Heavy, Heavy Hangover

Don't be worried.

This isn't a blog about how I have given in to the stresses of life and decided to take up drinking. This is just a momentary step back into my more carefree childhood.

Tonight the youngest son, the hubby and I were gathered around the dinner table and for some reason (I'm sure it was something someone said, but I can't remember what ) I began to recite a familiar rhyme from the birthday parties of my youth.

Heavy, heavy hangover
thy poor head.
What do you wish this person
with a bump on the head.

The son immediately questioned my sanity and when I looked to the hubby for support or some sign of understanding, he just looked back at me with a totally blank stare.  No help there.

I know I am not the only person who has experienced this tradition in their lifetime.  In fact I'm positive since  I wasn't the only guest at the afore mentioned birthday parties, but apparently this is not the common childhood memory that I thought it to be.

I remember this activity done in two different, but similar ways. At gift opening time someone, usually the special guest's mother, would stand behind the birthday boy or girl, select a present and while holding it over the child's head would repeat the rhyme adding a gentle tap on the head with the gift as the word "bump" was spoken. The recipient would then wish the gift giver, which  up to this point was a mystery, a gift as well.  This was usually something totally out of the realm of possibility such as a million dollars, or a swimming pool or a trip to Africa and then the giver would respond with great enthusiasm, thus identifying him or herself to the birthday child.

My other memory is the same except the rhyme reciter was the gift giver himself and the bump on the head was usually a very energetic thwap!

I explained all of this to the men at the table and they continued to act like I was more than a little bit strange.

Of course, after dinner was over, I had to do a little internet research in an attempt to discover the origins of this tradition and to determine if it was really as rare of a ritual as they seemed to think.

I didn't find too much to report.

I did derive that it may come from an ancient childhood game.  That it was practiced most frequently in small town Utah, by Mormons, and is actually referred to in the book "Mama Married a Mormon", but it has been played as far away as Iran. Also, the poem sometimes differs from the one of my memory to be "heavy, heavy hangs over" or "my forehead".

But, the best insight I found, and the one I enjoyed the most, was discovered on a website from the United Kingdom called the phrase finder.  In a response by Dr. Jones to a question asked by R regarding this topic he stated:

"I believe the custom died out in affluent countries when the size and weight of gifts increased and the custom was found to cause unacceptable collateral damage to the upcoming generation of gift recipients.  It did, however, have a Darwinian purpose in prehistoric times, when clubs and similar weapons were handed out as gifts and the thin skulls of the weakest were crushed whilst the thick headed survived to perpetuate the custom: some of these survivors are with us to this very day."

Apparently the reason so few individuals have memory of playing this game as a child, is that many who participated in this activity failed to reach adulthood unscathed.

Another reason to be grateful that I grew up a thick headed Mormon.

Today I am grateful for

the sacrament. Due to Stake Conferences and staying with the grandson last Sunday it had been almost a month since I had the opportunity to participate in this sacred ordinance and I have missed it.

my ward family. I have felt the love and prayers of the "family I attend church with each Sunday" so strongly during the past couple of weeks and it was great to get to meet with them again today.

ham and cheesy potatoes.

Father Lehi and the Tree of Life

I ran across this video and felt it was a wonderful Father's Day tribute. Back when this Lehi (the artist) was just a preschooler, his father was the "father" of the BYU Lamanite singles ward and my hubby served as his counselor in the bishopric when we were first married. We learned a lot from Bishop Sanchez and he has been a great example of a righteous father, not only to his own children, but to many, many other individuals over the years.



The other day when I went to the temple, I was impressed with the beautiful sunflowers they have planted this year. They give the temple a very different look, a somewhat masculine appearance. I decided that I would like to go to the temple on Father's day and take some pictures of my kids with their father and the sunflowers. By the time we finished Father's day dinner (and dessert) with the very extended family it was almost too dark for picture taking but we still managed to get a few good ones. We missed the youngest daughter, who still maintains that she is the very best Father's day present her dad ever received. She was born 22 years ago yesterday, on Father's Day. Just imagine her cute, smiling face right there with the rest of them.


My children are very fortunate to have the wonderful, supportive father that they were blessed with. He is a good example to all of us, but especially to his sons. I hope they grow up to be righteous fathers just like their dad.



Today I am thankful for

the father of my children.
cooperative family members.
Pima tacos and banana splits.

My Little Rocking Chair

One of the purposes of our most recent trip to Utah was to collect the remainder of my inherited furniture from where it was being stored in my sister's basement. One of the items we brought home was my little rocking chair.

Here is the grandson taking it for a test drive. He did smile when I rocked him in it, but he was a little bit concerned most of the time.
I have two very distinct memories of this chair from my childhood. One of them is of riding it down the stairs to the basement in our house on the hill. I did this on purpose and I'm pretty sure numerous times. It was a lot of fun.
My other memory is of sitting in this chair the very last time I ever remember throwing up. I was still pretty young because I know I still fit in the chair. I have a strong stomach and I don't throw up - even though there have been times in my life when I really wished I could, because I'm sure it would have made me feel better.
I'm glad my mom has taken such good care of my chair for so many years. My kids used to enjoy going to Grandma's house and rocking her "babies" in it. Now it's time for my grandchildren to have a turn.

Today I am thankful for

a grandbaby to share my chair with.
childhood memories.
my sister's basement.

Spanish Fork Bank Breakdown

In the fall of 1975 my family was in the process of moving from Heber City, Utah to Spanish Fork, Utah. My dad had been transferred to the Spanish Fork branch of First Security Bank and he and my mom had decided to build a new house a few blocks away from the bank after failing to find a home in the area that they wanted to purchase. When it came time for school to start my brother was a freshman at BYU and I was a junior in high school. It was determined that even though our house possibly wouldn't be completed until the start of 1976, I should begin the school year at Spanish Fork High School. This was not a very popular decision with me. I was still technically living in Heber, where all of my friends were, but spent most of my days in Spanish Fork, where I knew no one and I didn't like it.

Each morning we would arise early and my dad, my brother and I would head down Provo Canyon. My brother was dropped off at BYU and then my dad and I would continue on to Spanish Fork where he would deposit me at the High School before going on to the bank. I usually rode in the back seat of the car where it was easy to go back to sleep until we arrived in SF. I can still vividly remember the sound of the tires crossing over the cattle guard at the foot of the Spanish Fork freeway exit. That dreaded noise indicated that it was time to sit up and face a new day of anonymity at my new school when all I wanted to do was continue sleeping or go back home. When the school day finally ended I would walk the 2 blocks to the bank where I would check in with my dad, if he wasn't helping a customer, and then I would take up residence in the employee lounge in the basement of the bank until 5:30 or 6:00 PM when my dad could leave work.

As this daily schedule continued I began to feel that the bank was my home away from home. There were frequently treats on the lounge table that I could indulge in and always a pot of coffee percolating on the counter. I have never drunk coffee in my life, but that smell seemed very comforting to me for some reason, and made the little space seem almost homey. As I would sit and do my homework or read a book, the bank employees would wander in and out and ask me about school or my day. There were several women who were especially kind to me and I began to look forward to my visits with them. As I entered the bank in the afternoon I could always count on being greeted warmly by someone as I passed through on my way to the stairs. The bank started to become a place where I felt like I belonged, while I often spent the rest of the day trying to figure out where I fit in. I would still have preferred to be a Wasatch Wasp, but my time at the bank made the thought of becoming a Spanish Fork Don a little less painful.

At the end of December my family finally moved from Heber, where we had sold our home, and took up temporary residence in Payson, Utah with my Grandpa since our house still wasn't finished. Now that we actually lived in Utah County, my days at the bank became fewer and further apart since my mom or my brother could usually pick me up as soon as school got out. Then in February of 1976 we finally became official Spanish Fork residents and my afternoons at the bank became a thing of the past. However, every time I visited the bank, I still felt like I was welcomed as a member of the family and I continued to feel like this was a place where I belonged.

Fast forward 35 years - I haven't lived in Spanish Fork for close to 30 years, my dad hasn't been the manager of the First Security Bank there for more than 25 years, and it has probably been at least 15 years since I have actually been inside what is now the Wells Fargo Bank at 99 North Main Street in Spanish Fork. I have promised my sister that I will stop there on my way to Idaho and sign some papers that need to be signed in order to stop my dad's retirement checks that my mom has been receiving each month. The person I need to talk to is helping another customer and so I take a seat and wait for my turn.

The bank has been remodeled several times since the months that I felt like I practically lived here. The bathroom isn't where it belongs and the back stairs to the basement have disappeared. All of the higher management desks are now surrounded by clear plastic sound walls that present a somewhat stand offish attitude and all of the tellers behind the counter look like they could be my sons. I am treated cordially and with respect, but no one is welcoming me home as their long lost family member. As I sit with my back to the large bank vault, that is still right where it is suppose to be, and watch the familiar wooden gate, protecting the front staircase, swing back and forth behind an employee on his way to the basement break room, I am hit by a wave of nostalgia and homesickness that takes me by surprise.
I miss my dad.
I miss my mom.
I miss my friends at the bank.
I miss the feeling of belonging that I use to feel in this building.
I even miss those long ago days as a Spanish Fork Don that ended up being much better than I could have imagined during the final months of 1975.

I feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes and hope that I can complete my transaction before I have a complete breakdown. Thankfully, it is soon my turn to be helped and I maintain my composure until I walk out the back door, which isn't suppose to be there by the way, and into the parking lot. The youngest daughter seems to be OK with the fact that I feel the need to cry from Spanish Fork to Bountiful and since she is the one driving it doesn't matter that I can't see anything anyway.

Today I am thankful for

a daughter that is willing to stop and shop the sales with me.
a daughter that makes hotel reservations and knows how to order pizza.
extra McDonalds napkins.

The View

The hubby has had several evening meetings this week so I decided this was a good time to put a puzzle together. I love to do puzzles. There is something so intriguing about looking at the small details of a puzzle piece and figuring out where it belongs in the larger picture. Tiny color variations or subtle patterns, that you hardly notice at first glance, become so apparent when you really look at each individual piece. I am always so excited to watch the complete picture come together.

I bought this puzzle at a thrift store. I chose it because it reminded me of my home. I grew up on the outskirts of a small Utah community nestled in the Wasatch Valley. The home that I lived in for most of my childhood was located on the crest of a hill looking out over this valley. My front porch had a wonderful view that extended all the way to Mt. Timpanogos and Deer Creek Reservoir. Although there were a few homes and buildings to be seen dotting the landscape here and there, the majority of what we could see from this vantage point were fields. Lots and lots of fields containing various crops and livestock dissected by dirt roads and fences and streams. Depending on the season these fields would be green or gold or brown or white or a mixture of many different hues. They often resembled a huge patchwork quilt just as this puzzle depicts. What beautiful and precious memories this puzzle brings to mind.

Today I am grateful for

thrift store puzzles that end up still having all the pieces.
the opportunity to grow up in the country.
memories.

One year ago today - Crying on the beach

Funny Flashback

This morning when I went to the church to run off the bulletin I noticed that they had aerated the lawn and there were lots and lots of little dirt plugs all over the grass.

I kind of made a mental note not to go on a walk today during nursery because I could just imagine what our nursery kids would do with these little treasures.
Looking at these dirt clods brought back a funny memory. When my oldest daughter was in Kindergarten her teacher decided to have a peanut hunt for her students for Easter instead of an Easter egg hunt. A couple of parents and I took a whole bunch of peanuts in the shell and "hid" them in the grass at the park adjacent to the school. I thought it was kind of a healthy and unique alternative to candy or eggs, and a lot cheaper. It just so happened that the park lawn had been aerated a few days before. After the hunt, the kids were all quite disappointed when they tried to eat the treats they had collected in their Easter bags. Most of them had collected a lot more dirt plugs than edible peanuts.

Flying the Flag

For quite a few years now our scout troop has posted flags in neighborhood yards on holidays as a fund raiser for scout camp. The sons, the hubby and I have all taken our turns getting up early on holiday mornings and driving around the neighborhood searching for the tiny PVC pipe flag holders often hidden in the various subscriber's front yards. We have all lived through it. This morning when I walked outside and noticed the flag flying in our neighbor's yard I will admit that I was grateful that my sons are both too old to have to put up flags anymore.
Every year I have declined the offer by various scouts to place a flag in my front yard. For some reason this is a fund-raiser I have a problem with. I firmly believe that each home in the United States should own an American flag and be responsible for flying it on national holidays. I don't feel that this is a scout responsibility. I feel it is an American privilege.
I remember as a child standing at attention, with my hand over my heart, as my brother raised or lowered the flag on the flag pole in our front yard. I was taught to respect the flag, honor it, and how to fold it properly. This was important to me and still is.
This morning when I saw the neighbor's flag I went inside to get our flag and put it up. I found the flag, but the flag pole was missing in action. I searched in every closet, behind every door, under every couch, but I couldn't find it anywhere. Finally, I sent the hubby to the store to purchase a new one. Soon the flag was flying and I once again felt like a grateful American as I enjoyed watching it wave in the breeze.


Today I am grateful for

sons who both worked very hard without even being asked.
the freedom I enjoy because of the men and women who have made sacrifices in my behalf.
the privilege to own and fly the American flag.

One year ago today - Frogs don't like Orange Peels

Retro TV

My hubby has been really concerned about the TV in our bedroom not having a converter box. I thought we had decided that he could watch TV in the family room on our new digital television and just use the set in the bedroom for DVDs, but apparently I was mistaken. Over the weekend he took a trip to Target and purchased a converter box, at full price . After he got it all hooked up he was excited to check out the additional channels that we could now pick up. His favorite is the Retro TV channel. This channel shows some of his favorite old TV programs. As "luck" would have it, on Sunday night he starting coming down with a cold and was too sick yesterday and today to go to work, which gave him lots of Retro TV watching time.
This afternoon he was watching "Emergency". This is a show I remember watching, and enjoying, during my youth. I sat down and watched for a few minutes. I don't even remember for sure when this series was originally broadcast, but obviously it was quite a while ago.
In one scene Roy and Gage are flagged down by a woman and drug through a parking lot to a locked car. There is a group of women gathered around the vehicle and a small child laying in the back seat not moving. One of the women says that she saw the child when she went into the store and now he is still in the car 30 minutes later when she came out. The paramedics stand there trying to decide how to get the door open. They stand, they debate, they stand, they determine that the roof of the car is hot, they stand, they look for a hanger, they find a hanger and try to unlock the door, and try, and try some more. Eventually the door is open and the child is picked up. He wakes up and begins to cry, but appears to be fine. Wet and smelly, but not hot to the touch. The women all leave and Roy and Gage are standing there holding a screaming baby. About that time the mother comes out of the beauty parlor and begins to berate the men for opening her car and touching her child. They are all apologetic, give her the child and leave.
Perhaps it's just because I live in Arizona, where cars heat up like ovens, but I think in 2009 that mother would have been charged with child endangerment. Also, I have watched firemen break into a car in a parking lot with children locked inside and they didn't stand around trying to decide how to do it. They broke the window. However, the mother was standing next to them and most likely gave them permission. She wanted her kids out of that car. Apparently she put the baby in the car seat and went around to put the 2 year old in his car seat and he locked the doors while she was going around.
Another story was about a man who was faking illnesses to get to stay in the hospital and enjoy the food and attention he received. When they finally figure out that he isn't sick and has a history of hospital stays with fake diseases they confront him. He says he hasn't broken any law. In 2009 I think his behavior would be considered insurance fraud and he'd probably be in some serious trouble. It's interesting how things have changed over the years.

Today I am grateful for

an A and a B on the two finals the youngest son took today.
a fridge full of groceries.
cough syrup.

Star Trek The Movie 2009

Today the hubby and I went to see the new Star Trek movie. He really wanted to see it and I went along because he couldn't find anyone else to go with him. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't have anything against Star Trek. I grew up watching the TV series with my brother and I am quite familiar with the storyline and the characters. In fact, if I were to meet Captain Kirk or Spock I would probably even consider them friends. I could quite possibly find my way around the Enterprise if I were ever accidentally beamed up by Scotty. I would actually say I like Star Trek, but I am definitely not a "Trekkie". I thought I would see the movie sometime, but I don't have to see any movie during the first 2 weeks of its run. I am happy to wait for it to go to the cheap theatre or to come out on DVD. Having said that, I really liked the movie. I found it entertaining. As is usually the case, there were a few words and a scene that I could have lived without but overall I thought it was very good. It made me want to go back and watch a few Star Trek reruns just for fun. It also opens up a whole new world of future voyages of the Star Ship Enterprise, a thought that I am not totally opposed too and a even a little bit curious about.

Today I am thankful for

a hubby that likes to do things with me.
a quiet Saturday.
my computer.
a phone visit with my mom.

One Pink Poppy

This morning the youngest son had to be to school at 6:00 AM to go to his state band festival. I wasn't that excited to be his designated driver, but I am definitely more of a morning person than he is. He prefers that I keep my mouth closed and my comments to myself during our early morning trips to the school, and heaven forbid if I happen to feel like singing along with the CD. His attitude seems to take some of the joy out of my mornings, but it's hard for me to be grumpy when it's actually still cool outside. I love the morning, once I manage to extricate myself from my bed.

When I got back home after I dropped him off I noticed that there was a new flower in my planter. One beautiful pale pink poppy. It made me smile.

I have always loved poppies. Every Spring the side of the road in front of my Grandma's house in Santaquin, Utah would be full of lots and lots of tall orange poppies.

They always looked so happy to me. Every year after they would die my mom would collect some seed pods and try to plant poppies at our house. They never seemed to grow even though they flourished, without any assistance, at Grandma's.

It was a good thing I got up early today. By lunchtime the heat had pretty much destroyed my pretty poppy. Perhaps I'll collect the seed pod and try to plant some more next year. This time I'll try to remember to sow the seeds in the fall and then maybe the flowers will bloom earlier in the season,when it is still under 100 degrees, and last more than 2 or 3 hours. Regardless, this pink poppy was a bright spot in my day.

Mother Goose Popcorn

Sunday Evenings during my childhood often included watching the Wonderful World of Disney. This was before the age of videos or DVDs and if you wanted to see a Disney movie you had to either go to the movie theater or watch The Wonderful World or Disney on TV. The movies were usually 2 hours long and we had to wait a whole week to see the second hour.

Our Sunday Disney viewing often included a delicious bowl of homemade Mother Goose Popcorn.

I have very fond memories of helping make this favorite treat. Mother Goose popcorn is made by combining 2 cups of sugar and 1/2 a cup of canned milk in a saucepan and then cooking it until it reaches the soft ball stage. It's readiness was always tested by filling a small measuring cup with cold water and then dropping a blob of the syrup off the spoon and into the water. The blob was then pushed with the finger and if it formed into a ball it was done. If it just disintegrated it had to cook longer. I didn't like it when that happened. Licking the tiny drop off my finger, after it was tested, was one of my favorite parts of the cooking process. It was also exciting when I was chosen to select the color of the popcorn for the evening and I loved to add the food coloring a drop at a time and watch my chosen hue appear.


When my kids were young we use to make Mother Goose Popcorn every now and then, but it has probably been years since I have made it. Recently the youngest son has been asking me to make him some and today while I was grocery shopping I received a text request from him with a please attached. Since I was at the store and could buy some popcorn and canned milk I was a nice mom and said OK.

He popped the popcorn and entertained while I made the syrup.


I even let him choose the color.


Which was supposed to be purple, but ended up more pink.

Unfortunately, after he watched me make it he deemed the stuff unhealthy and severely limited his intake. Unhealthy or not I thoroughly enjoyed my tasty trip down memory lane today.

Cadbury Creme Eggs

While serving my mission in England I discovered the delectable delicacy - the Cadbury Creme Egg. I fell in love at first bite. I remember when the Easter season ended and I realized I would be in Utah when it was Easter again - Utah where they didn't sell Cadbury anything - I was very sad. I paid 13 pence apiece (why do I vividly remember this random detail) and purchased a few after Easter leftover eggs, hid them on the top shelf of my wardrobe and vowed I would take them home and enjoy them next Easter. Needless to say, I didn't have to worry about packing them when June rolled around and I returned to the states.

It was a happy day for me when one Easter, there on the store shelves in Utah (or was it Arizona by then?), I once again discovered Cadbury Creme Eggs. Even though American Cadbury Creme Eggs taste different than English Cadbury Creme Eggs, each year I have to buy at least one for old time sake, usually at the after Easter sales because I'm too cheap to pay full price. Today I bought my 2009 Cadbury Creme Egg, but I'm hoarding it away for a special occasion or a desperate moment when I need a sickeningly sweet chocolate fix.

I hadn't really looked at my egg closely when I watched this video on someone else's blog. I looked at my egg again. Yes, it is smaller, but then perhaps I have just gotten bigger. I don't know why I find this so entertaining, but I do.

Planting Flowers

This morning our Stake had a service assignment planting flowers at the Mesa Temple. It was a cold (for Arizona), cloudy morning when we started at 7:00 AM. The flowers were dropped, still in their plastic containers, right where they were suppose to be planted. It almost looked like they had fallen from heaven for us to take care of. Lots of people came to help and the planting went quickly, but not quite quick enough to avoid the rain that started sprinkling down. After the planting we added compost. Lots and lots of compost. Some of the compost got blown from the truck and stuck to our wet jackets until we began to resemble mud people. I was wet and I was dirty but I'm still glad I got to make a small contribution to the beauty of the temple. I was home and showered by 8:30 and when my boys got up they questioned whether or not I had really gone. Of Course, I forgot to take my camera so I couldn't prove to them that I had. While I was down in the dirt digging flower holes I was reminded that one of the first "dates" my oldest daughter and my son-in-law went on in the Fall of 2007 was a service project to plant flowers at the temple. Those same flowers looked beautiful the next April when they had there wedding pictures taken with them. Unfortunately I am having a hard time coming up with any pictures with the flowers. Perhaps you can see them if you blow this picture up bigger. The week after the wedding these flowers were all dug up so the summer flowers could be put in. Kind of sad, but necessary in Arizona. Friday, April 17 - Today when I went to the temple I took some pictures of the flowers we planted on Saturday. They have been in for almost a week now, and while they are not quite up to par for temple flowers yet, they are still all alive and the compost is still in the planter where it belongs and off of the sidewalk where it doesn't belong. I wonder what they will look like by mid-summer?

Baptism

Tonight the sons, my youngest daughter and I attended the baptism of one of our friends. This young man started out as a friend with my youngest son when they were in middle school together. He enjoys playing basketball and he and my son connected on the basketball court. The son and I also enjoyed sitting in the stands with his dad and his uncle watching him play on the middle school basketball team. Then he started playing on the church basketball team (Deacon) that my older son coached several years ago. He has continued to play church ball each year and played on the team the youngest son was on recently.

He is #14 in this picture. (Unfortunately I didn't take my camera with me to the baptism.) He lives in the ward that we share our building with and he has attended many of their Wednesday night activities over the years and became close friends with many of the boys in that ward, especially one young man, who was also his neighbor and whose family have always welcomed him into their home.
Not too long ago the boy who was baptized tonight lost his dad unexpectedly. His mom has never been a part of his life, at least not for as long as we have known him. After his father's death he ended up moving in with his much older brother, but that ended up being a less than positive situation and a change needed to be made. The neighbor family invited him to live with them just after the start of the year. Since then he has attended church every Sunday and recently decided he wanted to take the missionary discussions and things progressed from there.
Whenever someone I know decides to be baptized I stop and ponder what kind of an impact I personally had on this decision. Did my interactions with this person give him a desire to know more about the gospel or did he decide to join the church in spite of my example? I think it's good to have opportunities where we really stop and think about the influence we can have in other people's lives and the difference we can make. We really never know who is watching us.
In this situation I don't really believe that anything my children or I did made a huge difference in how things transpired. Perhaps we were all cast in the supporting roles in this life story, not as one of the main characters. I am happy to say though that I can't think of too many moments when our choices might have actually stood in his way of joining the church, except perhaps those few times when my youngest son or I got a little too emotionally involved in the drama of an exciting basketball game. Could we have done better? Most definitely. Are we glad we did what we did? You better believe it.
This young man is such a great kid, who has faced a lot of challenges in his life. It was a very sweet experience to see him enter the waters of baptism this evening, surrounded by his new church family. I love baptisms and the spirit I felt during this one tonight.

Tonight I am thankful for

the Holy Ghost.
individuals who open their hearts and their homes to others.
my oldest daughter who rescued her father when his car died on the way home from work and none of the rest of us would answer our cell phones because we were at the baptism

Español

Tonight I had the opportunity of going to the temple to see one of my youngest daughter's good friends receive her own endowments. This young woman will soon be known as Sister Zarate and will be serving in the Salt Lake City Temple Square Mission for 18 months.

We are all excited for her. Some other members of the family would have gone to the temple with her as well, but it just so happened that tonight was also the beginning of the church young men's basketball tournament and the youngest son's team, which is coached by the oldest son, had a game at the same time. It was hard for many of us to decide where we wanted to be the most. I finally decided that since the tournament is double elimination and the team was only playing one game tonight that I would have another opportunity to watch them participate and so I chose the temple. I was glad that I did. (The son's team lost and listening to the recap, I think I was lucky that I wasn't there to experience it.)
Since English is this sister's second language she chose to go to a Spanish speaking endowment session. My family and I had discussed ahead of time whether or not I thought I could follow what was going on if I had to do it only in Spanish. Pondering this question reminded me of a trip I took to a Denver Albertsons grocery store a couple of years ago. I was getting ready to check out when I received a phone call from my oldest daughter informing me that she had just been offered a job teaching Kindergarten at Fuller Elementary School. This was her first teaching job, school started in a week and we were both very excited. After I hung up I went to the self check out to purchase my groceries. I was still a little distracted and accidentally pushed the Spanish button instead of the English one. I tried to go back and choose English but couldn't figure it out. I decided I could check out in Spanish. I know a little Spanish and I use the self check out all the time, I could probably do it with my eyes closed so I thought a foreign language would be no problem. Scan the item, drop it in the bag. Pretty much the same in any language. I was rolling right along until I got to the produce. Even though I didn't know what a cantaloupe was called in Spanish I scrolled through the pictures and managed to find one that matched my item. Success! Then came the green pepper. I found the picture, entered the code but then the number keyboard popped up again. I thought the code hadn't gone through so I entered it again. I figured out what it was actually asking for about the same time I pushed the enter button. I was suppose to enter the quantity. Instead of one green pepper, or whatever it is called in Spanish, I said I was buying 4035 or some other ridiculous number. My grocery tab was immediately over $2000. That was when I finally decided to call for help. The employee was very confused about why I was checking out in Spanish, when I obviously was speaking English. Luckily for me he stood right next to me for the rest of the transaction. I think I needed his assistance at least 3 more times before I was done and thoroughly embarrassed.
So, as I thought about the temple ceremony, my first thought was that perhaps I could manage most parts, I mean I've heard it all a number of times. However, I quickly reconsidered.
The temple was very accommodating and supplied headsets for all of us who couldn't understand Español. I enjoyed hearing English in one ear while I tried to figure out what they were saying in Spanish with the other. I could actually understand a few things. However, I did find it somewhat disconcerting having Satan whispering directly into my ear at times. He seemed a lot more menacing when he was piped right into my head. Kind of like the devil sitting on my shoulder feeling.
I love being in the celestial room with someone who is there for the first time. My sweet friend was so happy to be there and I was equally happy to be there with her. It was such a wonderful moment. Lots of Love to you Sister Zarate. You're moving in the right direction and I wish you the best in life.

Today I am grateful for

hugs.
modern technology.
the temple - in any language.

The Last One

Today my youngest child had his wisdom teeth pulled. He was one of the lucky ones, like his just older sister, who only had 2 wisdom teeth instead of 4. That makes removing them a little easier. At least it seems like it should. The same oral surgeon has taken out all my kids wisdom teeth (plus a few extra from the oldest daughter) and I think he is going to miss us now that we have run out of children to grow new teeth.
The son decided to not be sedated for the extractions. Some of my kids were, some weren't. I personally think waking up from surgery and not having a clue what has just happened in your life is a horrible feeling so I would prefer to be awake if possible. Actually, back in the dark ages when I had my wisdom teeth removed sedation wasn't even an option. What I remember most about the experience was that it was very loud and the worst part was that the dentist pulled the 2 teeth on the left and then I had to go back 2 weeks later to have the 2 on the right pulled. I was not at all excited about that 2nd visit and I am glad they do it all at once now.
The boy did use the laughing gas today and that seemed to make the experience more enjoyable (maybe a little too enjoyable since on the way home he was asking me if you could buy nitrous oxide on EBay).
Since this kid has a manly image to uphold, he also insisted that he didn't want to take any painkillers so I didn't bother to get his pain prescription filled ahead of time. His brother had a full bottle that hadn't been touched from his surgery 2 weeks ago that I felt we could use in an emergency. I know it's illegal o.k. I know. Well, as the shots began to wear off and feeling returned the son became more and more irritable. It didn't take long for him to decide to heck with the image. Apparently having your wisdom teeth pulled hurts a lot more than a broken nose. I offered the brother's medicine and was read the riot act. I am surprised that the police were not called immediately and that I escaped being hauled off to jail. What was I thinking??? I drove to the store, filled the prescription, paid my $8.00 and returned home as quickly as possible. The oldest daughter took Percocet when she had her wisdom teeth pulled and she was comatose for 2 days. Unfortunately Percocet didn't have the same effect on my youngest child. He wanted to be asleep, but couldn't seem to figure out how to do it. Everyone was way too loud for his liking and he made sure to let me know about it. Finally I decided to take him for a ride. That use to be how I got him to take a nap every day when he was a baby. I would drive his sister to Kindergarten and then go around the neighborhood until he fell asleep and then we would come home, I would put him in his crib, and he would be out until all his siblings arrived home from school a few hours later. It was rather nice. I was hoping for the same effect tonight. He did drift off while I drove and I found a nice hillside close to our house to park on and enjoyed the full moon, the city lights and watching the planes appear on the horizon, grow larger and then disappear as they landed. It was very peaceful. Eventually I drove home and we dozed in the driveway for a while longer. He woke up a lot less irritable and determined to never take another painkiller in his entire life. Now I have 2 almost untouched bottles of pills in my cupboard. Too bad I'm a law abiding citizen or I could sell them to the highest bidder. I just hate having addictive medicine sitting around my house and there's so much controversy surrounding proper pill disposal anymore that I don't know how to get rid of it. Don't flush it, throw it away, or bury it, that's for sure. Maybe there needs to be a medicine recycling program. Oh, but that would be illegal too. I think it would be nice if you could just return it to the pharmacy and get a refund on the unused portion or a credit toward your next purchase.

Today I am grateful for

no more wisdom teeth.
kids that don't like to take pain killers.
beautiful Spring weather.

Just for Me

During my early teens I babysat frequently to earn some spending money. My going rate was 25 cents an hour and I remember getting paid 50 cents an hour once in a while and thinking I was rollin' in the dough. I had several families that I babysat for regularly, but there was one family that I tended more than any other. I enjoyed their kids a lot and was always happy to be at their house. I think perhaps one of the reasons I liked babysitting for this family were the food perks that were included. The mom always made sure the cookie jar was full of fresh chocolate chip cookies every time I came. She made a point of telling me they were there "just for me" so I didn't even feel bad about eating them. This mom would also prepare a shepherd's pie and leave it in the oven or the fridge if I was going to be there during the dinner hour. This was 'just for me" as well. Her kids probably got tired of shepherd's pie, but I never did. This was a treat that we didn't have at my house and I enjoyed it every time I ate it. I guess that is why shepherd's pie is close to the top of my comfort foods list still today.

This dish never fails to bring happy thoughts with each bite. It's amazing how a little hamburger, tomato sauce, green beans, mashed potatoes and cheese can do that!

Today I am thankful for

a woman who knew how to make a 13 year old feel special.
things I learned from babysitting that have helped me care for my own children.
a husband who goes with me on errands.

Food Affection

Last time I was in Utah my sister-in-law made the comment that a lot of my blogs and the blogs of my children seem to include a great number of posts concerning food. Unfortunately, I had to agree with her. My family seems to have a strong affection for food. I like to use the excuse that I only take pictures of the family when we are eating out, but that really isn't totally true. It just seems like many of our memories and activities center around food. Each year when we visit Utah, I'm afraid our agenda is based more on where we are gong to eat than what we are going to do. I realize this is a problem and I have tried to change at times, but it is a hard habit to break.
I have been doing some sorting and organizing in my bedroom recently and I ran across my life history that I wrote for a Genealogy class I took at BYU. It was somewhat discouraging to realize that this "completed" personal history, that was written in 1983, now has more missing years than recorded ones, but that's beside the point. I read the first page and immediately figured out where my food affection came from. There was a paragraph with some memories my dad had written of my birth and this was part of his description of the hospital where I was born "the cook who worked in a rather large kitchen on the ground floor fixed excellent meals and mother always enjoyed her stay which generally lasted four or five days." There it is. My birth was celebrated by my mother with delicious hospital food and my father associated my arrival with that memory. It appears that both of my parents would have had a lot of food posts as well if blogs had been around in 1959. Apparently it's a genetic thing.

Orange Blossoms

My husband, 3 of our children and I moved to Arizona 20 years ago this month. This really wasn't a move I was excited about since I was leaving behind a lot of my extended family and many friends. However, this was where my hubby had a job, so I knew I needed to adjust and learn to be happy. It took a while for this to feel like home, but I did quickly find some things that I appreciated about my new residence. The very first thing I fell in love with following our arrival were the orange blossoms. I can still remember the evening when I walked down the street to the church to attend an enrichment meeting and was almost overwhelmed with the sweet, wonderful scent of all the orange trees in bloom. I had never smelled anything like it before. I still love to breath in that marvelous fragrance every year as Spring arrives.


Today my companion and I finished up our visiting teaching for the month. After we were done talking with our sister she suggested that we go out in her backyard and pick ourselves a bag full of oranges. She wanted the oranges off the trees before the new buds actually turned into blossoms and we were happy to be of help after all visiting teaching is all about service isn't it? I enjoyed the fragrant aroma as I stuffed my bag with large, beautiful fruit. After we left her home and were driving down the road those wonderful blossoms hit us in full force though. My companion and I took turns sniffling and sneezing all the way to my house and could both hardly breath by the time we arrived. Those orange blossoms may smell fabulous, but they sure set off my allergies. I still think it's worth it though.

Today I am grateful for

my son(s) that loves to sing.
free oranges.
boys that aren't afraid to watch "The Little Mermaid" for family home evening and enjoy it.

Marching in the Snow

When McClintock High School decided to travel to Washington DC for a band festival and the Inaguration they applied to march in the Inaguration Day Parade. They were not selected to perform in that parade, but they did receive an invitation to march in the Leesburg, Virginia MLK Day Parade. Following the parade, the son texted us that he could now say that he had marched in the snow, which is an experience that I think every marching band member should have in their lifetime. I remember marching in the Santa Claus parade at University Mall in Orem, Utah one November and thinking that my fingers were going to freeze to my clarinet, as well as my lips. After viewing the video link, I don't know if I believe there was snow, but it does definitely look cold. The son is playing a trombone in the middle of the second row of the red and navy blue band toward the start of the video.