Minds Will Soar

Note: This post was meant to go up yesterday (May 12) but Blogger was down.

As a member of the Library Board, I had the opportunity to tour the new library today! It is thrilling to see this new library come to fruition, and I think Springville will be a stronger community for it.

We are so lucky that we already have an amazing library despite the leaky, deteriorating, impossible-to-temperature-control space it is crammed into right now. Did you know that Springville Library recently beat Orem and Provo as best library in Utah County in a vote by Daily Herald readers?

Just imagine the possibilities that will be unleashed when the new library opens!

I believe so strongly in the concept of public libraries, which provide access to a wealth of information and knowledge to all citizens, regardless of their means. I also believe strongly in the power of beautiful architectural design to elevate our spirits and minds. I am thankful for all of the people who share these beliefs and are helping to make it possible.

We are an aspiring, forward-thinking people who are destined to achieve great things!

Out with the Old, In with the New

Thought it was about time to get some new shoes if I'm going to be serious about getting in shape for a 5k at the end of the month.

The shoes I've been using are literally older than Jack. Yeah. Not so good for the feet.

In fact, I probably should have invested in better shoes than I did today for the sake of my feet (and knees, and hips, and back), but I'm still reeling from the outsized bill I paid to reclaim our cats from the vet this afternoon.

Why is it that we humans are inclined to invest more in our loved ones than we invest in ourselves? This might be part of the answer: I read a review just today of Tom Shadyac's new documentary I Am, which sounds intriguing (do take a couple of minutes and watch the trailer). One tidbit Shadyac shares in the review is that Charles Darwin's The Descent of Man mentions "love" 95 times and "survival of fittest" just twice.

I say let's keep evolving!

The Past Is Gone*

I was the lucky recipient of an invitation to a ladies' luncheon in honor of my friend and neighbor Ora's 95th birthday today. Ladies' luncheons are very lovely, and this was no exception.

Our hostess had each of us take a coin from a dish, and we went around the circle sharing a bit about what we were up to the year our coin was minted. My year was 1985, the year I graduated from college, started grad school, worked in DC for the summer, and met Roger.

Everyone had something fun to share. In 1965, Dorothy's youngest child started school and her husband spent time commuting from their home in southern California to Palo Alto to help develop the communications system for the moon landing. In 1997, Shirlene's son Nick was born in Samoa. In 1999, Patrice helped an Albanian dancer get a student visa so she could study ballet, an opportunity that wasn't available to her in Albania at the time.

And our birthday girl? In 1976, Ora had recently retired from work and moved to Springville. She loved her house in California so much that she had the same house built here, except that the layout of the lot required her to build a mirror image. It took her a while to get used to living backwards.

*Title comes from the song Dream On, which I had a really hard time not singing out loud to when it played on my ipod during my walk today. Okay, I may have sung out loud a little bit.

From Foul to Fowl

Today was a strange day from start to finish. I had something on my mind that kept me up late last night and got me up too early this morning, so maybe I saw everything through the lens of five hours of sleep. Or maybe it was the pouring rain we had for much of the day. Or maybe it was that I accidentally ended up stranded at home without a key for the car we borrowed while our Jeep is in the shop (thanks, Aunt Carol, for the emergency ride to Jack's school when we discovered we were keyless this morning!).

Here's just one odd example: After Roger got home and the weather looked more stable, I bundled up in my winter coat (May 9th!) and went for a long walk. Near the halfway point I thought I heard turkeys gobbling. I looked around, and sure enough there were turkeys wandering in someone's side yard. After I crossed Hobble Creek, I looked up and saw four chickens sauntering across the road, taking their sweet time, stopping traffic.

Yes, it was a strange day today.

Welcome!

Can't think of a better treat on Mother's Day than to welcome a new little one into the family. Congratulations to our nephew Eric, his wife Cambria and little baby William who made his grand entrance this morning!

Reaching Toward Heaven

To be honest, I often struggle with the tendency of human beings (and by extension organized religion) toward dogmatism and a drive to conform in ways that seem to diminish God. Today, however, I was reminded over and over why I stay committed to my spiritual journey.

This morning I went for a run and decided to push myself much harder than I originally planned to. I ended up exceeding my expectations and was reminded of Marianne Williamson's well known quote that begins, "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world."

In my mind, the idea of being a child of God--of having divinity within us--is about stretching ourselves beyond our own limited ideas of who we are and what we think we are capable of. It's an evolutionary force that ultimately enables us to transcend our physical circumstances. I believe that great things have and will come about because of this, but the idea also manifests itself in the simplest of things, like being calm and generous in spirit when the passenger sitting next to you on a plane is having a tough time with a screaming baby or getting to the top of the hill when you think your legs can't carry you another step.

Early this afternoon, I went to a funeral for my friend's mother, who I never met (but wish I had when I discovered she was to be buried in shiny red coffin in lieu of being buried in the shiny red Corvette she loved). When the bishop spoke at the end of the service, he reminded us that we are beloved children of God the Father and God the Mother. In my grasping faith, I am comforted by the Mormon idea of the feminine divine and was glad to hear it spoken at the pulpit today.

Late this afternoon, Roger, Jack and I went up to the top of West Mountain for a picnic dinner. When we drove over the crest of the first peak, we caught a view of BYU's observatories. I love that Mormonism embraces truth wherever it is found and that the sciences are no exception. We believe that we are meant to learn everything we can about what is in the heavens, in the earth and under the earth. Personally, I think God is thrilled with the progress people have made in figuring out geological processes, laws of physics, evolutionary biology, and genetics. And, of course, astronomical objects and phenomena.

When the sun went down, we came off the mountain and stopped by the shore of Utah Lake. Jack gave me a big hug as we watched the waves crash on the breakwater.

A perfect reminder of why I reach toward heaven.

What?!

I recently decided that I need to focus on losing some weight and getting into better shape. I've been very good about exercising all week, so I thought I'd get on the scale this morning. It's been several months since I weighed myself, and since I wasn't particularly active over the winter, I figured I'd weigh at least as much now as I did then. Maybe even a little more.

Was I ever wrong!

I actually weigh 15 pounds less than I had mentally prepared myself to expect. I repeat, I weigh 15 pounds less than I expected. That, my friends, has never happened to me before, ever.

So what am I going to do now? Why, I think I'll set an actual goal: Lose 30 pounds before my 30th high school reunion in late July. And I think I'll start a new (temporary) blog to keep me accountable.

I'm feeling fired up! (Though I must say I'd feel a bit more fired up if my belly wasn't groaning with all of the Mexican food I filled it up with tonight when Roger and I went out to dinner . . . )

The Matter of Words

After school today, I took Jack to the BYU Museum of Art to see if we could get into the Carl Bloch exhibition, which ends Saturday. Of course it's been there for six months, but we headed there at the last minute hoping for standby tickets. I'm not particularly good at planning ahead.

Luckily we got in. I was very glad to see it, but no time to revel. Jack was pulling on my hand the entire time, impatient to move on to other things.

Like this stunning sculpture made by artist Adam Bateman with more than 100,000 books in an exhibition called The Matter of Words.

It is really, really worth seeing in person. And it will be there for seven more months, so you don't have to plan ahead until the end of November.

Dedicated

In the past few days one of my high school classmates and one of my neighbors lost their moms, one quite suddenly and one after a long struggle with her health. Their heartache became even more real to me when I got the news a few days ago that my own mother was in the ICU. She's okay now, home and on medication that should prevent further incident, but it has all been a stark reminder that life can be unpredictable and fragile.

Today I spent time working on Mother's Day gifts for three of our nephew's wives, who will be celebrating their very first Mother's Day as moms themselves. It was comforting to revel in the hope and joy and promise of their adventures with their growing families. It reminded me of the feeling I had on the Mother's Day just days before Jack was born, and how excited I was to know him and to be his mom.

Moms and their children. Children and their moms. Crazy, wonderful, life-affirming relationships that stretch our hearts in all sorts of ways.

Mom, this blog post is dedicated to you. Thank you for being so dedicated to our family, especially when we cause trouble. I love you and please stick around for a long time!

Amendment

I thought I might write about renewing a library book online for the first time today. Such a great thing to be able to do.

But then I did something far more interesting.

As a reward for stepping up to a challenge yesterday, I offered to give Jack a ride someplace he'd like to go. He usually picks somewhere he can go to get rid of money that is burning a hole in his pocket. Just like the last time, he wanted to go to the coin shop.

But on our way there, he changed his mind.

He wanted to go to Discount Guns & Ammo to buy brass cannon shells to add to his shell collection instead. We had to call Roger for directions because I'd never even heard of the place, which turned out to be deep in the heart of the East Bay industrial park.

Despite being married to a gun owner (who is also a registered Democrat; I adore complexity!), I don't usually spend time in gun shops. The closest I come is when we go to Cabella's, where I sit on a bench reading a book while the boys browse. And prettified Cabella's may sell guns, but Discount Guns & Ammo is the real deal. Let's just say I didn't tell anyone there that the library book I renewed this morning was Jimmy Carter's White House Diary.

Me? I suppose target practice is fun, but I'd rather whack a tennis ball. Same kind of satisfaction, it's a whole lot cheaper, and my right to own a tennis racket or carry it on my person is never questioned. As long as I'm a responsible player, of course.

A Beginning

Two major family events + lots of cameras = a painful reminder that I live in denial. Time to make a change.

I am determined to run the Live wElle 5k, which was established in memory of a young girl named Elle by her parents, who are positively inspirational.

Today I checked out the 3.8 mile route I will train on until the race. It took me a few minutes more than an hour to walk it. Tomorrow I will start running part of it and work up from there.

While I have absolutely no claim on being consistent, I'm not a total stranger to running. I've even run a couple of 5k races before. A few years ago I ran the Live wElle 5k, and back in the late 90s I ran the Rex Lee Run.

One of my favorite memories of the Rex Lee Run was before the race. I overheard a couple of women talking in the restroom, and one very earnestly asked the other, "Do I look like a runner?" Boy, did I relate.

I want to run the 5k--not walk it. And I want to look like a runner doing it. Even for the cameras.

In and Out of Jams

It's a new feeling living in the world without Osama Bin Laden in it. It hasn't really sunk in yet. I'm watching a spontaneous gathering of crowds cheering on the streets of New York and Washington, DC as I write this. A profound sense of relief and national unity, though I'm not sure about feeling gleeful.

Speaking of Washington, DC, I learned something new today. I was reading an announcement in our church newsletter about our local cannery offering strawberry and marionberry jams in May.

I have never heard of marionberry jam. I thought, "The former mayor of DC is in a jam? Again?" Oh, wait. That's Barry, not Berry.

And then I discovered Robert Marion Berry, who served in the U.S. House of Representatives. Here's my favorite line from the Wikipedia page about him: "This article is about the former U.S. House member. For the former mayor of Washington, DC, see Marion Barry. For the fruit, see Marionberry."

So I saw Marionberry and found this impressive pedigree. I'm very curious now. I might have to order some of that jam.

Raspberry

Blackberry

Dewberry

Pacific blackberry (Rubus ursinus)

Loganberry

Youngberry

Himalayan blackberry (Rubus armeniacus)

Santiam berry

Chehalem blackberry

Olallieberry

Marionberry

When Old Becomes New

I brought back some of my favorite childhood books from my parents' house to share with Jack. He'll be the fourth generation to enjoy them! Many of the copies we have of the books in this delightful series by Thornton Burgess originally belonged to my Grammie and her sister, Aunt Fran, when they were girls nearly 100 years ago.

Jack and I are having fun reading them together (note: I will read to him until he goes to college if he lets me). Even though I read them at least million times when I was a kid, my memory is so lousy it's like I'm reading them for the first time.

Tonight we will find out how Danny Meadow Mouse escapes the clutches of Granny Fox.

Busy Hands

Today I engaged in the true spirit of my 2011 blogging adventure and did something completely out of the ordinary.

It all started when I was in Massachusetts last week, and I was visiting my friend Julie. While we talked, she knitted. By the time I left, and despite my dysfunctional relationship with crafting, my hands were itching to try it.

(Full disclosure: Technically, I learned how to knit a little bit when I was 11 or 12, but I never actually made anything. I did, however, successfully complete a crocheted handbag in the sixth grade and then retired from the fiber arts altogether.)

Then this morning I discovered this site and these happy little knitted animals:

Not that I think I can/should aspire to make them, but seeing them made my hands itch to knit again. And because I was faced with a stack of papers to grade, I thought, "What better time to learn?"

So I hopped in the car and drove to Heindselman's in Provo, which this website describes as "the oldest yarn store in the United States." Really?!

A fabulous 82-year-old knitter (and, I learned, playwright) named Elizabeth helped me pick out some yarn (a beautiful lake blue) and some needles. Then she spent more than an hour giving me a knitting lesson on the spot. We had a fine time chatting with each other and with other customers who came and went. Turns out Elizabeth lived in Concord, Mass., for several years back in the 50s! What a small, small world it can be.

I never did get papers graded today, but I do have an awkward square of knitting to show for my time.

Freedom

Today I wore my new Maine Isle Flip-Flops that I bought at L.L. Bean last week.

I am so, so ready to leave the shackles of socks and shoes behind for the next six months.

Welcome warm weather! And check out that green, green grass.

Update: The very next day it snowed and snowed and snowed. I defiantly wore my flip-flops again, but couldn't wait to get home to warm slippers. Soon. Soon it will be flip-flop weather again.

Judging

The new issue of UVU's literary journal Touchstones was just released, and I was honored to have the opportunity to judge the prose entries.

It's fun seeing it all in print, though I'm a little sad that part of a sentence was left out of my write-up for the third-place winner and it doesn't really make sense. So I found the author of the piece on Facebook and sent her a message, telling her how the sentence was supposed to read. She sent back a nice reply. I feel better now.

Bread

As a reward for heading back to school after a two-week break without complaint, I took Jack to the coin shop so he could invest some of his money in, well, money.

But this post isn't about that kind of bread. This post is about the kind of bread sold at the bakery next door to the coin shop. The kind of bread I hardly ever treat myself to.

A few years ago, I read a book called Bread and Butter: What a Bunch of Bakers Taught Me About Business and Happiness about the founding and franchising of the Great Harvest Bread Co. It's a great read for business book junkies like me.

One of my favorite stories in the book is about a franchisee who wanted a challenge to put his meditation practice to the test, and he thought opening a bakery would fit the bill. If he could stay calm and centered operating a business that requires constant vigilance like a bakery, he'd prove something to himself.

Personally, I enjoyed meditating on a couple of slices of the bakery's new squaw bread (whole wheat and rye with whole oat grains sprinkled on top) along with a salad for dinner tonight.

ROTFL

The alarm went off this morning and flung me headlong back into my regular life. Pretty much a routine day. I've been racking my brain all evening trying to come up with something out of the ordinary that happened that is also somehow interesting. I'm coming up empty.

Sounds like it's time to stretch my rules. So . . .

The other day I mentioned that we bought my uncle a birthday present, but I couldn't reveal what it was because it was a secret. No need to keep it a secret any longer.

Who couldn't use one of these from time to time?

Ashes

Easter took on a special meaning for me this year as we said goodbye to my brother.

Today we carried some of his ashes with us on our trip back to Utah. Sometime in the next year or so, we're going to take them to Kenya because that is where his heart was.

Cremation is not a tradition here in Utah, but it is the only tradition I have known in my family.

My Grandpa Stuart died when I was six, and his ashes were buried in a Chicago cemetery. I held my mom's hand during the burial and asked her how Grandpa fit in the little box. I don't remember her answer, but I do remember the way she stiffened up, concerned that whatever she said might scar me. I don't think it did.

My Grandpa Charlie died when I was in college. He wanted his ashes scattered on Long Island Sound, where he spent some of his happiest times sailing. This picture is of the day we did that for him. (Bottom to top: my sister Maryann, my sister Linda, my cousin Sandy, me in the gray sweater, my mom hidden behind me, my brother Robbie in the tan pants turned away from the camera, not sure who's at the bow).

My Grammie died in 1997, and her ashes were buried in the garden of her Presbyterian church. Last weekend after my cousin's wedding, my sisters and I left a blue hydrangea from the reception on Grammie's grave marker. We told her what a beautiful celebration it had been, that we missed her being there, and that she'd have approved of the man our cousin married.

My Grandma Jan died just weeks before September 11, 2001. In retrospect I was grateful she did not live to see that day. One of the things I loved most about her was her wanderlust, so it seems appropriate that her ashes went three different directions: to Lake Michigan near her home, to Lake Geneva where we had such happy summers together, and to rest beside my Grandpa Stuart in the Chicago cemetery.

In case you are wondering, airport security did take special note. The ashes had to come out of Roger's carry-on and go through the scanner separately. The TSA agents were very kind.

Rest in Peace

Today we had a memorial service for my brother, Robbie, who passed away last month at the age of 50 after a long illness.


He would have absolutely loved the stories, the memories, the pictures, and especially the family gathered in fondness, tears and laughter.

The world is not the same without you, Robbie. Rest in peace.

My Green Is Blue

Happy, happy Earth Day from a girl who got to spend the day in Maine replenishing her soul. There is nothing like breathing in the sea air and drinking in the sight of water everywhere for that.

(The Bailey Island Bridge pictured above is reportedly the only granite cribstone bridge in the world.)

Utopia

Mom and I went on a field trip to Fruitlands today. I always thought I'd been there before, but nothing seemed at all familiar.

In June 1843, Bronson Alcott, Louisa May Alcott's father, took his family and several of his associates to this farmhouse in Harvard, Massachusetts, to pursue a communal utopian dream. A very strict vegan utopian dream. No use of animal byproducts whatsoever. Not even wool to stay warm in the winter.

Alcott lived his life at his visionary extremes and his family always went along for the ride until his pragmatic wife, Abigail, would put her foot down for the sake of their four daughters. In the case of the Fruitlands experiment, Abigail lasted until January 1943, a mere nine months after it began.

I'm thinking a bit of wool could have made all the difference, but then I'm not an eccentric radical like Bronson Alcott.

I'm actually very thankful for eccentric radicals like Alcott. Did you know that because of people like him, our kids are encouraged to ask questions at school when they don't understand something and they get to have recess to invigorate their minds?

Speaking of eccentric radicals, Henry David Thoreau, a close friend of the Alcotts, never actually went to Fruitlands, but his desk is on display there now.

I actually saw Thoreau's desk today!

Something So New It Didn't Even Exist Yesterday!

This little lamb was born this morning at Old Sturbridge Village. We saw him when he was just a few hours old, so tiny and shivering in the chilly air of the open barn.


Learning about life around the turn of the 19th century and seeing people work in all of the old buildings--like the pottery shed, the blacksmith shop, and the one-room school house--was fascinating.


But not quite as fun as meeting the animals!



Or having a portrait taken with a few friends!

Shameless Promotion

A couple of years ago I discovered that a sister (Julie) of one of my best friends from college (Sally) lives about five miles down the road from my parents. It was a pretty big coincidence since my friends grew up in upstate New York and my parents live in Massachusetts.

Really, what are the odds?

Julie and I now make a point of getting together when I'm visiting my parents, and it's especially nice because Jack enjoys hanging out with her four boys (he's plunk in the middle age-wise).

After yesterday's marathon adventure, today was a deliberately unscheduled day. Connecting with Julie and her family was the only thing on our official agenda.

Now for the shameless promotion. Julie (a writer) and Sally (an illustrator) are the creators of a series of books for kids ages 8-12 set at a school for disruptive boys. Funny, funny stuff. (Hmmm, wish I had a bookstore so I could sell them myself.)

After spending a few hours in Julie's house full of boys today, I can't imagine where she gets all her ideas!

All We Were Missing Was a Tricorner Hat

What I really want to blog about is the Boston marathoner we saw this afternoon who pulled a garden gnome out of his backpack, set it on the edge of a fountain and snapped a photo. I have never actually seen anyone do that in real life! But I wasn't fast enough to snap a photo of him. So I will blog about Jack's first Patriots' Day celebration instead.

I suppose I dragged Jack out of bed before he was really ready. But I was dying to share one of my favorite childhood memories with him: the Isaac Davis trail march, in which we hiked with the Acton Minutemen seven miles to the Concord Bridge, basically following the route they took in 1775.

Here is Jack at 6 a.m. You can see how he'd caught the vision of reliving my childhood.


I was especially excited to join the march this year because Steve, a high school classmate, was the captain of the Acton Minutemen. He's the guy in the lead. He did a great job captaining.


When we got to the bridge, the Minutemen fired their muskets three times in honor of the men from Acton who were the first to die in the battle with the British that day.


After lunch we went to the Hosmer house in Acton to pick up our scrolls, commemorating our participation in the trail march. They had all sorts of Revolutionary War era activities for the kids, including an entertaining and informative lesson on loading and shooting muskets taught by the Minuteman pictured with Jack here.


If that wasn't enough Patriots' Day patriotism to pack into our day, Jack and I headed to the North End of Boston with my sister Maryann to see the iconic statue of Paul Revere, sculpted by a favorite son of our hometown in Utah, Cyrus Dallin.


As an added bonus my nephew Tim and his wife Ashley met us in the North End for dinner. Italian, of course. You can imagine how hungry we were after our long morning hike and our traipsing around Boston, but honestly, we ate as if we'd actually run the Boston marathon.

The Fribble

Those of you who know Friendly's know exactly what I'm talking about. Mine was chocolate, purchased at the take-out window of the Friendly's in Sturbridge and consumed as we drove east on the Massachusetts Turnpike. We didn't really need lunch because we'd eaten such a huge breakfast with cousin Tracey and her family before checking out of our hotel in Connecticut and heading back to my parents' house.

I think Friendly's and Fribbles would be very popular in Utah should the chain decide to expand there. Just sayin'.

In Which Jack Goes to a Wedding

Technically I went to a wedding, too. But the pictures of Jack are much better!

Here is Jack at the church in Greenwich. (P.S.: He did a great job tying his own tie.)

The ceremony was beautiful. The whole wedding party did a wonderful job supporting the bride and groom. I was especially proud of the three-year-old ring bearer, cousin Boone, who did not have to resort to the plan B his parents came up with after a challenging rehearsal. He made it down the aisle just fine without his mom.

Here is Jack with the flower girls, cousins Abby and Jessie.

In the car yesterday, Jack told me that his dad instructed him to say “yes” and politely oblige if Abby or Jessie ask him to dance at the reception. He ended up having a lot of fun on the dance floor.

Here is Jack with the bride, Lillan.

She looked beautiful and happy today. I think she’s married a man who loves her and will be a good husband to her. One of my favorite moments was watching her father wipe away a few tears as he watched his youngest daughter dance with his new son-in-law.

I’m very glad Jack (and I) got to go to a wedding today.

Arrivals

My Uncle John arrived from Maine in time to celebrate his birthday at lunch time. Everything went well despite the fact that I didn't realize the cake we bought was in the grocery bag I carried in from the car, and Mom had to salvage the frosting after the whole thing tipped on its side! Between the frosting fiasco and the candles we bought that melted way too fast--only four or five of them were even still lit by the time the cake got to the table for the birthday boy to blow them out--it was the saddest birthday cake I've ever seen. But it sure was tasty!

Despite traffic that set us back an hour, my sisters, Jack, and I arrived in Connecticut just in time to celebrate my cousin's wedding at her rehearsal dinner. It was wonderful to meet her husband-to-be for the first time and to catch up with her family.

Here are all of the sisters and cousins. I believe we look better than the birthday cake!

Top left to right: cousin Lillan (the bride), cousin Sandy, Me

Bottom left to right: cousin Tracey, sister Linda, sister Maryann

Long Day's Journey into Night

Jack and I spent the entire day traveling, first to the airport in Phoenix, where our 2 ½ hour layover turned into a 3 ½ hour layover, and then to the airport in Manchester, NH, an airport I have never flown into before.

We kept track of some of our unusual experiences, like driving through snow flurries on the way to the airport and seeing a group of veterans welcoming back soldiers while we waited in the security line.


We met lots of nice people, like a grandma who was flying home to Pittsburgh after visiting grandchildren in Orange County and a grandma who was flying from her home in Orange County to visit grandchildren in Massachusetts. The man we shared a row with from Salt Lake to Phoenix was a Southwest Airlines shareholder. He thanked us for flying Southwest and said, “full planes are very good for stock prices.” The woman we shared a row with from Phoenix to Manchester is married to a man who once worked as a brakeman for the Silverton-Durango railroad. While we waited at the gate in Salt Lake we chatted with UVU's long-distance track coach. He'd have been pleased to know that we later met several people who were heading to Boston to run the marathon on Monday.

We talked to a very nice shopkeeper in Phoenix who sold us an awesome present for Uncle John’s birthday tomorrow (shhh!). I will say this much: she told us she almost quit when they started stocking gigantic hairy tarantulas in the shop.

We took advantage of family restrooms at the airports. The family restroom is the best invention for moms traveling alone with their sons who are increasingly embarrassed about being dragged into ladies’ rooms.

By far the most amazing family/special needs restroom we used was in the Phoenix airport. Not shown in this photo was the chaise where Jack relaxed while he waited for me to use the facilities, which were hidden behind the privacy wall in the photo. And check out the shower!

The thought that kept Jack going all day was getting to meet his aunt Maryann's cat named Squirrel. We settled in well after midnight, and Squirrel made a point of sniffing him from head to toe. Welcome to my house, she said.

"So, a Real Journey"

We're pretty much all packed! Jack and I are heading east in the morning and we have all sorts of adventures ahead of us.

This occasion calls for one of my favorite scenes from Joe Versus the Volcano:

Who's Afraid?

Sorry I'm going to be a little cryptic in this post, but I want to write about the best thing that happened today.

A few weeks ago, I started a new library board assignment at our city library. I'm working with one of the librarians to expand adult programming, especially after we move into our new library building next fall.

One of the ideas we're working on is a lecture series to introduce readers to genres and authors they want to try but might be a bit intimidated by--poetry, classics from various eras, Shakespeare, Transcendental writers like Emerson and Thoreau, and so on. Maybe even some Beowulf or Virginia Woolf.

I want to find fun and interesting people to do the presentations, and I immediately thought of two of my favorite young adult writers to kick off the series for us. I asked them if they'd be willing to do a tag team presentation on reading that has stretched them in unexpected ways or opened new worlds for them.

While I can't reveal who they are until everything is finalized (they should speak sometime in January), I can say that as of today they both accepted the invitation and Springvillians are in for a real treat!

The Test

I passed a polygraph test today. It was an unnerving experience. The guy who administered the test says that's normal.

Before I took the test, he patiently listened to my compulsive confessions.

"I made up the date a rock chip hit my windshield. I couldn't remember exactly when it happened, but the repair company insisted I provide a date."

"I don't think that counts as insurance fraud," he replied.

"I might have inhaled marijuana."

"When did that happen?" He perked up.

"Once in high school and once in college when I was with some cousins who were smoking, but I didn't actually smoke it myself."

"I don't think that counts as using an illicit substance."

He said that people like me--and by that I think he meant the kind of people he laughs about with his wife over dinner--will second guess ourselves, combing our memories for something that might contradict our answers.

I left his office feeling vaguely guilty. For what? I don't know. Or do I?

Eating up Words

If I had to pick a favorite book genre, it would be the memoir. I love learning about people and the context of their lives. I think it's especially interesting to read about them in their own words. What they choose to focus on, what they choose to ignore, and how they express themselves is so revealing--more revealing than they probably intend.

Earlier today I caught a podcast of an interview with journalist Peter Godwin about a book he wrote called The Fear: Robert Mugabe and the Martyrdom of Zimbabwe. His insight is unique because he grew up there.

As I listened to the interview, I became as intrigued by the interviewee as I was by the topic. I googled him and discovered he recently wrote a memoir called When a Crocodile Eats the Sun: A Memoir of Africa.

Impulse buy.

A Smash!

The other day while I was hanging out waiting for Jack to get his hair cut (finally!), I read this review in a back issue of Utah Valley Magazine. For two days my mouth watered as I waited to try my very first Smashburger, which I knew would be the local Beehive Burger described in the review.

This afternoon, we braved the snowy weather (Yes, snow! On April 9th!) and treated ourselves to enough food to last us through tomorrow. Maybe even Monday.

We enjoyed every single bite.

Renovation

I've been following my friend Luann's basement renovation through the photos she's been posting on her website. (She's a fantastic photographer, by the way).

Tonight Roger and I got a tour of the big project, which is just about complete. What a great new space they have! They enlarged the tiny basement windows to let in all sorts of light, carefully planned every inch of the space, and made lots of fun design choices.

After the tour I made Roger take me to McDonald's to get a cherry pie. (I can be a pretty cheap date.) He asked if I'd seen the renovations there, and I said I didn't even know they'd made renovations. So we went inside rather than doing the drive thru. (Okay, seriously? Spell check thinks "thru" is spelled properly!) They've got the whole McCafe thing going on there now.

Seeing Luann's house was much cooler! (Even without the cherry pie.)

This Time I Laughed

I made an attempt to participate in a crafting project at a Relief Society meeting tonight. This was totally out of character for me. I still feel a knot of anxiety in my stomach when I think about a dried flower/painted wood misadventure I had nearly 20 years ago. I'd forgotten my keys that night, and when I got home and Roger opened the front door for me, I just stood there on the steps holding my pathetic creation in my hands, tears rolling down my cheeks.

Tonight was another epic fail.

It was a simple project. Really. All I needed to do was tape a stencil of my last name onto our 9 x 13 Pyrex pan, glop some etching goop on it, wait a while, then rinse it off. Inexplicably it didn't take. Or maybe I'm just cursed when it comes to crafting.

This time, though, I laughed.

Having our name etched on our baking pan is a brilliant idea. I wouldn't have to use masking tape and a marker to label it when I make up a batch of funeral potatoes anymore.

The nice neighbor who organized the project said she will help me try again tomorrow.

And She's Out

I was so tired this afternoon I actually took a nap. I think I might have worn myself out trying to keep the energy level up in class today. We were talking about punctuation. Especially commas. Talking about commas is exhausting.

It's not unusual for me to want to take a nap or to think I'm going to take a nap but be unable to fall sleep. It is unusual for me to stop whatever I'm doing and actually take a nap. When that happens, I know I really needed it. And I'm still looking forward to turning out the light tonight and getting some more sleep!

Apparently commas lead to comas.