What Shall I Wear Today?

            Since moving to Myrtle Creek,

I've worn my winter boots less than ten times. 

I finally managed to get them back into the shed,

but had kept out some sweatshirts

and long-sleeved shirts that I thought

would go into the shed eventually. 

            I've been running the A/C the last couple of

days as it's been over 80 degrees outside.  Yesterday

got up to 86 at one point (that's when I actually checked)

but may have gotten higher.

            This morning I went out to water the plants and

actually put a hat on my head.  It was 53 degrees

            I've mostly been wearing shorts - even when

the temperature has dropped.  Currently I am wearing

long denim pants and

a long sleeve shirt.  What is up with that?

            The temperature now says 65 - the

warmest it's been all day.  65 is nice. 

                        I can live with 65.

Back Off!

            Roland comes off as a domineering parent sometimes.  Jenna absolutely hates it when she is told to comb her hair or wear a coat or dress nicely or what have you.  The more he makes suggestions or "harps" on the subject, the more rebellious she is about it.

            I will admit that I am not as observant.  For three and a half years I have tried fixing her hair and seeing it wreck before we get to school.  I stopped fighting.  Richard has only begun.  Although he has been a teenager, he's never been a girl.  We have hormones.  There seem to be chemical imbalance just before that time of the month.  Let it go.

            The rain in Oregon is different from rain in Utah.  Desert rain is wet.  It soaks you.  Oregon rain - even when it falls hard - feels more like a mist.  It hasn't soaked me the way Utah rain has.  We purchased a coat for Jenna.  Cute coat, but she refuses to wear it.  She doesn't like being told what to do and what not to do.  I've been there.  I get it.  I've told Roland that he needs to back off as she is rebelling and an accessory in her hair or a warm jacket has to be her idea, and if he's always harping, she is never going to come up with the idea on her own.  In fact, she'll do the opposite.

            Her zipper's broken (that child is HARD on zippers.  I don't know what she does, but she has not owned a coat or backpack yet in which the zipper hasn't broken) and because it was raining outside, Roland threw a rain poncho over whatever she was wearing.  She was crying and claimed she looked like a condom.  I've never heard anyone compare themselves to a condom before, and started laughing - which brought even more tears to her eyes.  That's silly.

            I noticed that Jenna removed the poncho between the driveway and the street.  She stuffed in near the bushes.  I know she will learn if Roland will just back off and give her some breathing room.  I think he's overcompensating - not having had the opportunity to raise his oldest two girls and being gone so much from knowing the boys - although I recall his harping on them too. 

            We learn at our  own pace.  We're not all equal.  I think Roland needs to realize we're not all him.

College Wear Wednesdays

         

          The students who attend Coffenberry Middle School have been encouraged to wear College shirts so that they can start thinking about the future and start planning for secondary education. We're not too familiar with the colleges here in Oregon.  Oregon Ducks seem to be the most popular in this county.  But it was Beavers who had assisted Jenna and others in an engineering camp that was offered.

          Jenna's familiarity lies within Utah.  She wants shirts from BYU and University of Utah - and so I asked my kids if they could assist with her desire.  Jeanie sent a boxload of College wear, mostly U of U shirts, but Jaime said there was one from BYU, one from Weber State.  Plus she has one from Duke University that we had purchased before Labor Day weekend so that she would have one to wear that first Wednesday.  Now she is stocked for wearing shirts each Wednesday without having to repeat for 8-12 weeks. 

          Only one of her shirts says Oregon.  It is printed on the reverse side of the tie dye shirt that she wore the first day back from Labor Day (I don't think she has worn the Duke's one yet)

  I'll get better pictures of the tees as she wears them.

Outfits that Attract Grime

Magnetic Clothing – also known as Jinx, Cursed and Gremlin clothing: certain shirts, pairs of pants, blouses, dresses, etc. that attract food or dirt within less than ten minutes after being applied to one’s body.

  I don’t know that everybody has at least one article of magnetic clothing, but I know several people do.  I have possessed such articles since infancy, I would imagine.  Though I don’t actually remember any examples until my early teens: white cotton pants, comfortable to wear – attracted dirt like you wouldn’t believe.  If there were any spills, any marred areas that I may have brushed against, any food item within a ten mile radius – they would be attracted and adhere themselves (and I also believed multiplied in size) my white pants – until finally I was at the point of “Why bother?  Really?”

Today it is the army shirt that Tony and Rochelle had sent me for my birthday last year.  Our washing machine has seen it more than my body has.  I don’t think I’ve ever made it a full minute – until yesterday. I don’t how Tony and Rochelle would feel about my having made their thoughtful present into part of my garden attire.  But as it just seems to magnetize dirt anyway, I might as well just use it in the dirt.

My Garden Pants

When I purchased these pants – I don’t know how many years ago – it was not my intention to wear them in the garden.  They were comfortable shorts – okay, maybe a bit longer than shorts, but something I could throw on during the summer and not feel the heat of the fabric surrounding me like an unwanted blanket. 

There is a knot in the front.  Well, several knots, really.  I don’t know how to maintain them.  I have tried different methods for keeping them straight when I put them in the wash, but somehow they always manage to twist themselves together.  It seems the harder I work at keeping them straight and make attempts to keep them from knotting, the more knots and tangles will form before I remove the pants from the washer.

I can’t find them now, but there used to be some rather ugly stains in addition to the knots.  Thus they became my garden pants.  As they were already stained, I didn’t figure being in the dirt with them would be a big problem.  Imagine my surprise when I took them off the clothesline and spred them out to take a picture and now I can’t find the stains that were there. 

Nice job, Mr. Sun!

That’s a Lot of Costume Jewelry!

          I don’t remember being in the ward when the name of Roland and his sons were read over the podium for new membership records. They must have been read the week that mom and I went out of town.

          It was September of 2000.  We had gone to San Francisco to clean out my grandma’s apartment.  A place that housed her possessions but she had not actually lived there for over a year – and yet the rent was still being paid.  How wasteful.

          Mom and I lined the halls with donations.  We had called Salvation Army, DVA, any thrift store or charity that would come.  Nobody would take it all, but every organization took a lot.  Hard to believe that apartment actually held all that much.  I never knew what a very Large apartment my grandmother lived in.

          We designated each room for different things.  We had a garbage room, a record room, a knickknack room, a poison room.  Mom hadn’t lived in San Francisco for years.  It’s not as though either one of us knew our way around – or even had the transportation to do so.  We didn’t know the proper method for disposing all of the pills we found, or the dozen or so ketchup bottles that had been on the shelf for the last 25 years and would have asphyxiated us if they had broken.

We could have probably made a few bucks had we had the means to transport the many items to pawn shops or antique stores.  But alas, we were there for only six days.  And six days was not enough to even to clean even just one room – though we did manage to find the closet with the hideaway bed. 

My grandma went through various stages of being extremely heavy and actually having lost the weight.  Complete wardrobes in various sizes – why would she hang on to all those clothes?  How in the world did she ever find anything?  Maybe she couldn’t – and that is why she continued to purchase.

We discovered actual rooms that had been used as closets.  Tons and tons of clothes.  Enough to clothe all the homeless people of San Francisco.

We would venture out only once a day.  Grab something to eat and dispose of items that the charities and another organizations wouldn’t take.  Or else we would go to the bank and make deposits.  We actually found the nation’s penny shortage in my grandma’s apartment.  Last day.  No time for the bank.

Mom put the many rolls of pennies into a backpack  to carry on the plane.  I laughed when the alarm went off.  After checking her bag, they let her through.  I’m thinking that she wouldn’t have been able to board the plane with all the securities that were added to (and continue to add) just one year later.

Grandma was a hoarder.  As soon as mom and I returned home, we were able to tackle our own basement.  We threw things away.  Many things.  For mom’s house was so much bigger than Grandma’s apartment, and what a nightmare that would be many years down the road when someone else (most likely her children) would have to come clean.  Neither of us believed it would be so soon.  Neither one of us ever imagined that we would have to put mom in a home.  Not my mom.  Not her mom. 

While growing up, I remember mom wearing a variety of jewelry.  I’m not certain when it stopped.  But there came a time she really didn’t wear jewelry all that much.  And yet she seemed to inherit a large portion of costume jewelry from each of my grandmas after they had passed.  She still has them.  I don’t know why.  I don’t recall ever having seen her wear any of it.

My mom has not passed, but we have gone through her possessions as though maybe she has.  Making use of what we can or selling whatever can be sold.  Kayla and Corey are both having a hard time with it as they are still her possessions and she is still alive.  But she’s got dementia.  And she doesn’t remember as much as she did just a few years ago.  And she doesn’t even remember her house anymore – let alone her possessions.

Just a few months ago, I can remember asking her about items that I knew were hers.  She didn’t claim them however.  In her mind, almost everything in the house belonged to Nate – my niece’s husband. They lived in mom’s basement – still do. But they do not own everything.  But mom’s reality is so much different from our own.

Jenna had a grand time sorting through all of the jewelry that mom had accumulated.  None of us wear jewelry.  Sunny does once in a while.  Ellen and I think they’re quite bothersome.  Jenna would take it all if she could.  But she doesn’t need it.  And yet she appreciates it more than each of us do.  It’s beautiful.  It’s feminine.  It has a different value to eight year old eyes than those of us who are over twenty.

Sunny would like the beads – not to wear but to tear apart and use for bracelets that will be created by her preschoolers.  Go for it, Sunny.  How exciting it will be for my grandmothers to see their jewels shared joyfully among so many – even if they are just three and four.  For theirs is a pure joy.  You don’t see that much excitement among as many adults.

Mom had closets full of clothes as well.  Mostly in three sizes.  A lot of clothes – but not enough to clothe all the homeless.  Not enough to fill as many bags as her mom had.  Not enough to line the stairs from her apartment on the third floor to the downstairs lobby.  Still more than one person needs.  But not nearly outrageous as her mom.

Actually there are not as many beads in the collection as there were tons of clothes in grandma’s apartment.  It actually makes it easier for me to toss things so my kids won’t have to.  I don’t wish to be a hoarder.  I may be hoarding memories.  I’ve saved a lot for Jenna.  We are 42 years apart.  I figure she will need something.  But I want her to want it.  I don’t want her to be the one cleaning up after me saying, “What the heck was mom thinking?  Nine staplers.  Who needs nine staplers?” 

Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration.  Before inheriting my mom’s desk supplies, I only had two staplers.  I think I now have seven . . . I had expressed interest in using her unused notebooks and other desk supplies.  Ellen took it to mean that I wanted everything that had ever been in the desk. I think I got it all.

For the most part, most everything I took was practical and in no way had any sentimental value.  I asked for lidded containers and space makers and forks and plates.  They didn’t even have to be good ones. 

I had had my eye on mom’s knives ever since she bought them.  Ellen had wanted them too.  So I let her have them.  I know she will take better care of them than my household will. 

We’re getting things from Carrie’s grandmother as well.  It’s been five years since anyone has lived in the trailer that she and Randy will be moving to.  It’s actually not bad.  It’s a lot roomier than our current house.

Roland.  He’s a hoarder.  And so is our brother-in-law, Bill.  Kayla and I have both gotten rid of a lot.  And our husbands have managed to replace it within days.  So for those of you who read my blog, please pass this message onto my children: Mommy hoarded memories, but it was daddy who filled the space by hoarding more unnecessary stuff.. 

Doogie Howser in Hunter Orange

DoogieHowser ran from September of 1989 to March of 1993.  I have actually never seen an episode.  I remembered seeing previews for it.  But the entire concept of this teenage doctor was just so bizarre – I couldn’t imagine spending time watching it.  I’m quite surprised it was actually on for four seasons.

          I have been a consumer in several stores throughout my life.  The older I get, the younger the clerks become.  Too often I will encounter those who seem clueless, who seem to have no sense of direction with customer relations, who look at me as though I’ve sprouted horns or am talking in a foreign tongue.  I refer to those kids as “fetuses”

          There have been a few, however, that just “look” younger than they are, but speak with such maturity and sophistication that they sound much older than they look. (I think Neil Patrick Harris looked way younger than fourteen when the show started) It is the male population of these wise that I have nicknamed “Doogie Howser”.

          There is a handful of Doogie Howsers in my ward.  I guess they seem so much younger to me because the average age in the ward is above 70 – and those that I dub as Doogie Howsers are all in their 20’s – though this one in particular appears to be younger than any of my boys but as we’ve lived in the ward for three years – and he has lived here with his wife in all that time, I know that he’s older than my youngest two and probably my eldest.

          Wade’s worn his hunter orange cardigan to Church a couple of times.  One can’t help but notice as it is truly bright.  The last time he had worn it while blessing the sacrament I was reminded of a situation that Corey related to me – he was told that he would not be able to participate in blessing the sacrament as he was wearing a purple shirt.  Really?

          I understand steering away from casual wear – out of respect to our Creator – at the same time we don’t KNOW the reasons that people wear (or don’t wear) what they do.  Corey happens to like the color purple – and he looked nice in his non-traditional Sunday suit.  He wanted his own identity – his individual worth.  But nobody had asked if that was the case . . .

          Maybe all his white shirts had been damaged in the washing machine when it broke down.  Maybe the purple shirt was the only one that fit.  We don’t know.  Wade may be wearing his orange cardigan for whoever bought it.  It’s definitely an attention getter, and he teaches Jack – our only young men aged youth.  Maybe Jack listens better when he has that sweater glaring at him.  Or maybe he can’t find his suit jacket and the cardigan is warm.

          In my last ward there was a persnickety Pharisee who harped on the dress code almost every week.  I think she was offended that there had been a few show up in jeans or more casual wear and wouldn’t even make an effort to dress another way.  Wouldn’t it be more important to Jesus to have his children show up than stay away due to a strict dress code?

          I’m not bothered by it – but I know some people are.  Another example is a counselor to the bishop came dressed in jeans.  It’s all he had.  His wife had passed away that week and no one had picked his suit up at the cleaners.  He was conducting.  With emotion, he announced his own wife’s upcoming funeral.

          I don’t normally wear panty hose – even to the temple.  My legs chafe.  I’m certain that God understands.  He is, after all, the one that gave me my overly sensitive skin.

          I know some people get lazy.  Some become wrapped up in their own thoughts that they forget why others are dressed up. But I know the Savior would still welcome them with a smile.  He would even allow them to bless and pass the sacrament knowing their worth and worthiness lies on the inside and not outward appearance.

          I am grateful for those who are willing to embrace others just because they are there. For those who don’t pass judgment.  For those who accept.

What do you Remember about your Baptism?

          My mom said that when she was baptized, she wore a white slip and panties.  She said it was embarrassing. She was almost nine.

          I find it odd that mom has no such records of the baptisms of her own children.  I don’t recall having seen a single photograph of any of us.  And yet it seems like it would have been important enough to get at least the two younger of my sibs. 

          I remember what I was wearing.  How pertinent – huh?  Mom had made a pair of white culottes – they were short, not the standard length they have today.  She might have made them because she didn’t appreciate having only worn a slip and panties herself.

          She also made a yellow gingham maxi dress which I wore to Church the next day. That is the sum of all that I remember.  No words, no people, not even my dad holding me in the water.

          I’m told that there were 25 kids that were baptized from our stake – five from just our ward. I remember the names of two of the boys my mom said were baptized also.  I asked the mother of one if she had any memorabilia.  She never responded.

          My parents did give me a Bible.  I don’t know when exactly.  If it was on Saturday or Sunday – but I think it was for my baptism.

          The only thing I recall about Corey’s was that there was a small girl who was being baptized that day, also.  She was the smallest eight year old I have ever seen.

          At Kayla’s baptism, I do remember her smile as she and my brother, Patrick entered the water. 

          That’s all that I remember.  No talks.  No musical numbers.  Nothing.

          I have been to several baptisms in the last two years that happen to stand out more than mine did.  At least certain talks do.  And I’m grateful that I’ve had the opportunity to share in the baptisms of others as I cannot remember my own.

          Corey and Kayla both seem to remember theirs.  They shared their experiences with Jenna.  That is cool.  To remember.  I hope that Jenna remembers her special day.  And it was special.

Unlike my mom however, I have tons of Memoribillia.  Uncle Bill took lots of pictures of her.  And I have been keeping a journal for her since before she was born.

          I’m grateful to be a part of baptisms – especially when I am called upon to participate.  It opens new doors for me.  Helps me remember things that I had forgotten.

From the Catalogue of Ugly Dresses

In an earlier post  I had proposed the question, “What’s up with bridesmaid dresses anyway?”  Why are Bridesmaid and Choir Dresses always so ugly? Well, maybe not Always.  But more often than not.

Neither of my daughters-in-law wasted money on needless dresses – nor did my sister or I.  No bridesmaids.  No ugly dresses.

I had once heard someone describe the purposely made ugly dresses allows the bride to shine (Roz Doyle on Frazier)

          I love the movie 27 dresses.  Roland purchased the DVD one year and gave it to me for my birthday.  The movie came with a humorous book called "101 Uses for a Bridesmaid Dress" by Cindy Walker.  It provided ways to recycle. There were suggestions such as cutting the dress up into squares and washing your car.  Or throwing the dress over the car to protect it from the elements.

How glorious it would have been to own 30 plus years ago.  For one of the suggestions was to cut up the dress and make diapers for the first born of the bride who was responsible for dressing you in something so hideous. How cute my cousin would have looked in his great supply of lavender diapers, perhaps not as cute as my niece would have looked and how comfortable she would have been in pink taffeta diapers.  Oh, the joys of trying to wash them.

          The lavender dress – I kid you not – must have included one yard of fabric just for each sleeve.  My aunt was trying to get something that would work on all nine of her bridesmaid (count them, nine, plus two flower girls) as they were all assorted lengths and sizes.  It was a lot of fabric.  A LOT – we could have dressed a small nation with all that fabric.

          We had to keep our arms down as one raise would reveal any underwear that was put on underneath.  Another aunt made the comment that we looked like purple bats. I know pictures of these outrageous dresses exist somewhere, but not in my own personal file.  I’ll have to look harder. 

          My sister-in-law had chosen two shades of pink – taffeta of all fabrics.  Seriously.  The slips had to have sleeves sewn into them as I personally felt like I had brillo pads beneath my arm pits.  I must admit that I did use the slip as a night gown, but I wore the dress only one time – and that was while I was in line at Patrick and Sunny’s wedding. Half of us looked like circus tents.

          Then there are the choir dresses.  For years and years the fabric at my high school had been green.  That was the school color after all.  I suppose they worked on some girls, but looked very awkward and out of place on others.  Most of the shades that were chosen seemed to work.  But there was one year it was decided to go with a completely different look.  (Though I don’t think having the majority of the choir appear to have jaundice was the intent)

I don’t know whose brilliant idea it was to use peach – more than half the girls appeared very sickly in appearance.  And although the pale gray suits seemed to work on many of the guys – it didn’t really make any one of them stand out.  It seemed to mask most of their facial features, I think.  But then I’m no expert.  But I don’t think the clothing selector was either.

I remember one choir that was dressed in black and blue.  The entire choir itself looked like a giant bruise. 

All choir dresses (not so much when they’re seen in a group as just with an individual) speak the language:  “I want to be noticed.  I want to stand out” and they do.  But it certainly isn’t the attention that most girls are looking for.  At least the choir dress will be worn more often than the bridesmaid dress (or so I would assume)

They can also be recycled as prom and drag queen dresses.  Bless those wise brides that don’t have bridesmaids or at least dress them in silly dresses.