Hospital. (No, I wasn’t a patient, it was a college major assignment.) They were discussing whether or not they thought various patients had earned the right for a weekend pass home. Several were “approved,” but the last one continued at length, and finally she blurted out, “I PROMISE, I won’t even look at the genealogy!” I was astounded. And then it came out that she had such an addiction to it that the group thought it the only reason for the request and therefore unhealthy to indulge! And apparently contributed to her incarceration.

So I guess what it boils down to is this: might not be a bad idea to give consideration as to the ramifications of what we end up picking for our own poison.

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow

There’s something nice about Friday nights, especially the one right after the monthly first week of stressful work deadlines. So I find myself in a bit of extra good humor. My version of it, that is. I had a conversation with Glenn Beck after work (which was amusing). He buys gold as “insurance” he claims, but the company he buys it from keeps it for him and supposedly down the road his kids might need it, say for food. I told him (but I could tell he wasn’t listening), if anyone needs gold for food and the gold isn’t on the premises, or say walking distance with your wheelbarrow, it’s the same as not having it at all. Somehow I doubt in those circumstances gold would be logically tradeable for edibles anyway, though there are certain forms of smart bartering. That’s why I have oatmeal (I tell him) and then laugh. (But I DO have a lot of oatmeal in metal cans, keep in mind should the occasion arise, assuming by the time you’re wanting to do some trading, you aren’t too uptight about expiration dates.)

There’s something about my garage that elicits loud singing. I think it’s the echo-y shower thing, and being glad to be home. I’d be embarrassed of course if someone were waiting for me in the back yard but then on the other hand that would not be a good thing either in and of itself! It might be precipitated, on Fridays anyway, from singing at work. My office coworker plays each of our picks of the year on Fridays, cranked up, which is because we’ve noticed often we’re the only ones left long before the official end of the day. Mine this school year is Spirit in the Sky. Bill’s is Little Willy Won’t Go Home. Colleen’s is Earl’s Gotta Die. Jenny’s has a semblance of decorum - I Can Only Imagine - so we usually play it first so as not to spoil it with the others. All of them are best appreciated tuned up.

Another fun thing these days is taking sinus pressure medication every day for a week and having normal blood pressure readings throughout, the first since pre-Christmas. So I’m optimistic having learned of another BP-lowering agent besides a daily diet of turkey! ;-)

I remember being annoyed by my mother’s sense of humor, which was so dumb. Not unlike my own these days. (Including the part about mostly not caring what anyone thinks about it.)

Had a fun conversation with Hayden yesterday, who doesn’t think I’m dumb yet, fortunately. Johnny had taught him how to ride his bike without training wheels at the ripe old age of 3-3/4. (His Dad will no doubt take pause at that fact should it be noticed/mentioned.) He was proud of himself, asked if I could come see it. Jewel in the background said I didn’t live in the same state. So very seriously he said, “Why don’t you live in the same state, GG?” I said, “I have no idea.” So then he said his usual closing comment about when was he coming to see me and I said, “Ask your Mom.”

Been wanting to take a picture of the hugeness of the snow pile built around my house, but the lighting was never right in the yard, so I took this one instead at my neighbor’s. Took some arthritis meds as a result, when the storms were back-to-back, but other than that, I LIKE dealing with snow. At home that is. It lets you know you're alive, in more ways than one, and makes me think back to the ancestors who lived in the dugout a few feet away and had lots bigger winter problems to maneuver than moving snow. The non-home versions of dealing with snow make you hope you’ll remain alive! I followed my boss to an SLC meeting this morning vicariously via commuterlink and empathized with the freeway parking lot she dealt with in Lehi as a result of 20 cars and two semis coming into inappropriate contact! It’s definitely good to be home.