Spontaneous People Don’t Plan

Mom has always taught her children how to be supportive of one another.  We’ve gone to baby blessings, missionary farewells and homecomings, advancement in the priesthood, plays, sports; I suppose I went to more events when I was single.

Sunny is awesome.  She always lets us know ahead of schedule: We’ve got this planned.  Please come.  And we have.  We make plans to fit it into our schedule.  And then there’s my family . . .

It’s got to be hard to be one of my siblings if they want to be involved but aren’t given much notice for birthday celebrations, graduations, parties – even our own wedding.

 I can’t find the post, but I think I wrote it down somewhere that Roland and I changed our wedding date at least nine times.  It wasn’t that big of an issue for me in the beginning.  After all we had met only three days before he proposed.  THAT IS OUTRAGEOUS! 

I have chosen not to go into detail at this time – but perhaps some time in a future post – but we had changed our wedding date several times before I asked the bishop one Sunday morning if he could just marry us either that night or the next.  So everyone (including the groom) who was invited to our wedding was given only eight hours notice (or less) and everyone we had invited came.

But my family has missed out on at least two of Biffs’ birthday parties.  I just don’t ever know his schedule until that week (at best) perhaps we set a bad example by getting married the way we did.  For the boys don’t plan (although two of them married girls who did) they just say, “Hey” or “By the way”

So went Biff’s party last night.  I was really hoping we could do family pictures, but Tony and Rochelle have been visiting her family.  I realize they have other commitments and are short on time.  And I don’t know what time zone their clock is set to – but they are usually always 4-5 hours behind what we were told.  Except yesterday . . .

Evidently they made it to the park on time – but not the parking lot where I said to meet.  They walked around for an hour I guess before they thought to call.

Jenna’s been putting her life on hold for Tony, the same way Randy still puts his life on hold waiting for Roland.  Not me.  I have always told my boys, “I’m leaving at such and such a time.  If you’re here, you may go with me.  You’re not here, you don’t go or you find another way.”

Randy learned early on that I was serious about a definite time.  But only when someone else has planned.  I’ve tried to plan.  But it is so hard when those you live with still don’t.

We All Need HOPE

Hold

On -

Perseverance,

Endurance

Yesterday I made a comment to a quote expressing a limited hope targeted to a certain group of people for basically following his or her own heart.  Perhaps I was out of line with my answer, but I elaborated as the one who posted the quote followed my comment with a question that sounded to me as though she is feeling despair.

But we have to have hope.  Hope is what brought the children of Israel out of bondage.  And it was hope that caused slaves in America to move from the South to the North.  It was with hope that so many Jewish people (among others) stayed hidden before and during World War II.  It is with hope that we are even to leave our house each morning.

I like how President Uchtdorf says, “Hope, on the other hand, is like the beam of sunlight rising up and above the horizon of our present circumstances.” In his talk The Infinite Power of Hope

We all hope to get out of bondage. We all hope that we can get through each day without harm or accident – whether physically, emotionally, spiritually, or mentally.  We hope that our loved ones will be safe.  We hope that things could be different.  We hope that some things will remain the same.  We hope that our children have learned what we tried to teach them.  We often hope that they may turn out better than we did.

If we didn’t have hope, we wouldn’t try new things.  We wouldn’t try to run (let alone finish) the race.  We wouldn’t put forth any effort without hope.  We wouldn’t go to the doctor’s or the attorney’s office or even work without hope.  We wouldn’t vote or elect officials.  We wouldn’t leave our comfort zone – though often times it may be our hope that we won’t ever have to.  There is no growth without hope.

The Dreaded Bra

I despise wearing bras. I used to think I could get away with not wearing one as I have always been quite flat-chested the majority of my life.  But I have experienced major back pains and I realize that wearing a bra really does look better than going braless.   But for me, wearing bras is comparable to wearing shoes: the more support they have, the less comfortable they are.

Yesterday I wore the “Genie Bra” which didn’t seem so tight fitting until after a couple of washes – did the bra shrink? Or did I grow?  All my other bras seem to fit okay.

The Genie Bra looks good under tee shirts, but they also seem to absorb more perspiration than your average bra – at least mine do.  And as the heat seems to have started early this year, I might as well find a bra made out of sponge.  I hate feeling the need to change not even an hour after I’ve gotten dressed.  And I don’t enjoy wet clothes at all.

Tony and Rochelle are visiting from Texas.  My granddaughter, Ester, is running around and making discoveries and doesn’t mind so much being with Roland and me so long as mom and dad aren’t in the room – though she has decided to make Roland her friend as she was bringing him everything she could manage to get her hands on.

She cries when I hold her.  I think it must be the perspiration that woke her up yesterday and made her cry.  It’s not yet in her vocabulary to say, “Mama, grandma stinks!  Please don’t allow her to hold me.”

As I was straightening up the living room yesterday, I picked up some toys that Ester had played with, and I realized that I miss that stage of learner toys cluttering the house.  Jenna may not ever graduate from toys.  She wants to stay little.  Does NOT want to deal with the bra or enter womanhood.  I can’t say that I blame her.

Mothers' Day 2013

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If God should ever show off his sense of humor by calling me to the RS presidency, I am going to make certain there is a generous amount of space between each chair.  No smashing chairs together as tight as possible so that each sister feels as though she’s sitting on the lap of another.  No siree Bob.

I didn’t think it was possible, but chairs seemed a lot more smashed in yesterday.  I guessed it was the priesthood who somehow believed the sisters like things tight – the tighter the better.  They somehow believed that we enjoy sitting in one another’s laps.  Roland told me he had taken charge.  Oh, that explains it.  My husband, the eternal optimist who was hoping to set up for at least two hundred sisters had managed to squeeze in 85 chairs.

The bishop conducted.  And after we all went up to get our breakfast (they had provided us with fruit and muffins) the second counselor taught the lesson.  This is the second year when the priesthood has given the sisters a break from their callings.  I think that's a great Mother's Day gift.

The Elders were in the primary room conducting and teaching and evidently learning one of the song that that the primary would be singing during Sacrament meeting. 

When the children were invited to the stand during Sacrament meeting they sang three numbers – the third was a song that is done in parts.  They sang the first part and then the second part.  I was wondering how they would perform both parts at the same time.  And then the priesthood stood up.  They sang the second part while the children resang the first.  It was awesome.

Tony and Rochelle presented me flowers, a plaque and card.  The card says: Mother’s Day is a chance for us to treat you like a queen! 

Inside: A queen with really lazy subjects who don’t listen very well.

Made me laugh.

The plaque says: Good Mothers have sticky floors, dirty ovens and happy kids.

This morning Biff made biscuits and gravy for mother’s day breakfast.

In my email inbox was a special treat from Corey.  He sent the thoughts mom had written in her journal describing each of her children.  I appreciate mom more with each passing day.

What an Awesomely Thought Provoking Book!

Congratulations Rob Buyea with your first novel: because of mr. terupt.  What a great book! On so many levels.

This book can be found in the juvenile fiction section of your local library – at least I hope it can.  It’s not just a great book for kids but I think adults as well.

I’ll admit I do read a lot of juvenile fiction.  Jenna mostly likes fantasies, silly humor and non -fiction.  I like historical fiction and realistic fiction.  We both like time travel.  So often I will read books with Jenna or for Jenna – finishing some that she can’t seem to get into or turning the unfinished novel back to the library.

I enjoyed this book a lot. Seven main characters tell the story of their fifth grade experience.

Luke is smart and enjoys an academical challenge.  He is always pushing himself without pushing or being boastful to others.

Peter is the prankster who doesn’t mean anything malicious by his pranks.  For the most part they are tame, but embarrassing to the victim.

Jessica is a bookworm from another state.  She tries to identify or learn from the characters that she reads about. She is a bit uneasy about being brand new to the school until she learns that it’s Mr. Terupt’s first year also.

Allie is a bully who somehow believes that putting others down and manipulating mind control makes her more important.  She’ll pretend to be your friend one minute and turn on you the next and spread ugly rumors. She’s not really happy but she pretends to be.

Jeffery keeps to himself.  He doesn’t enjoy school.  He doesn’t like his home life.  He doesn’t allow anyone to even try to get close to him.  He seems to exist without living.

Danielle is either over-weight or perhaps just big boned.  She lives on a farm.  She is very religious.

Anna keeps to herself, but unlike Jeffery, she’s observant – almost a human sponge.  She wants to have friends, but just seems to shy about making contact.

Instead of Chapters 1-10, this book starts in September with each of the children giving their report.  In that first month Mr. Terupt introduces the class to Dollar Words. And I can see Jenna light up with the same fascination as Luke.

Dollar Words are words that have characters which add up to 100 exactly.  Each letter is worth its place in the alphabet: a=1, z=26.  Therefore unbroken would be a dollar word. 21+17+2+18+15+11+5+14=100.  Though she is good at math and does have a big vocabulary, spelling is not her thing right now.

In November the class is not only introduced to the Newbury award “Summer of the Swan” but to the Collaboration Classroom in which they were given the opportunity to work with children who had different types of mentally challenged or disabled.  That is when we gain some more insight to each of the characters, especially Jeffery who shares his secret with Jessica.

And without giving away the climatic emotional roller coaster, let me instead quote John Irving, who made this statement: “Even the accident toward which this novel is inevitably headed is no accident; it is a masterfully set up and skillfully concealed as the rest of this riveting story.”

I highly recommend this book about change, about growing, about discovery, about fun.  Thank you Mr. Terupt.  And thank you, Rob Buyea for your creativity. 

I don’t know if the authors picture is a recent photo or not.  The caption reads that Rob Buyea had taught for six years at one school before teaching in another.  He must have started when he was only 18 as his photo tells me he can’t be much older than 26.  At least that’s my opinion.  But there are people who do look younger than they are.

I wonder how closely related Rob Buyea is to Mr. Terupt.  What an awesome teacher.  What an amazing story.  Loved it!

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