The Promised Story, entitled: "This Explains A Lot"

The Difference Between Men & Women

Let's say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts. They have a pretty good time. A few nights later, he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.

And then, one evening when they are driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and without really thinking, she says it aloud: "Do you realize that, as of tonight, we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"

There is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he's been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn't want, or isn't sure of.

And Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.

And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space so I'd have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward...I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we headed toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?

And Roger is thinking...so that means it was...let's see...February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's, which means...lemme check the odometer...Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.

And Elaine is thinking: He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed--even before I sense it--that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that's it. That's why he's so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He's afraid of being rejected.

And Roger is thinking: And I'm gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say, it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600!

And Elaine is thinking: He's angry. And I don't blame him. I'd be angry, too. Oh, I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure.

And Roger is thinking: They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty. That's exactly what they're gonna say, the scumballs.

And Elaine is thinking: Maybe I'm just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly to care about, a person who seems to truly care about me...a person who is in pain because of my self-centered school-girl romantic fantasy.

And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I'll give them a warranty! I'll take their warranty and put it you know where.

"Roger," Elaine says aloud.

"What?" says Roger, startled.

"Please don't torture yourself like this," she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. Maybe I should never have...Oh, I feel so..." (She breaks down sobbing.)

"What?" says Roger.

"I'm such a fool," Elaine sobs. "I mean, I know there's no knight. I really know that. It's silly. There's no knight, and there's no horse."

"There's no horse?" says Roger.

"You think I'm a fool, don't you?" Elaine says.

"No!" says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.

"It's just that..it's that I...I need more time," Elaine says.

(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)

"Yes," he says.

(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)

"Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?" she says.

"What way?" says Roger.

"That way about time," says Elaine.

"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."

(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)

"Thank you, Roger," she says.

"Thank you," says Roger.

Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn...whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it's better if he doesn't think about it. (This is also Roger's policy regarding world hunger.)

The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, expression and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions but never getting bored with it either.

Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine's, will pause just before serving, frown and say:

"Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?"

Father's Day

In honor of my dad on my first Father's Day without being able to send him a card, here are some of my favorite photos of him:










THANKS, DAD!

The Day After the Night Before...

'Twas the first day of retirement, and all through the house,
Not a feline was stirring to track down a mouse.
The clothes were all flung on the floor without care,
No threat Martha Stewart would be stopping there.
The retiree was nestled all snug in her bed
While visions of nothing danced round in her head.
The pin that says “don’t work” clipped onto her cap,
She’d just settled down to begin a new nap
When out in the yard there arose a bird clatter.
She pulled up the covers, said “This doesn’t matter.”
Away to the shower in turtle-like flash,
She opened one eye,
Slowly peeked through one lash.
The sun through the pane of the window shone bright
And was so overpow’ring, she shut that orb tight.
When, what to her mind came a thought of such joy:
I don’t have to go to the office. Oh Boy!
With a little hair gel and some bottled-up tan
I took my own sweet time…Because I just can.
More rapid than eagles the morning flew by
As I rested and rested and rested…Oh my!
Now Shin Splints and Joint Aches and Stress-o-the-mind
Please give me a break, do. I ask you “Be kind.”
Then up to the bookstore the Pontiac flew
To browse through the paintings
And buy one or two.
Right then in a twinkling I got my first hunch
That it was ok to take me out to lunch!
Walked into my house and was turning around,
Saw the candy and lotions and flow’rs that abound;
My eyes, how they twinkled.
They knew I was free.
If my hair stands straight up,
It's nothing to me.
My lips are drawn up in a smile-like bow.
No more of those phone calls, with tales of sad woe.
No more chiseling ice off the windows each morn,
No leaving the kids all home looking forlorn.
“To do” lists lie waiting with no one to care.
Maybe I’ll do them…or they might stay there.
So, eating the brownies they sent home with me
And doing not one thing, particularly,
I’m not in a rush now; go everywhere late.
It is what it is…
And oh yeah, it is great!

Takin It Out...

Today is garbage day on our street.

In addition to the regular City rounds, Nik and I spent a good while today gathering up junk in the yard to take to the dump. We stacked up approximately one mountain & a half. It's amazing how stuff piles up, especially after a long, cold winter. It's also amazing to me how many rocks suddenly spring up from nowhere. The most amazing thing of all, however, is there are always snails out back. What are snails doing in the desert???   But, I guess if we can grow rocks, we can grow snails, right?

Today reminded me of a little happening from about three years back. I was on my way to work after lunch one day when I saw a little old man with a cane, (looked about my Dad's age) wrestling with one of those big, black roll-on-wheels garbage cans mandated by Orem about ten years ago. I pulled right over and stopped my car. Jumping out, I smiled and said "Here, let me help you with that!", grabbed hold of the garbage can, and started rolling it towards his house, cheerily asking him where he wanted it. He didn't let go easily. I thought maybe he wasn't used to anyone stopping, let alone a female. He didn't know I'm a farm girl from ages past, right?

Finally he said: "Well, I was just taking it out to the road. So we maneuvered it back out to the road, and every time I pass his house now, it makes me smile. I've seen him a couple more times dragging that thing out, or in, or out. Can't tell for sure.

Mother's Day 2011

This Mother’s Day, I decided to share some of my life-lessons, in hopes that the stepping stones in your own life aren’t as far apart as mine.

1-We all want “things”, but when it comes down to the wire, we would surrender them all just to have our loved ones by our side.
2-Take care of your body, better than you care for your car, or your kitchenware, or your gun. Feed it, water it, and rest it.
3-Tell your loved ones daily-- and out loud-- that you love them,
or they will think you don’t.
4-Take time for old & young. They give hope & faith to the world.
5-Count your blessings when you’re counting your troubles and you will realize that you’re better off than you thought.
6-Keep trying. Keep learning. Keep praying. Keep track of where your tongue is when you are angry or tired.
7-Serve in both small & large ways …and all the ways in between.
Christ meant it when he said “Even as you do it unto the least of these…you do it unto me.” And accept service when you need it.
8-When you find yourself up against a brick wall, don’t panic. Take a deep breath & chip out a brick or two. You don’t have to do it all at once.
9-Say you’re sorry, even sometimes when you’re right, then let it go. Good karma will circle back to you one day.
10-Do not let other’s actions or the news reports determine your course. A wise person doesn’t let interference draw their map.
11-Know that wherever you are, or how stressed or lonely you feel at any given moment, you are truly loved by someone who would miss you..
12-Take some time every single week to do something purely fun.

The Rest of the Story

I kept yesterday's post humorous so as not to be a Doomsdayer blogger. My post today is informative, regarding something a lot of us use in our homes that might be causing health issues.

For some time I've used those little Air Wick sprayers where you can pre-program the automatic sprays, 9 minutes, 13 minutes, 30 minutes, something like that. Well, I decided to get a smaller one to put in the spare room I'm organizing so Sherry and her family can have a comfortable place to sleep while they're here. Kyle and I spent sometime trying to figure out how to get the little set working. Nothing happened. It wouldn't spray out a thing. We even removed the batteries that came with the unit and put in ones I had just recharged. I put it in my car, thinking I'll just run in next time I'm near Kmart and exchange it for one that works. That would have been about a week ago.

A day or two later I got in my car and wondered if something had spilled out on the floor...lotion, maybe perfume, something. The odor wasn't really awful, but it wasn't what you'd want to wear, either. The next day it was worse, and I thought maybe it was the light bulbs also in the back seat waiting to make their way to the recycle store.

I checked daily to see if my radiator or air conditioning fluids had been seeping inside the car. I checked my spray-off-the-ice stuff. I even checked out the actual car deodorizer spray (spells like oranges). It was only Wed morning when I had to drive to Lehi to the dentist's office, with all the windows down and the heater on, that I realized it was that Air Wick thing in the front seat causing all the trouble. I locked it in the trunk inside a plastic bag and finally threw it in the garbage, though it pained me to release such a thing into the environment.

I had felt sick every time while riding to work, to lunch, back from lunch, home from work. Nights were worse. I felt like I was being poisoned, which was exactly what had been happening.

I developed a horrible dry cough, nausea, just feeling crumby and tired, smelling it, tasting it wherever I went. It felt like shards of glass were in my lungs. I tried rest, humidifier, drinking water water water, prescription Aleve for pain, and after I threw the thing out, it stopped getting worse.

Wed and Thur were terrible, where you feel like somebody should just come take you to the hospital please, but you don't because the co-pay is just scary. I had a doctor appointment with my regular doctor Friday Morning. He did testing, listening, demonstrating a little breathing apparatus and said: "It didn't turn into pneumonia, though it could have, so you're lucky. You have chemical burns in your lungs. I don't know how long it will take them to heal, but stay away from those types of products."

He was going to start me on a round of steroids, but I told him those "are from the devil himself. Thanks, but no thanks."

Each day is getting a bit better, and a weekend to rest has helped.

I'll be looking through my house to see what other items we have that can be dangerous, not to us, but to the environment as well.

So that's my story...to keep our eyes out for things that don't look like they could hurt us, but under certain circumstances can indeed poison us and cause permanent damage. Be careful of any chemical spray and dispose properly of anything that malfunctions or acts differently than you think it should.

oh, and ps. I lived to see another birthday.

350 Degrees

That's the general cooking temperature at this altitude.

My mother used to put her store-bought bread in the oven, space being limited and all. I cannot tell you how many times I was baking cookies and preheated the oven without remembering mother's storage place. It was surely in the dozens. Every time I would be reminded by the smell of burning plastic. No matter how quickly you move to open that oven door, it's too late. Once that plastic starts melting, you can't save one slice of bread, and it smells up the kitchen for the rest of the day...not counting the fact there's no bread now. We just should have put a big sign right on the oven door, maybe hanging from the knob, as a reminder. Either that or found some other place to put the bread. Sorry, Mom.

For years I always wanted a big stuffed dog (not real). One year one of the kids gave me a huge fluffy stuffed sheep dog, grey and white. I was SO excited! It was about half as big as the real thing.

One day I preheated the oven to make cookies. A bit later there was this atrocious smell, like burning tires, only in the kitchen. Not long afterwards, I discovered that Kyle, probably 3 or so, had put my puppy in the oven. At first we didn't recognize it, because it looked like a burned hunk of coal about the size of a loaf of banana bread. It was pitiful.

No wonder I gave up cooking. The world is a safer place, no doubt.

Hide and Go Seek...

I assume kids still play this game, not the version with babies where you play "peek a boo," nor the one where kids hide under the covers with their foot sticking out and think you can't see them. This is the more serious game.

Our neighbors directly to the north through the field, were the Williams, a wonderful family. They had two older boys, then Dwight and Anna. Dwight was a year or two older than I and Anna somewhat younger.

One day we were playing this game in their yard, and Anna was "It." They had a garage out back of their house that actually used to be a home. Dwight had a great idea for a place to hide. He led me to the kitchen in this old home and showed me my hiding place...an old flour storage drawer that would tip out from the top when you pulled the handle. I can't think of what to compare it with and doubt they make them anymore. They used to dump a big bag of flour into it, probably 25 pounds, because everybody baked back then and they needed it handy.

Anyway, he somehow talked me into squeezing into this bizarre bin, shut the drawer and then hopped up into the top shelf of the cupboards and locked himself in somehow, on purpose mind you. We heard Anna come outside and call our names for several minutes. Boy, did we fool her! She didn't even get close to our hiding place. Her heart not really being into the game, she got tired of looking and went back inside the main house. She probably thought we had run away and left her alone, like older siblings do sometimes.

A few minutes later I told Dwight that I needed to get out of there real soon (being cramped in like a sardine, knees and elbows bent) He said he was having "a bit of a problem." The lock to his location was very tight and he couldn't reach it. I tried and tried and tried and tried to throw my body forward enough to tip the drawer open but couldn't use my bent arms to grab anything, so the drawer just fell back into place over and over and over and over.

He tried to cheer me up by saying he'd keep working on it, and his parents should be home in a bit. After what felt like HOURS but was probably half an hour, we heard his parents arrive. They got out of their car and were talking to each other. Both of us yelled over and over at the top of our lungs, HELP! HELP! HELP! HELP! They heard voices and came searching.

After they helped me out, I ran home as fast as my bent body would let me, didn't even stop to say "bye" or "thanks for the fun". I also didn't want to wait around for any whopping Dwight may have gotten. He was pretty tough, though. He used to run all the way through the hayfield barefoot, even over rocks and fencing. Very bright kid. He actually became an emergency room doctor. Maybe he felt like he wanted to spend his life trying to save people's lives to make up for the time ours came close to ending. (If you ever read this, Dwight, it's ok. I've long since forgiven you HA and hope you didn't get a whopping after all :o)

Kids! It's lucky any of them survive.

About 90 Degrees

Our old house in Clifton had (still has) a very steep roof; if it isn't 90 degrees, it's not much less than that. Many years ago, sections of it had to be repaired. Lorraine and Pauline were probably grown by then, so that would put me around 13 years of age. That's the only reason I can think of why my dad would ask someone as terrified of heights as I am to assist him with this job. Now, when my dad, on rare occasion, asked for direct help, you immediately understood that you were honored to be asked to help (Huh, Bill?) That fact aside, you knew he'd be out there doing it on his own anyway if you had ever thought to say no, which you wouldn't.

I remember he had us wear those zip-up coveralls, so clothing would have less chance of getting caught on something and hurting us. I remember him nailing several 2x 4's horizontally on the roof for some foot leverage here and there. No doubt we climbed up via ladder, but I don't remember that part. He gave serious instructions, such as "if the hammer starts to fall, don't move to go after it. We can get it later." He told me to lay against the house and stick to it as closely as possible while sliding my feet along the board slowly. Duh. You couldn't have scraped me off with a Bowie knife. The only way to do this was to flatten your coveralled-self against the roof like a big bug on a windshield, use your hands to find missing tiles and somehow nail them to the roof.

N E V E R * L O O K * D O W N!

It might have only taken us an hour or so to do this, and I'm sure he would liked to have done a better job, but somehow we finished the repairs and climbed down safely. As far as I know, no one has repaired it again. A couple of years later, he needed some help building the milk room out of galvanized steel. The nails for that had heads covered with some fairly soft metal. He could get one in with one or two whaps. I beat those heads to a pulp every time. He would get them in perfectly at the right angle. I mainly learned how to pull them out and try again. He nailed up at least 20 to my 1. It would have been easier for him if he'd sent me to do some other farm thing, but that probably wasn't the point.

He was very impressed with my tenaciousness in tearing down the old chicken coop and calf areas. Once he blew the permission whistle, I spent hours each day sledge-hammering it, pulling it, kicking it, bending it, dragging it, pounding on it, etc. That coop represented to me the evil of bullying. Some poor little chicken would get their drink from a place that iced over in the winter, and the ice would stick around one chicken's neck, pulling off some feathers. Then the other chickens would sense the weakness and come pick at the the poor thing til it got weaker and just died. With every yank, I remembered that injustice and wanted to make sure that that would not happen again, at least in one place in the world. No more bullying!

Also, there is not enough money in the entire world to get me back up on a rooftop.

The Gruffs

I would often tell my Dad fairy stories, like Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Three Little Pigs, the Three Red Riding Hoods...oh wait, only ONE Red Riding Hood. He acted like he hated those stories, which just made me tell the longest versions possible. One of those stories was The Three Billy Goats Gruff. (Read through to the end for a surprise.)

This is where the youngest Gruff kid would cross the bridge, "Trip, trap, trip, trap!" over the bridge.

"Who's that tripping over my bridge?" roared the troll .

"Oh, it is only I, the tiniest Billy Goat Gruff , and I'm going up to the hillside to make myself fat," said the billy goat, with such a small voice.

"I'm coming to gobble you up," said the troll.

"Oh, no! Please don't eat me. I'm much too little," said the billy goat. "Wait a bit til the second Billy Goat Gruff comes along. He's much bigger."

"Well, be off with you," said the troll.

A little while after that came the second Billy Goat Gruff to cross the bridge.

Trip, trap, trip, trap, trip, trap, over the bridge.

"Who's that tripping over my bridge?" roared the troll.

"Oh, it's the second Billy Goat Gruff, and I'm going up to the hillside to make myself fat," said the billy goat, who hadn't such a small voice.

"I'm coming to gobble you up," said the troll.

"Oh, no! Don't eat me. Wait a little til the big Billy Goat Gruff comes. He's much bigger than I."

"Very well! Be off with you," said the troll.

Just then along came the big Billy Goat Gruff .

Trip, trap, trip, trap, trip, trap! over the bridge, for the billy goat was so heavy that the bridge creaked and groaned under him.

"Who's that tramping over my bridge?" roared the troll.

"It is I! The big Billy Goat Gruff," said the billy goat, who had an ugly hoarse voice of his own.

"I'm coming to gobble you up," roared the troll.

"Well, come along!" said the Biggest Billy Goat Gruff (In today's vernacular, that would be "Bring It!") Then the biggest Billy Goat Gruff charged the Troll, knocking him into the air with his big horns, where the Troll landed in the river and was never seen again! (The End)

*****
On my parent's farm in Clifton, there is a REAL troll bridge. No, not a toll bridge...a troll bridge. I couldn't tell you exactly where, as I've repressed that memory. Jason and Jared used to go to Clifton for a couple of weeks in the summer to "help" on the farm. They also have passed over this authentic troll bridge, with their Grandpa. Jared and I were discussing this a few nights ago. You would have to pass through a barbed-wired fence up behind the barn (going West) and follow Dad, who would soberly point out upon crossing the bridge, that we should stick close to him so as not to be attacked by the Troll who lived under there. He would have us look down under the bridge, and sure enough, the evidence was gripping. There under the bridge were piles of bleached bones, a scary sight even in the middle of the day.

Who knows how long it was until we found out that Dad was pulling our legs. That spot was where he deposited dead farm animals. There are probably bones lying in place under that bridge at this very moment.

I still half believe there may be a real troll wandering the hills of Clifton even to this day. He's probably hanging out with Big Foot west of town. Keep your eyes open!