Weather-Wise

It snowed this week. As the clouds lifted from the big mountain west of the city on Thursday morning I saw a shining crown of snow on its peak. It was beautiful and breathtaking, and right where it belongs: waaaay up there, far from me. Yes, it is weather-sissy whine-time again!

Truly, I've grown to love moderate weather. Even hot, desert weather. I didn't care for the humidity of the east coast. (A massive understatement: "didn't care for...") and I really don't feel the need, ever again, to experience forty or twenty below zero temperatures. That is just so "previous-life" for me.

When I left the house today for church, which starts at 11:00 A.M. (for 6 more weeks anyway), I shivered, and went back in for a jacket. Then I stepped over to the window to check the temperature from the patio thermometer. It was 58 degrees. I rolled my eyes. If I were living in Wyoming on November 15th, and it were 58 degrees, we'd all be going to church in our shirt sleeves, excited that we were having a summery day this late in the fall. Yeah, I know. I'm a weather sissy, and this has been today's Whine-Time.

Here's a flash from the past. I'm third tallest, it's probably Christmas and I think I'm in fifth grade. And it wasn't all that cold--just really snow-covered on a bright, blue, Sunday morning in our drive-way. It is picturesque there at Christmas, all white and pine-tree green. But there is usually snow on the ground from October through the end of April. I'm just ruined from living in Southern California.

Veteran's Day Follow-up

When I was listing the members of my family who are veterans, I didn't list some significant ones:

CoolGuy's father, and all three of his brothers. Army, Army, Air Force, Army. Our thanks to all of them and his various cousins and uncles who served too. And did I mention my mother-in-law? She too was in the National Guard for ten years. Her profession was registered nurse, but as an Army girl she drove a truck.

Today is the Aviation Nation Air Show at Nellis AFB here in Las Vegas. They've been practicing all week. Since our school is located just south of the air base, we've had lots of previews of the Thunderbirds howling through the air. Tomorrow, we'll ride the bike over to the edge of the air field and watch them do their thing. Very impressive.

Stop, Please

Okay, I am officially tired of people using the phrase "a ton" instead of "many, a lot, various" etc. I am struck by how often some of my co-workers are willing to use it when they are put in an official position, such as when giving a lesson at an in service meeting. Tonight, I heard it in a testimonial-type ad on the radio. Please...

Okay, I know that I am the Grammar Police, and and International Grammar Enforcement Person, as well, but aren't there certain words or phrases that irritate you?

Here's what I don't like about the use of "a ton" lately. Most of the time the speaker is referencing a large number of items, as opposed to a weight. Such as, "There are a ton of reasons why you'll love ------ products." OR "I have a ton of strategies for teaching these concepts to your students." It is just so colloquial and weak and inaccurate: a ton is a unit of weight not a long list.

That is all. Just try not to use "a ton" when you mean "a lot"--please.

Life Coach

CoolGuy recently noted that he understands Kitty Cat's life, and occasionally feels that he is living it:

Food magically appears when he needs some more. He likes to eat a frozen fruit bar as we soak in the hot tub each evening. Last night, he was impressed that when he opened the freezer door, instead of the lone lime bar awaiting him that he expected, there was a brand new box.

The door will open as if by magic. Or won't open. It's random. When I'm home, and I hear him coming down the street and slow down to pull into our driveway, I'll step into the garage and push the button that opens the door. Then, just as he enters the driveway, the automatic opener kicks in and he can just drive right into the garage. But, if I happen to leave while he is out--no magic--he has to put the kickstand down, enter the code himself, and then after the door opens, drive in and park.

Too bad he can't also just sleep 14 hours a day, get his ears scratched, and be adored by every kid who comes to the house.

However, I do love him. and he can cuddle up in bed by me every night, too.

As long as it doesn't disturb KittyCat.

Veteran's Day

Today is a day that I'm glad gets the recognition that it does. When I was in high school there seemed to be a sense in our nation that the military wasn't well respected. Popular culture was enmeshed in the political conflict over our involvement in Viet Nam and it spilled onto the people doing the actual serving.

There are many veterans in our family. Of course, CoolGuy is my favorite one. But my dad was also a Navy veteran, as was his brother, my uncle Dan. Many adults where I grew up had served in WWII. My dad's father was also a WWI veteran. And one of my brothers has done family history research on our father's line and discovered we had ancestors who fought in the American Revolution. Really awesome! Knowing that CoolGuy's family came from New York and arrived from England to the "colonies" in the 1600's, I'm confident that some of his family were undoubtedly soldiers then too.

I respect veterans because it isn't an easy career. Even if you just sign up for one enlistment, it is a deep commitment. You are Uncle Sam's 24/7. It isn't just a job like others, when you have your own time. Oh, of course you aren't at work every minute. But you are obligated every minute. Your "free time" is only free as long as your commander doesn't need you. I know that when troops are deployed, or sailors at sea, there actually isn't any free time. Oh, you get to sleep and eat, and there are video games and movies and books to read. But you are "on" really.

An interesting aspect of the military is the pride. Ask a veteran--they're proud of it. They might tell jokes and complain and make fun of aspects of it. But, deep inside they know that they are part of a long, honorable tradition and they are a member of a great "club". It lasts your whole life. Your status as one who has served our fantastic country never expires. America never forgets.

Happy Birthday Jarheads

Today the USMC is 234 years old. The Marine Corps predates the Declaration of Independence for goodness sake. The Continental Congress passed a resolution to create the Corps on November 10, 1775 to fight for independence.

We have a long affiliation with the Marines in our family, even though CoolGuy is a Navy veteran. (Don't tell this to a Marine, but they are really a division of the Navy.) Rivalry is rampant between these two parts of the military. Here's a good bumper sticker you'll find in the parking lot of a Naval Hospital: The Marines have found their good men: Navy Corpsmen

Here's a good joke: (and you can adjust it depending on who is telling it...)
A sailor is standing at a urinal next to a Marine. They finish at the same time and the sailor starts to walk out the door, while the Marine steps up to the sink. The Marine says, "In the Corps, they taught us to wash our hands after we use the bathroom." The sailor replies, "In the Navy, they showed you how to pee without getting it on your hands."

And on and on...that is a joke I can actually post on this blog. There are some I can't. But...the Marines are not a joke. In fact, I'm very, very glad they are the United States Marines, as opposed to some other country's Marines. They are the best. They are the top of the heap. Anything you hear about them is true. They have a lot of tradition, valor, honor, and skill. Semper Fi is not just a motto.

When CoolGuy went to the Big Sandbox about twenty years ago as a civilian supporting a company of Marines, who were up at the front doing surveillence, I fretted that he would be unarmed. He assured me by saying he had something better than a weapon: he had a Marine whose job it was to protect him. If anything were to have happened to CoolGuy, this dude would have hoisted him over a brawny shoulder, along with the pack he was obligated to haul around, and would have brought CoolGuy out with him. Yes, it sounds corny. But it's true. They do that.

So, raise a fist and shout "Oooh-rah!" and then sing Happy Birthday. And someday, go to Washington DC and see the Marine Corps Memorial. You can read all the years and campaigns around the base. It is very sobering and inspiring.

Teacher Teacher

I just read a post by a good friend who is also a teacher. She pointed out that in her fifteen years of teaching, this is the only time she has been in the same school, the same grade level and same classroom for a couple of years in a row.

I, too, have been teaching for fifteen years. But, I have worked to stay in the same grade level that whole time. Even when I moved across the country to come back home to the West, I managed to get a job as a fourth grade teacher. And you know, I hope to remain in this grade level until I'm done with the job.

Teaching is hard work. It takes many hours off-the-clock. I like my job, I enjoy working with kids. I like the little dumb things, like putting up my calendar every month with the themed dates (like this month every card for the dates is a little handprint that mimics the shape of a turkey--so we're multicultural with the variety of skin tones of the handprints, and seasonal.) Also, I still have the patience to help nine-year olds remember to put their name on their papers, and keep their desks organized and wash their hands after recess.

But, I don't want to change grade levels, or be the literacy facilitator, or (heaven forbid!) an administrator. I'd like to keep teaching fourth grade because I know that there will be enough changes each year with the curriculum, the grading system, the principal's latest whim or fad. So I don't feel the need to change grade levels to get variety. I'm not tired of fourth grade yet. I do get tired of new stuff for the sake of new stuff. But that is inevitable.

So, I'll just stay here in fourth grade and keep doing what I'm good at and keep getting better at it. I change things up all the time--you have to--the kids are different each year. Current events are different--curriculums require different things from the children. I get enough change.

Rubbed the Right Way

Is this just a Las Vegas perk? Or can you go to a mall in other cities and find professional massage therapists who provide a variety of massages right there in a chair in the mall? There is a big mall right on the Strip with all the stores you would imagine for people who can afford to stay across the street at The Wynn: Neiman Marcus, Ann Taylor, Lacosta, etc. etc. Well, there is also an area on the main floor where you can book time with a massage therapist, right there and then. You sit on a special chair that leans you forward onto a support cushion, your face resting on a horseshoe shaped pad, arms resting on another support cushion, and get massaged. Depending on how much time you wish to pay for, you can get just a little comfort or quite a bit.

Now, I know when I mention "massage" and "Las Vegas" in the same paragraph, there are going to be some eyebrows raised. Undoubtedly, when this blog pops up, there will be disappointment for any number of people who google that phrase in anticipation of a Hot Time in Sin City. But, seriously, this is completely legit. You are right out there in the open, all of your clothes remain on your body, and it is very professional.

I paid for the neck, back, arms and shoulders version. A couple of days ago, I was talking on my cell phone while multitasking and I tucked the phone onto my shoulder and held it in place with my head while reaching for something with both hands. I was instantly smitten with a vicious muscle cramp directly below my right shoulder blade, that caused me to gasp and drop the phone. It caused me to gasp all day whenever I moved a certain way. So, I decided I'd go and get a rubdown on Saturday.

It was awesome. I wanted to just pay for another 20 minutes on the spot and sit back down. I felt ever so much better, and he pointed out that my shoulders were very hard and tense when he started. They were definitely relaxed when my time was up. I'd like to hire their crew to come over to our school and give these massages at the end of the day. (There are male and female and you can choose -- he was available and I'm not fussy.) So, if you have this little perk at an upscale mall in your area, go, go--it's better than a new pair of shoes, and less expensive too.

Take Out Treat

After school, I had two uninterrupted hours at my desk. I finished my lesson plans, cleaned off my desk (!!), organized my parent conference forms and made a tentative schedule for those visits, and then I went home and fed Kitty Cat. After that I drove down to my physical therapy appointment. My arm goes numb less often, thank you for asking. The work out there is helping, I think.

Then, I stopped off at K-Mart to get a heavy-duty extension cord for my classroom. I also ended up with a cute little sweater and a new purse. So then I stopped off at a Thai restaurant I've never eaten at and ordered some pad thai and tom yum soup, to go. The lady/owner was so kind and sweet. She gave me a drink, asked me to sit and rest and said she'd bring me the food when it was ready. Then, she also pointed out that she would treat me to some eggrolls since it was my first visit. She has a lot of repeat customers, I'm guessing. They return for the royal treatment.

I got home, dished it all up and watched Jeopardy. What a pleasant evening. YUM, YUM YUM. I'll go back for another dinner some night when I'm just too tired to cook.

Book Two: Biblio-Biography

These two books have only been part of my adult life, and, ironically, they are children's books. William Steig was a cartoonist for the New Yorker magazine for years before he published any children's books. I enjoyed his wit and style of drawing. But I was unaware of his venture into children's literature in 1970.

After I became a mom, an opportunity came my way in the junk mail one day to join The Children's Choice Book Club. The selections in the catalog were so great, that I couldn't resist. It was all literature, nothing to do with popular culture like t.v. or movies. I received hardback books about every two months, and the price was very reasonable. I eeked it out of my "extra" money. There was virtually no extra money in those days, but, we agreed that books were not a luxury but a necessity. Of course we went to the library regularly, too, but I couldn't resist owning these books I got through the mail. Many of them turned out to be our bedtime favorites which we have read, re-read, and re-re-read to the point of memorization. Several of our family-phrases have come from these books.

Sylvester and the Magic Pebble

This is the story of a little donkey who finds an interesting pebble one day. By chance, he discovers that it is magic pebble. When he is holding it, anything he wishes comes true. He changes the weather, he changes a couple of other silly things, but suddenly a lion comes out of the woods and in a state of fright, Sylvester wishes he was a rock so that the lion won't be able to hurt him. Poof! He's a rock. But the magic pebble is lying on the ground beside him and, because he is not touching it, he cannot make the magic work, no matter how much he wishes. He sits there as a rock, with his own thinking ability intact, and despairs over what to do now. In the meantime, his family is bereft by his disappearance. It is such a touching story, almost too intense for children, actually. As we read it, we almost felt as heartbroken as Sylvester's parents and hopeless as Sylvester. When an astonishing coincidence solves all of their troubles, we fully understand the final line of the book: They have all they've ever wanted: each other. I dare you to read this book without crying. I can't. Even now.

Dr. DeSoto

This charming book is a favorite for two reasons. One, Dr. DeSoto is a mouse and our own rodent pets created warm feelings toward all rodent book characters. Two: I once worked for a children's dentist and developed an understanding of how to prevent tooth decay in my own children that I did not have when I was a child. I was determined to keep them from the dental tortures that I'd had, and I went to some rather extreme measures to insure that. So, a book about a clever dentist who looked like a ratty was a cinch to be popular at our house. If you haven't read it, you must hurry to the library and get a copy. It is fantastic! He and his wife--the assistant--are popular with all the animals, but they wisely refuse to treat cats or other rodent-eating types. One day, they take pity on a fox with a terrible toothache, but realize that they must figure out a way to protect themselves anyway. It is one of our favorite books to read aloud. And...anyone in the family who needs to indicate their reluctant, not-necessarily-sincere gratitude still says, "Fank-you bery mush." Read it--you'll get it.

The Kitty Cat is Fine

Just in case you'd heard something different...I don't know if she was successful in holding the press conference to protest her appalling treatment of today.

CoolGuy went back east last night, so this morning when I left for school at 7:30 A.M., she was left alone with her crunchy food dish filled, her automatic water bowl, and the freshly filled litter box. She was deep in slumber on the bed.

However, I couldn't return until 7:45 P.M. because of my college class, so I wasn't sure if I'd be met at the door by her attorney, or the ASPCA, or what. So, I'm just saying, she is fine. The kitty chicken was served. She has been outdoors, and is now back on the bed.

Exhausted, I'm sure by the traumatic afternoon with no one here to serve her at 5:00.

My Blood Pressure Feels Lower Already

I got an e-mail from my statistics professor (finally) to tell me my grade from the test two weeks ago.

17/20 correct on the take-home portion. 18/20 correct on the in-class test.

YES! I may pass this course yet...

Doh...

Well, I already missed a day and it was only the 2nd of the month. I plead busy, frazzled, exhausted. I had a staff development day yesterday and then there were so many things to do after it finished that I didn't leave the building until 8:30 P.M. That is sick.

But I also don't feel well. I've been monitoring my blood pressure for a couple of weeks because it was too high at a recent doctor visit and it remains high. As a result, I have a teeny, nagging headache and I feel that I don't think well. So, everything is taking longer to do. I'll figure out this stupid blood pressure elevation---not extreme, but mine has been very low all my life, so I don't like it. My fingers are puffy, too, so what's going on? Hmm...medical mysteries to solve.

Anyway, I got home so late and so frazzled that I totally forgot I was intending to blog every day. I'll try to do better the rest of the month. Well, back to school--eleven short hours later.

NaBloPoMo--Writing, Writing, Writing

Hey, just what I need: a reason to spend more time at the computer! If I actually wrote something each day for National Blog Posting Month instead of just surfing through political websites it might be a useful thing. I think of stuff to write now and then, but often I get home from school and I am just too tired to do something intellectual. So, surfing through a variety of rantings from different sides of the political spectrum is about all the "thinking" I have energy to do.

So, this month, I'll see if I can write a post that someone would care enough to read. Here's today's attempt:

We had a lesson on visiting teaching today. I've given this lesson many times. The one where we try to get the sisters to decide that VT is important enough to prioritize, to plan for it. Statisically, this ward is at about 70%. That is better than some wards I've been in, but when you put it in terms of, say, bringing back 70% of the students you took out on the field trip (as our RS president did recently) then you see that it's not a good number.

I know all the reasons why it is difficult to do VT. We're all busy. We're don't know the people very well. They're not exactly excited to see us. They're inactive in church and wonder why we keep bugging them each month. Or...you're busy, you know the sisters you're assigned are also busy. You see them in church every week anyway. You know they're fine. And, here's another one I've never personally experienced in my adult life: you're not in need of one more person to "check up on you" because you have a busy and full life with your [fill in the blank] children, siblings, grandchildren, lifelong friends.

Since I've been a married woman, I've lived "temporarily" wherever we've lived. I've always known we were going to move. Someday. We've lived as long as ten years in some places, but it was usually year to year--I didn't know it was going to be 10 years--the job could have moved us at any time. Many of our ward members were also affiliated with the military, so they were temporary, too. So, it is a new thing for me to live here in Las Vegas in an established neighborhood where it is the norm for people to have been born, raised, married, had children, and now their grandchildren, all while living in the same neighborhood, or at least in town.

My incentive for being a concientious visiting teacher is that I have been befriended by women tasked with being my VTs and it was a life-saver on a number of occasions. It gave me someone trustworthy when I had a crisis--large or small. I was grateful to pass forward that blessing. But, when you have sisters, childhood friends, children or grandchildren just around the corner, maybe it isn't as compelling.

My current visiting teacher (a very busy woman about my age, who works, sings in a professional choral group, is in the stake RS, and has grandchildren living locally) came to my house last month. We sat and talked and laughed about our similar childhoods (she grew up in Idaho about 100 from where I grew up in Wyoming). It was so nice to sit and talk to someone for fun. She stayed almost an hour. We could have talked for another hour, but she needed to get home after a long day. Yes, she sees me every week at church. Yes, I'm well, so is she. But it is nice to sit and enjoy a calm chat with another woman. It filled a need I didn't realize I had.

I could tell you a whole book full of inspiring stories about people who helped me, or people whom I've helped (I found one such lady a couple of years ago here in Las Vegas--it was very random--our paths had crossed 27 years ago in San Diego when I was her VT briefly). But the reason I wrote this is to tell you that no one but you can compell you to be a consistent visiting teacher. If you are willing to put in the effort, you will be blessed. So will someone else, and she may really be needing it, whether she knows it or not.

Biblio-Biography

Some recent blogs I read have written about the sound-tracks of their lives and I thought it was an interesting idea. But then, I realized that I didn't really measure my life with music. My life has been defined more by books I read. They don't necessarily follow in a straight narrative, but some books have had a prominent place in my biography. Such as....

Misty of Chincoteague

I first read this book because it had a horse on the cover. I couldn't pronounce the name of the island when I was eight years old, but I was obsessed with horses and horse books. I lived on a farm, we had horses. But I was so frightened by them that I rarely enjoyed them. My sister and I were bucked off once when our horse took a pitching fit at the sound of the ice cubes clanking around in our lunch water bucket that was strapped to the saddle. I can still picture myself lying on my back under a piece of farm machinery seeing him bucking and gyrating just a few feet from my face, trying to get rid of that horrible sound the way he'd shed us two girls. So, reading horse books was much more soothing than my dad's real-live, real-frisky, real-big horses.

I cried when I read Misty. It was exciting and tender, and had nail-biting suspense. The end was triumphal and thrilling. I read the library copy three or four more times. Then, as an adult I found some beautiful copies of Misty in a store and bought my very own. I also got several other books by Marguerite Henry because all of her books were horse stories--real stories about real horses. Even though I'd had my own horse from age 12 till I left home after high school, and I'd broke him, and I wasn't afraid of horses anymore, and he was my good friend, I still couldn't read Misty without crying.

In my Navy wife home, I read one day in the San Diego paper that Marguerite Henry was appearing at a department store to sign her books. !!! So, I snatched up my books, and went down there and bought another copy of one of them (for my cousin, who shared my obsession) and stood in line with about 20 nine-year old girls (I was nearly 30 and had three tiny children not old enough to read this book to yet.) We were all so excited to meet our hero--the author of our favorite books. She knew the "Real Misty" and we were thrilled to be in her presence. I still keep my signed copy in a special place.

When those first three children grew old enough to understand it, I read Misty of Chincoteague to them. We'd sit on the couch each evening and read a chapter before bed. We got to the exciting Pony Swim chapter, and we just had to know what happened next, so we read an extra chapter that night. I read the book again, twice, to our next two children when they each reached that age to appreciate my literary treasure.

Then, I became a school teacher. In Maryland. To the East, in a straight line, across the Chesapeake Bay and the Eastern Shore, was Nine-year Girl Mecca: Chincoteague Island. Of course nothing is in a straight line if you're in Maryland. Only birds can travel in a straight line there. Everyone else must go up and around and down and around to travel across the maze of creeks and bays and inlets. But, after many years of reading Misty aloud to my students, I resolved to make the pilgrimage.

Many of my students had visited the two islands in the book. Assateague, the place of the wild things, is a National Seashore, and Chincoteague, a little island town, is where the people live. I even became friends with a woman who remembers going to the movie when she was a little girl and seeing the REAL Misty at the theater, at a fundraiser to help the pony herds that had been devastated by a hurricane.

Finally, Cool Guy and I made a trip over there. It was winter, but we saw ponies. We saw all the places that I'd read about in the book. I took home with me a handful of sand that I scooped up from a pony hoofprint, and a seashell from the beach. We saw Misty's hoofprints in the cement in front of the movie theater where the Misty Movie had premiered. We saw Pony Ranch. It was pretty close to Nirvana for me.

Then, I did the ultimate. Two summers later, I drove over on a July evening (about three hours from our home in Southern Maryland -- western shore) and just slept in my car in a parking lot at the beach. At dawn, I walked over to the water's edge and I wasn't the first person there, either. It was the most exciting day of summer: Pony Penning Day. If you haven't read the book, then you must to get a sense of what anticipation I was feeling that morning. For almost 40 years, I'd read about this event and finally, here I was, in person, to witness it myself. And it was totally worth it. Everything I'd read about, probably 15 times, was in living, breathing reality, right in front of me. The crowd had a preponderance of middle-aged women and nine-year old girls. The Misty people.

I followed the Salt Water cowboys and the herd to the fairgrounds. From the side of a corral filled with wet ponies, I called my cousin at her home in Arizona to tell her where I was. She was as thrilled as I knew she would be. Her youngest son was reading Misty that very week at his mother's suggestion as a cure for summer boredom. I mailed a T-shirt to my sister--her daughter was also a fan. I soaked it up and reveled in it for several hours, and finally got in my car to drive home, knowing that now I could die, having been to the site of my childhood obsession. It was a good day.

I still cry when I read Misty of Chincoteague.

A Tiny Glimmer of Light on the Horizon

Tonight I took the second test for my Really Hard Graduate Class. It was all about regression equations and standard deviations of error, and coefficients. Yeah. But--this time I remembered the advice I've given my own students a zillion times--

• Read through all the questions and answer the ones that you can figure out right away
• Then, go back to the hard ones, or the ones that will take more time and calculations
• Look at your notes
• Take a deep breath
• Eliminate the obviously wrong choices
• Guess from the remaining ones

I actually finished the test 45 minutes before the class was finished. Which made me a little nervous. But, I worked carefully and I calculated an answer for each one that matched one of the choices she offered. More importantly, I felt like I'd understood the work. So, I just packed up my things and turned it in.

Next week, I have an obligatory night at my school--Harvest Festival--(annual PTO fund raiser night) so I can't be in class when she returns the tests. I've already told my professor, so I plan to e-mail her on Monday next week to remind her, and see if she has the tests corrected. And, if so, would she be so kind as to tell me my score.

I really think I passed it. I need at least a "C"--hopefully I got a "B"...I truly do not want to repeat this class. It is required, so if I don't pass it, I'll be taking it again. Both CoolGuy and I don't want this to happen.

Living a Patient Life

Most people who know me probably wouldn't use the word "patient" in a description of my characteristics. I have numerous scars on my hands and fingers that are the result of impatient actions--vigorously washing dishes and breaking them; quickly grabbing for some sharp implement and hurting myself; cramming something into place that actually needed gentle coaxing and causing a cut or a slash on my hands. It's a gene-pool thing according to CoolGuy: he worked with my grandfather and great-uncles. They were usually set on "high" "fast" "zoom". I know, we aren't lackadaisical. I used to think my gung-ho style was an asset. (And sometimes it is...don't get me wrong.) But, in a spiritual, philosophical, metaphysical way, it is a handicap. Let me explain.

Today in Sunday School, I got a new outlook on an old principle. We were reading from Doc. & Cov. 21: 4-6. It is God telling us how the church should give heed to His prophet. When the prophet is walking in all holiness before Him, and receives commandments, then we should receive these words from the prophet "as if from mine own mouth, in all patience and faith."

The last four words were what got my attention. I've known about the admonition to regard prophetic statements as "if from mine own mouth" -- referring to God's mouth my entire life. But today, as we contemplated this scripture, I was struck by the Lord including the need for us to show patience with our faith. I have a lot of experience with faith. I've had mine tried over and over. I've exercised faith in many situations. Faith is my friend and companion and hero. But patience is an infrequent partner of mine.

We humans are always measuring time. I know that the nine-year olds with whom I spend my day generally only consider the moment. Their whole life occurs in that day. I can ruin their life or make their life. It is an awesome power I don't take lightly. As we grow older, into our 20's and 30's we don't get much more perspective than my fourth graders. Oh, sure, many of us learn to budget our time and plan enough to complete college or some type of vocational training. We learn to be an employee or a parent. We know we have to save up our money, defer gratification, go to work on time, wait for the green light. We learn lots of things that nine-year olds can't do well. Those young adults that don't learn this end up in jail fairly often. But still, we do not really know about patience yet.

Finally, as a woman of A Certain Age, I'm starting to get a teeny-tiny glimpse of my existence as God sees it. I'm a work in progress. I need guidance continually. I need an anchor or a standard to use as a reference. If I listen to the words of God, as spoken by His prophets, I'll have the anchor. But only if I listen to them using faith and patience. It takes a whole life of listening to the prophets to learn to see things the way God sees them, using the outlook of eternity. I am so often rushing about that I don't stop and gaze at the long view. God's words, through His mouthpiece, the prophet, are usually unchanging. They are usually unaffected by fashion or current vogue. These words are focused on my inner qualities and require me to monitor my passions and actions regardless of what others do or say.

In other words, God needs me to be patiently listening, patiently correcting myself over time, patiently doing His will. He doesn't ask me to rush about accomplishing tasks. He asks me to have faith, to align my desires and goals with His. This is something that can only be done through a slow process of continual, careful, patient work. If I have been seeing my life as series of milestones to achieve, He sees it as a process of refinement. What I do isn't the goal. What I become is the important thing. Patience...

Doing It The Hard Way

I'm taking a statistics class for my master's degree. It is hard. It is especially hard for me because I tend to do it the hard way. CoolGuy pointed out tonight that I'm having a little war with my calculator because I'm using it the way I use the computer. Meaning: I wait until I absolutely, positively need something done (the correct way) and then I try to use the tool, but discover that I don't know how to do it because I've never sat down and learned how to use the tool. True, I do that. I've been struggling with the calculator in exactly that way, too. Tonight in class, a fellow student had to show me how to decipher my screen so that I could find the square root of a number. (It was a big, elaborate number, with a decimal...in my defense.) But, my eyes had not seen the parenthesis mark at the beginning of the number there under the square root sign, so I had not learned how to add the final parenthesis and make my calculator understand what I wanted it to do. It kept displaying Syntax Error and making me crazy!!! Oh. I see. Sigh....

I met with my professor this afternoon (taking off a half day of work in order to do so, which involves lesson plans, etc. etc. I'm just saying that nothing about this class is making my life more simple.) But, it's good that I did because one simple thing she showed me will make a huge difference. I asked if it should take almost an hour to calculate the standard deviation for a set of data she had given us and she said to show her how I was doing it. Well, turns out the formula I was using was wrong. Oh, it would get me to the standard deviation, but it was an elaborate, twisted way to do so. Here's my analogy:

Say I wanted to eat quesadillas for supper. My way (using the wrong formula) was the equivalent of going out and milking the cow, bringing in the milk, making the cheese, and grating it with a fork onto the tortillas. Her formula showed me how to just go buy grated cheese. Yeah.

A Night on the Town, Down Memory Lane

Last night my sister and her husband came to town for a weekend visit. Their main incentive was to watch a college football game tonight, Saturday. Huh--I just realized--I'm an actual student, enrolled in the college that is playing tonight, but I didn't even consider attending...I'm so not a sports fan.

But, I heard on the radio that The Lettermen were performing in the showroom of the casino where they had gotten a deal on a nice room. So I e-mailed her and suggested she might want to go. So they got three tickets and I met them there. (CoolGuy is out of town this week.)

We had a BLAST! Now, you've probably gone to the link I embedded above, for this group. If you're a person of a Certain Age, you knew exactly who I meant. But if you're a contemporary of my children then perhaps you said..."Who? Aren't they all dead?"

No, none of them have died. But the group itself has gone through many permutations, with the one constant being Tony who has been performing under the name since 1961. Yes, I was 8. But I LOVED their songs. The other two fellows in the trio have been part of it for 20 plus years.

My sister and I knew all the words to their songs. We sang along. We cheered and laughed. They told lame-0 jokes, but it was in such fun we couldn't help ourselves. The singers each performed solos and wandered through the audience. They glad-handed folks, stood for photos with women older than me who were just giggling in delight. They sang all their greatest hits and more recent ones made famous by other people. They have terrific voices and great stage presence.

During a couple of the songs, I leaned over to my sister and said, "Are you transported back in time to the SVHS gym? Sitting on the bleachers, alone, while all the other girls are dancing?" That was my reaction! High school dances...what a torture chamber when I was a freshman, sophomore and junior.

Finally, as a senior, I got smart. I had to attend a number of functions in high school because I had a leadership position in several clubs. The clubs were the sponsors of the dances, and we arranged for the music and the decorations, etc. So I couldn't very well stay home, but going to dances was such a drag, because I didn't get asked to dance. And back in the olden days, the boys asked the girls, except for Sadie Hawkins. So, anyway...as a senior, I identified a nice person, who had a car (and a job so he could afford to date and have a car) and asked him out to Sadie Hawkins (always held in the fall) and then, he was my date for the rest of the year.

I liked him enough. He was nice, and he was pretty fun, but it was business for me. I needed to go to these events and I was sick of being without a date. In our school, most everyone was "attached" to someone. Some of these relationships actually turned into marriages that have lasted over the decades, but many of them didn't survive graduation or the following years of leaving home and being part of the great big world. I did, in fact, use this nice person. And I feel badly about it now. It was more than business for him. Sorry.

BUT....the Lettermen---despite those momentary bits of bad vibes---the concert was awesome, we had a great time. I used to sing all those songs in the barn while milking my cows and it was interesting how I could remember all the words last night. Yet, I can't remember some of my co-workers' names. Sigh. After the show, we went to a nice restaurant on the second floor, ate a great meal, and talked. It got very late and we finally called it day, but it was a groovy, awesome day. (And I'd like to note that "groovy" is an appropriate adjective for the occasion--no eye-rolling.)

One interesting aspect of going to a show featuring performers of that vintage, is that most of the crowd was significantly older than me...Or maybe I just need to look more closely in the mirror. There were a lot of geezers there, but we were enthusiastic geezers!

Wake up Call

CoolGuy is three time zones away for a week or so. We talk on the phone periodically during the day. Yesterday I texted him photos of us on our field trip. Technology is good. Usually.

This morning my phone rang loudly and persistently and I was dragged from deep sleep stumbling to my desk where it was plugged into the charger. "Hello? Hello? Hello?" No one answered my froggy morning voice. I listened and could hear the calming tones of the NPR morning show in the background. But no one responded to my greeting.

I looked at the time on my phone: 4:01 A.M. Pacific Daylight Time. No way CoolGuy would be calling me for real. So I hung up and went back to bed.

Later on we determined that he had used his phone as an alarm clock and when he pushed at it to shut off the alarm, he'd pushed "redial" by mistake. Since he'd put the phone down on the bed shelf by the radio and gone off to shower, he hadn't heard me answering...

Oh well, it was time to get up and let the cat in. Or out. Or something, I'm sure.

Good Things from Today

• I love the song "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" and it was performed by the Tabernacle choir on "Music and the Spoken Word" just before conference started. It is such a beautiful tune and the words are so poetic. It was written in 1758 by a minister to conclude a sermon. I especially love the third verse:

O to grace how great a debtor

Daily I’m constrained to be!

Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,

Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,

Prone to leave the God I love;

Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,

Seal it for Thy courts above.

• I concur with Ann M. Dibbs final point: "It [the Gospel] is everything."
• The performance of "O, Divine Redeemer" just before Elder Holland's talk. He was quite emotional and could barely speak. But that song has that effect on me, too. It is so great to sing and so great to hear.
• Elder Holland's talk was as powerful as the song. He fervently bore testimony of the Book of Mormon as the word of God. He left no doubt that he believes. I believe that as well.
• Pres. Monson recounting his birthday presents: all the acts of service performed by children and adults around the world, as he requested. I'm not sure he expected to receive a vast pile of letters and cards detailing what people did in his honor.
• Elder Cook pointed out that we cannot rationalize our failure to honor the committments of our stewardships. We are accountable to God. We can't hide from Him. It is like when little children cover their eyes and think we cannot see them anymore.
• Elder Oaks: The effect of God's commandments and laws is not changed to accommodate popular behavior and desires. God's love doesn't give us a "pass"-"If you think that, you understand neither law nor love."
• Pres. Eyring's recitation of the words from "I'm Trying to be Like Jesus" was very moving. I LOVE that song and everytime I sing it, I feel emotional. I try really hard to live the message of that song. "I'm trying to love my neighor, I'm trying to serve my friends." "Love one another as Jesus loves you, try to show kindness in all that you do. Be gentle and loving in deed and in thought, for these are the things Jesus taught."
• Brigham City is getting their own temple! I wondered if they would some day. It is a treacherous drive up over the pass to Logan. It'll be nice for them.

(Happy 400 blog entries--whew!)

Autumn--Sin City Style

You know how it feels in a temperate climate zone in autumn? One day, you realize that the air is different, the leaves are starting to turn colors, the shadows are longer and you think that maybe you'll wear a sweater this morning?

Here in Las Vegas, the city of nuance and understatement, we had autumn arrive, too.

On Monday, the high was 100 degrees. Monday evening, the wind started to blow and by Tuesday morning, it was 60 degrees. The high on Tuesday was 73 degrees.

FALL--BAM--WE GOT FALL, RIGHT HERE!! SEE FALL, ALL NEW!! GET YOUR TICKETS NOW!! BEST SHOW ON THE STRIP!! AUTUMN WILL COME TO YOUR ROOM!! BEST RATES!!

Here It Is!!

Our Other Grandpa

I've written several times about my dad here, but today is dedicated to our other Grandpa. Today CoolGuy's dad would have been 100 years old. Happy Birthday to him.

You may be doing the math and thinking, "Wait, CoolGuy is a geezer?" Not exactly...he was a caboose. His parents were grandparents already, about to enjoy their empty nest as their third son was set to graduate from high school, when---SURPRISE! Another little boy was born. CoolGuy was an uncle before he existed.

Grandpa was married just six months before the Great Depression was officially kicked off with the stock market crash of 1929. He and his dear little wife actually lived their first few months in a teepee in a sheep camp. By winter they'd moved into a house and they had three boys in the 1930's. He worked hard at whatever jobs he could get and taught his sons to be hard workers. All of them have been successful in their careers.

CoolGuy was almost 12 when his mom died. It was a really tough time for all of them. His dad remarried about two and half years later, and she has been a really fabulous Grandma for our kids. She also took good care of his dad as he got old and sick and nursed him well until he died about 20 years ago.

Here are some great photos of their family:

This is the "honeymoon teepee."

CoolGuy's talent with the internal combustion engine is an inherited trait. His dad had motor oil in his veins, too. He was once a mechanic for the Army.

This is CoolGuy and Grandpa with the packhorse string on a trailride. This was a family business from the 1960's in which they would take (rich) people, mainly from the East Coast, for a two-week long camping trip in the wilderness area around Yellowstone Park. It was a tremendous amount of work requiring experienced trail hands who could pack up the camp and move it to the next stop before the trailriders would arrive in the late afternoon. Of course, the camp couldn't be moved until breakfast had been cooked and served, all the lunches packed and the riders sent off. Then camp was broke, packed, hauled to the new stop, (on a shortcut trail to get around the paying riders) unpacked and set up again, in time to cook that night's supper. Whew. At least they would keep that camp for a few days before the marathon started again. CoolGuy is eight years old in this photo and on his first trailride with his dad. His mom worked as a telephone operator.

So, we salute our other Grandpa in this, his centennial year. The life his grandchildren live is so incredibly different from his hard-scrabble world. They've traveled all over the world and live in big cities. He lived so much of his life up in the mountains and really didn't like big cities. But he was a kind and gentle good man, and that trait has come down through the generations pure and clear. Thanks for the inheritance.

School Daze

Another nutty week in teacher land.

First, we had the little girl who, when cutting out pictures to glue on a paper to show how the water cycle works, turned to her seatmates and announced, "Look, I'm going to cut my lip." They of course all said, "Oh, no, don't do that." And she proceeded to actually use her scissors to, yes, cut a big gash in her lower lip. DUH...

I turned to see everyone gasping and exlaiming and her with both hands clapped over her face, blood seeping through the fingers. We rushed her up to the nurse. Mom came and took her away. Today, two days later, she is back with 6 or 7 stitches holding her lower lip together. It isn't at all swollen like I thought it would be. But then, there really wasn't any bruising trauma or blunt force, it was a pretty surgical cut--clean and quick. I don't get it at all.

Although, her previous teacher told me this morning that she didn't allow the child to have scissors at all in the last two grades because she would often cut other students' clothing. Gee, I wish I'd have known that. However, the scissors she used were her own, from her backpack.

Second, we were discussing the water cycle and how evaporation happens and that when water evaporates it leaves behind all the other non-waterish parts like minerals and salts. I asked if any of them had noticed that a glass that had contained a tiny bit of milk will eventually have just a smear of white on the bottom from the milk sugars after the water evaporates and a juice glass will just have a smear of fruit sugars, etc. Somehow, and I'm still trying to figure this out, we got from there to mammals feeding their babies milk. And that mothers feed their young milk from the mother's bodies, and I had two boys immediately deteriorate into the gasping, laughing, red-faced mode that sometimes happens whenever human body functions are mentioned.

But significantly, they both proclaimed complete ignorance of, and total disbelief in, the concept that mothers feed babies milk from their bodies. Any mammal mothers....I asked about dogs, horses, cats, cows??? Nope, never saw anything like that, didn't believe me, couldn't conceive of it.

By then, other kids were chiming in to back me up. In fact, one guy backed me up with, "I remember watching my mom feed my little brother from her boobies all the time." You can imagine the reaction we got then. Sigh. So, I just used my "quiet down gesture" and then said, "Well, since we're talking about science, we'll use the science terms--the milk comes from breasts or nipples, or udders, depending on the mammal."

As you can imagine, it didn't really calm things down all that much, but I bravely marched on and we returned to our original topic of the water cycle and evaporation and all that. But, first I implored that anyone who still needed information on the topic to sit down with their parents and talk about it. And to look up mammals on-line or in a book and get the facts. Really.

I'm not adverse to discussing it at all, but sheesh...decorum is needed ladies and gentlemen and that is in limited supply with nine year boys. Bless their hearts.

Sleeping Sickness

Wow, I spent the weekend alseep. I was really sick on Saturday and had a long nap. Then Sunday I went to church just to play the organ and then came home and had another long nap. Then I went to bed and slept for nine hours on Sunday night. I awoke Monday morning feeling terrible. I went over to school, wrote some substitute plans, attended a meeting to sign papers for a student who has qualified for some official special help and went home.

I thought I'd have a little nap, and woke up six hours later at 3:00 P.M. Whew. But today, I feel a little bit better and I went to school. I'm dead tonight.

Last night I told CoolGuy that I'd better be feeling like a ball of fire in the morning so I could go to school. Well, I only felt like a little glowing charcoal briquet, but that was enough. The glow is dimming, so I'll eat some supper and hit the pillow again. I don't know what this is, but sleep is the cure.

What's Up Here

It was a busy week. So busy, that I didn't even write anything on the blog. School is going well. By that, I mean that I don't have any students that I loathe, yet. I can handle my schedule. My co-workers (both new to our school) are competent and pleasant. I was observed by the principal and, even though it wasn't glowing, some really good things happened, so she wasn't too disappointed. Transitions are always a problem time in a class room. Think about getting your own child changed from one activity to another and then multiply that times 25, and consider that maybe 1/3 of them are not really there to learn, just to mess around, and you can see why transitions are a problem...

I'm still understanding the teacher in Introduction to Differential Statistics, my graduate class. We have a take-home quiz that I need to work on later tonight so that it will be finished on Wednesday. Then in class we will have the multiple choice part of the test. We are allowed to use anything we need from the notes we've taken, her powerpoint notes, and our text for the test. So, hopefully, my continued understanding of her lessons will enable me to at least know what formula I need to look up.

We had some visitors Friday and Saturday. They are the children of friends from Maryland. They are going to school at BYU and their cousin was being married here in Las Vegas, so he called to see if we would be willing to put them up overnight. They are really good friends, so of course we said yes. They were really here just to sleep, mostly, because of the wedding festivities all day Saturday. But it was funny, the guy's wife (it was a husband and wife and a cousin) is a music teacher at a high school in Payson. We were chatting over breakfast Saturday about music, naturally, and he turned to her and said, "Now think of your best AP student and then square their talent and double it, and that is Peter's musical appitude." He was referring to our son, his good friend from high school. The wife turned to him and patted his arm. "I know dearest, you've raved about him any number of times." Ha ha ha ha! It's fun to know someone who also thinks my kid is a genius!

I am sick, however. Whatever germ has been causing so many of our fourth graders to go home early with a fever, and then miss three more days of school attacked me on Friday. I mostly spent Saturday and Sunday lying on the couch coughing. I went to church to play the organ for Sacrament meeting, and then went home to sleep some more. If I feel this rotten tomorrow, I'll just go in and write sub plans and go home.

Saturday Was a Special Day

They were tiny special things...but I enjoyed them.

1) I was in the craft/fabric store waiting in line behind a lady who was holding a twenty dollar bill. When the clerk rang up the total and turned and said, "$31. 53" the lady looked at her a minute without speaking. Then the clerk repeated the sum and finally the lady replied, "Treinta?" and several more words that neither I nor the clerk understood.

She picked up a couple of her items and gestured toward the register's screen. I saw the twenty dollar bill and realized what was going on. The clerk definitely did not have a clue. So, I pointed at the screen to the cost listed for each of the three items she was holding and said, "Seise, seise, seise..." Oh, the lady realized her problem. So she handed one of them to the clerk and gestured to return it and reduce the cost of her total. She had to do it with a couple of more items, and then the clerk declared, "$17.02" and everyone looked at me expectantly!

"Diecisiete...y dos centavos" I immediately blurted out. I was flabbergasted that I knew how to say 17 just like that! I usually have to count up to get the right number. And then, half the time I end up saying it in French instead. (My first foreign language counting encounter.) So, everyone smiled, she turned over her $20 and told me something about her casa and ingles and I nodded and smiled and said, "Si, ingles es muy dificil." Hopefully that translates to "English is very hard."

Imagine!! Me---translator! I'm sure my children and grandchildren who actually speak Spanish are cracking up.

2) So, I cooked dinner and Coolguy came in from the garage as I was finishing the "plating". He looked over my shoulder to see what I was fixing and said, "Oh, look, we're having [EarthSignMama] potatoes." Huh?

"You know...sweet potatoes--lucious, delectable, succulent, wonderful [EarthSignMama] potatoes."

Ahhhh... :)

Uh-Oh

Well, it just can't be a good thing when three out of three of your teachers contact your mom in one week. Hmm.

This morning we had conversations with a mom of a boy new to our school. She'd come over to see who was threatening her son. But, I had called and left a message last night about the need for a talk about his behavior. And, unknown to me, the other two teachers had also called her this week!!

It turned out that, indeed, a boy had been trash-talking him this week, and then had met up with him outside one day at dismissal and shoved him. This was to head-off the big-brother-from-middle-school threat. But, still, you can't put hands on other kids. Anyway...the shover was sent home for the day, a mandated result of committing physical violence.

Then the boy who'd stated he was calling in the big brother reinforcements had to own up that, yes, he had called the other kid names, he had been acting out in class all week, he had told everyone that his big brother was going to come over and kick some butt.

I heard mom saying as they left the office, "Now you'd better be telling me everything this time, you hear? Because when all three teachers call me and none of them knew the other one had called and they all have the same story, it isn't a good thing." No, indeedy, not a good thing.

At the End of the Day

We rode about 120 miles today on the motorcycle. Not all at once, of course, but eventually. The weather was marvelous--sunny, cool breeze, clear and beautiful. I remembered the sunscreen this time. Last year, I fried my face because I forgot how it is in Southern California. Even if there is a cloud cover, you are getting the rays. But, I greased up good today, and so tonight I'm just a little pink.

However, that 120 miles...Let's just say that the backseat of CoolGuy's motorcycle isn't really made for that much sitting at once. Or perhaps it's not the motorcycle's seat, but my "seat" that is no longer up to the challenge. At any rate, I'm rather tired tonight and it's too bad my hot tub is in Las Vegas.

But the most painful part of my body is the bottom of my feet. I have blisters. CoolGuy says that only I could spend all day on a motorcycle and end up with blisters on the bottom of my feet. Well, it's because of the hiking. We spent some time driving around looking at a couple of different state beach campgrounds. When we got to one of them, I wanted to go look around at the campsites and then I started following the trail that led to the beach (under the highway, around the corner.) Well, it was a rather long trail, turned out. And I didn't want to give up because next spring when I'm booking my campsite for the August Go-Camping-at-the-Beach-with-Grandpa-&-Grandma I wanted to have some good data for choosing a great beach. As I hiked up the trail from the beach, back to the parking lot, I could feel the blisters starting on the sole of my right foot, right by my big toe. Tonight it is a huge swollen blob. The left foot isn't so bad, but it is very tender.

You know why cowboys ride horses all the time, right? It's because it kills your feet to walk in those boots very far. So, anyway, after putting all those miles on the bike, my biggest problem is sore feet. Weird, huh?

Another Reason to Be a Good Person...

...Just in case the Buddists are right about the scheme of the universe....

You might qualify to be reincarnated as a Golden Retriever.

Who lives at the beach.

And whose owner has a tennis ball.

Nirvana defined.

Not-Laboring Day

We got up and drove south till the thermometer in the truck dropped 30 degrees. And here we are at the ocean! We are in Ventura for the Primer Nationals, a show we attended last year and it was fun and -- hey, it doesn't take much motivation for me to go to Ventura.

CoolGuy (aptly named) got a reservation at the Inn on the Beach. Just outside the sliding glass door of our room is the beach. A well-chosen moniker for this motel, c'est non? So, we unloaded the motorcyle from the trailer, put all of our stuff in the room and I headed out to the ocean.

It is a perfect beach day. I swam, I splashed, I body-surfed. Drat, I forgot the boogie board....Then I laid on the beach for a while to catch my breath.

After I washed the seaweed out of my hair, we got on the motorcycle and rode over to our favorite (because it was our first experience with the cuisine) Thai restaurant, Charn House, in Camarillo, and had a succulent supper at their sidewalk table. It is really a pleasure to just be outdoors and be comfortable. I've become aclimated to the desert, and I don't whine all the time about the temperatures, but the contrast is extremely vivid when you're in the perfect climate of SoCal.

Tomorrow we'll go look at all the old cars and motorcycles and freaks and their chicks. We'll just be another couple of geezers wandering around looking at cars and bikes as old as we are. It'll be fun.

Things I Like

I like salmon cakes. One of my daughters made them for us at dinner last year, and I'd never had them before. Yum...now it's one of my favorites.

I like Green Day. Yeah, I know. I'm an old lady. But I still like several of their songs. I was an old lady when they first came out, but I was introduced to them by one of my sons and I thank him for that.

I like mango salsa. This was served to me by another of my sons, who happens to be a terrific cook and I don't believe I'd really eaten it before. Wow. It is awesome. Now our house will always have a mango ripening on the counter, when they're in season, of course.

I like LOL Cats. It's a website that is absolutely ridiculous! You must click on the link. Then I dare you to leave the site in less than 15 minutes. You won't be able to because you'll need to see "just one more" and you'll laugh and find you need to forward at least three of them to your friends. I was introduced to it my other daughter and I love it!

I like riding bicycles. I didn't have a bike when I was a child. That sounds so sad, huh? But, ahem...I had a horse. It was much more functional on the farm. However, when my oldest son became a teen, he really got into mountain biking. He subscribed to a magazine, he went out with friends, he got the merit badge. He made it look so fun that I bought a bike. My first, ever. Wow. I loved it! It's been a few years since I've owned one, but I'm saving up for another. In California I rode mine every day, everywhere. Thanks for introducing your mom to a great thing.

Thanks to all of my children for bringing new ideas into my life. It's one of the best parts of motherhood.

My Fan

I went to a training meeting after school on Thursday. At one point in the evening, we were instructed to regroup at our tables into teams that would mix up the disciplines of the subjects we were hired to teach as professional trainers. Then we were going to use the laptops there to do the next activity.

As we waited for everyone to get settled and turn on the computers, my partner to the left of me introduced herself and asked my name. She then said, "I know you from somewhere..." We exchanged current teaching assignments, past teaching assignments, possible training classes we'd attended together. She was sure she knew me. She inquired that perhaps I'd been here or there with her. No, it was pretty clear we'd never been enrolled in any professional development classes together, nor taught in the same building. I assured her that I had "one of those faces" and fairly often I met folks who thought they knew me, but it turned out I just looked like someone else they knew. No, she was still perplexed--she knew my voice--I was just so familiar.

Finally, I laughed, and said, "Well, I was on t.v. last fall. Maybe that's it!" And she stared at me and said, "The Millionaire show??" ....Yes...Well, it turns out that she had just watched me in re-runs last week. She didn't usually watch it, but as it came on, the announcer said it was a teacher from Las Vegas and so she sat and watched it to see if she knew her. "Yeah, you called your daughter for help, right?" ....Yes.... She went on to say I had been so sweet as a contestant and she really thought it was so cool that I'd won a bunch of money. And then she could relax and enjoy the rest of the meeting because she DID know me from SOMEWHERE and she finally knew where.

I live in Bizarro Land.

It's All in the Timing

Today, the fourth day of the new school year, was long. It is the fourth day in a row of intense, focused teachering, and then at lunchtime I found my lunchbox (under my desk) was filled with ants who'd invaded the plastic wrap of my sandwiches. All I had left to eat was a plastic container of watermelon that they had been unable to penetrate. ARRRRGGHHH!!! So, I sprayed all over the floor under my desk with some stuff from the custodian, and I guess I'll have to put my lunch on top of my file cabinet from now on.

Immediately after school, I rushed down to a school office building where, as a new member of the Social Studies Professional Development team, I attended a two hour (paid) meeting to learn about my new part-time job.

Then, I stopped by the city library to find an appropriate video to show tomorrow to the fourth graders about the solar system so we can fill the final hour of Friday. This hour will be filled on all future Fridays with fun activities when our "Electives" are fully organized by our counselor. But, tomorrow...

So, I arrived home hungry about 7:20 P.M. (after leaving home at 7:40 A.M.) to find Cool Guy just parking his motorcycle. He'd been out for a ride. I pulled into the open garage, shut off my car, and rolled down the window. I looked at him and said, "So, where's my supper? I'm starving!"

He looked at me with a twinkle in his eye, and replied, "Right here, Sweetie." Then he opened up the right saddle bag lid, and lifted out a container of ribs, some baked beans and coleslaw!!! He'd just come back from picking it up.

Yes, my jaw dropped, I shouted a loud hurrah, and went in the house to get some napkins.

Wow. You couldn't have planned that one.

Manna Shoes

Yes, we've discussed my pathetic feet several times in this forum. They tend to dominate my thoughts now that school is starting again---tomorrow is the Big Day. I spent so much of last year in pain because of the combination of the flat feet, pronation, tendon strain, joint misalignment that can only be corrected by lying down all the time.

No, really, I have diligently worked on the PT exercises to strengthen my muscles to realign my hip and leg and foot so that I do not over-extend the whole thing with my weird foot problems. And I bought new shoes (that really do help) and I've had a summer off from the constant standing. I even got extra drugs to really knock back the inflammation. So, I'm starting out the year with non-sore feet and a non-sore leg. Crossing my fingers, doing my exercises.

Well, I decided I wanted to have some new shoes. White sandals, specifically. I felt hopeful that between all the stores they have here in the Shopping Mecca of the West I would be able to find a pair of white sandals that would also be supportive and reasonable to wear to school. I drove to my first choice to look, and I found a parking space in the shade, exactly across from the door! So far, so good. Then, I walked into Dillards, and as I entered the shoe department, it was like a little ray of light descended on the shoe display on the wall and there was a pair of white sandals, the brand I've found that keep my feet aligned the right way! And they had my size. And they were on sale!! So, therefore, I am referring to them as the "manna shoes" because they were there right where I needed them, right when I needed them and so they are a blessing.

Covenants

I gave a talk today in church. I was asked to use this talk as my source material. It was about the power of covenants and I learned a couple of things I want to share. First, when you look up covenants in the Bible dictionary, it points out that we don't enter into covenants with God as equals--it's not like we make some deal with God. He sets out the terms, we accept or not. But He has an excellent record for keeping His side of the agreement. We are guaranteed results for our puny efforts. Another thing I liked was reviewing the etymology of the word endowment. We refer to the temple covenants as the endowment. It is a perfect term because endowment refers to a gift that generates income. (Like a rich alumnus endows a college chair for a professor.) Well, when we keep our side of the agreement, we certainly do experience incoming blessings.

Three of the strengthening effects Elder Christofferson spoke of were being strengthened by 1)gifts and blessings, 2)with increased faith, and 3)with the "power of Godliness". We get blessings every day through keeping our promises we make at baptism to be like Jesus. Who isn't blessed by trying to be honest, or kind, or by trying to do good to others? And more literal blessings like the health effects when we abstain from harmful substances and behaviors? Also, I was impressed by the concept that I have experienced in my own life: when you exercise a little faith, you are blessed by God with power, and His spirit which expresses His love for us, and His pleasure that we are willing to obey Him. This enlarges our souls, gives us confidence to use faith again, thereby enabling us to feel His love and joy. It's a cycle.

Plus: it isn't anonymous. These important covenants are done personally, individually, by name. Think about it---we are referred to by name when we make these covenants at baptism and in the temple. It is personal--just us and our Father in Heaven agreeing to something, and He always keeps His promises. He never lies.

Finally, the last thing that was so powerful to me is that the number one covenant that God has made with us is that, if we believe in His Son, Jesus Christ, and try to live His teachings, we will have eternal life. He sends us the Holy Ghost to be with us always to give us strength to do hard things, power to overcome temptation, knowledge of how to speak up for Him, and the ability to feel God's love.

I learned a lot preparing for this talk. I'm sure it is all information I've heard before, but something about trying to distill another's words into a form that one can explain to others is always so educational. I hope you learn something, too, reading this.

Vacation

Well, in two weeks it's back to school for the teachers. I've definitely gotten my summer's worth this year! I've been on five different trips away from home--whew. And some of them were strictly for fun, too. In the past I've felt like summer was when I got my "real life" back: I didn't have to get up and leave home and go to a job every day. I could stay in my own home, sew, clean, cook, take care of my kids, do service for others--all the things I did for the 18 years before I became an employee.

This year, something changed, however. Maybe it is because I've been an employee for almost as long as I was a mom at home; this will be my 15th year as a teacher. Maybe it's because I don't have kids at home--this year is the first time someone didn't come and live with us for any part of the summer. (sigh...) But this year I really felt like I was just "on vacation". That perhaps my "real life" is the life of a school teacher, and I was having a break.

Of course, it could also be that because I was enrolled in a college class all of June, and spent any time not reading, writing and studying for that, in preparation for our family reunion, that I didn't actually experience any time "off." Then in July, I traveled here and there and everywhere... So I've been vacationing during this Summer Vacation.

This week and next, I have no official duties for work, so I have a list. I've checked off parts of it too: go exercise every day; rotate the tires; move all the furniture and scrub the tile floors; organize the pictures and artifacts I brought home from the reunion. I'll go into my school next week for a day or two because I need to unpack my stuff in my new room (natural lighting!!!). But, even that will be okay, because I won't be on the clock yet. I'll still be ON VACATION.

A Daughter of Neptune

As you can read on the title page of my blog, I have an affinity for California. I've lived in two different counties there, San Diego and Ventura, and both of them have very moderate weather. By "moderate" I mean fabulous, consistently fabulous. It is neither hot nor cold most of the year. It is simply nice. Well, I spent last week in Ventura county, camping at the beach, enjoying the company of those of our children and grandchildren who could get there, too. And, once again, I found myself wondering why I don't live there still. There are several reasons, none of which I will go into here. I'm not sorry we moved each time we did; there were compelling reasons. Now, California is in terrible condition, governmentally and fiscally, and despite a drop in home prices, has outrageous real estate costs. And yet, it remains my number one favorite place to live. So, someday I will return there. My well-worn line to CoolGuy is..."I'd live in a tipi on the beach, if I had an internet hookup." We did have a tipi, a kid-sized one we recently purchased, and we did have internet when CoolGuy turned on his computer, and it was good.

The ocean is what draws me back there. The campground is on the east side of the Pacific Coast Highway. There is a trail under the highway for access the beach. The campsites are all shaded with large trees, there are real toilets and hot showers (you turn on the timed water heater with coins), we had a fire ring so we could have a campfire each night. This isn't roughing it. Plus, we'd rented a motorhome for the week, and it allowed me to cook on a gas range and use a refrigerator, and in the middle of the night, I could use the bathroom without needing shoes and a flashlight. It was awesome. The ocean is very rough there, so we didn't swim, but the kids played in the sand building towering structures and we walked along the shore, and enjoyed the sights and sounds. You could hear the surf all day, and the seagulls calling. (At the campground an enormous flock of wild parrots--orignially from escaped pets--would descend on us each morning and scream and holler as they ate the berries from the many varieties of trees. They were a little annoying.) But seagulls are a great sound. Along that shoreline we had always seen plenty of dolphins and we were not disappointed on this trip. Everyday there were two or three pods of at least six swimming just offshore, fishing and frolicking. I love to watch pelicans as they skim just above the surface of the water, adjusting their height as the waves surge up and down beneath their outstretched wings. Occasionally you get to see one as it spirals down from a higher flight and dives with precision straight into the water to fill up its bill with fish. The beach is the only place I go without anything to read. I just love to watch the ocean and the wildlife that it supports.

I took the boogie board one afternoon and drove north to a more swimable beach. Everyone else was satisfied to walk down the trail and build sand castles and nap. But I'd had a little taste of the surf the day before and was craving the full immersion experience. Yes, the ocean water off southern California is cold, has lots of seaweed and other random plants and animals. Yes, sharks live there. But I love the chilly, salty, living reality of it. I waded in gradually, letting my body get accustomed to the coolness. I had the board strapped to my wrist, and finally got up my nerve to lay on it and paddle out to the breakers. I got drenched, pounded, soaked and blinded by the first wave. The next I rode all the way in, and then I just paddled out and floated on them, letting it roll under me and leave me there, while I laid on the board and felt at home. I love the ocean. I love swimming in the ocean. I could have stayed there all day. Except that I've become such a weakling this winter that soon my arms were quivering with the effort it takes to hang onto the boogie board and keep upright and on top of the waves. I realized that I need to really get serious about getting back in shape if for no other reason than the ocean requires you to be tough. Plus, if I ever want to go to Surf Diva school, I can't be a wimp.

Some day, I'll be back to stay. I'll go to the ocean everyday. I'll surf, I'll swim, I'll just sit on the seawall and watch it. But, I'll be there. I'll be the one with the long gray braid, wearing sandals, and sunglasses, with the boogie board, looking at the waves and smiling.

La Vida Loca

We were riding the motorcycle a couple of nights ago on our way to a new restaurant CoolGuy saw and wanted to try out. (Unfortunately, the location we went to was only open for lunch...) We ended up traveling south on Las Vegas Boulevard in the downtown section--not The Strip. The distinction is that downtown is a little shabby and far less manufactured and corporate.

So, as we were riding up the street through the older part of town I noted the sequence of businesses.
a) Wedding Chapel
b) Bar
c) Strip Club
d) Bail Bonds

All that was missing was the attorney. You know, to get you back out of jail and file the divorce papers.

Cousins Reunion

The two little blondies that are the same size in the center and just to the right in this picture are my cousin and I. My birthday is February and hers is October. Our dads were brothers. We seldom had any of these occasions when we were all together--they were four girls, we were four girls (and then two more girls and two boys, eventually)--[and the girl on the end is from the third sibling, our dads' sister). So, now after probably 40 years since we last visited, my cousin and I have spent a week together. Our dads would be excited that their kids are getting together again.

She has retired and wanted to buy a house here in the desert because she lived here for many years and the climate agrees with her. Her husband is still working in Oklahoma, but he's willing to live here, too, upon his eventual retirement. In the meantime, she'll split her time between the two homes for her health. I got involved in this, after having not seen her for so long, because her dad, just before he died a couple of years ago, put her in contact with my brother who lived near her in OK. When she told him she was coming out to Nevada, he forwarded that info to me, we exchanged e-mails, and I was very happy this week to help her out of a jam when the closing didn't go through as planned and her hotel room budget was being drained dry.

She has stayed at our house, and spent the days dealing with realtors, property managers, bankers and contractors. Tonight she could finally move into her new house. We'd been storing several boxes at our house (she bought new furniture here) and we got it all carted over there and she is unpacking.

It has been interesting to talk about the ways our lives diverged, the commonalities, the memories we have our limited family interactions as children. The fact that the few photos we have of her dad are all of him holding a string of trout. He loved to fish, just like my dad...Family ties. It's good to have them. And now, I have a relative in town.

Beat the Heat on the Grey's River Loop

We went to Wyoming for a three-day trip. There was a wedding in CoolGuy's family and it was being held at the Box Y Ranch, a favorite place to visit, so it was an easy decision to go. Also figuring into the equation was the temperature in Las Vegas on Thursday: 110 degrees. The Box Y is at about 7000 feet above sea level, so we knew it wouldn't be 110 there. It was, however, 85 at the peak of the afternoon. When we left Las Vegas the temperature on our truck's thermometer was 108 and ten hours later, as we went over the pass into our hometown's valley the thermometer read 49 degrees. It was amusing. We got back and it's still at 110 here. But, it is summer and it is the Mojave Desert, so I'm not surprised nor complaining. The swimming pool is the mitigating factor here.

As we left the ranch, CoolGuy asked if I'd like to take the scenic route home. (As if anywhere we drove up there would be the non-scenic route...) So we traveled around the "loop", following the river to its headwaters, going over a little pass, and going down back down the other side to end up on the opposite end of Star Valley. It was outrageously beautiful. There were wildflowers everywhere. We saw towering mountains still amply streaked with snow in the ravines. We saw a bull moose, a cow and her calf, some antelope, grazing deer, cattle and sheep. There were expansive meadows and narrow ravines where the road seemed to be little more than a trail with the shrinking stream rushing below us in the twilight of the dark pine trees. We finally got to the top of Three Basin Pass (where the water travels downward into the three different drainage basins: Columbia, Great Basin and Colorado) and then the streams grew wider as they picked up capacity from all the little springs and trickles on that side of the divide.

Here are some photos. What a drive! What a fabulous area! I can't believe I lived on the west side of this place for all those years and didn't even go there. The bigger picture is a beaver lodge in a pond. The smaller image is a long view of a valley that goes east to another town in Wyoming on the other side of that mountain.

The next few are pictures of wildflowers--lupine, sunflowers and Indian paintbrush.

And the final one is a cow moose and her calf. They were standing in a stream as we came around a corner and they didn't like us seeing them, so she was heading uphill into the trees.

Government Groupies

We had a tour of the Capitol Building while we were in D.C. I've been there before, a couple of times, but it isn't a place where you go once and then the next visit is just ho-hum. Each time you are there, it is obvious that you are in a special environment with history seeped into every corner. If you forget for a minute that it is a unique location, you can just look down and perhaps there will be a brass plate on the floor declaring this spot to be where A.Lincoln had his desk when he was in the House of Representatives. Or, there will be a bust of John C. Calhoun in an alcove as you walk down a corridor.

Then, you can wait in a line, pass through another metal detector (in case you were able to slip something through the metal detector and purse search at the main door), you can quietly enter the gallery of the House or the Senate. There you take a seat above the main chamber floor where the two legislative bodies covene. First, we went into the House gallery and looked around at the empty desks, asked quiet questions of the guide standing there. I told the two granddaughters about how the Constitution allows every state two senators, but the representatives were apportioned according to population, so there are many more of them. After about 10 minutes of boring (for them) sitting there looking at empty chairs, we left.

We (the grandmothers) wanted to see the Senate chambers too, but we promised the girls that if there was a long line, we wouldn't make them wait. Luckily there wasn't a wait at all. We whisked through the metal detectors, left our electronics with the guards and slipped into the gallery seats to discover that the Senate was in session! Someone I didn't recognize was giving a speech about an amendment that was on the floor. The Sergeant at arms was there, the clerks, the pages, but--only one senator--the one speaking. Weird...but then Senator Boxer from California came in and called for a vote on the amendment. And over the next fifteen minutes, 98 senators came through the doors (which were opened by pages) and went up to the clerk's desk to give their vote, which she then announced into her microphone. (Two senators, Byrd and Kennedy weren't there because of medical reasons.)

"Mrs. Feinstein, No. Mr. McCain, Yes." etc. etc. We (the grandmothers) were beside ourselves. We recognized face after face as they came through the door. Knowing we'd be immediately ejected by any outburst, we pantomimed our excitement as each political celebrity walked into the room and went up to record his or her vote. They stood around in little clumps chatting with one another while the entire process was completed. The amendment was not passed, Sen. McCain got on a mic and complained to the body about not doing as the president had asked--pass the amendment-- "My Friends", and urged them to reconsider and then everyone filed on out the doors again.

The granddaughters watched the two grandmothers wiggle and whisper-squeal with one another, and I tried to explain. "It's like if you went to a Jonas Brothers concert and Hannah Montana showed up too, and Beyonce..." Sort of...But I think they got my drift. We finally left and when we got out into the foyer again, with our electronics and purses returned, the grandmothers grabbed each other's hands and jumped around in a little circle and squealed out loud, for real. Yes, we got looks...but hey!! It was like all those celebrities showing up at once for us political junkies. So awesome...

Off-Line

I returned last night from a week in Washington D.C. with my friend and her daughter and granddaughters. We stayed in a motel that did not have a business center, and as a result, there was not computer access for me all during that week. And I survived nicely. I did read the Washington Post everyday, which was really indulgent. It is one of my favorite newspapers to hold and read. Note how I didn't just say "read" because I don't really enjoy reading it on-line too much, although I do read parts of it. But as a reading experience, the WaPo is simply marvelous.

The newsprint they use is sturdy and feels good in your hands. They have a nice mix of photos and writing. They employ such excellent writers, too. I don't always agree with their editorial positions, but I love to read the way they write it down. I even read the sports section of the WaPo just for the craftsmanship.

When I read the paper (any newspaper) I need to read all of it. It is probably just a manifestation of some sort of disorder that I obsessively read an entire newspaper. But I can't help it. And when I'm reading the Washington Post it is a very satisfying hour. Reading a paper on-line just doesn't do it for me. So, that's one thing I miss since leaving Maryland--the daily paper.