Lyrics That Describe

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I can’t believe how bizarre this weather has been. 

It had been cool yesterday morning.  It’s Roland’s late day and thus he was sleeping in.  So I turned up the heat because I knew he was cold.

I took Highness for a walk after dropping Jenna off at school.  It was nice. Not too hot, not too cold.

I dropped by the bank on the way home.  Everytime I turned the corner the weather changed.  This song happened to be playing.  And I thought: “Yes, it is bizarre and it’s driving me crazy”

All day.  I had the windows open.  I shut the windows and turned up the heat.  It was raining when I picked Jenna up from school.  I was hot.  I was cold.  All within a mattes of minutes.  There was no bizarre menagerie or posters or such.  Just weather.  Sunglasses on. Sunglasses off.  Windbreaker on. Windbreaker off. “Everytime I looked around – [bizarre weather] in my face.”

Hello Welfare Square

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I like Welfare Square.  It's inviting.  The atmosphere is pleasant.  The structure is appealing.

 Last year I tried fitting the cannery into my schedule – volunteering once a week or twice a month.  I’d work from 11:00 to 2:30 – fit great into my schedule as I was free to drop Jenna off in the morning and get home before she was dropped off. 

The hours have changed.  Now is 11:30 to 3:00 and Jenna is no longer getting dropped but I have to go and pick her up.   Going from the cannery to her school in twenty minutes is really pushing it (especially now that the construction is starting it’s way into monopolizing the road).  So I will have to find another method for volunteer hours.

I prefer the consistency of the dairy, pasta plant and cannery as opposed to the inconsistency of the storehouse or the DI – though I have had some fun jobs at the  DI (Deseret Industries) I’ve also wasted trips driving to designated locations (I’m actually not close to any of it)  deseretindustries.lds.org and have recently learned that I’ll need a work order from my bishop in order to volunteer at DI.  But I want to feel useful – not something mundane.  I can do that at home.

Jenna’s school is testing these next two weeks and then they will play until school lets out – so I haven’t been putting in much time at the school either.  And as I’m no longer on a set schedule with mom I feel like I can give more of my time – well this month anyway.  I’ve never done much with volunteer work while Jenna’s home for the summer.  Maybe I’ll just wait until school starts back up again before I start in with my pathetic dedication.

visit Welfare square at: http://www.lds.org/locations/temple-square-salt-lake-city-welfare-square

The Bread Box and the Coveted Cowboy Cup

After the pathetic attempt of a yard sale, I loaded the trunk of my car with a few items that hadn’t sold.  Two of the items I brought home with me were: the practical bread box and the fun cup full of memories.

When I was younger, I remember getting bread out of a white tin box with copper trim.  The box could hold up to four loaves and then some. 

Mom also had two canisters that held sugar and flour.  I don’t know if the three came together, or if it was just coincidental that there was a very similar appearance.

I don’t remember what happened to the tin bread box, but I remember it had to be replaced.  I remember mom and I had to hunt hard to find one – and then the only ones we could find were less than half the size and made out of wood.  This one holds only two loaves at best.

The bread box is quite a practical item for me as we live in this cracker box house in which all the furniture and appliances are squashed together.  Our back door does not open all the way because the dryer is in the way, next to that is the washer, next to that is the stove.  Our loaf of bread seems to move from counter to stovetop to table to washer – it really needs a more stable home.  (I hope the breadbox will be able to stay put)

I took the cup to give to Jenna and hoped she would find as much pleasure as Ellen and Kimball had.

The cup itself is not all that special, but the memories are.  The cup is plastic coated with silver and the initials WJW are engraved in fancy letters.  I don’t know if at one time it belonged to someone with those initials or if that was the manufacturing company or what.  I have no idea where it came from or why it was in my mom’s cupboard.

The bottom was clear – and so you could see the consumer’s face as he/she drinks – and likewise the drinker can see you.  I don’t know who it was that told us (maybe it was my mom) that the reason why it had a clear bottom is so that the cowboys who were playing cards could spy on their opponents while they drank.  Patrick and Sunny’s oldest two thought that was the coolest thing ever. 

I remember my mom and I had hunted around to find at least one other “cowboy cup” so that each child would have his/her own.  Alas, we searched in vain.  If we did come close, the price was just too outrageous.  So Kimball and Ellen took turns using it.

Jenna’s enthusiasm isn’t near what was expressed with Ellen and Kimball.  Never has been.  But we still have Anna and Garrett to explore the wonders of this “cool cup” - and watching the excitement on the faces of my dad’s posterity is mainly why I took it.  Because the memories of the cup far outweigh the bread box. 

We’re Just Not Yard Sell People

There are a handful of certain people who somehow feel magnetized to drive to yard sales – some spend their entire weekends exploring through junk and treasures and actually driving from yard sale to yard sale – not me. 

Oh, sure.  When I was a kid it was different.  I felt so grown up walking away with treasures from various neighbors’ yards.  But now?  Unless we’re looking for something specific and happen to be passing the yard sell anyway . . . junk.  Lots and lots of junk.  The same you can buy at the second hand store.  Yard sales wear me down.  And today was no exception.

Normally my sibs and I don’t hold yard sales.  Items are donated, thrown out, or given away.  Yard sales are too much work – and you end up donating or throwing away everything that’s left – which in our case was most of it.  Patrick was really dreading that part – but I told him he didn’t have to take it to a donation center himself.  We had enough in the driveway that someone would pick it up – oooo – but not on the weekend.  It felt like we returned more things to the house than what we carried out.  How is that even possible?

Sunny gave me a bag of floppy discs that I will try to go through.  Turns out most of them were mine - or half anyway.  And I had already copied the pictures.  Not all floppies could be opened. I ended up copying what I could and discarding all the floppies.  Are those considered antiques?

We had two gentlemen arrive at the same time – both well over 70.  One pointed to the empty reel/film canister and said, “I bet most people won’t even know what that is.”

My nine year old didn’t.  But then I didn’t recognize the film splicer to be what it was.  I really felt foolish when I asked Patrick about it because I have worked with film splicers before – for two different companies.  Silly me.

And Bob – who Corey has mentioned in at least four of his posts held up a porcelain one-piece nativity of Joseph, Mary and baby Jesus in a manger and asked the price (I had decided that all large knickknacks, statuettes, porcelain things would be 75 cents and the smaller ones would go for a quarter.  Wasn’t enough. 

“Two dollars?” I said wondering if he still thought it worth more.  He gave us a twenty dollar bill and would not accept change.

It was very sweet of him to donate to the cause – as he really didn’t have the need for the statue as I had to explain two or three times what it was. 

We sold most of the larger glass dishware and all of the tacky things. We sold items that I had never even seen before – some that were still in their original boxes and I suspect had never even been open.

The proceeds are going towards mom’s needs.  Not enough to pay even a week of her stay, but perhaps enough that Patrick can give some money to both Kayla and I when she runs out of medication or her bras where out or something like that.  Pocket change . . .  

Mostly it was just Patrick and I who were out there.  Sunny was keeping Jenna entertained and Kayla and Bill had gone with his family.  Roland's oldest sister seemed like the type who would spend all day driving around from one yard sell to another.  His family loves flea markets and second hand stores.

We’re not yard sale people.  I don’t know if Patrick or Kayla has ever even purchased yard sell items before.  I have.  Roland has.  Yard sale treasures that were junk put out by somebody else becomes recycled again. There were some ceramic fish on the table that I remember buying at another yard sale just up the street almost forty years ago.

Sometimes what's one man's junk is another man's treasure and sometimes what's one man's junk is always junk.

If You Leave Your Note Book Out – It Becomes Up For Grabs

I was raised in a household in which we respected not only one another – but property belonging to someone else.  We’d always ask one another if we could borrow or have – we didn’t just take and keep or disregard without considering the emotions of another.

Roland has always grabbed at envelopes or statements or even receipts – if there is a blank space he would document information from the caller – and leave it.  I at least make the effort to transfer the information rather than telephone my spouse and expect miracles to happen as I describe the notes I took and the possible appearance of what it might have been written on.

Today his “note” detail much more space than even a totally blank envelope will provide.  If I should leave out a notebook which I have written, be it journaling, lesson preparation, or whatever, he ignores the fact that the notebook may belong to somebody else and starts in at exactly where I left off.  What?!?

Randy at least has the decency to turn the page – problem is he has a college algebra class and uses up several pages for just one problem.  Give me a break!  Not fond of that algebra.  But then neither is he.

It isn’t just the notebook –it’s whatever happens to be lying around or - in Jenna’s case – just happens to exist.  Who cares if you had to open a drawer or cupboard and move things around just to get to it?  Pencils? Pens?  Once they enter our house, they are good as forever vanished. It is best that one NOT develop an attachment to anything as most items that come into our house grow legs and walk away or are forever hiding.

Edible things may be marked with names – but if they are kept in a public place (like the refrigerator) it is still up for grabs.  Tony is the only one of my three boys who ever asked if he could have different foods – but that was just while I was at home.  But Randy has always overlooked any personal belongings and still helps himself to whatever (and he doesn’t even live here anymore)

How nice it would be to experience the same respect that I grew up with.

This post is contribution from Jenna

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Normally she doesn’t like poetry – or at least hasn’t seemed to enjoy it in the past, but as we were coming home from school yesterday she read me one of her poems and made up some more on the way home.  I made her write them down so that I could post them to my blog. (I am correcting spelling and adding punctuation)

Owls

Owls Owls fly around

Owls Owls say “Hooo” – that’s how they sound

Owls Owls have big eyes

Owls Owls these aren’t lies

Cars

Cars drive

         Up and down

All around town

Homework

Homework is such a bore

We always have more

We’d rather relax on the shore

Or eat an apple core.

Jenna created and wore this costume to school today for a program

Nice Going, Mother Nature!

Many mornings

After Roland has gone to work

I’ll open the bathroom window

Because I am hot

I‘ll leave the window open all day

And Roland will close it

After I fall asleep

Because he is cold

When we went to

Aunt Neone’s funeral last year

It was cool jacket weather

At least in Salt Lake City

Where the funeral was held

But the burial was in another county

Where it was cold

And snowing a theatre snow.

The snow itself did not seem real

But we all could have used coats.

Monday was hot.  Roland had left

The window open and the fan was on

I don’t even think he was covered entirely

With blankets as he usually is

And yesterday was overcast and cool

Last night it snowed.  That weird theater snow

It feels like Styrofoam.  It isn’t cold.

But the air is.  I can’t believe how hot I’ve been

And how cold it is right now.

I personally would rather have the cold

The theatre snow, the grey.

I do like sunshine for the light.  But not the blaring heat.

After Roland goes to work, I’m turning the heat off.

                                                                     taken at 7:00 am

Jumping: It Does her Body Good

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Jenna LOVES to jump. I believe she was jumping before she was walking – though she always had assistance.  I remember my mom watching my arms moving up and down at a rapid pace and commenting that I might be going to fast.

“It isn’t me!” I would say, “Jenna’s the one who’s jumping”

When the library did a theme on superheroes and allowed the children to make capes and personalize it with initials.  We chose JJ for Jumping Jenna.

 There was a trampoline in my mom’s yard and a trampoline in Patrick’s yard.  And Jenna thought that was one of the coolest devices that she has ever enjoyed.  She could bounce just like a ball.  And her smile was always pure joy.  Jenna loved the trampoline.

  The trampoline that was in my mom’s yard had been purchased by mom and dad and Patrick.  It was a gift to all of us – even though Patrick had paid I think half.  The frame has seen many tarps and sets of springs over the years, as each of us spent countless hours as kids and then Patrick’s kids and then my own.  I think the trampoline that was in Patrick’s yard had been purchased by all four of his kids – or at least the two oldest.

I would have loved to get Jenna her own trampoline after we moved.  The closest we came was a mini trampoline that was given to us by a neighbor who had cleaned out her garage.  It soooo wasn’t the same.  She could jump on the ground higher than she could on the mini tramp.  It was a ploy – and not satisfying at all – though she did attempt to gratify her desires.  The older she got, the less gratifying it became.

I would have loved putting that joyful smile on her face and set up a trampoline for her, but we couldn’t afford it.  We had just lost our house.  Heck, we couldn’t even afford a used pogo stick. She couldn’t enjoy the trampoline at my mom’s house because even though the frame still stood, the tarp had been removed. And we usually didn’t have the appropriate strength for setting it up ourselves.

After we put mom in assisted living and were getting ready to put the house on the market, Patrick sent out a mass e-mail asking if any of us would like the trampoline.  I was so happy to get Roland to agree that it would be a good idea for us to bring it to our backyard to live.  A human friend would be much better, but a trampoline seems to be the next best thing.  I just hope Jenna doesn’t become bored with it.

“Corner on the Market!”

Patrick has always been a game collector.  I think with every passing year, there were always at least two games to be added to the collections. We played lots of games as a family when I was growing up.  Even after Patrick and Sunny were married, we would continue to play.  Some games more than others.

Pit is a card game that I don’t actually remember playing since Patrick and Sunny were newly married.  I hadn’t introduced it to my own family until last night when Randy and Carrie had us over for dinner.  For the most part brother pitted against brother.  The bear and the bull both got passed around and ended up in Randy’s hand as I called, “Corner on the Market” and Biff was laughing so hard I thought that he would split.  I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard while playing Pit. 

It really is a fun game...

More Thoughts on Funerals

Before I entered my last post, I knew I wasn’t finished with what all went through my mind yesterday.  I don’t mean for these posts to sound morbid, but rather respectful.  There are many who may not understand why I view funerals the way I do.

I couldn’t have been more than three when I was first introduced to funerals.  It was someone from the ward.  We weren’t close but apparently I had inquired about going.  Mom didn’t even think I even had known whoever it was, but I had been told that mom had confronted with the neighbor across the street who suggested she take me because it wasn’t someone close and it would give me exposure without being a traumatic situation that perhaps I could experience if the situation was with someone close to me.

I’m guessing I must have been a lot more reverent than Jenna has ever been.  I don’t remember anything about the experience – nor do I recall going to grandpa’s funeral just a few months later – though I do remember his dying.

Jenna was only five and a half when we left our first house.  Before our move, I remember taking her to many funerals – and leaving before the program was over.  She was still in diapers when my Uncle Ned passed away.  We used to take walks to see him and Aunt Sarah.  She moved in with her daughter after he passed. She passed away a year later.  Jenna's disruptions kept me out in the foyer.  I missed most of both funerals.

Lydia played the organ and lived across the street.  Jenna loved her. We would visit with her every other week.  After Jenna learned the song “You Are My Sunshine” she would perform it for various people and decided she would perform it for Lydia.  We were on our way to Lydia’s house when we learned she’d been taken to the hospital. She never returned to her house.

I took Jenna to Lydia’s funeral.  Jenna was horrible!  I don’t think we were there for 20 minutes.  I didn't even stay in the foyer but went across the street and put Jenna to bed. So when Bill (my brother-in-law)’s first wife passed, I promised Jenna the world if she would be reverent.  I told her we could go to the park or the library or wherever she wished if she would please please please keep still.  She was so good. 

Of course I had attended the funeral more out of respect to Bill than I had for Annaleigh. I learned many things about Annaleigh that I hadn’t known before.  It was such a wonderful program that honored and celebrated her memory. After her funeral, I took Jenna to Arctic Circle because that is what she chose. She had been so good. 

I’ve been to funerals for both young and old. The youngest being three years old.  It was a few years before Jenna was born.  It had been a tragic accident – but the family dealt with it well. The funeral was admirable really.

It really was a great tribute and I could really feel the Spirit present and was in awe watching his family and greater awe listening to his mom talk over the podium at his funeral describing his last day. It really was an honor to have been a part of that and to actually walk away with a feeling of comfort.

The funerals I enjoy the most celebrate life.  We need to embrace the memories and treasure the time that we had together.

Celebrating with Funerals

There was a funeral in the ward today – a man I didn’t actually know.  But Roland was presiding and asked me to be there.  The funeral did not start until 12:00 and yet I had been asked to be there at 11:00.  I still don’t know why.

So while I was there I started reminiscing over some other funerals I have attended during my lifetime. I have attended well over 40 funerals (perhaps more than 50) during my lifetime.  I don’t say that to boast – it’s just always been part of my existence.  As a result, I have always been surprised by the ignorance of others who find themselves in a situation of having to make funeral arrangements and not having a clue as how to go about it.

Death takes place all the time.  It happens all around us – I suppose for some more than others.  And each culture/religion views death differently and there are just as many funeral ceremonies as there are ways of dying.

For some cultures it is considered disrespectful for those attending to wear anything but white.  For others, black is the acceptable mournful color.  For the LDS member/funeral, the tradition is to dress in the same attire worn to Church on Sunday.

When Roland’s uncle (who’s not LDS) passed away, I had packed a black dress – though not a solid black dress.  It was gingham with large faded flowers – something I have worn to Church.  I don’t think his family was happy with what I had chosen to wear as his mother led me into her room and held out a couple of dark skirts and told me I could wear one of hers. 

Never mind that Roland’s mother is quite a bit shorter than I and any skirt that she had may have barely covered my bottom. It was 30 degrees warmer in Arizona than in Utah.  I was already hot in my “casual” summer dress.  I distinctly remember that one of the skirts was made out of wool – I’m allergic to wool.  As hot as I already was, I might as well just wear a trench coat and be just as uncomfortable.  And why would anybody own wool clothing while living in Arizona anyway?  I was the only adult wearing a dress.

For me, going to a funeral means you’re supporting your living friends whose loved one have passed on.  I normally don’t go to funerals if the only one that I know is the one in the casket.
 

I was once asked to drive my grandmother to a funeral that took place in another county.  I didn’t even know the deceased or any of his family – just my grandmother.  She didn’t really know the deceased all that well but had wanted to support the mother of the one who had passed. But at the funeral, I learned a bit about the deceased.  And after the funeral, I knew the deceased just as well as grandma did.

I have been to a handful of non-LDS funerals, but for the most part, the funerals that I have attended have been LDS conducted – usually in the chapel where we hold meetings on Sunday.  And I like LDS funerals.  For the most part, I think they pay excellent tribute to the one who is deceased.

The funerals I enjoy the most celebrate life.  The speakers consist of friends and/or family (family members are best!) who relate stories about the deceased.

I had the opportunity to speak at my great grandmother’s funeral, my grandmothers, and my dad’s.  I really enjoyed my dads.

The program addressed "farewell services" rather than "funeral services" I talked about dad’s early life up until he married.  Patrick took over celebrating my dad’s life as a father and patriarch.  We played Corey’s voice reciting his poem (found here)  which he later set to music.  And Kayla sang Amy Grant/Gary Chapman’s “Father’s Eyes”. 

I remember attending another funeral for a former neighbor (only about four years older than I) and his four children spoke at his and put their dad on a pedestal and really honored his accomplishments.  It was great!

Besides the funeral itself, there is the Relief Society who will bring casserole dishes, baked potatoes, side dishes, rolls and desserts (so the family and friends of the deceased can eat after returning from the burial) I remember lots of sign up sheets being passed around in my last ward.  Seems there were always three funerals in less than three months.  It became overwhelming at times (I’m sure for the RS presidency especially) I remember doing baked potatoes and salads and one dessert.  Today I took Calico Beans. 

I Want to Live in Tannersville

I love the neighborhoods that surround my daughter’s school.  I so wish that we could afford to move there.  Even out of state would be nice.  But then I would miss my sister.  I’m already missing my brother, Corey. 

Roland is committed to work his current job for at least another three years and there is only one other state we could transfer to – which would actually put us closer to his family.  But as that state is so hot and dry, I’d just assume stay put.

I like living in close knit communities where most all of the neighbors know and respect one another and are friendly and cordial.  And I’d love being around neighbors with children whom Jenna could play with and feel comfortable.

I highly suspect that the housing across the street is a section 8 (which I think I may have mentioned before) It hasn’t even been a year since Sandra and her four children moved in.  She’s diabetic and on insulin as well as welfare.  Doesn’t have a car.  But I don’t imagine that she’s ever had a driver’s license either. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer – if you get my drift.

I suspect illegal activity at her place – though I don’t think she herself is involved.  It used to be that only a handful of cars would come and go giving various people rides.  But for the last two months it has been LOTS of cars – nice cars.  A couple of cars have been in the driveway overnight.  But the majority have been there for less than twenty minutes.  Sandra is a great candidate if ever they need a fall guy.  She has no clue nor would even know how to go about defending herself.

I don’t want Jenna raised along side that.  I’d rather have back the ghost neighborhood that it was when we first moved in.  I want to live in Maybury – where the worst crime is the steel outside of town.  Or the town drunk who allows himself to be locked up every night so that he doesn’t commit a more serious crime.

I’d like to be able to park my car or Jenna’s bike without worrying about vandalism or theft – or having the idea that my neighbors (or their associates – whoever) are involved in narcotics or prostitution. I’d like to be able to let Jenna ride her bike or scooter around without having to follow her in the event that somebody will do her harm.  I’d like to go back to my childhood days when I was quite naïve and didn’t know crime on a first hand account.