Two weeks in a row!? The Jar is happier. But I don't feel like taking the time snap a picture of his happy face.
And the Jar says...
Tell about a special date you had with a boyfriend.
Nothing's jumping out at me as super "special", but I can think of some that were really fun! The night Dustin proposed to me was special I guess, but it was mostly just fun with a splash of special at the end. It was a Monday and we had "Family Home Evening" with our Singles Ward at the funky, local roller skating rink. I don't know if I've mentioned it, but I LOVE rollerblading, and so does Dustin. We like to go FAST... I love the speed, making my hair blow, cooling me off. Anyway, we zoomed around the rink and had "dances" and played limbo on blades. (Limbo is a very interesting game on rollerblades! I think I got second or third place. Go me!) It was just fun and I remember laughing a lot. I think we went to eat afterward.
(Suddenly I'm having Deja Vu... haven't I blogged about this before? Oh well...)
Here's the splash of specialness... After we (I think!) ate, Dustin took me up on a mountainside in the bitter February wind and proposed to me. That was special, even though I didn't say yes for another 6 days. (evil girl)
Another really fun date was in high school. It was a school dance and the boy I took was not my boyfriend but it was one of the most memorable dates I've had. So, yeah, girls' choice dance. I took Cody Baily. He was darned cute, so we thought. Matching shirts and all that. For dinner, we got Chinese take-out and went to Liberty Park in Salt Lake City. This park has a pond where you can rent canoes or paddle boats. It was early enough in the year that the boat rides were only open on Saturdays and this was a Friday night, but I had an "in" with the owner. I worked for her AND she was my sister's boyfriend's (now husband) mother! So, I got us all hooked up. Josh and Sarah came and unlocked the canoes and we paddled our little way out to the little island on the lake. We spread blankets on a pavilion and ate our Chinese goodness. We all felt so clever!
Then we went to the dance for a minute, got our silly pictures taken, and went on a scare-fest. We visited every freaky place we could think of in Salt Lake. The Salt Lake City Cemetery, the lime kilns, the Hippity Hoppity Lady, and we even sneaked into our church building which was very old and scary, especially at night, in the dark. After being thouroughly freaked out, we took our dates home. I seem to recall the boys saying that was the funnest date they had ever been on. I felt the same way.
Showing posts with label From the Jar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label From the Jar. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
From The Jar... #38
Hi there. Remember me? I'm Clancy's little Jar she's been ignoring for the last lots of weeks. (Hey, lay off! I'm a Jar! I don't know how many weeks it's been since her last jar post! I can't do math in my brain because I don't have one.... just little slips of paper with questions on them.)I've missed feeling useful. For these last lots of weeks, I've simply become a dust collector. (and there's a LOT of dust around Clancy's computer.) I feel so alone and neglected. She used to be excited to remove my lid and pull little questions from my innards. But now, she just pretends I'm not there while she mumbles 'seven years!!' under her breath.
Well, today, I'm taking back Wednesdays! I shouted and shouted with all my Jarness until she heard me. And then I reminded her that I'm here sitting, waiting, crying, pining away for the relationship we once had. And guess what? It worked. She pulled a question...
And the Jar says... (kinda gives new meaning to that statement, doesn't it?)
Tell about your favorite books as a child, youth or adult. Who is your favorite author?
Well, well, well... this is an interesting question for me at this time. It just so happens that one of the main reasons I fell from my lofty perch atop the blogging wagon was because of a massive series of books that I started reading a month or two ago.
As you well know, I love books. I devour books. I eat them up and lick my little fingers after I've finished reading them because they are just so darned tasty and satisfying!
My favorite books as a child had to be, GO Dog GO!, but Bears on Wheels was the first book I ever read. I don't really remember learning to read. I just remember reading that book and showing my parents and they were shocked. Maybe my memory is off, but that's how my neural filing system has it set up. Correct me if I'm wrong, Mom. (if you read this...) I also loved Danny and the Dinosaur, and that book about Harold and his purple crayon.
I remember by second or third grade I loved the chapter books. My first picks were scary books by John Bellairs, my favorite author for many of those childhood years. I also loved Nancy Drew books and anything with a mystery. I loved Where the Red Fern Grows but I think I love that even more as an adult reading it to my own children. Powerful book...
As a teenager I loved almost all of the books I was assigned to read for English classes. Rebecca was one of those, as was To Kill a Mockingbird, Dandelion Wine, The Human Comedy, and Great Expectations are among my favorites.
As an adult I read everything from every genre. I have read several fantasy series, ie., The Wheel of Time, The Sword of Truth, A Song of Ice and Fire. I've read lots of non-fiction self-helpish books. I've read Diane Mott Davidson's "culinary mysteries", Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series along with The Host. I've read a lot of Orson Scott Card... the Alvin Maker series is my favorite. Too many books to list. I read a LOT.
I have to say that my favorite book of all time is Atonement by Ian McKewan. This book holds my aspirations as a writer. To write like he does is my dream, my goal, my aim. I'm a far cry from it, but I love it. Each word is considered. It is beautiful and powerful and dives deeply into the psyches of the characters. LOVE IT!!!
Currently, the large series that has me very distracted from blogging is Outlander, by Diane Gabaldon. The first book is the best, but they are all very well written and engaging. The first book, Outlander, sucked me in emotionally in a way that I've never before encountered. It pulled everything out of me and wrung me dry! The characters were that well developed as well as the relationships. It was great. I read it twice in about a week and a half. If you decide you want to read these books, you are hereby warned: They have some steamy parts in them, so if that offends, be ready to skim them or just skip these books.
As far as my favorite author, I don't really have one. Just favorite books.
Now I'm going to get a little philosophical on you. Do you know why books can be so powerful? I just told you that Outlander tore me up emotionally... ripped me apart and then put me back together. I felt like I got hit by a train before I finished it. That is power! I thought a lot about it over the last few weeks as I've been reading and I've wondered how that can happen.
Here's another scenario. When I first read the Twilight series I was deep in the dark crevices of the January blues I've been dealing with in recent years. Those books offered me escape from those crevices. I read them quickly. (devoured. inhaled. consumed.) In less than 72 hours, I finished all three of them. They provided light in my dark place. I relished in living someone else's life for 60 hours. Then, they ended. I finished them. And, I cried. I mourned the loss of the lives I had been living in. I really and honestly felt like someone I loved had died. It was 2:00 in the afternoon when I closed Eclipse and I was depressed the rest of the day. The next morning, my depression was still there. It was then that I had a brilliant epiphany! I could just read them again, and all those characters would live once more! Over the next two weeks, I read the first book 5 times, and the other two books three times. (Breaking Dawn wasn't out yet.) Silly, you might say...pathetic is the word I used many times, but I'll tell you what.... Those books were my lifeline at the time. For whatever reason, I needed to be in those books and by reading them over and over again, I burned that need out of my system and I felt better.
So, what's my point? The point of all this to illustrate the power of a book. It's just words on a page, but why are they so powerful? In my mind, it's because those stories become a part of who we are. We subject our mind so completely to all the thoughts of the author. We experience the emotions of the characters as they go through their joys or struggles and we take them on as our own. In my own mind I lived through the struggles of the characters in Outlander, and my mind now holds the memory of all that emotion. It becomes my own experience. That is so powerful! I don't really know what to do with that, but as someone who wants to write, it seems very, very important. And I have no idea if that makes any sense whatsoever, but it's actually helped clarify my thoughts, so thanks for 'listening'.
And there you go, Jar. Now maybe you'll let me sleep peacefully at night. I'm so tired of listening to you sob through the floorboards. :-P
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
From The Jar... #37
Today, the Jar begs the question:
What would you like to be remembered for?
Although, I was playing editor again for you. The Jar really asked "What would you like to be remember for?" Past tense, Jar. Past tense.
My month-long (or was it longer?) Jar hiatus made me forget just how hard these questions can be. This is the kind of question that makes me feel like I'm bragging, because, honestly, what am I supposed to say? "I want to be remembered for my *tardiness. I want to be remembered for my bad habit of *picking my arms. I want to be remembered for my special knack for *disorganization and *less-than-ideal housekeeping skills. I want to be remembered for my *poor-planning days full of whimsy." That doesn't grab you, does it? It doesn't cry out "Eulogy" in my mind.
I don't know if the Jar is asking for a eulogy, it's just what this feels like. Like we're talking about me after I've left my body and the green, green earth.
So, rather than crowing on and on about what I think I would like to be remembered for, I'm going to take a different route. In true Larrie's blog fashion, I'm going to enlist the help of you, my lovely readers. If you were asked to speak at my funeral, or... if you're scared of public speaking or just scared of funerals... you were asked to contribute something to another person's talk at my funeral, something that you remember me for, what would YOU say? (you can say something even if you have never met me for real, as is the case with select readers)
I will give said speaker one item that I would like to be remember for, postmortem:
I would like to be remembered for making those around me feel good. I hope I'm remembered in the same way I think of my grandma: Sunshine in human form. *Sniff, sniff.* I'll miss you, Clancy.
Post Edit: I'd also like to be remembered for my desperate love of Frisbee.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*all very likely things that I will be remembered for... (Larrie, look how awesome your blog is! I copy you all over the place!)
What would you like to be remembered for?
Although, I was playing editor again for you. The Jar really asked "What would you like to be remember for?" Past tense, Jar. Past tense.
My month-long (or was it longer?) Jar hiatus made me forget just how hard these questions can be. This is the kind of question that makes me feel like I'm bragging, because, honestly, what am I supposed to say? "I want to be remembered for my *tardiness. I want to be remembered for my bad habit of *picking my arms. I want to be remembered for my special knack for *disorganization and *less-than-ideal housekeeping skills. I want to be remembered for my *poor-planning days full of whimsy." That doesn't grab you, does it? It doesn't cry out "Eulogy" in my mind.
I don't know if the Jar is asking for a eulogy, it's just what this feels like. Like we're talking about me after I've left my body and the green, green earth.
So, rather than crowing on and on about what I think I would like to be remembered for, I'm going to take a different route. In true Larrie's blog fashion, I'm going to enlist the help of you, my lovely readers. If you were asked to speak at my funeral, or... if you're scared of public speaking or just scared of funerals... you were asked to contribute something to another person's talk at my funeral, something that you remember me for, what would YOU say? (you can say something even if you have never met me for real, as is the case with select readers)
I will give said speaker one item that I would like to be remember for, postmortem:
I would like to be remembered for making those around me feel good. I hope I'm remembered in the same way I think of my grandma: Sunshine in human form. *Sniff, sniff.* I'll miss you, Clancy.
Post Edit: I'd also like to be remembered for my desperate love of Frisbee.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
*all very likely things that I will be remembered for... (Larrie, look how awesome your blog is! I copy you all over the place!)
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
From The Jar... #36
Wow. Remember my jar? Yeah, I don't know what happened but I severely fell off the wagon. I'm trying to heft myself back onto it. I actually pulled this question out of the jar about a month ago. And the Jar said...
What convinced you most in your choice of a spouse?
Dang. What convinced me most? I have to pick one thing? Wait, this is my blog! I get to do whatever I want!
Since I'm, hopefully, a recovering grocery sack, I'll try making another list. My friend Larrie likes to make lists. You should visit her blog because she's awesome. (and, by the way, today was another grocery sack day for me... blowing around without an apparent care in the world...)
The top ten things that convinced me most in my choice of a spouse... that would be my choice of Mr. Dustin. (in no particular order)
10- He's an awesome Rollerblader/Frisbee player. He's really VERY good at both.
9- He likes guns. He knows a lot about them and he and my dad can talk about them. That may seem silly to you but it was important to me.
8- He's the most devoted man on the whole darned planet. At the beginning of our relationship, he actually scared me off with his intense devotion. Good thing I got over that hurdle because this man takes loving his wife VERY seriously. I'm the luckiest!
7- He's a family man. I couldn't be sure when I was making the choice to marry him, but I thought he'd be a good dad, and I was SO right!
6- He's the hardest working person I've ever known.
5- Dustin's patience is limited in certain area's of his life except when it comes to me. For his wife, his patience is a fount, a well-spring unending.
4- He's so very willing to learn and grow. He's open minded (it does take some time for him to come around to new ideas but he always does.) and eager to fill his mind with things that interest him.
3- He's hot! (in my favorite, rugged way.)
2- He is absolutely willing to help everyone. He's very service oriented and loves people.
And finally
1- I know I said these were in no particular order, and I meant it, but this one is actually the number 1. I don't think I realized it consciously at the time I married Dustin, or decided to marry him, but I think that on a spiritual level I knew that Dustin was my match. I said this once before, but he and I don't match like a game of Memory where the cards 'match' and look exactly the same. It's more like a puzzle. He's the piece that fits in with the rest of the picture to finish me.
I love you, D.
What convinced you most in your choice of a spouse?
Dang. What convinced me most? I have to pick one thing? Wait, this is my blog! I get to do whatever I want!
Since I'm, hopefully, a recovering grocery sack, I'll try making another list. My friend Larrie likes to make lists. You should visit her blog because she's awesome. (and, by the way, today was another grocery sack day for me... blowing around without an apparent care in the world...)
The top ten things that convinced me most in my choice of a spouse... that would be my choice of Mr. Dustin. (in no particular order)
10- He's an awesome Rollerblader/Frisbee player. He's really VERY good at both.
9- He likes guns. He knows a lot about them and he and my dad can talk about them. That may seem silly to you but it was important to me.
8- He's the most devoted man on the whole darned planet. At the beginning of our relationship, he actually scared me off with his intense devotion. Good thing I got over that hurdle because this man takes loving his wife VERY seriously. I'm the luckiest!
7- He's a family man. I couldn't be sure when I was making the choice to marry him, but I thought he'd be a good dad, and I was SO right!
6- He's the hardest working person I've ever known.
5- Dustin's patience is limited in certain area's of his life except when it comes to me. For his wife, his patience is a fount, a well-spring unending.
4- He's so very willing to learn and grow. He's open minded (it does take some time for him to come around to new ideas but he always does.) and eager to fill his mind with things that interest him.
3- He's hot! (in my favorite, rugged way.)
2- He is absolutely willing to help everyone. He's very service oriented and loves people.
And finally
1- I know I said these were in no particular order, and I meant it, but this one is actually the number 1. I don't think I realized it consciously at the time I married Dustin, or decided to marry him, but I think that on a spiritual level I knew that Dustin was my match. I said this once before, but he and I don't match like a game of Memory where the cards 'match' and look exactly the same. It's more like a puzzle. He's the piece that fits in with the rest of the picture to finish me.
I love you, D.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
From The Jar... #34
I'm in a hurry... imagine that I took the time to put the picture of the jar right here, ok? Thanks.
And the Jar says...
Describe your first crush.
Seriously? My first one? I don't know who my first crush was. My youth was so full of crushes, it's a miracle I survived. Incidentally, why do we call them crushes? Does anyone know? I was trying to come up with something quippy about how, with all my crushes, it's amazing that I didn't exit my teenage years flat as a pancake. You get it? Crushes... flattening me? (oh wait... I actually AM flat as a pancake and I left my teenage years married!) As you can see, all the quips fell very, well, FLAT. (Ooohhh. I really need to stop now. Can you tell I started this post late?)
So, yeah... crushes. Ummm... I had a crush on a boy named Sean McKeown in first grade. It was a mild crush. I remember no details about it except that I would chase him at recess and pretend to try to kiss him.
A more vivid crush was on a boy named Zach Cottrell. My best friend and I BOTH thought he was the BOMB-DIGGETY! We went to church with him and I was SOOOO in LOVE! (I think i was in third grade... true love, right?) Once at a neighborhood party I somehow ended up as a target and I was chased by Zach, and a bunch of other kids that he recruited, all over several streets for, what felt like, hours. I secretly loved it and remember feeling like I was the world's fastest runner. I can't remember whether or not I was caught.
I would never want to go back to those years, but I remember how fun it was to develop a new crush. That fluttery feeling... I wonder if my children have that yet? Mac is as old as I was when Zach Cottrell was chasing me around the block party, and Ella is the same age as I during the Sean McKeown crush days. The thought of my children with heart flutters is one part adorable, three parts freaky! I hope I'm up for it, because, ready or not, here it comes!
And the Jar says...
Describe your first crush.
Seriously? My first one? I don't know who my first crush was. My youth was so full of crushes, it's a miracle I survived. Incidentally, why do we call them crushes? Does anyone know? I was trying to come up with something quippy about how, with all my crushes, it's amazing that I didn't exit my teenage years flat as a pancake. You get it? Crushes... flattening me? (oh wait... I actually AM flat as a pancake and I left my teenage years married!) As you can see, all the quips fell very, well, FLAT. (Ooohhh. I really need to stop now. Can you tell I started this post late?)
So, yeah... crushes. Ummm... I had a crush on a boy named Sean McKeown in first grade. It was a mild crush. I remember no details about it except that I would chase him at recess and pretend to try to kiss him.
A more vivid crush was on a boy named Zach Cottrell. My best friend and I BOTH thought he was the BOMB-DIGGETY! We went to church with him and I was SOOOO in LOVE! (I think i was in third grade... true love, right?) Once at a neighborhood party I somehow ended up as a target and I was chased by Zach, and a bunch of other kids that he recruited, all over several streets for, what felt like, hours. I secretly loved it and remember feeling like I was the world's fastest runner. I can't remember whether or not I was caught.
I would never want to go back to those years, but I remember how fun it was to develop a new crush. That fluttery feeling... I wonder if my children have that yet? Mac is as old as I was when Zach Cottrell was chasing me around the block party, and Ella is the same age as I during the Sean McKeown crush days. The thought of my children with heart flutters is one part adorable, three parts freaky! I hope I'm up for it, because, ready or not, here it comes!
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
From The Jar... #33
My little Jar says...Did you and your mother share an interest in any special activity?
Why, yes, actually. We did.
I suppose that the Jar wanted to follow that question with something like, "What was it, and why was it special?" That's pure speculation on my part, but I'm going to go with it.
My mom and I shared a special interest in being together. I can't say that there was any one particular thing that we liked to do, but whatever we did, we loved that we were friends and could do it together. I loved spending time with my mom. Always. Even when I was a teenager we had an excellent relationship.
I remember so many times, she would come and tap me on the shoulder and quietly ask if I wanted to run to the store with her, go shopping or run an errand. I had to keep it "hush-hush" so my siblings wouldn't be alerted. I know she loved us all equally, but she loved to take me to the store the most. :o) I didn't beg for whatever candy we were walking past or whine for her to buy this or that for me. We were "pals" and we just had fun.
My mom had a little Yamaha scooter. (well, for a scooter, it was actually kind of big) We would cruise all around Salt Lake on that thing. Those are some of my favorite memories. She would retire it in the winter, but I remember one time, mid-November or December, when our van was broken and I had to have a ride to early-morning Seminary. So, at 6:00 am, Mom and I wrapped ourselves up in warm layers finished off with GORE-TEX windbreakers and we hopped on her scooter and rode a little more than a mile in below-freezing weather. We screamed/laughed the whole way. This particular road goes over a gully with a creek. The moisture in the air drops the temperature by 5 or 10 degrees and when we crossed that part of the road, our screams went up in both pitch and decibel. We were laughing hard by the time we got there and I went into Seminary remembering, not how my cheeks stung with cold, but how my heart filled with warmth and love for my mother!
As adults, our relationship is much the same, except I can't always sneak away since I have my own responsibilities as a mother. But we love spending time together. I feel so blessed to have such an amazing relationship with my mom!
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
From The Jar... #32
Missed the Jar last week. I don't remember why.Describe your Mother's wedding dress. What did you know about her wedding?
My mom's wedding dress... I remember when I was growing up, it was always hanging in her closet in a plastic dress bag. I would sneak into her closet and climb on the shelves and look at it. I thought it was so pretty. My grandma made it. It was a sort-of peasant style... long sleeves that flared at the bottom but had a tie around the forearm. It had a cool bodice... I don't really know how to describe it, so it's a good thing I can add pictures.
Aren't they cute!!! Hard to see the details, but there they are!
I don't really know a lot about my parents wedding day. Here are a few details that I know. I know they were married in the Salt Lake LDS Temple. I know that it was a lovely summer day. I know that my Grandma Carol had a swinging outfit on in the pictures and my Grandpa Earl looked nothing short of dashing. (they stuck out particularly in my mind) And I know that my dad was over an hour late to the ceremony... maybe and hour and a half. Needless to say, my mom was FREAKING out. This cute little old lady in the temple patted her arm and said, "Don't worry, honey, we won't start without him." I don't think my mom was consoled.
Turns out, my dad was late because he got talking to an old friend (that was in town for the wedding? I don't really know who it was or why he was talking to him...) that he hadn't seen for a LONG time. This little episode is what we call "foreshadowing" for the rest of their lives. This lovely trait of tardiness has been passed on in varying degrees to their posterity. *ahem* Love ya, Dad and Mom!
I also know that my mom didn't actually want a reception. She'd rather have gone with "take the money and run", so to speak, but my grandma thought she should have one. So they did. The reception was held at my mom's cousin Cynthia's house in Salt Lake and they had an open house in Texas a week or so later.
That pretty much sums up what I know of a VERY important day in the lives of my parents. Maybe we need to have a chat, Mom and Dad!
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
From The Jar... #31
One time Kaci mentioned that she wanted to SEE the Jar. Kaci... consider yourself obliged! There's my little Jar that I pull from every Wednesday. Isn't it preshy?I have to confess. I dug around in the Jar for a while until I found one I actually wanted to write about. I'm giving myself a break though. Seven years, remember? And the Jar says...
What brings you the most peace and why?
I'd have to say writing. And I'd also have to say, I've never really thought about why so I don't know. I used to write in a journal when I was young. Young, like grade school through early high school. Whenever I look back through them I realize I almost never wrote when I was happy. Only when I was sad or upset or angry. I always felt better after I wrote, though and that's what's important, I guess.
When I graduated from high school, my sister Sarah gave me a little notebook with blank, unlined pages. By that time, I had stopped writing in a journal. I moved out of my parent's house 5 days after I graduated and this little book came with me. I don't really remember what happened, but suddenly I started writing poetry. This little book is the home for all my college heartbreak and pain. And a few joys. But mostly my pain.
Front cover. I love the weight and feel of this book. And I love that it has me poured into it's pages.
This is the "Title Page". Which reminds me. I've been wanting to change the name of my blog and I've been having a hard time with what to change it to. I think I've just been inspired.
A poem that I actually wrote while still in high school, but it was on some dumb piece of paper and I wanted to throw it away. So I put it in the book.I said I never really thought about the why, but that's not entirely true. I just found this that I wrote on May 6, 1997.
~~~~~
I don't have to think so much when I write. I feel weight lifted each time I look at a full page of my swirling script. If I had known such release came with the pen and page, I would be in a different place today.
So, I write more. With no direction. Just as my life right now. Just feeling my heart break over and over with every dial tone or goodbye. I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this. Why did I allow it?
So, I write more. With no direction. Just as my life right now. Just feeling my heart break over and over with every dial tone or goodbye. I didn't want this. I didn't want any of this. Why did I allow it?
~~~~~
I've just now been thinking that maybe writing allowed me to vent things I don't say. In my thirty year history, I haven't vented out loud very much. I had a tendency to keep the deeper thoughts hidden. I didn't want people to see what was in my heart or that I have needs or pain or anger. And writing has allowed that. I could just write it and not have to have anyone hear it. It was out though, and that felt good. Now I have my blog and I've found that I like writing when I'm happy too. Or pensive, or moody or silly. I just love writing and it's no longer dependent on my mood. Writing definitely brings me the most peace, more than anything on this wide earth, and I am grateful to God for granting me this outlet for soothing my heart.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
From The Jar... #30
And the Jar says...
How do you feel about death? Tell about your philosophy of after-life.
Hmmm.... not the easiest pick to be starting at midnight, but I'm going for it.
{WARNING: Macabre content in this post. Read at your own risk. I considered editing parts, but this is for me. I want to remember this.}
I believe that after this life we have the opportunity to be reunited with loved ones. I believe I will carry with me everything I've learned in this life and that I will have the opportunity to continue growing and learning. I believe in resurrection and eternal families.
I am not afraid of death. The dying part could be another story, but we'll cross that bridge when it comes. That being said, I am terribly afraid of death around me. I have always had a terrible fear of cemeteries. As an adult, I'm more or less over that one, but as a child I would hide my face if we even drove by a cemetery. I was terribly disturbed by them and I don't know why.
Dead bodies hold a very deep rooted fear for me. I remember being at a funeral when I was about 14 years old. It was for my sister's then-boyfriend's brother, Roman, who was killed in an avalanche. I watched person after person go to his casket and hold his hand, stroke his face, or touch him in some manner. I was absolutely mortified. I didn't understand it and, frankly, I still don't.
My grandma passed away almost three years ago. We tried to get there in time to say goodbye, but she passed just before we arrived. The grief in the room was tangible, and I watched my mom and dad go and kiss her and touch her face and stroke her hair while they cried. I stood against the wall with my arms folded. My mom said to me, "Do you want to hold her hand or anything? She's still warm...?" I felt like my eyes bulged at the suggestion. I shook my head vehemently and stayed put. In a few minutes I walked over to her thinking maybe I could do it. I even reached my hand out, but in the end, all I could do was look and cry.
For a long time after that, I couldn't even walk past that room without wishing I could run. I love my grandma so dearly and I was deeply and mortally terrified all the same. When I would go in the room, I would avoid even looking at the side of the bed where she laid. But I could feel it. I don't know what I feel, but I feel something. Even now, when I sit on her bed (which belongs to someone else now) I think about her laying there so still.
It isn't just people. I remember when our great dog, Fergus, died and my little sister sat there petting him long after. I did reach out and touch his shoulder and I recoiled as if burned. I couldn't stand the emptiness. I was terrified.
Not exactly a ray of sunshine either, was it? I am being nice though and that's all I promised. This was an interesting subject to explore for me. It brought to mind many things that I'll mull over. I don't think I'll post them, but I'm glad I got to look at this fear of mine.
How do you feel about death? Tell about your philosophy of after-life.
Hmmm.... not the easiest pick to be starting at midnight, but I'm going for it.
{WARNING: Macabre content in this post. Read at your own risk. I considered editing parts, but this is for me. I want to remember this.}
I believe that after this life we have the opportunity to be reunited with loved ones. I believe I will carry with me everything I've learned in this life and that I will have the opportunity to continue growing and learning. I believe in resurrection and eternal families.
I am not afraid of death. The dying part could be another story, but we'll cross that bridge when it comes. That being said, I am terribly afraid of death around me. I have always had a terrible fear of cemeteries. As an adult, I'm more or less over that one, but as a child I would hide my face if we even drove by a cemetery. I was terribly disturbed by them and I don't know why.
Dead bodies hold a very deep rooted fear for me. I remember being at a funeral when I was about 14 years old. It was for my sister's then-boyfriend's brother, Roman, who was killed in an avalanche. I watched person after person go to his casket and hold his hand, stroke his face, or touch him in some manner. I was absolutely mortified. I didn't understand it and, frankly, I still don't.
My grandma passed away almost three years ago. We tried to get there in time to say goodbye, but she passed just before we arrived. The grief in the room was tangible, and I watched my mom and dad go and kiss her and touch her face and stroke her hair while they cried. I stood against the wall with my arms folded. My mom said to me, "Do you want to hold her hand or anything? She's still warm...?" I felt like my eyes bulged at the suggestion. I shook my head vehemently and stayed put. In a few minutes I walked over to her thinking maybe I could do it. I even reached my hand out, but in the end, all I could do was look and cry.
For a long time after that, I couldn't even walk past that room without wishing I could run. I love my grandma so dearly and I was deeply and mortally terrified all the same. When I would go in the room, I would avoid even looking at the side of the bed where she laid. But I could feel it. I don't know what I feel, but I feel something. Even now, when I sit on her bed (which belongs to someone else now) I think about her laying there so still.
It isn't just people. I remember when our great dog, Fergus, died and my little sister sat there petting him long after. I did reach out and touch his shoulder and I recoiled as if burned. I couldn't stand the emptiness. I was terrified.
Not exactly a ray of sunshine either, was it? I am being nice though and that's all I promised. This was an interesting subject to explore for me. It brought to mind many things that I'll mull over. I don't think I'll post them, but I'm glad I got to look at this fear of mine.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
From The Jar... #29
And the Jar says....
Where were you, and what were you doing the day the Berlin Wall came down?
Ummmm.... I have no idea. OK, I have a little bit of an idea. I know I was in school and some teacher turned on the T.V. I didn't really even know what the Berlin wall was. I just remember watching youngish people grabbing parts of this colorful wall and everyone was amazed and talked about it for weeks. I've always been a very informed girl.
I looked it up on Wikipedia and apparently it was on November 9, 1989. So, 1989 would put me in sixth grade. There you have it.
LAME. Let's pull another one and see if we can shave some time off of my SEVEN YEARS! (did I mention I'll be 37?)
Wow. The Jar has indigestion and is throwing up all the junky stuff today. The Jar says, again...
Tell about a frustrating experience you've had on a wash day, with the machine, what was the outcome od the clothes.
That was a nicely worded sentence, don't you think? The "od" was copied exactly from my slip of paper, as was the lack of question mark. Whoever wrote these questions was not a grammar buff. I often sheild you from the awful grammar in the Jar by editing or restructuring the sentence (since I'm an editing FREAK!), but I decided to leave that one as I didn't want to think about how to reword it's retardedness.
So anyway... back to frustrations on "wash day". Firstly, I don't have "wash day". By now you've surely realized that I'm not that organized. Wash day is whenever I feel like it. And my machine has always ran swimmingly. (no pun intended) So no frustrations with the machine, but I have had frustrations with my husband and "wash day" (which, incidentally, is whenever he happens to think about it, or when he's out of underwear cuz I haven't felt like it).
He's so sweet. I love him so much... and... my dear hubby is not "into" fabric softener sheets. You know the ones where if you don't put them in then your underwear are sizzling and popping with all the static electricity that covers them? Yeah. That's a frustration to me. He used to not be "into" sorting colors either. We've had some lovely darkened underwear and socks, shirts and hand towels. Frustration? Why yes!
But, for the most part, these frustrations are a thing of the past. Dustin almost always puts only darks or lights in (not both), and he often (instead of never) uses dryer sheets. But when he does use those sheets he has to be a budget conscious guy and cut them in half. That's fine except when I'm being a budget conscious girl at the point of sale and I grab the cheapest off-brand dryer sheets on the shelf. You need a whole one of those babies. Trust me.
I actually do have my own frustrating laundry experiences, but that's more to do with me than the machine. The outcome of the clothes is not very good. Here is the problem: I do a fairly decent job of keeping up on my laundry. I like to put laundry in my washer and get it all nice and washed. I don't even mind changing it to the dryer. Where I fall short is when it comes out of the dryer. I always sort it into piles or (if they're all there) baskets... Dustin, me, Mac, Ella, Rohan and towels. Then it sits in those piles or baskets (if I'm lucky) for a long time. I, currently, have a HUGE laundry room. HUGE! It allows for widespread pileage of laundry. Me and folding... we don't get along so good. That's my frustration.
I did have one goofy thing... the clothes were fine. It was the cell phone that wasn't. I sent Dustin's two-day old phone through a complete wash, spin, rinse, spin cycle. It was a tiny little thing and I, apparently, didn't check pockets that time. (I always try to) After I freaked out and cried for a minute, I took it apart, dried everything I could and let it all sit in pieces for 24 hours. Amazingly, it worked perfectly! Then Dustin proceeded to loose it two months later...
I will say that my dryer has been making a rather strange and shockingly loud noise lately. I don't think that's such a good thing. Lucky for me I have TWO vacant apartments. And luckier still... BOTH have a dryer in them. I might just go rob one since I would only be robbing from myself... AND... since their both not being used right now, I get a choice! What a lucky girl!
Where were you, and what were you doing the day the Berlin Wall came down?
Ummmm.... I have no idea. OK, I have a little bit of an idea. I know I was in school and some teacher turned on the T.V. I didn't really even know what the Berlin wall was. I just remember watching youngish people grabbing parts of this colorful wall and everyone was amazed and talked about it for weeks. I've always been a very informed girl.
I looked it up on Wikipedia and apparently it was on November 9, 1989. So, 1989 would put me in sixth grade. There you have it.
LAME. Let's pull another one and see if we can shave some time off of my SEVEN YEARS! (did I mention I'll be 37?)
Wow. The Jar has indigestion and is throwing up all the junky stuff today. The Jar says, again...
Tell about a frustrating experience you've had on a wash day, with the machine, what was the outcome od the clothes.
That was a nicely worded sentence, don't you think? The "od" was copied exactly from my slip of paper, as was the lack of question mark. Whoever wrote these questions was not a grammar buff. I often sheild you from the awful grammar in the Jar by editing or restructuring the sentence (since I'm an editing FREAK!), but I decided to leave that one as I didn't want to think about how to reword it's retardedness.
So anyway... back to frustrations on "wash day". Firstly, I don't have "wash day". By now you've surely realized that I'm not that organized. Wash day is whenever I feel like it. And my machine has always ran swimmingly. (no pun intended) So no frustrations with the machine, but I have had frustrations with my husband and "wash day" (which, incidentally, is whenever he happens to think about it, or when he's out of underwear cuz I haven't felt like it).
He's so sweet. I love him so much... and... my dear hubby is not "into" fabric softener sheets. You know the ones where if you don't put them in then your underwear are sizzling and popping with all the static electricity that covers them? Yeah. That's a frustration to me. He used to not be "into" sorting colors either. We've had some lovely darkened underwear and socks, shirts and hand towels. Frustration? Why yes!
But, for the most part, these frustrations are a thing of the past. Dustin almost always puts only darks or lights in (not both), and he often (instead of never) uses dryer sheets. But when he does use those sheets he has to be a budget conscious guy and cut them in half. That's fine except when I'm being a budget conscious girl at the point of sale and I grab the cheapest off-brand dryer sheets on the shelf. You need a whole one of those babies. Trust me.
I actually do have my own frustrating laundry experiences, but that's more to do with me than the machine. The outcome of the clothes is not very good. Here is the problem: I do a fairly decent job of keeping up on my laundry. I like to put laundry in my washer and get it all nice and washed. I don't even mind changing it to the dryer. Where I fall short is when it comes out of the dryer. I always sort it into piles or (if they're all there) baskets... Dustin, me, Mac, Ella, Rohan and towels. Then it sits in those piles or baskets (if I'm lucky) for a long time. I, currently, have a HUGE laundry room. HUGE! It allows for widespread pileage of laundry. Me and folding... we don't get along so good. That's my frustration.
I did have one goofy thing... the clothes were fine. It was the cell phone that wasn't. I sent Dustin's two-day old phone through a complete wash, spin, rinse, spin cycle. It was a tiny little thing and I, apparently, didn't check pockets that time. (I always try to) After I freaked out and cried for a minute, I took it apart, dried everything I could and let it all sit in pieces for 24 hours. Amazingly, it worked perfectly! Then Dustin proceeded to loose it two months later...
I will say that my dryer has been making a rather strange and shockingly loud noise lately. I don't think that's such a good thing. Lucky for me I have TWO vacant apartments. And luckier still... BOTH have a dryer in them. I might just go rob one since I would only be robbing from myself... AND... since their both not being used right now, I get a choice! What a lucky girl!
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
From The Jar... #28
Dude. I've only done 27 of these babies and I'm pretty sure the Jar holds 365 (or did when I started). I hope your in for it for the long haul cuz if I do these every week, correct me if I'm wrong, I'll be doing Wednesday Jar posts for seven years! Holy crap! I thought it was three for some reason. I'll be thirty-seven years old when I finish them! Mac will be fifteen, Ella will be thirteen and Rohan will be ten! Long haul indeed. I hope I'm in it for the long haul! Do you think I'll really have enough stuff to blog about for seven years, I mean aside from on Wednesdays? AHHHH!! I have to stop thinking about this now. It's hurting my brain. (did I mention SEVEN years? Dustin will be forty-two!!!!!!!!)
And the Jar says...
Did you go camping? Tell about experiences doing it.
Did I go camping? Ha! We were campers to the max! Well, maybe not the max... but we did it alot. I LOVED camping! I still love it, in fact, but I've found out that camping as a mom makes you a little more tired and grouchy than camping as a kid did.
We had this big tent... remember there were five of us kids. My dad called it "The Tent of Many Poles" and there were always swear words heard while trying to get this particular tent up. There were two main sets of poles that held up the very tall roof of this tent. These sets of poles would always come apart as you were trying to get it all looped in the right places. Finally, after several years of this silliness, my genius parents bought bungee cord and bungeed them all together. The swear words decreased significantly when this idea was brought to pass.
My mom was the coolest camper-mom ever. She had (still has, I think) a book called Roughing It Easy wherein you could read about numerous ways to camp, build fires, cook in non-traditional ways, food, recipes and a zillion other things to do with camping. This book had all these great cooking ideas... eggs cooked in a brown paper sack over the campfire, ash cakes (dough thrown on the ashes and cooked on them), a tin foil cookstove heated by the sun or the fire or something... details are vauge on some things, but the memory is clear about how cool my mom was and how fun it was to try all these neat things.
As soon as we arrived at our campsite, my dad would send us out in search of "Red". If you don't know what "Red" is when you're camping, I'll tell you. Red occurs on a pine tree when part or all of it has died and the needles are all crispy and have turned red instead of green. It's the best firestarter ever. It was always the coolest to go hunting for Red. I remember seeing huge trees where the top was covered in Red and I would wish so bad that I could get to it and bring it to my dad. I always hoped to find the big cache and be the "Red" hero for the trip. To this day, when I drive through a canyon, I find myself seeking out Red. The best Red is always at the top of those huge, unreachable trees. *Sigh*
My dad would sometimes bring his guitar and we'd sing around the campfire. Camping was elation in a bottle, or in a forest or desert as the case may be. My heart was always sad when it was time to leave and I always had a raging headache on the drive home. Still get that headache, in fact. Weird.
I always remember the phenomenon of campsite arrival. You get there and it doesn't look any different from the rest of the landscape, but as you pitch your tent, park your car, get all the coolers out all over the place, and set up camp the space begins to take shape and significance. It becomes familiar. It becomes home for those few days. I always marvel at this. I always look back at the site as we're leaving and remember just a day or two or three before when it all looked so foreign to me. As I'd watch it shrink out of sight I felt like I left a piece of my heart there in the forest because, for those few days, that was my home and I loved it.
Big Cottonwood Canyon, Hoop Lake, Flaming Gorge, Bear Lake area, Dillon Colorado, The Uintah Mountains, City of Rocks, Canyonlands, Moab, Lake Powell, Yellowstone, the Teton area and so many other sites that were before my awareness of our destination. I have been to some great places. It sounds cheesy, but my favorite place could be any of them, as long as I was with my family.
And the Jar says...
Did you go camping? Tell about experiences doing it.
Did I go camping? Ha! We were campers to the max! Well, maybe not the max... but we did it alot. I LOVED camping! I still love it, in fact, but I've found out that camping as a mom makes you a little more tired and grouchy than camping as a kid did.
We had this big tent... remember there were five of us kids. My dad called it "The Tent of Many Poles" and there were always swear words heard while trying to get this particular tent up. There were two main sets of poles that held up the very tall roof of this tent. These sets of poles would always come apart as you were trying to get it all looped in the right places. Finally, after several years of this silliness, my genius parents bought bungee cord and bungeed them all together. The swear words decreased significantly when this idea was brought to pass.
My mom was the coolest camper-mom ever. She had (still has, I think) a book called Roughing It Easy wherein you could read about numerous ways to camp, build fires, cook in non-traditional ways, food, recipes and a zillion other things to do with camping. This book had all these great cooking ideas... eggs cooked in a brown paper sack over the campfire, ash cakes (dough thrown on the ashes and cooked on them), a tin foil cookstove heated by the sun or the fire or something... details are vauge on some things, but the memory is clear about how cool my mom was and how fun it was to try all these neat things.
As soon as we arrived at our campsite, my dad would send us out in search of "Red". If you don't know what "Red" is when you're camping, I'll tell you. Red occurs on a pine tree when part or all of it has died and the needles are all crispy and have turned red instead of green. It's the best firestarter ever. It was always the coolest to go hunting for Red. I remember seeing huge trees where the top was covered in Red and I would wish so bad that I could get to it and bring it to my dad. I always hoped to find the big cache and be the "Red" hero for the trip. To this day, when I drive through a canyon, I find myself seeking out Red. The best Red is always at the top of those huge, unreachable trees. *Sigh*
My mom would make all sorts of awesome food. We kids would play non-stop. My memories of camping hold some of the most imaginative times of my childhood. My brothers and sisters and I would explore, pretend, laugh and sing. We were Red Sonja and Kalidor with our swords which were large sticks. We were hikers who got "lost" and would call for help. We would play in creeks with sticks, leaves, and rocks. 
We kids, camping above Flaming Gorge, UT. This happens to be the very trip we played Red Sonja on.
We kids, camping above Flaming Gorge, UT. This happens to be the very trip we played Red Sonja on. My dad would sometimes bring his guitar and we'd sing around the campfire. Camping was elation in a bottle, or in a forest or desert as the case may be. My heart was always sad when it was time to leave and I always had a raging headache on the drive home. Still get that headache, in fact. Weird.
I always remember the phenomenon of campsite arrival. You get there and it doesn't look any different from the rest of the landscape, but as you pitch your tent, park your car, get all the coolers out all over the place, and set up camp the space begins to take shape and significance. It becomes familiar. It becomes home for those few days. I always marvel at this. I always look back at the site as we're leaving and remember just a day or two or three before when it all looked so foreign to me. As I'd watch it shrink out of sight I felt like I left a piece of my heart there in the forest because, for those few days, that was my home and I loved it.
Big Cottonwood Canyon, Hoop Lake, Flaming Gorge, Bear Lake area, Dillon Colorado, The Uintah Mountains, City of Rocks, Canyonlands, Moab, Lake Powell, Yellowstone, the Teton area and so many other sites that were before my awareness of our destination. I have been to some great places. It sounds cheesy, but my favorite place could be any of them, as long as I was with my family.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
From The Jar... #28
This is the final post of 2008. That is rather strange. I plan on making my book now and doing one every year that I blog. How exciting!
And the Jar says...
How did you become engaged?
Well, lucky for me (I guess), I've already written that crazy story out (poor Dustin!). Go to my October 9th post if you'd like to read that story! Look about the fourth question down.
Since I skipped last week, I feel I should pull another one. But I also feel, as this year is almost over I should finish a Jar pull that I never finished. Remember this one? Ya. That has bothered me for a long long time. Since September 10th, in fact. So... I think I'll finish it now!
And the Jar said, on September 10, 2008...
Describe your wedding day.
Wow!!! My wedding day rocked! Here's a quick (or not so quick...) rundown: Woke up early... 6:00am. Showered. Marveled that I would be married in a few hours. Tried unsuccessfully to quiet the butterflies in my stomach. Got out of shower. Gathered things we would need for the day (we were sleeping at my Grandma's in Salt Lake City). Honestly, I don't remember much about what happened before we left my grandma's house except that shower, the butterflies and, well, that's it.
After we left Grandma's house, we went to have my hair done and stopped at Burger King for a "Croissanwich" on the way. Claudio, my mom's hairstylist from before we moved to Idaho, was able to do my hair at the early hour of 7:00am. I specifically remember him asking if I wanted curled tendrils hanging down around my face (my hair was an updo with barrel rolls) and I said no because they would loose their curl and be flat within two hours- characteristic of my hair. While Claudio was doing my hair, my aunt Bronwyn showed up to do my makeup. My mom did my nails, I think. Well, I know someone did my nails anyway, cuz I have a picture of my hand and Dustin's hand and my nails were "done" (just a clear coat of polish and filed nicely... that's as done as my nails ever get.)
All prettied up and dress in hand, we went to the Salt Lake Temple (LDS). I've said it before, but I had, off and on through our engagement, been questioning my decision to marry Dustin. When we walked into the temple lobby area, and I saw Dustin standing there, a feeling of peace settled over me and I knew that my decision was right. I've never doubted since that moment.
We got all dressed up and the sweet people helping Dustin and I get ready took us to the Celestial room of the Temple to wait. It was such a beautiful room! After what seemed like forever (but was likely five or ten minutes) we went to the Sealing room. I recall very clearly my misty eyes as I walked into that room and saw so many of my friends and family including aunts and uncles and my incredible Grandpa Cochran who came from Houston to be with me on that special day. It was WONDERFUL! I haven't thought about this part of my wedding day for a long time, but typing this now brings it back. I felt the force of the Sealing Power so strongly on that day and I am so grateful to remember that now.
The sealer was so cute. I remember thinking that he looked like Colonel Sanders. I don't remember a lot of what he said, except a general feeling that I was participating in a powerful thing and that he quoted an exquisite Shakespeare poem that is now lost to my memory. I would love to find that poem someday. I also remember a feeling of love for that man who married us that was greater than it should have been for having never met him before that moment.
It's interesting typing all of this from the perspective of ten years down the road. At the time, I didn't recognize many of the feelings that I just typed above. I remember the misty eyes, but I didn't know why. I felt the power of what I was participating in... I know I did because I remember it, but I was unaware of it while it was happening. Time has sifted my feelings from the event and my current level of maturity and growth have given me a new awareness of the swirling eddies of Spirit that surrounded us that day. I am grateful for my Jar and for this Blog for bringing this out of my consciousness and for my readers with whom I can share it.
That was the beautiful part of my wedding day. The rest had beauty as well, but there was so much hectic chaos that it became almost comical. Everything happened perfectly and without incident up until we walked out of the sealing room. Then everything went haywire.
We were supposed to take pictures on the temple grounds at about 11:00. We had rented the tuxes in Idaho, where my mom and dad lived, and my dad had picked them up and brought them down. He hadn't realized as he went through the checklist of what he was picking up, that he was supposed to have a hoop-slip for me and my dress to keep it from dragging on the ground and to give it that look that the dress needed. We didn't realize this until the morning of the wedding. So, before and during the wedding, my sister called every place in the city she could trying to find a place that #1- was open, and #2- would rent her just a hoop-slip or something like it. We were married at 10:00 and most places aren't even open until then on a Saturday. Those she found wouldn't rent the slip to her. Finally, she found a woman who didn't have a hoop-slip, but had a very full netting slip and agreed to let her take it. I don't even think she made her pay to "rent" it, if memory serves. It was too big for me around the waist and we had to pin it, but it did the job. I should have given my sister a present and sent that woman a Thank You letter, but, at the time, I was fairly oblivious to the heroics that went on that morning with my sister and the woman at the bridal shop. I'll just take THIS moment, now, to say a huge THANK YOU to you, Sarah, and to the woman, whom I don't know, who helped my special day remain special. You were both unsung heroes on June 6, 1998.
So, while Sarah was trying to get a slip for me to wear, we realized that my dad had left all of the tuxedos, Dustin's included. (for those of you who might not know, in the temple, we wear white and D's tux was black, so the tux wasn't needed until AFTER the marriage ceremony.) Dad claims he didn't know it was his job to bring them, but I don't remember details well enough and he might not either! ;) Either way, the tuxes were not there for the pictures that were supposed to happen on the temple grounds. So someone raced back to my grandma's (who lived about 20 minutes from the temple, one way!) grabbed the tuxes and also my flowers which got forgotten (including the flower wreath that I was wearing on my head...), and raced back to the temple. We got out of the temple about an hour later than we were supposed to because of all the forgetting of things and the poor people who waited for us outside the temple waited for a long time. I was too oblivious to be embarrassed.
So, we finally made it out of the temple and got pictures taken, which was fun. We did just large group ones first and family pics, and then Dustin and I. Almost everyone left while D and I were getting our pics taken, including Dustin's dad, Roger, who had the keys to our car in his pocket. No one had cell phones back then (except my mom) and so we had to leave our car at the Crossroads Mall parking garage and catch a ride with my mom and dad who were waiting for us.
We got our clothes changed and went to the wedding luncheon where we were roasted by our loved ones. People told stories of Dustin and I and embarrassed us completely.
After the luncheon, we went back to my Grandma's where the reception was being held. Everything had gone longer than expected because we were so late coming out of the temple and we were supposed to have pictures in her lovely backyard at 4:00 with the wedding party. The photographer showed up, and we weren't ready. So, he went around snapping candid shots of us all. He snapped one just as I was realizing that no one told Dustin's two cousins, who were his "best men", that we were supposed to be taking pictures. It's a classic picture and I will try to scan it because my face in the picture sums up the chaos part of the day.
It all got very fuzzy after that. I know we took pictures, with all who were supposed to be in them, and finished the pics just as the reception was starting. We stood in a line and got tired feet and didn't eat anything but a melon ball and a drink of some kind of punch. We cut our cake, threw a garter and a bouquet and, at some point amidst all the madness, my mother-in-law pulled me and my sister into the large greenhouse-shed at my grandma's and made us sing our "Gaelic Song". Random? Yep!
The reception was supposed to go from 6-8:00 but we didn't leave until 10:00. We ran to our car with our bags and people threw birdseed at us. I didn't like that at all. It hurt and went down my dress and got stuck in my hair. (and ended up all over our room that night because it was falling out of my hair, dress, etc...)
We magically got our car back from Crossroads Mall parking lot (I say magically because I have no idea who picked it up), and when we went to get in it, someone had decorated it mildly on the outside and filled the inside TO THE BRIM with shredded paper. We couldn't even get in! I was mad about that. I don't know why... I should have expected it, but I didn't. Plus, you can usually climb IN the car, right after it's been decorated, right? You might have to wash the outside, but you can get in it and drive away!? Not us. We couldn't get in it until we removed about 5 garbage bags full of shredded paper. We vacuumed shredded paper out of that car for years.
For our wedding night, my family gave us a gift certificate to The Homestead in Midway, UT. It was a long, 40 minute drive after a VERY long day. When we got there I realized that we had left a bag with all my toiletries and my little [innocent and tasteful] negligee that my mom bought for me. I cried myself a little river right there in front of The Homestead because my little picture that I had created around that night was shattered. It all turned out fine, but I found out later that my mom had found the bag with my little items (including our toothbrushes!) and had cried too, because she knew I would be sad. :(
Our wedding day was such an awesome event in my life... even amidst all the craziness that happened! I am grateful for the chance to review it in my mind and get it down "on paper", so to speak. In the years following my wedding, I often called myself the "retarded bride" because I was such an oblivious goofball. I am grateful to the many people who pulled it together, namely my mother and father, Dustin's parents, my aforementioned sister, and my Grandma for hosting the reception. I had aunts and uncles who served the food and did all the behind the scenes things that were obscured by my oblivion. It was a success only because of all these heroes and I thank you, even if it is ten years late!
And the Jar says...
How did you become engaged?
Well, lucky for me (I guess), I've already written that crazy story out (poor Dustin!). Go to my October 9th post if you'd like to read that story! Look about the fourth question down.
Since I skipped last week, I feel I should pull another one. But I also feel, as this year is almost over I should finish a Jar pull that I never finished. Remember this one? Ya. That has bothered me for a long long time. Since September 10th, in fact. So... I think I'll finish it now!
And the Jar said, on September 10, 2008...
Describe your wedding day.
Wow!!! My wedding day rocked! Here's a quick (or not so quick...) rundown: Woke up early... 6:00am. Showered. Marveled that I would be married in a few hours. Tried unsuccessfully to quiet the butterflies in my stomach. Got out of shower. Gathered things we would need for the day (we were sleeping at my Grandma's in Salt Lake City). Honestly, I don't remember much about what happened before we left my grandma's house except that shower, the butterflies and, well, that's it.
After we left Grandma's house, we went to have my hair done and stopped at Burger King for a "Croissanwich" on the way. Claudio, my mom's hairstylist from before we moved to Idaho, was able to do my hair at the early hour of 7:00am. I specifically remember him asking if I wanted curled tendrils hanging down around my face (my hair was an updo with barrel rolls) and I said no because they would loose their curl and be flat within two hours- characteristic of my hair. While Claudio was doing my hair, my aunt Bronwyn showed up to do my makeup. My mom did my nails, I think. Well, I know someone did my nails anyway, cuz I have a picture of my hand and Dustin's hand and my nails were "done" (just a clear coat of polish and filed nicely... that's as done as my nails ever get.)
All prettied up and dress in hand, we went to the Salt Lake Temple (LDS). I've said it before, but I had, off and on through our engagement, been questioning my decision to marry Dustin. When we walked into the temple lobby area, and I saw Dustin standing there, a feeling of peace settled over me and I knew that my decision was right. I've never doubted since that moment.
We got all dressed up and the sweet people helping Dustin and I get ready took us to the Celestial room of the Temple to wait. It was such a beautiful room! After what seemed like forever (but was likely five or ten minutes) we went to the Sealing room. I recall very clearly my misty eyes as I walked into that room and saw so many of my friends and family including aunts and uncles and my incredible Grandpa Cochran who came from Houston to be with me on that special day. It was WONDERFUL! I haven't thought about this part of my wedding day for a long time, but typing this now brings it back. I felt the force of the Sealing Power so strongly on that day and I am so grateful to remember that now.
The sealer was so cute. I remember thinking that he looked like Colonel Sanders. I don't remember a lot of what he said, except a general feeling that I was participating in a powerful thing and that he quoted an exquisite Shakespeare poem that is now lost to my memory. I would love to find that poem someday. I also remember a feeling of love for that man who married us that was greater than it should have been for having never met him before that moment.
It's interesting typing all of this from the perspective of ten years down the road. At the time, I didn't recognize many of the feelings that I just typed above. I remember the misty eyes, but I didn't know why. I felt the power of what I was participating in... I know I did because I remember it, but I was unaware of it while it was happening. Time has sifted my feelings from the event and my current level of maturity and growth have given me a new awareness of the swirling eddies of Spirit that surrounded us that day. I am grateful for my Jar and for this Blog for bringing this out of my consciousness and for my readers with whom I can share it.
That was the beautiful part of my wedding day. The rest had beauty as well, but there was so much hectic chaos that it became almost comical. Everything happened perfectly and without incident up until we walked out of the sealing room. Then everything went haywire.
We were supposed to take pictures on the temple grounds at about 11:00. We had rented the tuxes in Idaho, where my mom and dad lived, and my dad had picked them up and brought them down. He hadn't realized as he went through the checklist of what he was picking up, that he was supposed to have a hoop-slip for me and my dress to keep it from dragging on the ground and to give it that look that the dress needed. We didn't realize this until the morning of the wedding. So, before and during the wedding, my sister called every place in the city she could trying to find a place that #1- was open, and #2- would rent her just a hoop-slip or something like it. We were married at 10:00 and most places aren't even open until then on a Saturday. Those she found wouldn't rent the slip to her. Finally, she found a woman who didn't have a hoop-slip, but had a very full netting slip and agreed to let her take it. I don't even think she made her pay to "rent" it, if memory serves. It was too big for me around the waist and we had to pin it, but it did the job. I should have given my sister a present and sent that woman a Thank You letter, but, at the time, I was fairly oblivious to the heroics that went on that morning with my sister and the woman at the bridal shop. I'll just take THIS moment, now, to say a huge THANK YOU to you, Sarah, and to the woman, whom I don't know, who helped my special day remain special. You were both unsung heroes on June 6, 1998.
So, while Sarah was trying to get a slip for me to wear, we realized that my dad had left all of the tuxedos, Dustin's included. (for those of you who might not know, in the temple, we wear white and D's tux was black, so the tux wasn't needed until AFTER the marriage ceremony.) Dad claims he didn't know it was his job to bring them, but I don't remember details well enough and he might not either! ;) Either way, the tuxes were not there for the pictures that were supposed to happen on the temple grounds. So someone raced back to my grandma's (who lived about 20 minutes from the temple, one way!) grabbed the tuxes and also my flowers which got forgotten (including the flower wreath that I was wearing on my head...), and raced back to the temple. We got out of the temple about an hour later than we were supposed to because of all the forgetting of things and the poor people who waited for us outside the temple waited for a long time. I was too oblivious to be embarrassed.
So, we finally made it out of the temple and got pictures taken, which was fun. We did just large group ones first and family pics, and then Dustin and I. Almost everyone left while D and I were getting our pics taken, including Dustin's dad, Roger, who had the keys to our car in his pocket. No one had cell phones back then (except my mom) and so we had to leave our car at the Crossroads Mall parking garage and catch a ride with my mom and dad who were waiting for us.
We got our clothes changed and went to the wedding luncheon where we were roasted by our loved ones. People told stories of Dustin and I and embarrassed us completely.
After the luncheon, we went back to my Grandma's where the reception was being held. Everything had gone longer than expected because we were so late coming out of the temple and we were supposed to have pictures in her lovely backyard at 4:00 with the wedding party. The photographer showed up, and we weren't ready. So, he went around snapping candid shots of us all. He snapped one just as I was realizing that no one told Dustin's two cousins, who were his "best men", that we were supposed to be taking pictures. It's a classic picture and I will try to scan it because my face in the picture sums up the chaos part of the day.
It all got very fuzzy after that. I know we took pictures, with all who were supposed to be in them, and finished the pics just as the reception was starting. We stood in a line and got tired feet and didn't eat anything but a melon ball and a drink of some kind of punch. We cut our cake, threw a garter and a bouquet and, at some point amidst all the madness, my mother-in-law pulled me and my sister into the large greenhouse-shed at my grandma's and made us sing our "Gaelic Song". Random? Yep!
The reception was supposed to go from 6-8:00 but we didn't leave until 10:00. We ran to our car with our bags and people threw birdseed at us. I didn't like that at all. It hurt and went down my dress and got stuck in my hair. (and ended up all over our room that night because it was falling out of my hair, dress, etc...)
We magically got our car back from Crossroads Mall parking lot (I say magically because I have no idea who picked it up), and when we went to get in it, someone had decorated it mildly on the outside and filled the inside TO THE BRIM with shredded paper. We couldn't even get in! I was mad about that. I don't know why... I should have expected it, but I didn't. Plus, you can usually climb IN the car, right after it's been decorated, right? You might have to wash the outside, but you can get in it and drive away!? Not us. We couldn't get in it until we removed about 5 garbage bags full of shredded paper. We vacuumed shredded paper out of that car for years.
For our wedding night, my family gave us a gift certificate to The Homestead in Midway, UT. It was a long, 40 minute drive after a VERY long day. When we got there I realized that we had left a bag with all my toiletries and my little [innocent and tasteful] negligee that my mom bought for me. I cried myself a little river right there in front of The Homestead because my little picture that I had created around that night was shattered. It all turned out fine, but I found out later that my mom had found the bag with my little items (including our toothbrushes!) and had cried too, because she knew I would be sad. :(
Our wedding day was such an awesome event in my life... even amidst all the craziness that happened! I am grateful for the chance to review it in my mind and get it down "on paper", so to speak. In the years following my wedding, I often called myself the "retarded bride" because I was such an oblivious goofball. I am grateful to the many people who pulled it together, namely my mother and father, Dustin's parents, my aforementioned sister, and my Grandma for hosting the reception. I had aunts and uncles who served the food and did all the behind the scenes things that were obscured by my oblivion. It was a success only because of all these heroes and I thank you, even if it is ten years late!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
From The Jar... #27
Last night (Tuesday night) we had a grand time at my parents house helping them decorate their tree. It was lovely and the kids were in heaven. No wait, it was I who was in heaven. OK, we were all in heaven... my celestial experience was listening to my kids' exuberant exclamations as they pulled out each of my mom's fun ornaments. (and she has ALOT of them!) I would hear, from the other room, Rohan saying "Wuk, MAC! Wuk at dis widdle house!!!" and then Ella, "OHHHH, Grandma! I LOVE this one!! It's so pretty!" Tender feelings exuded from my weary-of-being-a-single-mom-on-the-weekdays heart. I really do love my kids. Even if I say the words "BE NICE, PLEASE" eight-hundred and fifty-two-thousand times per day. Do you think if I recorded myself saying that and played it subliminally in their sleep that they actually would be nice to eachother? Hmm...
And the Jar says...
Do you remember any special feelings you had as a child? Fears, fantasies, etc.
Uhhh.... well, let's see. I wouldn't call fears "special", but I remember I was terrified of rats. I had never even seen one, but I had dreams about them all the time. A recurring dream, in fact....
I was trapped among a sea of rats on a couch on a random porch and I knew if I got down I would get rabies from one of them rubbing their noses on me. Yes, in my dream, you contracted rabies from a rat's Eskimo kiss. They all left me alone, except the king rat spotted me and came running toward me. He had an extra long nose with a ball on the end of it... like the top of a clown hat.
Ya. Like that. Anyway, he zeroed in on me and ran up and rubbed his rabies transmitter of a nose on my leg. I always woke up screaming from that dream. I was only about 5 years old. There was also an alley up a block from us where someone (probably my evil older brother or sister) told me the rats lived. They scratched up a telephone pole in that alley and lived in a scary garage. I wouldn't go into that alley. Ever. I would run past the opening of it when I had to walk that way.
I was also terrified of the husks that locusts would leave on the trees around my Grandma's house in Houston. They have little grippy things on their legs and my [evil] brother and sister would put them all over their shirts and chase me and throw them at me. I'm pretty sure I'm still scarred from it. ;)
Fantasies as a child... hmmm. Any room I walked into I would imagine myself standing on the wall, parallel with the floor and jumping off of the wall and doing handsprings over and over until I could go through the window on the opposite wall feet first. I still do this in rooms to this day, but not every room and just when I get bored.
I also remember babysitting kids as a pre-teen (12 or so) and pretending they were mine and that my husband would be gone somewhere and I would kiss him when he walked in the door upon his return and my life would be like a scene from Leave It to Beaver.
I remember putting on concerts for my little friends when I was about 5 or 6. I would stand on the stage and they would request songs and I'd sing them. I liked to pretend that I was a real singer on a real stage, and I was famous, and pretty, and grown up.
I remember being Red Sonja with my big sword (stick) when we were camping. I would swing it with vigor and kill all the enemies (little dead sticks on dead, beetle-killed pine trees). That was a fantasy I shared with my siblings.
I remember imagining if I died and wondering if people would really miss me. I wondered what they would say at my funeral. I wondered if I could watch from heaven and see their tears and feel important and loved.
I remember very special feelings when I would turn off all the lights, turn on my family's definitive Christmas CD, The Gift, and listen while I stared at the magic of our Christmas tree. And if the tree was in a certain spot, I would sit by the heater while I basked in the warm glow. I remember thinking that life couldn't get any better.
But, it has.
And the Jar says...
Do you remember any special feelings you had as a child? Fears, fantasies, etc.
Uhhh.... well, let's see. I wouldn't call fears "special", but I remember I was terrified of rats. I had never even seen one, but I had dreams about them all the time. A recurring dream, in fact....
I was trapped among a sea of rats on a couch on a random porch and I knew if I got down I would get rabies from one of them rubbing their noses on me. Yes, in my dream, you contracted rabies from a rat's Eskimo kiss. They all left me alone, except the king rat spotted me and came running toward me. He had an extra long nose with a ball on the end of it... like the top of a clown hat.
Ya. Like that. Anyway, he zeroed in on me and ran up and rubbed his rabies transmitter of a nose on my leg. I always woke up screaming from that dream. I was only about 5 years old. There was also an alley up a block from us where someone (probably my evil older brother or sister) told me the rats lived. They scratched up a telephone pole in that alley and lived in a scary garage. I wouldn't go into that alley. Ever. I would run past the opening of it when I had to walk that way.I was also terrified of the husks that locusts would leave on the trees around my Grandma's house in Houston. They have little grippy things on their legs and my [evil] brother and sister would put them all over their shirts and chase me and throw them at me. I'm pretty sure I'm still scarred from it. ;)
Fantasies as a child... hmmm. Any room I walked into I would imagine myself standing on the wall, parallel with the floor and jumping off of the wall and doing handsprings over and over until I could go through the window on the opposite wall feet first. I still do this in rooms to this day, but not every room and just when I get bored.
I also remember babysitting kids as a pre-teen (12 or so) and pretending they were mine and that my husband would be gone somewhere and I would kiss him when he walked in the door upon his return and my life would be like a scene from Leave It to Beaver.
I remember putting on concerts for my little friends when I was about 5 or 6. I would stand on the stage and they would request songs and I'd sing them. I liked to pretend that I was a real singer on a real stage, and I was famous, and pretty, and grown up.
I remember being Red Sonja with my big sword (stick) when we were camping. I would swing it with vigor and kill all the enemies (little dead sticks on dead, beetle-killed pine trees). That was a fantasy I shared with my siblings.
I remember imagining if I died and wondering if people would really miss me. I wondered what they would say at my funeral. I wondered if I could watch from heaven and see their tears and feel important and loved.
I remember very special feelings when I would turn off all the lights, turn on my family's definitive Christmas CD, The Gift, and listen while I stared at the magic of our Christmas tree. And if the tree was in a certain spot, I would sit by the heater while I basked in the warm glow. I remember thinking that life couldn't get any better.
But, it has.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
From The Jar... #26
Tell about handed-down talents, foods, dolls, willow whistles, pottery, quilting, whittling, etc.
Is that weird or is it just me? Ah well, at least it's easy!
Handed-down talents... that's easy. Singing. I said a few posts ago that we are a singing family, on my mom's side that is. All of my mom's sisters sing, as well as her lone brother. Her parents sing as well. My sisters and brothers sing too. It's just a big singing party when we're all together!
Another talent that I suppose has been handed down is sewing. My grandma (mom's side again) was an amazing seamstress. She had a real passion for it too. She could die happy in a fabric store. I can see her small fingers with her long pretty nails touching each bolt she passed and sliding the fabric between her fingers. She loves fabric and the dream of the endless possibilities that could come of it.
I don't claim to be the seamstress she was, but I really enjoy sewing and I do a fair job of it. Here are a few examples of my "work".
Easter 2004, I made both of their outfits.
Halloween 2005, I made Mac and Ella's costumes, but not Rohan's.
Halloween, 2007- Ella, the "Ice Princess".
Halloween 2007- Didn't make the shirt or the pants, just the "slashes with blood" showing and sewed the fur onto the Werewolf's legs.
Easter 2005, I made Ella's dress... did not make Mac's clothes. Don't you just love her cute little face in that last pic? lol!
I've made several costumes for opera's that I've been in, including my own costume in Die Fledermaus. I was 6 months pregnant with Rohan at the time and my body seemed to change almost daily, so I waited until the last minute to make my costume. It turned out lovely, baby belly and all!
We have some recipes in our family that are "handed down". I hope that's what the jar means when it says "food" cuz we don't have a sacred grilled cheese sandwich with the face of Mary on it that has been passed down for three generations, or any other handed-down food item, for that matter. Recipes...right!... back on track, kids. Cornbread dressing at Thanksgiving... YUM! Wacky cake. Hootnanny pancakes. Pecan pie. Among others that I am sure I can't think of right now.
As for dolls, willow whistles, pottery, quilting, and whittling... can you say random? Dolls, pottery and quilting I can see... not in my family, but I can feature it. But willow whistles and whittling? I guffaw! (insert boisterous belly laugh here) And this is where you'll forgive me if you have a sacred heirloom willow whistle that your great-great-grandfather made, or a precious whittled teacup from your pioneer ancestor that's been handed down through the ages.... I am just laughing at the randomness of the question! And no, I don't have any willow whistles or mad, generational whittling skills. LOL!
Is that weird or is it just me? Ah well, at least it's easy!
Handed-down talents... that's easy. Singing. I said a few posts ago that we are a singing family, on my mom's side that is. All of my mom's sisters sing, as well as her lone brother. Her parents sing as well. My sisters and brothers sing too. It's just a big singing party when we're all together!
Another talent that I suppose has been handed down is sewing. My grandma (mom's side again) was an amazing seamstress. She had a real passion for it too. She could die happy in a fabric store. I can see her small fingers with her long pretty nails touching each bolt she passed and sliding the fabric between her fingers. She loves fabric and the dream of the endless possibilities that could come of it.
I don't claim to be the seamstress she was, but I really enjoy sewing and I do a fair job of it. Here are a few examples of my "work".
Easter 2004, I made both of their outfits.
Halloween 2005, I made Mac and Ella's costumes, but not Rohan's.
Halloween, 2007- Ella, the "Ice Princess".
Halloween 2007- Didn't make the shirt or the pants, just the "slashes with blood" showing and sewed the fur onto the Werewolf's legs.
Easter 2005, I made Ella's dress... did not make Mac's clothes. Don't you just love her cute little face in that last pic? lol!We have some recipes in our family that are "handed down". I hope that's what the jar means when it says "food" cuz we don't have a sacred grilled cheese sandwich with the face of Mary on it that has been passed down for three generations, or any other handed-down food item, for that matter. Recipes...right!... back on track, kids. Cornbread dressing at Thanksgiving... YUM! Wacky cake. Hootnanny pancakes. Pecan pie. Among others that I am sure I can't think of right now.
As for dolls, willow whistles, pottery, quilting, and whittling... can you say random? Dolls, pottery and quilting I can see... not in my family, but I can feature it. But willow whistles and whittling? I guffaw! (insert boisterous belly laugh here) And this is where you'll forgive me if you have a sacred heirloom willow whistle that your great-great-grandfather made, or a precious whittled teacup from your pioneer ancestor that's been handed down through the ages.... I am just laughing at the randomness of the question! And no, I don't have any willow whistles or mad, generational whittling skills. LOL!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
From The Jar... #25
I've been a slacker on my jar posts lately.
Tell the words of a song from your childhood and the memories it brings.
So many songs, so little time...
We were a singing family. Well, actually, we still are a singing family. I grew up with my mom teaching us all kinds of songs that we would all sing together. We sang a lot on road trips, mostly rounds. A favorite round that we sang was called Man's Life's a Vapor. The words went like this:
Man's life's a vapor, full of woes.
When he cuts a caper, down he goes.
Downy, downy, downy, downy down he goes.
It has a really fun tune and makes some really nice harmonies when sung in a round, but as a kid, I always thought this was the weirdest song. That might have something to do with how I had the words wrong til I was who knows how old... high school, maybe? Here's the words that my child-mind created:
Man's lives of aper, full of wolves.
When he cuts the caper, down he goes.
Downy, downy, downy, downy down he goes.
Ya. I had no idea what an aper was, nor any clue why this guy's life was full of wolves. I didn't know what a caper was either. I pictured it to be some sort of string that this guy cut with big scissors. And when he cut this "caper string" he fell and went down this big, clear tube.... downy, downy, downy down he goes... down the tube. The guy had a little hat and a pencil-thin mustache and a three-piece, pin-striped suit. I always thought of him like a cross between the cartoon Boris Bandenov from the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, the evil and inept magician, Professor Hinkle, on the 1960's animated Frosty the Snowman and the Pink Panther. Sometimes his hat came off when he went downy, downy, down...
Weird, huh? So, that's the memories that that song bring back. Wolves, a big, clear tube, and a detective looking guy.
I just now Googled it to see if, by some chance, they would have the words to this song online. (I wanted to make sure I had the REAL words right!) I found them... apparently, this song is written from a scripture in Proverbs. This is fascinating to me that I've known this song practically my whole life and I've never known what the heck it was from. I just thought it was weird.
On a sweeter and less random note... another song from my childhood that I absolutely love and still sing to my own children is called "Old Dog Tray". This is another that we grew up singing. This one we just sang in a lovely two-part harmony. Maybe I'll get my mom to sing it with me and I'll record it for ya'll. Here are the words.
The morn of life is past,
And evening comes at last;
It brings me a dream of a once happy day,
Of merry forms I’ve seen
Upon the village green,
Sporting with my old dog Tray.
Old dog Tray’s ever faithful,
Grief cannot drive him away,
He’s gentle, he is kind;
I’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.
This song was written by Stephen Foster back in 1853. It evokes tender feelings of nostalgia and a connection to my ancestors in the deep south. I always think of my grandmother who was born and raised in Mississippi when we sing this song.
I love that my mom and dad instilled in their children a love of music and singing. While I don't sing with my kids in the car as much as I'd like, I do sing them to sleep almost every night and I hope that is something they treasure into adulthood.
Tell the words of a song from your childhood and the memories it brings.
So many songs, so little time...
We were a singing family. Well, actually, we still are a singing family. I grew up with my mom teaching us all kinds of songs that we would all sing together. We sang a lot on road trips, mostly rounds. A favorite round that we sang was called Man's Life's a Vapor. The words went like this:
Man's life's a vapor, full of woes.
When he cuts a caper, down he goes.
Downy, downy, downy, downy down he goes.
It has a really fun tune and makes some really nice harmonies when sung in a round, but as a kid, I always thought this was the weirdest song. That might have something to do with how I had the words wrong til I was who knows how old... high school, maybe? Here's the words that my child-mind created:
Man's lives of aper, full of wolves.
When he cuts the caper, down he goes.
Downy, downy, downy, downy down he goes.
Ya. I had no idea what an aper was, nor any clue why this guy's life was full of wolves. I didn't know what a caper was either. I pictured it to be some sort of string that this guy cut with big scissors. And when he cut this "caper string" he fell and went down this big, clear tube.... downy, downy, downy down he goes... down the tube. The guy had a little hat and a pencil-thin mustache and a three-piece, pin-striped suit. I always thought of him like a cross between the cartoon Boris Bandenov from the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, the evil and inept magician, Professor Hinkle, on the 1960's animated Frosty the Snowman and the Pink Panther. Sometimes his hat came off when he went downy, downy, down...
Weird, huh? So, that's the memories that that song bring back. Wolves, a big, clear tube, and a detective looking guy.
I just now Googled it to see if, by some chance, they would have the words to this song online. (I wanted to make sure I had the REAL words right!) I found them... apparently, this song is written from a scripture in Proverbs. This is fascinating to me that I've known this song practically my whole life and I've never known what the heck it was from. I just thought it was weird.
On a sweeter and less random note... another song from my childhood that I absolutely love and still sing to my own children is called "Old Dog Tray". This is another that we grew up singing. This one we just sang in a lovely two-part harmony. Maybe I'll get my mom to sing it with me and I'll record it for ya'll. Here are the words.
The morn of life is past,
And evening comes at last;
It brings me a dream of a once happy day,
Of merry forms I’ve seen
Upon the village green,
Sporting with my old dog Tray.
Old dog Tray’s ever faithful,
Grief cannot drive him away,
He’s gentle, he is kind;
I’ll never, never find
A better friend than old dog Tray.
This song was written by Stephen Foster back in 1853. It evokes tender feelings of nostalgia and a connection to my ancestors in the deep south. I always think of my grandmother who was born and raised in Mississippi when we sing this song.
I love that my mom and dad instilled in their children a love of music and singing. While I don't sing with my kids in the car as much as I'd like, I do sing them to sleep almost every night and I hope that is something they treasure into adulthood.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
From The Jar... #24
This was supposed to be a relaxed day and it turned into anything but relaxed. But it was good. (Thanks again, Maria, for watching my kids, feeding me and my kids dinner, getting them to eat SALAD(!), substituting for me for choir, having a "lesson" with me, and for being my friend!) So, needless to say, I didn't get to my jar post. But... staying up late is what I do best so without further ado...
Would you choose differently if you could choose your occupation again?
As for my other things that I do (landlording, pretzel dipping), I'd have to say yes on the pretzels, no on the landlording. I've dipped enough pretzels to last me for two or three lifetimes. Landlording, challenging as it's been, I wouldn't choose differently for the education I have received. I've learned so much about so many different things including learning about myself. It has been invaluable. I'm sure these things will serve me in the future. And for that matter.... the pretzels have taught me alot about myself too. They just so happen to be what I was procrastinating upon yesterday. So, really, I probably wouldn't change anything. I've said it before, my life is exactly perfect. Everything has been for my good, including the hard things.
If I had to have an "occupation" as in a job I would love to be a writer or a graphic designer, or a blogger. Can I get paid to blog? lol! I'm working on that one since I spend so much time doing it! :)
Would you choose differently if you could choose your occupation again?
No. My occupation is being a mother and I wouldn't ever trade my kids. They are incredible. Sometimes motherhood kicks me in the shorts, (OK, on a daily basis) but it's what I've always wanted,I learn everyday from them, and I love my "job".
This is me at "work" several years ago. Mac painted on the wall in our old house.
As for my other things that I do (landlording, pretzel dipping), I'd have to say yes on the pretzels, no on the landlording. I've dipped enough pretzels to last me for two or three lifetimes. Landlording, challenging as it's been, I wouldn't choose differently for the education I have received. I've learned so much about so many different things including learning about myself. It has been invaluable. I'm sure these things will serve me in the future. And for that matter.... the pretzels have taught me alot about myself too. They just so happen to be what I was procrastinating upon yesterday. So, really, I probably wouldn't change anything. I've said it before, my life is exactly perfect. Everything has been for my good, including the hard things.
If I had to have an "occupation" as in a job I would love to be a writer or a graphic designer, or a blogger. Can I get paid to blog? lol! I'm working on that one since I spend so much time doing it! :)
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
From The Jar... #23
So I didn't do a jar pull last week. Well, I started this one, but didn't finish it. It's late, but it's here.
Do you like rainstorms? Why or why not?
Is there a person on this earth who DOESN'T like rainstorms? The answer to the jar is a resounding 'yes'. I love them. Why? The warm, snug, take-a-bath-by-candlelight type of feelings they evoke...
Do you like rainstorms? Why or why not?
Is there a person on this earth who DOESN'T like rainstorms? The answer to the jar is a resounding 'yes'. I love them. Why? The warm, snug, take-a-bath-by-candlelight type of feelings they evoke...
Storm
An exhalation of earth, her breath weaves angry lashes of impatience over the effusion of renewal. Eyes drawing closed, she darkens the sky. Searing and tempestuous agonies lash across her vast cerebrum, coruscations of burning illumination.
Internal laceration gives way to tumbling expletives, and, unable to sustain her fortitude, she weeps with unabashed vulnerability as her children stand, oblivious to her torment, marveling at the mystical shroud her pain has wrapped around them.
.
Internal laceration gives way to tumbling expletives, and, unable to sustain her fortitude, she weeps with unabashed vulnerability as her children stand, oblivious to her torment, marveling at the mystical shroud her pain has wrapped around them.
.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
From The Jar... #22 (revisited)
I wrote a witty and colorful account the other night of this jar topic, but, as you all recall, that got flushed down the cyber toilet, never to be seen again. It's probably floating in the lost-post cyber-sewer-treatment-plant right now... next to your lost blog entry. So, I will make an attempt to recapture what I wrote previously. You can be sure I'll be watching that autosave every few minutes.
So LAST week the Jar said:
Tell a courtship story about your parents. How they met, how they got engaged, etc.
My parents have a tidy little package for all three. Meeting, courtship and engagement.
My dad was 20. My mom was 19. Mom was attending Ricks College in Idaho and Dad lived in Salt Lake. My mom went down to SLC to visit her friend, Sydney, for the weekend and on Sunday they went to church together. My mom saw my dad for the first time while he was passing the sacrament. He had hair down to the middle of his back, and my mom thought that long hair was hot stuff! (who are we kidding, she still thinks that to this day!) She nudged her friend and asked, "Who's the long-hair?" (I could be making stuff up... Mom, if you read this, feel free to fill in holes or tell me I'm up in the night if I'm wrong.)
She was intrigued at first glance. Later on that evening, Sydney had a bunch of people, my father included, over to her house to play games, etc. Mom and Dad met and talked all evening. Then it was time for everyone to leave, so my mom walked my dad halfway home (just down the street). They stood on the corner shivering (it was wintery cold outside) and talking for another two hours! Those crazy kids...
As my dad came home that night, he talked to his own father for a bit. In the course of their conversation my dad said, "Dad, I've met the girl I'm going to marry. What should I do?"
My grandpa replied, "GET TO KNOW HER!" (Nice try, Gramps!)
My mom was supposed to go home on Sunday, but Sydney told her she'd drive her back to Idaho on Tuesday so she could see a guy she had been dating at the airport as he left on his mission. I can't remember if he flew out on Monday or Tuesday, but I know my dad and mom saw each other on one or both of those days.
On Tuesday, Mom went back with her crazy friends (who like roasted peanuts- ha!) to Idaho amidst a terrible snowstorm. On Wednesday, my dad called and said that he was coming to Idaho on Saturday to ski and could he see her? (was the skiing part right? I can't remember for sure.) So, he came up Saturday and they did see eachother. I don't know what their evening consisted of, except that it ended with them talking in my dad's car in Island Park, wherein my dad asked my mom to marry him. She shocked herself by saying, "Yes. It's too soon, but I say yes." It was a very powerful spiritual moment for them both.
So, in six days, they went from being strangers to being affianced. (Six days, you say? Yes, you're right. That would be the same amount of time it took me to freakin' decide to marry my sweetheart!) And, they are still married thirty-five years later. Quite happily, in fact.
A shout out to my parents for the awesome example they are to me of unconditional love and acceptance, for the incredible and undying support that they give to me, my husband, and my little family, and for the path they forge of growth and change and learning. I love you, Mom and Dad. You gave me life and by doing so you gave me gifts [solicited or "un"! ;)] that are my joy and/or my greatest lessons that keep me moving forward in my own growth. Thank you. Love you.
So LAST week the Jar said:
Tell a courtship story about your parents. How they met, how they got engaged, etc.
My parents have a tidy little package for all three. Meeting, courtship and engagement.
My dad was 20. My mom was 19. Mom was attending Ricks College in Idaho and Dad lived in Salt Lake. My mom went down to SLC to visit her friend, Sydney, for the weekend and on Sunday they went to church together. My mom saw my dad for the first time while he was passing the sacrament. He had hair down to the middle of his back, and my mom thought that long hair was hot stuff! (who are we kidding, she still thinks that to this day!) She nudged her friend and asked, "Who's the long-hair?" (I could be making stuff up... Mom, if you read this, feel free to fill in holes or tell me I'm up in the night if I'm wrong.)
She was intrigued at first glance. Later on that evening, Sydney had a bunch of people, my father included, over to her house to play games, etc. Mom and Dad met and talked all evening. Then it was time for everyone to leave, so my mom walked my dad halfway home (just down the street). They stood on the corner shivering (it was wintery cold outside) and talking for another two hours! Those crazy kids...
As my dad came home that night, he talked to his own father for a bit. In the course of their conversation my dad said, "Dad, I've met the girl I'm going to marry. What should I do?"
My grandpa replied, "GET TO KNOW HER!" (Nice try, Gramps!)
My mom was supposed to go home on Sunday, but Sydney told her she'd drive her back to Idaho on Tuesday so she could see a guy she had been dating at the airport as he left on his mission. I can't remember if he flew out on Monday or Tuesday, but I know my dad and mom saw each other on one or both of those days.
On Tuesday, Mom went back with her crazy friends (who like roasted peanuts- ha!) to Idaho amidst a terrible snowstorm. On Wednesday, my dad called and said that he was coming to Idaho on Saturday to ski and could he see her? (was the skiing part right? I can't remember for sure.) So, he came up Saturday and they did see eachother. I don't know what their evening consisted of, except that it ended with them talking in my dad's car in Island Park, wherein my dad asked my mom to marry him. She shocked herself by saying, "Yes. It's too soon, but I say yes." It was a very powerful spiritual moment for them both.
So, in six days, they went from being strangers to being affianced. (Six days, you say? Yes, you're right. That would be the same amount of time it took me to freakin' decide to marry my sweetheart!) And, they are still married thirty-five years later. Quite happily, in fact.
A shout out to my parents for the awesome example they are to me of unconditional love and acceptance, for the incredible and undying support that they give to me, my husband, and my little family, and for the path they forge of growth and change and learning. I love you, Mom and Dad. You gave me life and by doing so you gave me gifts [solicited or "un"! ;)] that are my joy and/or my greatest lessons that keep me moving forward in my own growth. Thank you. Love you.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
From The Jar... #21
Better late than never? It's been a CRAZY day!
Describe your Sundays as a mother/father.
I hated Sundays when I was a kid. Actually all the way through college and into our early marriage years too. Everyone laying around after church sleeping and blah. I wanted to go jump on people and wake them up and say... let's PLAY something!
As a mother, it's a little different. I like them much better than when I was younger. The following describes our Sundays when we have 1:00 church, as we currently do. I usually get to sleep in for a while... even if I don't stay asleep, I get to lay there while Dustin takes care of the kids. I usually get out of bed when Dust says breakfast is ready. He usually makes breakfast... Hootnanny Pancakes is the usual, but lately he's been making regular pancakes cuz he made chokecherry syrup. We eat breakfast and lounge around for a while. I make a bunch of phone calls to remind people in our church about choir practice. (I am the choir director) Then I take a shower, shower the kids, if they need it, get everyone as ready as I possibly can before I have to leave at noon for choir practice. ("Hurry!" is a word often heard Sunday morning... even with 1:00 church.) Go to choir and then church, go home, change clothes and head over to my parents' house for dinner! Have an enjoyable time over at my mom and dad's and then head home and put kids to bed.
9:00 church is similar except choir practice comes after church and there is much more franticness before church. (I'm late... A LOT!) Then there is more lounging before we head over to Mom and Dad's. Dustin usually makes cookies or bread. Yes, he is the baker and I'm the chef in our household. Although, lately, I have taken a hiatus from chef duty... which leaves us to call upon our backup chefs, namely General Mills, Kellogs or Post (cereal), Campbell's (Spaghettios), Wendy's, or, in tonight's case, whoever the maker's of frozen burritos are.
There's a little play-by-play of our Sundays, but the overall feeling of them is relaxed, but not blah. Mellow but not drowsy. (although Dustin often takes naps, I don't mind so much... the kids are awake!) I feel generally peaceful on Sundays now instead of frustrated like I did as a kid.
Wasn't wild about this post. Sorry. Tried to think of some creative way to write it, but I'm not feelin' it tonight. Ah well... even creative juices suck air sometimes.
Describe your Sundays as a mother/father.
I hated Sundays when I was a kid. Actually all the way through college and into our early marriage years too. Everyone laying around after church sleeping and blah. I wanted to go jump on people and wake them up and say... let's PLAY something!
As a mother, it's a little different. I like them much better than when I was younger. The following describes our Sundays when we have 1:00 church, as we currently do. I usually get to sleep in for a while... even if I don't stay asleep, I get to lay there while Dustin takes care of the kids. I usually get out of bed when Dust says breakfast is ready. He usually makes breakfast... Hootnanny Pancakes is the usual, but lately he's been making regular pancakes cuz he made chokecherry syrup. We eat breakfast and lounge around for a while. I make a bunch of phone calls to remind people in our church about choir practice. (I am the choir director) Then I take a shower, shower the kids, if they need it, get everyone as ready as I possibly can before I have to leave at noon for choir practice. ("Hurry!" is a word often heard Sunday morning... even with 1:00 church.) Go to choir and then church, go home, change clothes and head over to my parents' house for dinner! Have an enjoyable time over at my mom and dad's and then head home and put kids to bed.
9:00 church is similar except choir practice comes after church and there is much more franticness before church. (I'm late... A LOT!) Then there is more lounging before we head over to Mom and Dad's. Dustin usually makes cookies or bread. Yes, he is the baker and I'm the chef in our household. Although, lately, I have taken a hiatus from chef duty... which leaves us to call upon our backup chefs, namely General Mills, Kellogs or Post (cereal), Campbell's (Spaghettios), Wendy's, or, in tonight's case, whoever the maker's of frozen burritos are.
There's a little play-by-play of our Sundays, but the overall feeling of them is relaxed, but not blah. Mellow but not drowsy. (although Dustin often takes naps, I don't mind so much... the kids are awake!) I feel generally peaceful on Sundays now instead of frustrated like I did as a kid.
Wasn't wild about this post. Sorry. Tried to think of some creative way to write it, but I'm not feelin' it tonight. Ah well... even creative juices suck air sometimes.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
From The Jar... #20
All are invited to play. If you wonder how and why go here.
Did you go on a church mission? If so where and when? What do you most remember?
Clearly, I got my journal jar from church. I thought so, but I wasn't sure until now. For any of you who might not know, I am LDS or "Mormon" and many young people in our church go on missions for two years around age 19 or 21. I didn't go on a mission anywhere or at any time and therefore, don't remember anything most. LOL!
Sometimes these questions don't quite apply to me and so I'll answer them with something from my husband's experiences, or some family member. However, my husband didn't serve a mission either and no one in my family ever has. That's kind of funny! I have some strange sense of pride that I married a guy that didn't serve a mission. It probably stems from an experience I observed with my little brother. One where he was discriminated against because he hadn't gone on a mission. How sad! It just goes to show that there is discrimination everywhere because, let's face it folks, we're all human beings. We are all messin' up all over the place and people are jerks sometimes, even if they think they are doing the right thing.
(and since I'm all about confessing lately... ok just in the last post, but that'll do... I have another confession. I once promised that I would just grab a question out of the jar and write and not choose another if I didn't feel like writing about that one, but I broke that promise tonight. I dug through like 10 of them. I chose this one cuz it was easy. Sorry for breaking my promise.)
Did you go on a church mission? If so where and when? What do you most remember?
Clearly, I got my journal jar from church. I thought so, but I wasn't sure until now. For any of you who might not know, I am LDS or "Mormon" and many young people in our church go on missions for two years around age 19 or 21. I didn't go on a mission anywhere or at any time and therefore, don't remember anything most. LOL!
Sometimes these questions don't quite apply to me and so I'll answer them with something from my husband's experiences, or some family member. However, my husband didn't serve a mission either and no one in my family ever has. That's kind of funny! I have some strange sense of pride that I married a guy that didn't serve a mission. It probably stems from an experience I observed with my little brother. One where he was discriminated against because he hadn't gone on a mission. How sad! It just goes to show that there is discrimination everywhere because, let's face it folks, we're all human beings. We are all messin' up all over the place and people are jerks sometimes, even if they think they are doing the right thing.
(and since I'm all about confessing lately... ok just in the last post, but that'll do... I have another confession. I once promised that I would just grab a question out of the jar and write and not choose another if I didn't feel like writing about that one, but I broke that promise tonight. I dug through like 10 of them. I chose this one cuz it was easy. Sorry for breaking my promise.)
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