Flow

Jack requested a volcano cake for his fourth birthday.

I could use a bit of work on my technique with the lava frosting, but the dry ice eruption was captivating!

Doctor Love

Jack's throat was a mess this morning. Time to go to the doctor. And, yes, he got to enjoy his first throat culture. Strep confirmed. Antibiotics prescribed.

Just before Jack was born, I asked a few conscientious moms around the neighborhood who their pediatrician was. They all told me about the same doctor and how much they loved him.

Turns out the doctor was a guy I knew from the dorms my freshman year in college! The last time I saw him we were 18, and the main thing I remembered about him was that he dated the girl next door to me the first semester, broke up with her, and then dated the girl across the hall the second semester. Good times.

He wasn't really taking new patients, but because he knew me from way back he made an exception for Jack. We're very glad about that. My conscientious neighbors were right.

Sicko

Poor Jack is pretty sick, feeling lousy with a high fever. We had a quiet day at home.

Right after Roger and I opened our bookstore, we both got very sick. I suppose it wasn't too surprising, but it was sure inconvenient. We had our grand opening and then we closed. Roger was worse than me that first morning, so I drove down to leave a note on the door explaining that we'd reopen as soon as possible.

For days we were utterly incapacitated. We just laid there. Luckily we weren't parents yet. And luckily we had a furnace to keep us warm. We decided that if we had to put logs on a fire to survive, we'd pretty much just have to give up and die.

Ultimately it was cold applesauce that saved my life. My throat was so sore, and it was the only thing I could bear to eat. I think it took a week before we had enough strength to go back to work.

Life works much better when we take turns being sick. The worst, though, is when it's Jack's turn.

My Cheerleader

Jack just requested a cough drop to soothe a sore throat. I hope he's not getting sick. He already missed some school the first week of the term due to illness, and he's barely caught up from that.

Sore throats make me nervous because they can lead to throat cultures. And I am so not a fan of the throat culture. I believe that the older I get, the less equipped I am to deal with them. It is so hard to let the swab touch the back of my throat without grabbing the nurse's hand to stop it.

When Jack was little, maybe three or four years old, I had to take him along with me to the doctor when I was sick. The doctor decided I had to have a throat culture. As I sat on my hands, I asked Jack for some moral support.

"You can do it, Mom! You can do it, Mom! You can do it, Mom!" he chanted over and over until it was over. And I did it!

Building a Relationship

My dad became Gramps when Jack was born. Roger and I were sort of joking when we suggested we call him Gramps, but it stuck and I think it fits!

In honor of Gramps being in town for a visit, I thought I'd post these early memories of Jack and Gramps building a house with Lincoln Logs and a tower with Duplo when Jack was probably a few months shy of two.

Getaway

My dad is in town, and he's hanging out with Jack while Roger and I run away for the night.

The first time Roger and I traveled together was for a quick trip to Las Vegas. No, we weren't eloping. In fact, we weren't even dating yet. But we were taking a scuba diving class together, and we were headed to Lake Mead to get certified.

Somehow we ended up staying at the Klondike Hotel at the far end of the strip. It was pretty cheap and rundown. I confess that I felt no guilt flinging my sandy wetsuit and all of my scuba gear around my bathroom to let them dry.

We're staying in a nicer place tonight. I'll probably keep the bathroom a bit tidier.

Stranded

Car troubles that left me stranded for a few unproductive hours earlier today reminded me of the time I drove my aunt and uncle's old Land Cruiser from Massachusetts to Illinois. They needed it transported, and I needed to start working my way across the country to get back to college in Utah at the end of the summer.

It was a grand adventure driving something that size. I loved owning the road. What I didn't love, though, was breaking down over and over along the way.

The truck was okay unless I stopped twice in a row without letting the engine run long enough in between stops. For example, if I parked to get something to eat at a rest area, then drove to the gas pumps, I'd have to wait an hour or so before I could get the engine started again. Turns out there was some sort of kink in the fuel line.

But the old Land Cruiser and I did make it!

Seeing More Clearly

Jack is trying out contact lenses. As soon as we got home from the eye doctor, he begged to take them out. Time for tough love. I told him he had to keep them in until 7:00. He didn't take them out until 7:30. Good job, Jack.

I started wearing glasses in the fourth grade and didn't get contact lenses until I graduated from high school. Of course, back in those days we didn't have disposable lenses and we had to be extra careful with the one pair we'd get. I'm much more willing to let a 12-year-old get contacts knowing that he'll get 12 pair to last all year.

When I was a little bit older than Jack, my mom took me to my yearly checkup with the eye doctor, and while he was examining my eyes he asked me if I used drugs.

"What?!" asked my mother. She was alarmed.

Apparently my pupils were very dilated, and the doctor was suspicious. The answer was no (I have polygraph results to prove it), but if it was yes, I can't imagine saying so with my mother in the room!

Fried

I am so tired tonight I can barely focus my brain. When I got home from class at 9:00 p.m., I found Roger making our bed with the clean sheets I'd left in the drier. He's always doing thoughtful things like that.

When I was a teenager, I remember coming home late one night, and while I was dragging myself up the stairs, I realized with much regret that I hadn't made up my bed. When I opened the door to my room, I discovered that while I was gone, my mom had found my sheets and made my bed for me. To this day I am grateful to her for that.

I believe I have hit upon one of my love languages. And now to lay my head on my freshly laundered pillow . . .

Hanging Out in D.C.

Political geek that I am, I enjoyed watching the president's State of the Union speech tonight and was reminded of the very first time I voted in a presidential election. It was 1984, and since I was doing a college internship in Washington, D.C., I cast an absentee ballot from my home state of Massachusetts.

The ballot came with a thin sheet of styrofoam that was meant to be placed under the ballot so that when I punched holes with a pin to indicate my selections, they'd be more likely to go all the way through the paper.

At that point, the idea of a hanging chad hadn't yet entered the nation's consciousness. In retrospect, I hope my votes counted!

Emergency

After class tonight I discovered that one of my students, who left the class coughing, had a really scary time of it trying to catch her breath and had almost called 911. By the time class ended and I found her in the hall with some of her classmates, she'd pretty much recovered from the worst of it, but didn't think she could drive herself home. She was waiting for her husband to come pick her up.

While we talked, she asked me to take her pulse. I'm totally out of practice, but I have had some training!

When I was in high school I took a CPR class. As you can see, I've never filled out the bottom half of the certification card because I've never administered CPR. I did have the chance to come to the aid of two different people who were in obvious distress soon after I took the class (a woman in Mexico who couldn't quite stay conscious and a man at a campground in Utah who seemed to be suffering from heat stroke). But neither of them required mouth-to-mouth or CPR.

Although I kept surprisingly calm as I helped them, I realized that I wasn't going to be cut out for any sort of job in the medical field. The clincher? When the heat stroke victim's wife suggested that we take out his dentures in case he vomited. Yeah. Not my strong suit.

Child Labor

Putting Benny and Jack to work to keep our bookstore doors sparkling (circa 2003).

I Would Not Eat Them Here or There

We're getting our first really good snow of the season, which made our drive to Sportsman's Warehouse this evening a bit more adventurous. But we had to go to take advantage of a special, one-day discount for law enforcement personnel. (It still makes me laugh, by the way, to think I work for the sheriff!)

After we picked up the things we were after, we browsed a bit. I discovered they have quite a selection of food there, including freeze-dried eggs.

Once upon a time, long long ago, my dad made me eat freeze-dried eggs. I think we were testing them out before a camping trip. Oh. Ew. Even after all these years, I can still taste them when I think about it. They were especially nasty when I washed them down with grape juice. Ew. Ew.

I'm sure freeze-dried eggs have improved over the years, but I don't ever want to eat them again. Even with a special discount.

The First Roll

These are pictures from the very first roll of film I ever shot. It was summer 1972, the year I turned nine. We had the kind of box camera with a view finder that you look down into. Apparently, I thought it would be nice to take a portrait of everyone at the house that day.

Here's my dad and my mom:

And here's my best friend Judy holding my brand new sister, Linda, on the left, and my older brother Robbie on the right.

These black and white photos are aging far better than many of the color snapshots I took in high school and college.

Up Too Late

Tonight we launched our new "So You Want to Read" series at the Springville library. Our speakers, authors Ann Cannon and Louise Plummer, were absolutely perfect for the kickoff presentation. They spoke about books they've read over the years that they loved, that they hated but then loved when they reread them as adults, that surprised them, and that stretched them. And they completely charmed us.

So I thought I'd write a memory about reading in their honor.

When I was in early elementary school, I always made sure that my bedroom door was a little ajar when it was time to turn out the lights. I only had to lean a little bit from my bed to catch the light from the hallway and stay up longer than I was supposed to reading books. The book I remember the most from that time was Danny and the Dinosaur. My favorite part was when the dinosaur totally failed at the game of hide and seek because there was nothing large enough for him to hide behind. (What would a psychoanalyst have to say about that?)

I still like to stay up too late reading in bed. Roger loves that about me. Don't you, Rog?

Being Wrong

My reach back to junior high school memories continues for a third day in a row. In class tonight I shared the following video with my students, then had them write a short personal essay about a time they were wrong about something.

As an example, I shared a story about the time I got into a big argument with my 8th grade science teacher. I remember so clearly that I was right and she was crazy. I was unwavering in my conviction.

I knew that if an object like a potato or a rock was broken into pieces, total surface area would decrease because the pieces would be smaller. I was so sure. And I was so wrong.

Being Horrid

Jack started a new term today, which included starting a couple of new classes. He traded science for social studies and PE for Spanish. I happened to meet his Spanish teacher in the hallway this morning, and I flashed back to my 7th grade Spanish class.

Every once in a while I am horrid without really understanding why. I did something horrid to my 7th grade Spanish teacher. I wrote a very mean insult, directed at my teacher by name, on a test paper before I turned it in. I wrote it very lightly, somehow thinking he wouldn't actually be able to read it. Duh! It was a situation that warranted a written apology and several trips to the school counselor, who just sat there waiting for me to explain myself. I had no idea what to say. She finally gave up.

In retrospect, I realize that my teacher had been making me very uncomfortable. He sat me in the front row and constantly drew attention to my work in front of the class. My little 12-year-old brain didn't know how to stop it and may have sensed something a bit more insidious than just being the teacher's pet. I felt guilty for years for being so hurtful, but I think my subconscious was simply protecting me.

In 8th grade, I started studying French.

Roots

I'm watching a reunion interview with actors who appeared in the mini-series Roots. It seems like a very appropriate thing to do as this Martin Luther King, Jr. Day winds down. When Roots aired in early 1977, I was 13 years old and I remember being completely glued to our little black and white television, watching the entire series.

I was not alone. The final episode ranks as the third most watched television show in the history of U.S. television, beating out every single Superbowl.

Even with my terrible memory, I can remember many scenes and how they made me feel. I know that I was influenced on a very deep, formative level. In a very real sense, the story rooted itself in me.

Maturing?

We played cards tonight, and Roger and Jack totally creamed me.

I used to be more competitive. One time I made Roger play cards with me until 2 a.m. because he kept beating me at gin rummy and I wanted to win.

I can't decide if I don't do that anymore because I grew up or because I got old.

Menace in Venice

This is a receipt from lunch on my 19th birthday in Venice, Italy. I was traveling with friends while on break from a study abroad program in Paris. I have no idea what we ate, but I'm certain it was delicious.

What I do remember is what happened the moment we walked out of the restaurant.

Sparing the details, all I will say is that it involved a pigeon and my t-shirt was history. Luckily I had a sweatshirt in my backpack. But I needed a private place to change.

I found that place in a quiet corner of St. Mark's cathedral. Yes, I did. Happy birthday to me.

Shower the People

Remember the days when top musicians came to play at BYU and we packed the Marriott Center to see them? This was one of my favorites.

How sweet it was.

All I Want for Christmas

When Jack was six, he tried to discourage customers from buying this little guy for sale at our bookstore. He was hoping Osbert would be under the tree for him on Christmas morning. How could we resist? Osbert is still part of the family.

Crammed

I had one of those packed, logistically challenging days.

Dropped Jack at school at 8:00, got ready for work, met with two inmates at the jail, drove to UVU to listen to a live recording of Radio West (yes, I got to hear Doug Fabrizio say "and then we'll invite you to join the conversation" in person), totally miscalculated how long it would take to hike back to my car which was in the hinterlands (and being waylaid by an instructor acquaintance who felt moved to recite a lengthy poem for me didn't help), was late to a meeting with the marketing director of the Mountainlands Applied Technology College and people from the Department of Corrections workforce development program, headed back to the UVU campus after filling up the car with gas and filling up my belly with a sandwich, hung out in the faculty lounge in the library preparing for class, stopped by the English department to photocopy some handouts, chatted with another instructor who totally validated one of the new teaching strategies I came up with yesterday when she mentioned something she learned at a recent conference, taught from 5:30 to 8:15, walked out to the hinterlands to find my car, realized that no, that was where I had parked earlier in the day, backtracked to my regular parking area, headed home, got lost in thought and missed my exit, finally made it there just after 9:00.

Phew. But I love cramming it in like that from time to time!

One of the most complicated trips I remember taking was a combination of friends' weddings and law school visits back in the late 80s when I was thinking about going to law school. All within the course of a week, I had stops planned at the University of Michigan (but I missed a connecting flight for that), Omaha (wedding), Connecticut (Yale), upstate New York (wedding), and Chicago (Northwestern). I can't remember exactly what order I went in, but I do remember flying through the Cincinnati airport four times.

Phew.

Trashed

Apparently I am taking teeny tiny itty bitty baby steps organizing my office. Today I managed to empty the waste basket. I went in to find a copy of an old textbook to use in preparing for class tomorrow and felt that I had to do something, no matter how small.

When I was growing up, my family had a very complicated system for waste disposal. We separated into at least a dozen different categories.

• Organic waste like banana peels and egg shells went into the bucket beside the kitchen sink, ultimately destined for the compost pile at the far end of the garden (a very long trek when we had deep snow).
• Meat bones went into the in-ground garbage can just outside the back door. Raccoons quickly made off with them so we never had to worry about formal garbage collection. I still remember the clang of the heavy lid of the garbage can in the middle of the night.
• Separate boxes under the kitchen sink collected recycling: rinsed plastic bottles, clear glass, green glass, brown glass, tin cans (lids off, cans squished flat with our feet), and aluminum soda cans (which I believe my parents now collect for 5 cent return).
• Plastic bags, including bread bags, went into a rack on the cupboard door below the sink to be reused.
• Paper went into a box by my mom's desk to be recycled. We also saved some newspapers in a bin by the fireplace for fires and other projects, and Mom was very good at reusing scrap paper for miscellaneous notes.
• Odds and ends went into a bin by the refrigerator or waste baskets throughout the house. We collected all of this trash in giant bags and store them in the barn until the next trip to the dump. No curbside pickup for us.

When I grew up, I rebelled by throwing all of my trash into the same bag and letting the city collect it. So easy! Bit by bit I've grown up and reconnected with at least some of the good lessons my parents taught me. Not quite there with the composting, though.

Friends

Jack and Gracie

Waiting for the kindergarten bus

October 2004

The Screamer

When I started grad school I took a job as an editorial assistant at an educational software company called Wicat Systems. I worked there off and on for about five years in a few different positions in a couple of different locations, including this very industrial former carpet warehouse. Eventually I became the manager of the documentation team.

Now that I think about it, I started working for the company shortly before I met Roger in 1985, and I left the company for the final time shortly after we got married in 1990.

Speaking of Roger, how could I have not married him after he and our friend Sally made this guy, affectionately known as The Screamer. I came into work one morning to find him hanging from the pipes over my cubicle, complete with a syphon tube and a can of Diet Coke strapped to his leg.

That's what I call courtship!

The Drop

When I was in the fifth grade, our teacher had us pair up to pack an egg in a shoebox using any sort of packing material we thought would protect the egg. Then he dropped them from the roof of the school. According to the article that accompanied this picture, the first time we did the experiment half of our eggs broke. The second time only 3 out of 14 broke.

One of the challenges I've had in designing the transitional skills course I teach at the jail is that most of the inmates aren't going to be applying what we talk about straightaway. Whenever possible, I try to give them images that represent some of the concepts so they'll have a better chance of remembering them later.

I use the egg drop experiment to illustrate the idea of creating cushion in our lives--a margin of error that can keep our eggs from breaking when something goes wrong. Like having a backup plan for child care so we don't risk losing our job when the regular babysitter falls through. Or giving ourselves extra time to get to a job interview in case the bus is late. Or not using up all of our sick days when we're not really sick so we can use them when we are.

I'm so glad I found this picture. I honestly couldn't remember the outcome. Now I can tell my classes with confidence that, at least on our second try, our egg survived.

For Grandpa Charlie and My Friend Carly (In Case You're Listening)

Today my Grandpa Charlie would have been 100 years old. He passed away the summer between my freshman and sophomore years of college, and it was the first time I really faced the death of someone close to me.

I remember we got the news while we were at Lake Geneva, and my first impulse was to find a quiet place to think on my own. I went out to the end of a pier and watched the waves while I thought and probably prayed.

What did I think about life after death? Would I see my grandfather again? I wasn't sure, but I had been taught that I would, and it was a comforting thing to hope for. I wished faith came more easily for me.

Why not believe?

Today I attended the funeral for Carly, a beautiful 21-year-old neighbor of ours. It is a comforting thought--especially for her family--that after such a short but brilliant life, she would be reunited with her father, who doted on her adoringly before he preceded her in death.

Carly's parents adopted her from Romania when she was six months old. During the service, a family friend shared the story of their journey, including a description of the plight of children raised in orphanages there. She told how children would be sent out to fend for themselves on the streets with virtually nothing when they turned 15.

My thoughts turned to an inmate I met with at the jail earlier in the day. She's just 18, her father is in prison, her mother is an addict. On Monday she'll be sent out to fend for herself on the streets with virtually nothing. We spent time going over some of her options, and I wrote down a few names of people she could contact to help her get on her feet.

By some sort of cosmic coincidence, or perhaps an answer of reassurance to my silent pleading, one of the names I had written down for her was the name of the man who gave the closing prayer at Carly's funeral. Worlds can collide in the oddest ways. I shook his hand before he left and told him that I needed to talk with him on Monday about someone to look out for.

Why not believe?

Are You Going to Play It?

Shortly after I started working full time and got my own apartment in my 20s, I decided to purchase a full size electronic keyboard.

When I told my mother she said, "Are you going to play it?"

I suppose I deserved a question like that. I was never, um, very disciplined about practicing the piano. The last piano teacher I had told me that the following year she'd only be taking serious students. I took that to mean I wasn't welcome back.

In my defense I have played it over the years. Not seriously. But I love sitting down and noodling around. And every once in a while I go on an actual practicing binge.

My investment all those years ago has, however, paid off in spades with Jack.

For Christmas we gave him a midi adapter so he can plug the keyboard into a laptop and record what he plays. He can also manipulate the recording on the computer and generate scores for original compositions and arrangements.

Not only does he play it, he can now play it over and over and over on a continuous loop.

Early Out

I decided that I needed to use my new scanner today, so I reached into a box of old papers and pulled this out at random: my schedule for my senior year of high school. I figured out that if I doubled up on English and PE, I could meet all of the requirements for graduation and graduate in January instead of June. My plan worked! (If you look carefully you can see that I'm signed up to go to the library every period spring semester.)

I generally remember that I enjoyed all of my classes that last fall, especially because as seniors we had the latitude to pick classes that interested us. But I only have a few specific memories. Like writing a final paper on Tolkien's The Hobbit for my British literature class and being told that I should have used more examples from the text to support my ideas. And getting a comment on one of my stories for creative writing that suggested I avoid using the words "a lot" and "really" all the time. Valuable comments that I still try to apply in my work. Really.

The Cut

Roger was organizing some of his photos yesterday and came up with this gem documenting the very first time I gave Jack a haircut. I had absolutely no idea the cord was in his mouth until Roger developed the picture. Such a good mother.

The Big Dig

There's another layer to this 2012 writing project. Actually many layers. Of buildup. In my office. It's just been a place to deposit things; I haven't actually worked in there for months and months.

I figure that organizing my office and mining for memories will go hand in hand.

After debating about posting a photo, I decided in the end that a public visual confession will help motivate me to action.


I meant to start tackling it today (once I packed up Christmas decorations, which I also didn't get to). My token effort was throwing away the long dead roses in a vase on the windowsill.

Flash back to my 16th birthday when my grammie sent me 16 long-stem red roses with a crisp new dollar bill tied to each one with a ribbon, delivered to our house by an actual florist. Sweet.

Update: Three days in and I've already had a serious memory fail. I woke up the morning after I wrote this obsessed about finding the picture of the 16 roses I knew I had somewhere. Turns out there was not a dollar bill tied to each rose, but rather the bills were tied together in a bouquet, which was then tied to the roses with a ribbon. Still sweet!

Co-Opted

Memory is such an unreliable thing. When the idea that we could have false memories took hold a couple of decades ago, Roger and I used to joke that we'd implant positive false memories in our future children. "Don't you remember the time you met Mickey Mouse at Disneyland?"

Our bookstore once hosted a very famous children's book author and illustrator who lived in New England. She was visiting relatives in Salt Lake City and graciously offered to do a signing for us.

I drove up to Salt Lake to pick her up. On our drive back to Springville, we passed Provo and the campus of BYU. I described how stunning it was to go to college at the foot of towering rocky mountains after growing up in the gentle hills of Massachusetts. My whole freshman year I felt like I was at a resort, with a spectacular view out my dorm window. We even had tennis courts and swimming pools!

After the signing, Roger and Jack joined us for the ride back to Salt Lake. As we passed the BYU campus, this lovely woman started telling Roger about her first visit to BYU to give an address at a children's literature symposium. As a New Englander, she was stunned by the towering rocky mountains and felt like she was at a resort, with spectacular views and tennis courts and swimming pools.

I sat in the backseat of the car listening to the same words I had spoken hours earlier coming out of her mouth. I suppose her experience had been very similar to mine. But still. She had co-opted my memory!

My memory, by the way, is particularly dodgy. That's one of the reasons I want to take this journey, to get some experiences down in writing before I completely lose track of them. Please feel free to correct me if you think I'm making something up. Or co-opting your memory.

365

Except for one day when blogger was down and I had to post two entries the next day, I met the goal I set for 2011! It seems fitting to announce a new writing goal on my last day, especially because the discipline of daily writing has been truly valuable for me.

My inspiration for the new project comes from a trip two friends and I took to San Francisco about five years ago to see an exhibition of quilts made by the women of Gees Bend, Alabama. This collection of images from the exhibition hangs in my home office to remind me of that adventure.


Many of the women who made the quilts spent the better part of the day working in the cotton fields, and while they worked they'd dream about how they'd piece together the scraps of fabrics they had waiting for them at home. They didn't follow patterns. They followed their own imaginations.

One woman told the story of how one day she decided to follow a traditional pattern. Following that pattern, she said, sucked the joy of quilting right out of her. It took her years to recover her own quilting "voice" again after that.

When I heard her tell the story, I understood deep down in my soul exactly what she meant. Whenever I try to follow a pattern of life thought up by someone else, it sucks the joy of living right out of me. At first subconsciously, but gradually more consciously, I've stopped trying to follow many of those patterns. As a result, I've got a life full of bits and scraps of experiences that aren't measured carefully or cut evenly, and don't fit into prescribed patterns.

Each day in 2012 (with some exciting exceptions that may involve actually leaving the continent), I plan to stitch together small colorful fragments of memories here on my blog and watch the patterns of my own imagination emerge.

Ladies Who Lunch

Sadly, the last of five items on my Utah Valley Magazine list, Nellie's Diner on University Ave. in Provo, failed to open in time for me to try it this year. Apparently they've been trying to open since this time last year. I may or may not save the coupon I clipped from the magazine for a free cinnamon roll. Oh well.

But happily, my friend Jackie, a dear neighbor who is celebrating her 88th birthday tomorrow, came to my rescue and invited me along with a group of ladies (I was by far the youngest) to the Riverside Country Club for lunch today. They've got a beautiful new club house there, and we enjoyed views of the golf course which was surprisingly busy on this warm December day.

Thank you for a delicious lunch and a wonderful afternoon, Jackie. Happy birthday!

Picas and Pixels

This winter solstice bookmark is the very first thing I scanned on the new scanner I got for Christmas and finally opened up today.

We've been scanner impaired for a very long time, and I decided that I need a scanner for the new blogging project I've thought up for 2012. (I'm saving the details for the last posting of 2011.)

The bookmark was designed by Sally Gardner, one of my very favorite friends from college (we go all the way back to freshman year in the dorms). Her sister Joanna, whom I am also pleased to call a friend, wrote the lovely poem.

Sally and Joanna printed up the bookmarks on Sal's very own letterpress in her very own printshop in upstate New York.

You can bet that I'm dreaming up a project we can do there one day.

Aunt Margie

Today we drove to Manti, Utah, to celebrate the life of Roger's Aunt Margie, his mom's oldest sister in a family full of girls. Of all of Roger's aunts, she is the one I knew best.

Aunt Margie loved her sisters, loved Uncle Don, loved her children, loved her small town, and loved God. All of that love always spilled over onto us whenever we stopped by to visit.

It was impossible not to love her back.

Downtown Rising

Checked the fourth item off of the last stretch list I compiled last month from Utah Valley Magazine by having lunch at the Blue Lemon.

Except that we actually ate at the Blue Lemon in Salt Lake, not Utah Valley. Oh, well.

Roger and I wanted to go see the progress on the house renovation his sister and her husband were enduring (extending the foundation under an add on back porch, gutting the kitchen, etc.). They live in the Avenues in Salt Lake City, and so we turned it into fun downtown outing with their family.

Lunch was fresh and fabulous. I will definitely be going back. I especially liked the sign that listed which local farm grew which vegetables the restaurant purchased. And because we were right downtown, we walked off a bit of our meal as we explored the new City Creek development, which is very near completion.

I feel like I had a tiny vacation. I love it when that happens!

The Battle of the Deadly Sins

Sloth Loses

I was planning to write about hanging out all day in the new pajamas I got for Christmas. I made it until early evening. Then I got restless.

Gluttony Wins

Jack was at a friend's house, but Roger was accommodating. He'd been telling me about the tasty onion rings he discovered at--of all places!--the hospital cafeteria.

So, we went there. And had fries with them.

They were very, very tasty. And we washed them down with soda we got from the magical fountain. I tried a mixture of orange and vanilla Diet Coke. Mmmm.

The hospital isn't working on building its future customer base, is it?

Adventures Await

Behold my favorite surprise under the tree: a handmade basket for my bicycle!

Deliveries to neighbors, picnics up the canyon, fresh corn and tomatoes from the farm stand, library books. The possibilities are endless! (At least as soon as the weather warms up . . .)

Light in the Dark

We hosted the family Christmas Eve party tonight, but broke with tradition when it ended. Usually we get into pajamas when everyone leaves and settle in to take care of last minute preparations for Christmas morning. But tonight we piled in the car and headed to Grandma and Grandpa's house to wish them a happy Christmas Eve. They weren't able to come to the party.

On the way we drove by the cemetery in south Provo and noticed lots of cars and people there. What were they doing? They were lighting graveside lumières. The cemetery was full of them! I'm sure this has been a tradition for years, but since we're never out and about on Christmas Eve, we'd never seen it.

What a beautiful way to remember loved ones on a cold, dark night that marks the beginning of the season of light. Merry Christmas to all!

Good Vibrations

We had a wonderful evening stopping by to visit friends to wish them a happy Christmas. At one home, Jack discovered a corner filled with intriguing musical instruments that our friends had collected over the years from their world travels.

One of the instruments was a Tibetan singing bowl, which I'd never heard of before. It vibrated with incredible sound as we held it in our hands and played it.

I found this endearing instruction video when I got home.

And then I found this. Awesome!

So You Want To Read

From "The Latest at the Library" section of today's Springville Independent News:

It's been a long time since I posted this teaser about a new Springville library lecture series I've been working on. We'll be going on a grand adventure as we explore authors, genres and specific books.

A fun grand adventure. Which is why I've invited the amazing and clever writers Louise Plummer and Ann Cannon to kick off the series with a tag team presentation about books they've read over the years that have stretched them in unexpected ways. Expect to be enlightened and enlivened!

2012 presentations will include gems like So You Want to Read Shakespeare, So You Want to Read C.S. Lewis, So You Want to Read Poetry and So You Want to Read Moby Dick.

Sounds Painful

Most of my day revolved around the jail, trying to get on top of things before we head into the holidays. I never, ever know what I might end up researching on any given day to help an inmate out. Today I learned about tattoo removal options in Salt Lake City.

The Other Side

Opened up the new wrapping paper we picked up at Costco a couple of weeks ago and discovered that it's double sided. So nifty! (Though who'd want to hide those adorable penguins away on the inside?)

Five days before Christmas and except for two gifts for Roger that will be arriving shortly, I'm completely caught up on my wrapping! That actually sounds more impressive than it is. Roger has most of Jack's presents stashed away in some secret location, and I can't risk snooping even if I'm trying to be helpful. You know, it's that time of year!

The Gray Cat

The other day Jack asked if we could get another cat because, you see, we are allowed to have three cats here in Springville and we only have two.

Tonight we dragged Jack to a grownup activity, an art show put together by a friend. As usual there were consequences for our actions.

Jack fell in love with a piece, and I fell in love with the idea of Jack having an original piece of artwork. And so "The Gray Cat" by artist Rebecca Wagstaff (pictured here with Jack) is now the newest resident in our home.

This means we've met the cat limit, right?

Scratch That Itch

I don't know why I don't indulge in books that scratch my travel itch more often. Maybe because scratching makes an itch worse? And I am SO itching for a far flung adventure!

Jack and I have been reading Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days. While we read I scheme about how we can go around the world. Then Roger brought home a beautiful photography book called The Tropical Modern House from the library. I spent a bit of time reveling in it this evening.

Can you imagine waking up in the morning to this view? Ahhhh. Yeah. Right there.

Jiggety Jig

We went to a white elephant party tonight and brought home a white pig.


Jack has never owned a piggy bank before, which may constitute a severe lapse in parenting. It may be too late to make much of a difference, but I still feel better now.

Gurus (with and without an Apostrophe)

I'm making a bit of a stretch today because I want to write about something that brought me joy but wasn't a exactly a new experience. It's just been too long since I had lunch with my wise and wonderful friends Linda and Lisa.

I am blessed to know many wise and wonderful people, and Linda and Lisa are among my favorite. Hanging out with them is very good for my soul.


But I can make a small homage to the spirit of my 2011 blogging project: Even though we met up at our usual place (Guru's in Provo), I didn't order my usual (Asian chicken salad). It was far too wintry a day, so I tried the Thai peanut pasta instead. I think that was good for my soul, too.

Mnemonic

We are working on getting Jack in a better habit of studying for tests in school. Tomorrow he has a science test on taxonomy, and I quizzed him from the study guide he brought home.

I suggested he come up with a mnemonic to remember domain, kingdom, phylum, class, order, family, genus, species.

Dumb kids play carelessly on fine grain sand.

I might actually remember the order now myself! (But please don't quiz me. Thank you.)

We Will, We Will Rock You

The event we've been waiting months for finally arrived. Jack's first band concert went very well. I can't believe these kids have only been playing since the beginning of the school year!

Slop Your Dripper

Tonight Roger and I went to our first Utah County employee Christmas party. Ironically, it was held at the events center at UVU, my other employer. After dinner, we got to attend the Bar J Wranglers concert.

During the summer, they play every night at the Bar J Chuckwagon Western Music Show in Jackson Hole and during the winter they tour. I went to the Bar J Chuckwagon once 30 years ago, but it's a distant memory.

I'll tell you they are Entertaining. Yes, with a capital E. Fiddling, harmony, and standup comedy.

At one point one of them dressed up like his granny and told the story of Cinderella, but he mixed up all of the cows and then ate them backstage O.o

[Jack just hijacked my blog post. I'm back now.]

So he told the story of Cinderella, but he mixed up the first sounds of the words. For example, she went to the bancy fall and met the prandsome hince. Let's just say it got a little awkward when he reached the point in the story where the shoe fit.

That Is If Sentimental Jack Will Let Us

Today was one of those jam-packed days. All of a sudden I'm on my way home from my last evening class of the semester, and I realize I haven't a clue what I'm going to blog about. I also realize that I need to stop for gas.

While I'm filling the tank, I start paying attention to the video screen on the pump, which is advertising specials at the business that owns the gas station. And then I realize that they've set it up so we can actually print coupons at the pump. Brilliant!

We may abandon our traditional Christmas tree lot to get $10.00 off this year.

Bells Are Ringing

Checked off the third item on my Utah Valley Magazine list when Jack and I headed down to the art museum this afternoon to hear the Utah Valley Handbell Ringers play some Christmas music. A perfect way to enjoy the holidays!

Click here to listen to one of the carols we enjoyed today.

Down

Our internet connection is down. Roger lent me his iPhone to write this. They can't stop me! But they can slow me down. I'm typing this with one finger.

Checking the List

Checked item #2 off the list I made from Utah Valley Magazine last month. While I was out running errands, I stopped by Cherry Lane Boutique in the old women's gym on University Avenue to check it out.

It was definitely boutique-y, and it turned out I wasn't really in a boutique-y shoppy mood.

But I did pick up local singer/songwriter Mindy Gledhill's new Christmas CD called Winter Moon, opened it up on the spot, and listened to it all the way home.

'Tis the season!

The Queue

In addition to teaching transitional skills classes at the jail, I meet one-on-one with inmates at their request to go over their immediate and longer-term plans when they're released.

Depending on their situation, we may spend most of the time talking about how they can meet basic needs like food and shelter or we may spend most of the time talking about how to apply to college and what they can expect when they get there.

I ask them questions and I listen. I look them in the eyes and I see them, I hear them. And then I find specific answers for them. How to get a birth certificate from Nebraska. The address and phone number for a particular drug rehab program in southern Utah. The requirements for a degree in illustration. Anything I can do to help them hit the ground running and deal with obstacles in their path.

Sometimes I am hopeful for them. Sometimes I'm not too hopeful, but I find ways to give them honest encouragement.

Today I conducted my 50th one-on-one. I also got completely caught up on my request queue for the very first time since I started. Before I left for the afternoon, I checked the computer and discovered two more requests.

I'm glad. I'd rather not be caught up for very long. I really like what I do.

Sinte Fugler

Once again I reveal how far behind the times I am. Jack taught me how to play Angry Birds tonight (not that it requires much skill). In my defense, we've only had an iPhone in the house for about a month (and the iPhone is not actually mine).

Here is a video about Angry Birds for people who may have no idea what I'm talking about (Mom).

PS: To figure out the blog post title, click here and follow the clue. Extra points if you can tell me what language it's written in.

Out of Context

I suppose it was inevitable. Today I ran into someone I know at the jail. He saw me first, and when he called out to me I was disoriented for a moment before I realized who he was.

I also suppose it's just a matter time before I run into someone I've met at the jail out and about around town. I'm guessing I'll be disoriented for a moment as I try to place how I know them.

If A and B, Then C

I picked up my new textbook for my class assignments next semester. I've been teaching English 1010 the last few semesters, but will be teaching English 2010 in January.

I didn't actually request a change, but now that I've got it I realize I need it. It's good to keep things fresh.

And I love the focus of the course on analyzing arguments and constructing effective arguments. Especially the part about making sure conclusions follow logically from the premises.

I think we need logic checks the way we have fact checks. We have a tendency to swallow opinions (interpretations of facts) when they are based on verifiable facts. But we really shouldn't do that when the logic is off.

Joy

At the risk of being presumptuous, I'm going to wish my sister-in-law Carol a happy birthday today with a post about her piece currently on display in the Springville Museum of Art's 26th Annual Spiritual and Religious Art of Utah exhibition, which I enjoyed this afternoon.

Her artist statement reads: "This piece represents the simple joy that religion brings. I am grateful for the "Good News" in my life. I am also grateful to my lovely, joyful neighbor Daphne* who helped inspire this painting."

A couple of years ago, Carol spoke about marking the word "joy" whenever she came across it in her scripture reading, and she paid particular attention to the context in each instance. What an inspired and transformational idea, and perhaps the genesis for this piece.

I hope you've had a joyful birthday today, Carol!

-------

*We love our lovely, joyful neighbor Daphne, too. She's a couple of years younger than Jack and sometimes takes care of our cats when we go out of town. Shortly after we brought them home as kittens we found a set of very carefully written and illustrated instructions for making kitty parachutes out of plastic grocery bags. (We've got a tempting balcony in our two-story entryway.) Turned out to be Daphne's brainchild.

A La Mode

Last night the cake and pie. Tonight the ice cream. Spreading out the goodies we are.

We went to visit Grandma and Grandpa this evening and asked Jack if he'd like a treat afterward. He picked Baskin-Robbins.

Whenever I go to BR, I always order the chocolate chip. Ever since I was Jack's age.

In honor of this blogging project, I decided to order something different. So I picked their seasonal Winter White Chocolate (white chocolate ice cream with dark chocolate covered cherry pieces and cherry ribbon).

Okay, that wasn't a huge stretch. My favorite Ben & Jerry's flavor is Cherry Garcia. And I still got a bite of chocolate chip because that's what Roger ordered.

Hmm. I might hold off on returning the wrong trousers.

Slices

Jack went to a friend's house this evening, and Roger and I had a couple of things to drop off to friends around town. So we turned our adventure into a date. Instead of eating out at one of our rut--er, favorite--places, we decided on a lark to go to the Magleby's on Main Street in Springville.

I went to lunch there once with some friends more than a year ago. Roger had never been. Never got around to it. Our loss.

My chicken marsala with garlic mashed potatoes was divine. The slice of chocolate cake that Roger ordered for dessert was so large he boxed more than half of it to take home. And after watching the gentleman at the next table being served some amazing looking apple pie, I had to order a boxed up slice of it to take home for me.

Even though I've changed to my jammy pants with the elastic waistband, I might have to wait until breakfast to eat it.

On a Roll

One of the best things about living in a town with a local paper is seeing your son's name in print under the headline "Springville Jr. High Honor Roll."

Good job earning those first term grades, Jack! You're off to a great start!

Reincarnation Is True

Every semester I talk with my university students about using religious leaders and texts as sources in academic papers.

It's okay, for example, to cite religious leaders if they are talking about their religious beliefs. "We believe in reincarnation." That is a verifiable fact.

It can be okay to make religious beliefs the object of academic inquiry. "How does a person's belief in reincarnation affect the decisions he or she makes in life?" Studies can be constructed and, through measurement and observation, including observations made by religious leaders, hypotheses can be verified.

But it's not okay to argue in an academic paper that because your religious leader says it is so, reincarnation is a real phenomenon. At this point, we just don't have a way to verify it independently. (Maybe in another life we will.)

The new twist today? Usually I'm talking with LDS students about LDS leaders and scripture. Tonight I enjoyed talking with a Catholic student who had written in her research proposal that she was planning to consult her priest about her topic.

The Wrong Trousers

A week or so ago, I ordered a pair of pants online.

As soon as I hit send, I thought to myself, "I should have checked my closet first!" I have a pair of pants similar to the pair I had just ordered, and it turns out I remembered the size wrong.

The pants I'd ordered were going to be too big. (And how bizarre that I couldn't remember that I am actually wearing a smaller size now! That's the kind of thing I revel in! Seriously, what is happening to my brain? Reverse denial?)

I quickly called the 800 number, but the customer service operator had no way to stop the order. "You can order the right size," he said. "Then just return the pair that doesn't fit."

So I got back online and placed a second order. The pants were way on sale, and I had a code for free shipping.

The pants have arrived. The smaller pair fits very nicely. Wish I'd ordered two.

Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

I went to one of the interagency meetings that I'll be attending in conjunction with my job at the jail for the first time today.

I was so hopeful going in. But after an hour of discussion, I realize the size and scope of the challenges we face. They seem insurmountable.

Will press forward anyway.

Smoking

Every once in a while I learn something new from a student's research paper. This week's discovery: electronic cigarettes. I don't think I've ever heard of them before. If I have, it apparently didn't register.

According to Wikipedia (which I tell my students never to cite in an academic paper), the concept was first patented the year I was born.

The Game

We taught Jack a card game handed down from Roger's grandparents. It's a variation of Rummy known only as "The Game."

Gotta go. It's my turn.

Centers of the Universe

We drove Roger's mom down to Manti to see her older sister today. After a very nice visit with Aunt Margie and her family, we headed north again and stopped in Spring City.

Spring City is home to Horseshoe Mountain Pottery, potter Joe Bennion, and his wife, painter Lee Bennion. We became acquainted with Joe years ago when he'd drop off copies of his Horseshoe Mountain Pottery newsletter at our bookstore.

Before today we'd never actually seen Joe in the center of his universe. He's only in his usually self-serve shop a couple of days a year. Lucky for us this includes the day after Thanksgiving.

Here's a little bonus clip from a film about Joe made by Steve Olpin, one of our old customers. And, small world, the music in the clip is by Tom Shults, who played a few Friday nights at our store. That was an awesome center of our universe.

Thankful from A to Z

I'm stealing this idea from others on the interwebs. Here's my first (and probably only) Thanksgiving alphabet. I am thankful for:

• Airline tickets and adventures whenever and wherever I can get them.
• Mr. Booth, Jack's band teacher. He is the reason junior high is going to be okay.
• Living in a community that believes in community. I am continually amazed by what people do for one another and what we achieve together.
• Diet Coke with a twist of fresh lime.
• Existential angst that keeps me moving forward on a spiritual path with faith and hope. Okay, maybe using the term existential angst is a bit over the top. On most days at least.
• Friends and family. I know and love so many interesting and wonderful people!
• Good conversation with all of those interesting and wonderful people.
• Our home. I have a dysfunctional relationship with the house itself (clutter and dust are relentless!), but every night when we're all tucked in, I am so grateful we are comfortable and safe.
• Ice cream from the old fashioned counter at SOS Drugs, a special tradition with Jack.
• Jack, obviously. And not just because he's an excuse to get ice cream.
• Our goofy kitties, Fluffy and Doublestuff.
• Lake Geneva for summer fun, family, and renewal.
• My MacBook Pro (and everything it enables me to do).
• Natural curiosity, which drives me to think about, read about, and learn about all sorts of amazing things.
• My orthodontist, who straightened out the crooked overbite I was developing.
• My parents (and the fact that they're both okay after some medical scares this year).
• Quick-witted political satirists who help me laugh in the face of insanity. (We will get through the insanity, right?)
• Roger, obviously. And he also helps me laugh in the face of insanity, especially my own.
• My students at Utah Valley University. They are the reason I love my job there.
• Training for a 5k and my "triathalon" at the lake this summer. It felt very, very good.
• My work at the Utah County Jail, which has stretched me in good and unexpected ways.
• Our Dyson vacuum cleaner that we bought for a song from woot.com. It is superior.
• A wealth of opportunities. I am particularly blessed in this way, and I don't know why. I never want to lose sight of it.
• Extra pillows on my bed, which are extra nice for reading.
• A year of discovery and growth. Writing this blog has helped me see this in unique ways.
• The zoom lens on the camera Roger bought me for Christmas last year. It's come in handy many, many times.

"Now, We Ride!"

We started a new tradition. Instead of waiting until Christmas to get the DVDs we want to add to our family library, we decided to buy one for Thanksgiving weekend.

Jack and I chose Rango. We'd never seen it, and we couldn't remember (or maybe we never knew) what to expect. But we'd heard it was funny. And, well, Johnny Depp.

So many, many great lines as we watched Rango "sinking deeper into the guacamole of his own deception" tonight.

Hot Dawg, Cool Dog

Crossed the first item off the list I made the other day.

Here I am about to order my very first (and very tasty) hot dog at the legendary J Dawgs, brainchild of BYU student entrepreneur Jayson Edwards. He opened his hot dog stand in 2004, moved to an actual storefront when he outgrew the stand, and now takes in a cool six figures a year!

Speaking of cool, check out this guy sporting the new BYU library 50th anniversary shirt! My mom commented on yesterday's post that she wanted to see a picture of me in the shirt. But Athens wears it so well, don't you think?

Swag

All year long Roger has been helping the library at BYU celebrate its 50th year in its current building. As the communications manager, he gets to be in charge of lots of creative stuff.

Today he brought home a cool purple t-shirt that one of his students designed. It's printed with gold. Yes, gold! And since purple isn't really his color, it's going to be mine. All mine!