28 October 2013

Birthday Ditty

I woke up to my phone ringing.  I took it out to the couch, so I wouldn't disturb my still-sleeping husband.  It was my parents on the phone singing a medley of birthday songs they've perfected over years of singing it to their children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.  I thanked them and looked up and up and up to see my very tall husband standing over me.  As soon as the call was disconnected, he towed me back to my room where I pretended to be asleep.

After a few moments of tired sighs from the other room and crinkling paper, my husband and kids came into my bedroom and birthday-song sang me awake.  They gave me my presents, which I opened right then.  I love this tradition because you know even before you get out of bed that your birthday hasn't been forgotten.  You're not left in suspense all day.

My husband, bless him, gave me exactly what I'd been hinting at for the last month.  But it was my daughter that really took the cake.  She handed me a satchel she'd crocheted, stuffed with good smelling sprays and lotions.

I finally got out of bed and went jogging.  When I came home, my daughter had made me breakfast: oatmeal with blueberries and walnuts, and eggs with herbs.  (She's all about herbs.)  As she was fussing over it, making it look beautiful, she said, "I don't mean to brag or anything, but I bought your present with my own money."

Isn't that just the sweetest thing you've ever heard?

I'm still dewey-eyed over it.

The rest of the day went as it started: fantastic.  (Yay for birthday naps!)  I even got a date with my husband where we out-ate every other couple our server had that night.  I know because he told us.

The only thing that really bugs me, is that I'll be a year older than my husband for a few months until he catches up with me.

24 October 2013

Details of my Camiseta

I often wear a blue tee shirt with the silhouette of a dead pigeon on it.  It's a great conversation starter.

"Why do you have a dead pigeon on your shirt?"
I shrug.
"But why is it dead?"
I shrug again.

This went on for weeks.  I wear the shirt because I like the way it fits.

Then I got a little nervous. I really didn't know what the dead pigeon was all about.  What if it was a gang symbol my street cred didn't clue me in on? It's hard to believe that's possible, being from a huge metropolis in rural Utah, but what if?

The only other thing on the shirt was the word "calle".  As everyone knows, that's a girl's name, right?  But being so culturally diverse in rural Utah, I figured it could be the Spanish word for street.  I googled it.

Turns out, my dead pigeon was the logo for an organization trying to get soccer back to the streets where it originated, instead of in multi-billion dollar stadiums and tournaments.  I wish "calle" luck with that.

And someone should tell that poor girl that her name also means street.

16 October 2013

Some Things Stay the Same

More than a hundred years ago, Mark Twain said,  "Suppose you were an idiot, and suppose you were a member of Congress; but I repeat myself."

Some things never change.

15 October 2013

Getting It Fresh

I took my son to the family farm because my dad had almost been begging us to come get potatoes.  I'd never been to the farm before.  Behind the farmhouse (which is rented out), there are pens with Momma cows, another pen for the babies, a big field with bulls, a couple of goats, and some chickens.

Behind sheds with the paint peeling off them was the garden plot.  I gotta tell you, it was mostly weeds by the time my son and I made it back there.  Luckily, my sister-in-law was there to help me figure things out, and we grabbed the shovel stuck in the dirt next to the potatoes and started digging.

My dad is great at potatoes.  Potatoes, squash and tomatoes.  Anything else he tries to grow is sorta hit and miss.

There was a huge bucket at the end of the row, so we filled that up, along with three or four plastic grocery bags.  The best part, was how excited my son got every time I'd lift up the shovel and he'd see some potatoes underneath.  He'd scramble in the dirt to make sure he got all of them out of the ground for that plant.  He'd put the ones he found in his shirt to transport to the bucket.

When we got the bags home with our home harvested produce, my son knew exactly what he wanted to do with the potatoes.  French Fries.

I have to say, they turned out pretty good.  I have it on good authority that they tasted like the fries at Goodwood.  So, the family was happy.

I was happy because they were free.

09 October 2013


For all of you who missed the book signing (and that includes everyone except the authors) you missed some great conversations.

I love the tendencies of women.  Get four of us in the same area of any appreciable amount of time and we're bound to try saving the world through conversation.  It's a great way to get to know people.  Like, for example, Shannon Guymon, author of "Makeover" and "Do Over" along with many others, is a fiesty, single mom who writes for a living.  She's not afraid to talk about her opinions and she's got great hair.  And she was the woman sitting farthest away from me, so I didn't get to talk to her as much.  That just goes to show how much you can learn about a person by listening to what others are saying to them.  And I did some shouting over heads.

The other two women there were Karey White, who's latest book is called "My Own Mr. Darcy" and looks like it'd be right up my alley, and Lisa Rumsey Harris who's book is called "The Unlikely Gift of Treasure Bloom" which has been highly recommended.  These women are great.  You should go read their books right now.

The only issue I had with the whole Romance-apolooza was the absence of the "apolozza".  We were stuck in an out of the way corner by the cook books.  But I really cant complain, because being next to the cook books is WAY better than sitting in the bread aisle.