I Got Picked Today...

Remember back in June when I went to a try-out for "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" Well, THEY PICKED ME! I got a phone call while traveling to my family reunion informing me that the show was going to have a special Teacher Week, and would I be able to come? I agreed to, and that started a marathon week of e-mailing, Fed-Ex-ing, faxing, calling, and filling out forms. Here are a few important highlights, if you ever decide to try out for the show:

• No, they don't provide your fare to NYC. You pay your own way, and provide your own accommodations. However, NYC is a very cool city and I'd never actually "been" there--just as a stop-over-never-left-the plane, or a quick trip to JFK to see off Foxyj when she left for her mission to Madrid. So, yesterday afternoon I walked in Central Park, took in the smoggy view from the top of the Empire State Building, saw Times Square and rode in a pedi-cab up Broadway! Whoo-hoo! I truly felt like a Smoot girl in the Big City. I was intimidated.
• All the people in the production staff are really, really nice. Meredith Vieira is really, really nice. It takes SO many people to put on this show, I was quite amazed. I've been on game shows before, almost 20 years ago, and I don't remember that many staffers. Or attorneys...ahem.
• There's no appetite suppressor quite as effective as fear and anxiety. They plied us with food and drink as we waited for our turns, but I honestly could hardly eat, I was so nervous. I knew that it was just for fun, I'd spent very little on the trip (because I cashed in frequent flyer miles for the ticket) and usually a person could at least get up to $1000. But, if I'd have eaten more, I'd have just risked barfing all over dear, kind Meredith.
• Make-up: today I had applied to my skin more make-up than I use in an entire month. Seriously. And I got touched up THREE times. I should look fabulous, dahling, on TV.
• For a person who often cannot remember why she walked into a particular room, it was interesting today what arcane pieces of information ARE in my brain and popped right up when I needed them.
• Here's the official script: "I had a terrific time! Tune in and watch the show [third week of October..tentative broadcast date] to find out what happened!"

So, if you get a chance to be on a TV game show, by all means, go for it! If you don't throw up on the host's shoes from nervousness, you'll probably have a really fun time! And....

WATCH THIS SPACE FOR PRECISE SHOW DATES TO BE ANNOUNCED IN OCTOBER WHEN I GET AN E-MAIL FROM THE MILLIONAIRE FOLKS.

Home Ec, circa 1970

Today in my never-ending quest to organize various piles of debris in my spare room, I came across a bundle of papers that I picked up from my mom's house. These were things of mine that were left behind in a desk drawer in my old room. I'm sure I've gone through these things any number of times in the more than three decades since I gave up my residence in that room. My two youngest sisters and a niece have also lived in there, and it is impressive that anything at all remained from my high school years in the Blue Room. I just gathered up a pile last time I visited and today I finally began to sort it.

I found a couple of keepsakes from a conference I attended at BYU while I was still in high school, called "Laurel-Life". I think it was only held a few years, and the year I went was the first. I have very few specific memories, but I recall that it was terrific. Thousands of girls from all over the United States and Canada attended and then we were to go home and organize a similar event for a Saturday, in our home stakes. It was a unique opportunity to learn some really powerful leadership skills. I went between my junior and senior years of high school. My mom was our chaperon.

But, the really impressive find was a collection of Home Ec materials. Wow. Booklets entitled:

• Make It With Wool: Pressing, Blocking, Shaping (American Wool Council)
• Let's Clean House (Procter & Gamble)
• The Fine China and Crystal Story (Lenox, Inc.)
• To the Chairman of the (Ironing) Board (Faultless Starch Company)
• Guide to Complete Upholstery Care (Bissell)
• All About Silver (J.A. Wright & Company-Wright's Silver Cream)
• Crystal Notes, A Planning Book for Students (Fostoria Glass Company)
• How to Choose the Right Thread and...
• A Story of Thread (Coats & Clark's )

The parenthetical information is the company who printed and distributed the booklet for my teacher to give to her classes. Absolutely fascinating booklets. They all assume that the students are female, that we will accumulate a dowry of household paraphernalia, that we will marry and run our own home, that it will include fine dishes for entertaining, and that we will sew and care for our own clothing.

These assumptions were all fairly dead-on for the girls with whom I attended Home Ec in our high school. Well, I'm not sure that all of us anticipated "entertaining", but we would be hosting family meals on special occasions and would likely use our special dishes--as did our mothers.

You could be thinking, "In 1970??" Wasn't that the Times They Are A Changin' Era?? Well, yes, and no. In my hometown, we were always about 10 years behind the rest of the world, culturally. Mostly. Until I was 14, my house could only receive one channel on our television, because the broadcast had to overcome the height of the mountains surrounding our valley. Some households in town were connected to a mountaintop relay device through an early form of cable or something. (I'm just remembering technology I didn't understand at the time...) But farm people still relied on an antenna--ours was strung between four really tall lodge-pole pine trunks set out in a pasture (actually, the logs were lashed atop another really tall one to get the antenna high enough to catch the signal.) People didn't live there to be cutting edge. Actually, I doubt many of the folks there really gave a lot of thought to Cutting Edge. Some in high school did, however, and longed to leave and find the rest of the world.

But, Home Ec was, in fact, a very useful class for me. I did grow up, get married, and run a household for many years before I got a job that had a paycheck. Many of the things in the booklets and the class syllabus were old hat to me: I'd been ironing since I was about eight years old. And I KNEW how to clean house, and I got lots of practice. But I didn't learn machine sewing at all until Home Ec in junior high, and I really appreciate my teachers for that skill. I still don't have a set of "fine" china, or silver, but I've never really missed them. My mom taught us the correct way to set the table--I've never been embarrassed at a formal dinner with all the place settings: I knew what to do with all those utensils.

The one thing I did learn in Home Ec, however, was that there were girls my age, in my little, old-fashioned farmy town, who had not been taught, like me, to cook and clean. I was surprised over and over at who didn't have basic cooking skills when we learned things in class. Not that many of them, but there were a few. I'm glad they got to learn in Home Ec, because, no matter how the Times Change, people need to eat, and making it yourself from ingredients is a satisfying and economical skill to have.

My Best Crop

We didn't have to worry this summer about the ban on consuming tomatoes because in the garden box, we had plenty of them growing. We also had some peas, and have plenty of basil. I think it is time to plant some summer squash or zucchini, since it'll do nicely well into November.

But, despite these successes in growing tasty vegetables, it seems the thing we can produce best here is: dirt. The composter I bought for my birthday several years ago is just a little soil factory. We keep it filled with grass clippings, leaves, chopped watermelon rinds, egg shells, lettuce that went bad in the fridge, potato peelings, etc. Then, add a little moisture, turn it once a day, and the microbes do their stuff. I know it is hot here, but the center of the compost in that tumbler is is steaming hot from the breakdown of organic matter. It's weirdly fun to observe. It never smells bad, in fact, it is the pleasant odor of dirt.

I chose this tool because I didn't really have a good place in my smallish yard to build a pile. This unit keeps all the untidiness contained and also keeps out any critters that might think a heap of leavings from the kitchen is just a Vegas Buffet for Bugs. (or mice, rats, or pigeons.) Also, if I'm gone for an extended period, and not adding anything to it, nor turning the handle, it just sits there quietly and awaits my return without creating a fuss or a mess. Add water, turn, and it starts right up where it left off. In the desert climate, the main concern with keeping a composter composting is moisture.

So far, we've "harvested" three big garbage cans of dirt. We used up one can when we changed the look around the pool, and planted ornamental grasses and ground cover. I've used almost all of a second one enriching my garden. We've still got the front yard to landscape with desert plantings, and by the time we've saved up the money to do it, we'll have plenty of rich new dirt to use for the transplants. We make great dirt here!

The Land of Wild Ponies

Many of you may know that large herds of wild horses live in Nevada. But, recently another herd of equines was spotted here in the wilds of our own backyard:

And, they are freshly washed, scrubbed, bleached and combed, waiting to be "adopted" by someone, who will have to undergo a rigorous background check, ie: Are you a grandchild? This adoption will not necessarily be final, but selected ponies may be taken out of state, with the approval of the Bureau of Old Toys Management. We're waiting to hear from all who may have prior claim to said ponies and other interested parties.

Joy Journaling

Okay, cheesy title...I know. However, I read an interesting article in which the writer pointed out the importance of regularly chronicling our joyful moments. That record can then serve as a little life-raft through the bad times, reminding us of former blessings and helping us to remember that, while sorrow is a part of life, joy is too. This, of course, pre-supposes your understanding that joy is a blessing from God, and that He wants us to experience it. So, here are a few joyful moments I have experienced recently.

• Last night, we went for a twilight motorcycle ride (the only kind reasonable when it is July in Las Vegas) and, as we curved up the freeway on-ramp, and looked over to our right, the huge full moon had just risen exactly between two peaks of the eastern mountain. We simultaneously shouted an exclamation of "LOOK!" It doesn't matter how many times you seen the full moon rise, each time it is spectacular.
• Watching my grandchildren play in the park as I talked to my son and daughter was a joyful time. The kids are healthy and adorable, my children are still friends with one another, and I get to enjoy both generations.
• Watermelon: tastebud joy.
• On my drive back from the family reunion, I put in a CD of the MO-TABS greatest hits and sang along, loudly (and a little off-key now and then). I love singing hymns. I know most of the verses of the standards because of my many years of being ward organist, or maybe just from my many years of singing them. Singing these songs always puts me in a great mood and uplifts me and reminds me of past spiritual high points.

Okay, that's all for today. Think about it--if you write down some of the good times, then you'll have something to read during the bad times that will help you to remember that once you felt joy, probably you can again. It is part of our purpose here in this existence. Joy...

Doctor Skills

You know, I understand that we all have different personalities, with the accompanying strengths and weaknesses. I also realize that many of the character traits that make a person extremely capable in one area, do not translate to other areas. So, I always give any doctor a lot of latitude in the odd personality realm, because they have a very distinct area of expertise. That is why I am visiting them: for that special ability that enabled them to go through all the rigors of education and training that results in their being able to apply that highly specialized knowledge to my problem. What I'm trying say, in a nice way, is that many doctors are not great "people persons" nor very tactful or personable. Okay, no problem.

My problem with this whole experience of the carpal tunnel surgery and follow-up care is that my doctor is not only NOT a people person, he also seems to be NOT very good at what he does as a surgeon, either. My loss. If you'd like a NON-recommendation for a hand-surgeon, I can give you one. That's all I'll say about him. If, in six more months, I don't have a lot more satisfaction from this whole adventure, I'll go find another doctor and see if there is anything I can do about it. But, I'll never, ever go back to their clinic to any of their doctors. I'm so disillusioned about their whole office. Live and learn.

Family Reunion

My sisters and brothers and I had our 2nd annual family reunion over the weekend. It was terrific! Two years ago, following the luncheon after my mother's funeral, we had a short family meeting, and agreed to schedule a family reunion for the same weekend, one year later. That reunion was also a success, and it made us eager to have this year's. Next year, my youngest sister and I are in charge, and we hope to continue the popularity of our get-together with another boffo event.

Mostly, it just involves food and talking--a totally appropriate way for our family to gather. My mother was all about food. We have been so lucky in that the tall, skinny genes predominate and we could have food be a highlight of family gatherings. (Mostly when we were younger--age changes everything.) My mom was an excellent cook and showed love by feeding people, so you couldn't go to her house without getting fed.

One of my brothers completed a project he started several years ago to honor our mom by videotaping conversations with us about aspects of our lives with her. There were several themes and lots of them involved food. He spent a lot of time on the production, editing it with music and dividing it into topics, and he made us each a copy. It made us cry because three of the people he interviewed are no longer living, and seeing and hearing them again was very poignant.

So, next year, I've decided we also need to focus on our dad. He died 24 years ago, and more than half of the grandchildren never knew him. The rest were so small they barely remember him, if at all. So my goal is to have an "Introduction to Grandpa" theme for the reunion my sister and I host. It will be 25 years since he left us, so it will be an appropriate time to bring his life into focus for the second and third crops of the family. I'm excited to work on this and figure out how to make it fun and informative for all. Yeah for family ties!!

The Endless Vacation

Have you ever fantasized that you could just go on vacation forever? We began to think we'd done just that, yesterday, as we attempted to come back to Nevada from Washington D.C.

We spent the morning at the Jefferson Memorial, then the Kennedy Center, and, after slowly driving past the Big Pencil again, we headed to Virginia to turn in the rental car, and check in for our flight home. But, unlike most of the visits to D.C. in the ten years I lived in Maryland, we couldn't seem to find the right road to get across the Potomac River. It began to be hilarious. Usually our attempts (Cool Guy and I) to get out of the District of Columbia and head south to Maryland were thwarted by the obtuse road signage there and we'd circle across the river to Virginia, then back past the Lincoln Memorial a couple of times before we'd finally figure out the correct exit to go home. Well, yesterday, I figured this would be easy! After all, it always took such an effort to prevent our inadvertent trips to Virginia. But somehow I kept missing the bridge exits, and we circled the monuments on the Maryland side in a vain attempt to get across the river. It was foreshadowing.

At last, we got to the airport, turned in the car, checked our bags, ordered some lunch, and leisurely waited for the boarding announcement. And it came, and we got on, and we buckled our seat belts, and we backed away from the gate, and we stopped. There are often afternoon thunderstorms along the east coast that interrupt air travel, and our flight to Charleston, NC, had become victim of just such weather. We were informed that we'd be sitting there on the taxiway for a while. But, it was only about 30 minutes. At last we were airborne.

But soon, our 55 minute flight to North Carolina turned into a nearly four hour circling, weaving, bobbing, stalling for time, extravaganza. We were diverted to Charlotte, SC, where we landed and refueled. This was good news to five people on our flight. Charlotte was their ultimate destination that night, so they just got off the plane. I think their luggage had to come the next day, but maybe someone rustled around in the hold and got it for them. The flight attendants were passing out cookies to everyone, and drinks of water, and we were milling around the plane, chatting. After an hour, we finally were cleared to go to North Carolina.

Well, most of us had a connection we had missed by now. So, when we set down in Charleston, the announcement was to check with the airline people right inside the terminal. They asked our names, handed us new boarding passes for the last flight to Las Vegas that night and said, "Put on your track shoes, girls." We ran from Gate A 10 to Gate B 7 (yes, running--our week of hiking through D.C. had toughened us up!) and slid into our seats, and five minutes later we were headed for Vegas, Baby! Whoo Hoo!!

So, when we arrived at 12:30 in Las Vegas, it was really 3:30 in our exhausted brains. We'd optimistically buckled our first seat belts 11 hours previously. Whew. Cool Guy picked us up. (Naturally our luggage did not sprint from one plane to the other, but it arrived today by courier.) He had the hot tub ready, we lolled around in it, soaking our tired fannies that had spent entirely too much time confined to airline seats for entirely too many hours. Then we fell in to bed and our vacation had officially ended. So, be careful what you wish for...

School Teacher Tourists

We are now on the eve of the End of Our Trip. On one hand, we cannot believe that it has gone by so quickly! On the other hand, it seems like we have been walking in Washington D.C. for our entire lives. They have laaarrge blocks here. The map will show that from Sight A to Sight B is just a couple of blocks. However, one block can contain a building that holds the whole collection of American history, and that takes a very large building. It is a regular D.C. summer: humid. And today the clouds all went away and the sun was very hot, magnifying the humidity. Whenever we chat with people as we wait in lines, and I say I'm from Las Vegas, they always exclaim, "Oh, it's hot there!" But I say, with no irony, as I'm wiping the sweat that is dripping from my brow, "BUT! It's a dry heat!" And we both laugh heartily.

It is so great to be here! I've been in Washington so many times, I cannot count. But every time I come back I'm thrilled all over again. It is a beautiful, elegant place along the federal corridor. It is a moving, heart-swelling place when you view the iconic monuments or, like today, the original documents of our nation's founding. It is a vibrant, authentic place where you can dine on world cuisines, listen to eclectic music, and enjoy international people-watching. Everyone who is a citizen of the U.S.A. should come to the capital city for a visit, at least once. Politics are eclipsed by the splendor and grandeur of the whole scene.

Just bring an extra piece of luggage, because if you're like us two Mature Lady Schoolteachers, you'll need it to haul back the collection of "really neat" books we've found in the gift shops of: Congress, the Museum of Art, Mount Vernon, the National Archives, the Natural History Museum, Arlington National Cemetery. And we've still got one more day to go!! Ack! We may be paying the over-weight luggage fee, if we're not careful!

Looking For Rod Serling

I'm in Washington D.C. for a week, wallowing in American History with my good friend Teacher Girl. She, like me, came to this career after a life of raising children, and so we have many things in common. We're having a total blast! We arrived early Thursday morning on the "red-eye". We took Metro to our hotel, dropped off our luggage, bought some bagels & juice, and then headed up to the Capitol to pick up tour tickets. The tour is free, but you must have a timed ticket. We had two hours before our turn, so we walked down to the botanical gardens, then the art galleries, and returned in time for our tour.

It is a spectacular building, full of historical imagery, and our tour guide was very charming and informative. And the capitol police have one of the most difficult jobs of law enforcement: balancing their very real concerns for the security of the building and those who work there, and maintaining access for the public--the stated owners and proprietors: We, the People.

After a several hours, we acknowledged the late hour, and our hunger and thirst. So we headed for a food court I knew of that didn't usually seem so far away as it did on this occasion. We arrived, ordered, sank into our chairs and consumed. All that was between us and our beds, those glorious soft, pillow rich, down-covered havens, was a brief Metro ride and a short walk across the street to our hotel door. By now, our lack of sleep, and the trudging up and down Capitol Hill, had completely drained us, and we were operating on automatic.

The train came to our stop. With great effort, we forced our exhausted legs to stand and shuffle off the car, following the crowd over to the escalator, we stepped on the tread and moved upward. We were both thinking, "Almost there, almost there." We carefully hoarded our last tiny sparks of energy so we'd have enough to walk across that street. Then, we stepped off the escalator, walked out of the Metro stop, froze, and simultaneously squeaked, "Where are we?!" I was so tired from the day of walking and not drinking or eating enough, that I couldn't wrap my brain around what was going on! We were SUPPOSED to be in front of our hotel. We were SUPPOSED to be able to trudge across the street, get in the elevator, and then drop into our beds. WHAT WAS GOING ON!!?? We felt like crying. It was a Twilight Zone moment. I half expected to hear Rod intoning as the credits came up...

I realized finally that we'd exited the Metro tunnel at the wrong end, and we needed to walk around the block to get to the right street. But we were so finished that even that seemed like too much, and--what if we walked the wrong way around the block and got further away!?

Surprisingly, we did have enough left to shuffle around the block and we saw the blessed sight of our hotel name glowing in the middle of the next block. We did make it, and the beds were every bit as wonderful as we'd anticipated. And the next day, we remembered to drink more water and eat more often, and it was a Capitol Fourth.

Announcing...an Addition--32 Years Ago

It's too small for you to read, but this is a page from Redbook Magazine in 1976. [If you click on the image and open it in a new window, you can see a larger version.] It is the announcement of the birth of our first child, a son. The writing is my explanation as to why we chose this way to tell everyone our exciting news. I sent a copy of it to Redbook because they had a feature where you could send in your unique announcement and, if they thought it sufficiently original, they'd print it and send you $50. Cool--the money was a bonus. I loved the announcement! Cool Guy took my idea to a guy at work who was an artist-type and he drew the pictures of the motorcycle and the bassinet side-car.

I only attempt to show you this announcement by way of saying "Happy Birthday" to our number one! He is now the age I was when I was finished having babies. It's a miracle, because I am still in my thirties (in my brain) and yet, so is he! Mysterious how that works, huh? I remember my grandma telling me that some mornings as she washed her face, she was startled to see an old lady in the mirror; who was that person?

Anyway, Feliz Cumpleanos to Number One, and many more!!

Forging Our Chains

Today the Sunday School teacher gave an interesting explanation of a scripture by reading from Charles Dickens. The scripture is Alma 13: 27-30.

27 And now, my brethren, I wish from the inmost part of my heart, yea, with great anxiety even unto pain, that ye would hearken unto my words, and cast off your sins, and not procrastinate the day of your repentance;

28 But that ye would humble yourselves before the Lord, and call on his holy name, and watch and pray continually, that ye may not be tempted above that which ye can bear, and thus be led by the Holy Spirit, becoming humble, meek, submissive, patient, full of love and all long-suffering;

29 Having faith on the Lord; having a hope that ye shall receive eternal life; having the love of God always in your hearts, that ye may be lifted up at the last day and enter into his rest.

30 And may the Lord grant unto you repentance, that ye may not bring down his wrath upon you, that ye may not be bound down by the chains of hell, that ye may not suffer the second death.

The teacher emphasized verse 30 about the chains of hell, and then he read a selection from "A Christmas Carol" that he has written in the margin of his scriptures.

Again the spectre raised a cry, and shook its chain, and wrung its shadowy hands.
``You are fettered,'' said Scrooge, trembling. ``Tell me why?''
``I wear the chain I forged in life,'' replied the Ghost. ``I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it.

The older I get the more I realize how wise everyone is who has tried to teach me about what is really important in life. I wish I had followed their advice more often. We really do forge our own chains of hell everyday we live. The trick is, will they be weak enough to be broken as Christ "lifts us up at the last day?" Or, do we, in our weak and blind mortal condition, foolishly insist on claiming our "choice" to reject the warning voices who are trying to help us remain unfettered? Are we daily laboring on our very own enormous chains of hell? "Forge" is a strong verb, indicating some effort. Do we work really hard to be "independent" thus ensuring that our chains will be thick and strong from our foolish pounding against the loving admonitions of God via lessons, scriptures, leaders, talks?

I have often listened and thought to myself that I don't really have to obey that because I have a different circumstance, or that I am exempt somehow from this for some reason. Just adding another link, I guess. Recently, I've heard my chains clinking louder than usual and my previous ability to look at my life's choices through a rosy lens is failing me. I see now that I'm not exempt from consequences that were clearly spelled out all along. I just refused to see that the chains would be so chafing and burdensome. Once the lemonade is all gone, you're stuck with the lemon rinds-- to mix my metaphors.

Re-tired

Three years ago, I moved to Las Vegas, and I took my first trip to Utah for a family event. I drove my car north along I-15 and, when I stopped for gas in a small town mid-way, I was lured and landed like a giant trout by the guys who worked at the tire dealership attached to the gas station. They totally convinced me that my tires would not make it the few hundred miles of my journey. Those tires were unsafe and not what they'd want their mother or sister to be driving on. And they cleaned my windows while sizing me up for the kill. I practically jumped over the side of their boat into into the fish-well without a net. I would NEVER have fallen for this line in, say, Indiana or Kansas. But when I got the hard-sell from a guy named "Nephi" in central Utah, I was a pushover. The only hesitation on his part was when I said, "You wouldn't be lying to a missionary's mother, would you?" His head did a little jerk, and as he lifted down the new tire from the rack said, "Oh, are you LDS?" So, perhaps his conscience isn't entirely dead, or perhaps it was just one of those reflexes that cadavers can have.

Anyway, most of you know this story. I had several hours to think, and realized I'd been suckered, plus the "new" tires were cheap imports compared to my brandname ones. When I stopped on the return trip to ask them to return my used tires, the manager immediately caved, offering (without prompting) to return my money, and remount my old tires, without my even insisting on this plan of action. It was the behavior of a guilty man. So, I sat around and watched this group of vipers, disguised as kindly men helping tourists, and noticed that they never approached the locals who pulled up for gas in a large truck with Utah plates. Only old people with out of state plates (my were Maryland) or women traveling alone (ta da), or other vulnerable types, were cast a line with the wiggly worm of worry attached. The worst case I witnessed was the family with the mom in a wheelchair, and the older teen son driving. Big jerks sold them new tires, too.

Anyway, today, almost three years exactly, I bought new tires to replace those "dangerous" tires, finally. I still feel motivated to buy one of the billboards on I-15 as you approach this tiny town and warn motorists not to believe the dire-tire-tale. What a bunch of liars.

PS: Beaver, Utah, 1st Shell Station, northbound side of I-15 as you approach from the south. Go ahead, sue me.

They Are Covered

There was a sign displayed prominently in the auditorium yesterday to let everyone know that any taping they did became their property, and by signing the form, we were signing over our right to the images they made. I was impressed by the creative wording in their legal notice:

...understand that we may videotape you and use your name and likeness in all media, whether now known or hereafter devised, throughout the universe in perpetuity without restrictions...

So, if anyone invents a new type of media, they can use my image there, too. In perpetuity. Whew.

Pick Me! Pick Me!

Today I successfully passed the written test for the game show "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" I read in the paper that they were having contestant auditions at a local casino this morning from 7:00--11:00 A.M. I figured it would be a popular destination, so I got up early and got in line at 6:45. However, I was approximately #618 on that line! No, seriously. Whew...apparently some people had actually arrived the night before and stood/sat in the line until they herded the first 300 folks into the auditorium at 7:05 to take the written test for the first sorting. About an hour later, those people exited and group two entered. I was #18 of group three. I know because I have a refrigerator magnet with that number written on the back.

This was an important number, because it was my identifier to record on my Scantron answer sheet, along with my name. We were seated in an area where the casino hosts concerts of not-quite-headliners (Coming July 5!! Davey Jones & Memories of the Monkees!! General seating $9.00!) [I actually attended a Dwight Yoakam Concert there when I first arrived in Las Vegas and it was pleasant venue.] Anyway...we heard the spiel about not talking to seatmates, fill in the answer sheet correctly-- questions on the form are numbered left to right, but Scantron answers are filled in top to bottom--and that we will be warned when there are only five minutes and then one minute left. We all opened the manila envelope and began; we had 10 minutes for 30 questions.

There were several options for being picked. There was a movie trivia show--we all took the movie trivia test first. I knew I flunked it as I took it. I guess I don't go to enough movies. There were also options for engaged couples, people who'd brought a photo of themselves dressed in a Halloween contest, and one I look forward to: three generations with a child (12 -18), a parent, and a grandparent. And then everyone else who just wanted a chance at the regular show. After the movie test, everyone took the regular test of 30 questions of general knowledge. All other specialty show hopefuls had to pass that quiz to go on for an interview.

Through the magic of Scantron, they had the results ready in just a few minutes, and the Lady in Charge began to read off the numbers of those who passed, and therefore, got to stay in their seats for further instructions. Talk about tense!! She read and read, and we realized they weren't in any special order, so everyone leaned in just a little--hoping, hoping. Second to last number, "18!" WHEW!! I KNEW I'd come pretty close, so I had started to worry that somehow I hadn't passed, even though there were only two questions I'd really wondered over. We were given a small packet to complete and told to return at 2:30 for a face to face.

That went well, duh--I have good interviewing skills. Plus, I think it helps to have as your reason for trying out, "It would be fun! You get to be on t.v. and show how smart you are! My students would love to watch me and, hey! Trip to New York City!" Instead of, "Well, this would really help pay my student loans." Anyway, then several of us were sent to the back of the room to have an interview on camera. They insisted that your chances of appearing on the show are not increased by being filmed, but it felt fun to do it. We will receive a post card within three weeks to inform us of our status (or non) as a member of the contestant pool.

So, I blew off most of a day in this endeavor, but I talked to some fun people in the line, and if I get a chance to be on another game show--well, that will be fun too! Oh, yes, and the million dollars.

Teacher Learns Again

Life is never easy. I remember as a young married woman, I had a recurring delusion that if we could just solve whatever problem was creating the current strife, then we would be fine and we would live Happily Ever After. Really. I don't remember when I realized that there would always be a new problem. Or a repeat of the Same Old Problem. I also didn't realize that as time goes by, people change, circumstances change, and problems--rather situations--that you could never anticipate, bob to the surface of relationships colliding with the status quo. There will always be something. The trick is learning how to deal with it in the context of your relationship reality. You might wish to alter that reality, or you may ignore that reality, but it is still reality. So, the real challenge of grownup life and marriage is recognizing reality. Then, work with it.

Today, I had to give our Relief Society lesson because my scheduled teacher was off dealing with an unscheduled family emergency. But I don't ever mind giving the lesson. I would be willing to teach every week, but I know that is not the plan. Anyway, our source was a conference talk from the May Ensign, called Concern for the One, by Elder Joseph Wirthlin. He talked about three causes of people becoming the Lost Sheep of the parable. It was a powerful talk that could be given over and over in every meeting in every country. I wrote three questions on the board:

• Do you ever feel different, or weird, like you don't fit in?
• Do you ever feel weary, too tired to go on with your life, overwhelmed?
• Do you ever feel like you just can't understand or follow some of the doctrines of the Church?

As I wrote them, one lady called out, "Are you reading my mind?" Several other sisters laughed and concurred. It was a great lesson. We talked about how everyone can feel they don't fit in at some time in her life: too old, too young, unmarried, divorced, widowed, rebellious children, no children, not enough children, wrong hair, wrong politics, different cultures. But there isn't a dress code (other than basic modesty) nor it there a "correct culture" or official family status. I know what the basic doctrine teaches: family family family--that is an ideal and we can all strive for it, but we live in reality. One mother described how prickley her unmarried-with-a-son daughter has been for years around Church members. Then talked about how loving members of her daughter's ward in another state have helped her to sooth the hyper-consciousness of this glaring deviation from norm. People in her ward searched out the Lost Sheep, not content knowing they had their Ninety-Nine. I've complained in past posts about feeling excluded in this ward. It is still an issue, but to close the lesson today, I concurred with Elder Wirthlin's testimony that God is, in fact, our Parent, and just as we may sorrow for our children's choices, He feels sorrow about ours, but His love and care is unchanged. Each individual human is His child. I couldn't get out of the room from women approaching me with tears in their eyes about personal situations and how great it was to have this lesson. I was surprised to learn of some of the sorrows I had not known about.

No, I can't explain everything that may seem contradictory or impossible in doctrine--I don't have to!!! Lucky deal!! I maintain that this is the purpose of eternity. We'll have a different view then. We'll know what God knows. We'll know the underlying causes of some of life's inexplicable troubles. We'll have the benefit of mercy to temper justice. But I'm really glad I got the chance to be there in RS today and teach this lesson. It reminded me that I'm not alone in having seemingly insurmountable problems in my life. It reminded me that helping others always gives comfort to the giver, too. It reminded me that I continually need to keep my eternal perspective instead of the view that only looks at next week. I get tired of trouble, everyone does. It is soothing to share with other women, even though no one can solve others' life conundrums. But we can cheer each other up.

A Trip to the Past

We went to San Diego last week. Cool Guy attended a UAV conference, so I went for a couple of days just to enjoy San Diego and, hey, free hotel room! He picked me up from the airport, we drove over to our old original haunt of Ocean Beach. As he drove around the edge of the earth on Sunset Cliffs Road, I said, "We should move back here." He laughed and said, "Well, it took you 15 minutes to say that. It took me 10 minutes to say it when I arrived here yesterday!"

So, it is established. At some point, we really need to move back and live by the ocean again. There's nothing like it. The scent, the sound, the birds, the surfers, the shells, the misty clouds--all of it. We parked and stood out on the cliffs watching the waves pound against the rocks, spraying water up in the air. The surfers were bobbing up and down waiting for the right swell. Pelicans soared along, just above the crest of the waves, floating in the air up and down with the height of the water, never touching it, but so close. There were lots of gulls, terns and cormorants. Sigh.

Then, we drove around to all the places we lived while there. All of our houses/apartments are still there except for the little "chicken coop" house where the children were born. I was astonished that one domicile was still there--and occupied. When we were moving into it in 1975, our painting was interrupted by a fellow wearing a badge identifying him as working for the county health office. His goal was condemnation of the structure! He was appalled that our sleazy landlord was renting it out AGAIN! Apparently, the house had been damaged in a fire, and superficially repaired. But, we lived there for about 8 months, before getting an offer for a really nice place from an acquaintance who wanted us to house-sit for her. But, there was our old place, still inhabited.

County 0 Slumlord 3 (or however many over the years...)

Not the Dream He Talked About

I feel so apprehensive about this year's presidential political race. I saw a man wearing a shirt recently that read "Realizable Dream" with the words over a picture of Barrack Obama. I know how important it is to many Americans that his campaign has been successful and that he is the nominee. It is exciting to me, too, that in my lifetime, our nation has become a place where it appears that race isn't a barrier. Except that this whole thing seems to have become narrowed down to just race. I read an opinion piece in the Saturday Washington Post (which I cannot find now) the seemed to say that if Obama isn't elected in November then America really is just its same old racist self. Here is another opinion writer from the Post with a similar view:

For some civil rights loyalists, myself very much included, it's hard not to feel a spine-tingling thrill. But for a surprising number of others, the overwhelming feeling last week was apprehension. "I knew the real war was on," one friend told me. "Obama had crossed the point of no return. It was like when Jackie Robinson finally made it to the major leagues. . . . Now the gloves would come off, and failure [in November], I knew, would feel like we all had lost it -- all of black America."

These two writers' opinions were jaw-dropping to me. It implies that we cannot look at ideology, or political opinions of the candidates, but that only race matters. If one doesn't vote for Obama, then one is a racist. If Obama doesn't win then it just shows how prejudiced and white-monolithic our country is.

This concept is a complete repudiation of Dr. King's opinion from his famous "I Have a Dream" speech (the anniversary of said speech will be the date Obama will accept the nomination of the Democratic party.) But Dr. King didn't say "I have a dream that someday a black American will run for president and you all had better vote for him or you'll be forever known as racists." He said, "I have a dream that someday my children will be judged not by the color of their skin but by the content of their character." So what is the point of having choice if we will be criticzed and judged if we make a different choice than the "acceptable" choice? How can we overturn this poisonous concept that a vote not cast for Obama is an indicator of one's ill feelings toward black Americans? Candidates ought to be chosen because of their integrity, policies, and capabilities, not something the gene pool gave them. These two candidates are full-grown human beings, with experiences, histories of public service, and clearly stated philosophies. They are NOT stereotypical group representatives.

A colleague of mine, who is black, (and with whom I have wide-ranging political discussions) pointed out to me that he despises the trend to treat black Americans as a collective group, with one single goal, and one single needs' package. He also rejects the notion that he should be looked at for anything but his own opinion. In fact, he turns it back on me whenever I foolishly imply that he (my friend) is the spokesman for his race, and asks me to tell him what all "white people" think of some issue. That a black American in a leadership role should, and can, speak for the entire group is ridiculous--as though everyone who is black in America thinks just alike or has the same issues, problems, and concerns. It is an absurd concept and we can't seem to banish it from public discourse.

Are we all this simple-minded? Shouldn't we each raise our voice whenever we hear this being done and knock it out of public discourse? It will be difficult, but there will be no progress whatsoever in race relations in America if we are only permitted to notice is melanin and not policies.

Magic Night

It was such an awesome evening that we could hardly come inside. We ate dinner on the patio, and brought out some ice cream for dessert. A hummingbird hovered in front of the trellis, snacking on nectar from the orange trumpet flowers covering the vine. Our neighbor's son and his friends were jumping their skateboards on a rail in their driveway. Since it was only 83 degrees we needed more time out in it. So we donned the boots and helmets and went for a motorcycle ride.

It's amazing how quickly you leave behind the city when you go northeast from Las Vegas. We paralleled the Air Force base runway for several miles and it felt like that scene in "Top Gun" when Maverick raced his bike alongside the Tomcats taking off. Jet after jet swooped into the air drowning the sound of the Harley. They're doing a multi-national training exercise right now, and so the night will be filled with jet noise this week.

It wasn't even hot. Usually this time of year, a ride into the desert is like a trip through a convection oven. But the further we got from the city, the cooler the breeze on our faces. Well, cool may be a bit of a stretch, but it wasn't hot. It smells good in the desert. The plants are mostly tough and hardy, and one way to protect your scrawny little plant-self from predators or the moisture-sucking heat is to have a pungent resin. At the end of warm day the dirt, rocks, and plants all give off a scent, and it beats the smell of hot city pavement.

By the time we returned, the sky was dark, stars were blinking, and the finger-nail moon was a silver curve over the black mountain outlines. People were sitting in their front yards, bicycling up the street, or just walking in the unseasonal, fantastic, moderate evening air. All we needed was a waft of ocean breeze, and you'd have thought we were in San Diego.

Oh, Beautiful

Driving along the extreme east edge of the valley, I could see the vast panorama of Sin City spread out before me. The west mountains were indigo silhouettes jutting up into the gauzy glare of the descending sun. I came around a bend and Ray Charles' voice sang "Oh, bea-u-ti-ful for...." through the radio speakers just as four jets rose from the desert floor in front of me in tight formation. The Air Force Thunderbirds were practicing their swoop-up and barrel roll. It was a spectacularly beautiful spacious sky, filled with red, white and blue F-16's.

America, America.