I've Noticed

Oregon has three counties which rank in the top ten for greatest job loss in the last 12 months. If this statistic seems a bit obscure, let me clarify. Bend, #2 on said list, had 7.8% unemployment last year in March. This year it is 17%. My city, ranked fourth, has also lost nearly 10%, with the current rate being around 14%. This means that one in seven people in my county is out of work.

I've noticed that our city, already a veritable Mecca for homeless people, has panhandlers on every corner now.

I've noticed that more and more these people begging on the side of the road look like me--younger, better groomed, more nicely dressed. This must be the look of recent homelessness. There are also more women.

I've noticed that it is harder for charitable organizations to raise the money or goods they need, even as the numbers of those in need swell to record numbers.

I've noticed that a whole lot of trials are assaulting our nation all at once, and that years of plenty have made us forget that hard times must be prepared for.

I've noticed that there are dozens of houses for sale in my neighborhood: including my next door neighbor's which will have been on the market two years come May.

I've noticed my newspaper route steadly shrink over the last several months as older people on fixed incomes look for every possible way to save $12 a month. The newspapers are also thinner than they were a year ago as advertisers shrink their budgets too.

I've noticed that it's easy to find a parking space at the mall, even on a Saturday. Although soon this will be a moot point--so many stores have shut their doors in recent months that there is little reason to even go to the mall. The parking lot at the Goodwill, however, is packed even in the middle of the day on a Tuesday.

But for all of these things I've noticed that tell me people are in trouble all over, there are a lot of other things to notice that tell me there is still reason to rejoice.

I've noticed that gardening, already popular here, has become the norm for many families as people tear up their grass to grow food. Homemaking skills--cooking, sewing, canning, knitting, etc. are suddenly very chic.

I've noticed that people are a little bit kinder to one another and actually listen when troubles are shared. There is an unspoken recognition that as the economy continues shrinking more and more jobs will be shed. Anybody's fortunes can turn on a dime.

I've (finally) noticed that the selling of the house we hung on to for 8 months after we left Texas was a huge blessing. If even a couple of more months had passed we would have likely been in foreclosure. And if we hadn't felt inspired to move that year, we probably would have never sold the house. Learning from our own housing market troubles has given me enormous empathy for those who don't hear the word "equity" without placing the word "negative" in front of it.

I've noticed that the lilacs and cherry trees bloomed this week despite all of the troubling news from around the world. I had forgotten how mesmerizing and lovely it is when the spring breeze blows the old blossom petals to the ground, creating swirling pink drifts on the sidewalks and gutters. These simple, beautiful things are more prominent in my mind than in years past.

I've noticed that my food storage is growing and for the first time in my adult life I feel like I am doing all I can to live in compliance with directives about provident living.

I've noticed that our debt to income ratio is continually shrinking and there is real peace of mind over the ease at which we meet our obligations each month.

I've noticed that so much of what I thought mattered a decade ago is all dross compared to what really matters.

Our newspaper here is very liberal. It isn't uncommon for a picture of lesbians embracing or an alternatively life-styled family to show up on the front page. One of the cover stories today, in fact, was about our mayor's endorsement of medical marijuana. But the main picture, in full color, was of a jobless African-American woman. In bold, black lettering next to her face was her quote, "I've got to pray, like everyone else. As Americans we've got to ride the wave."

The second part of her sentiment is the bald-faced American optimism that makes this country great. And if the first part is true about the "everyone else," then I think we are going to be okay. So today, I'm going to pray for God to watch out for those who, through little fault of their own, have found themselves victims of difficult circumstances. I'm going to pray that those who want to work will find jobs, and that those who DON'T want to work will find joy in succeeding through their best efforts. I'm going to pray that our leaders will have the wisdom to make the most informed, compassionate and forward-looking policies that they can, regardless of their political party. I'm going to pray for my heart to be more open and generous so that when we do have a little bit of extra we can give more help. I'm going to pray that I'll recognize the difference in my wants and needs so that there IS a little bit of extra that can be used to help others.

In short, I'm going to "pray like everyone else."

Will you join me?

"I'm Sorry" Cards Don't Come in a Big Box

When you have a big event in which you are honored, loved adored, helped, whatever, it is customary to buy the Costco-sized box of "Thank You" notes and send them to everyone you know.

Or, if you are extremely clever and crafty, you have a supply of gorgeous, stamped cards on hand all of the time when there are special thank you's involved. You are so organized that you actually stock up on your supply of breath-taking stationary at a "card party" with your friends every month.

So what do you do when you have a week where you've put your foot in your mouth so many times that you can constantly smell shoe leather? (Where DOES this expression come from anyway? The problem is NOT my foot in my mouth. If my foot was in my mouth then I might be quiet, and then I wouldn't have any problems. The traditional "put a sock in it" is much more apropos in my case.)

A week when you feel so confident in your own ability to dazzle people that you forget how dazzling those in your life are?

A week that your own skin feels so uncomfortable that you'd trade places with an ostrich if only to bury your head in the sand for an hour or two?

A week when you are certain enough of your own big mouth that you KNOW those few awkward looks from people days later are not accidental?

"Thank you" cards are sold in bulk. "I'm sorry" cards are sold as singles. I found this out yesterday when I hunted around a few different stores for the $5 budget box. Perhaps this is the real lesson: if I remember to be more grateful, maybe I won't find as many accidental opportunities to offend.

So, if you read here, and I said something stupid to you this week, or acted overbearing, I really am sorry. If that is too general an apology, fire me off a really nasty e-mail telling me exactly how much work my personality needs and I will try to make it up to you. Really.

For those of you that don't read here . . . . well, I'm going to make time today to sit down and write a few notes. And pray earnestly that my nature might be changed.

Venting. Venting. VENTING.

I'm absolutely certain this will come back to bite me in the butt.

AND I DON'T CARE.

Why is the Young Men's Organization so colossally disorganized? Here is my latest and favorite.

Our ward does an annual spaghetti dinner to make money for the scouts. $20 per family for a really lousy dinner of coldish spaghetti and bagged salad. After the dinner, there is a dessert auction--all desserts donated, all proceeds going to the scouts. Most of the ward shows up and the Scouts make a killing. My favorite part about this is that they do the Friends of Scouting drive just a few weeks prior to this.

Friends of Scouting?

You mean there is a pledged amount to ensure that a group of ungrateful, grumbling boys get to do whatever they want, activities-wise? Yes, there is.

Plantboy was just released from the Young Men's but had a friend at work who raises beef and agreed to supply 15 pounds of meat for the dinner, free of charge. Very cool. Plantboy did a bit of legwork and it has been sitting in my freezer for the last few days. In addition, the scoutmaster, on Wednesday night, asked all of the YW leaders if they would be willing to make a batch of spaghetti--no sign-ups, no real notice. Oh, and by the way, could each of us also bring a dessert or two to auction off? Then, on top of my Friends of Scouting pledge, my spaghetti and my dessert, we are supposed to pay $20 to go to this thing. Unless we want dessert, in which case we'll pay $30.

When the YM president showed up to pick up the meat today, he said, "How much do you think you can make?" Uh, how much do you need me to make? "Well, I don't really know; the scoutmaster was only able to get 8 people to say they were making spaghetti." Well, how many do you expect to feed? "About 200." So I need to make spaghetti for 25 people. "Sure!"

When I told him that 15 pounds of meat (the donation) will only adequately feed about 75 people, and that the Scouts may need to purchase more, he shurgged it off. He said that it didn't really matter if the spaghetti had meat or not--the unspoken message beng that nobody really expects a worthwhile meal anyway. So, for about a $30 investment (the YM buy Brand X sauce and noodles), the Scouts in our ward will probably bring in a few thousand dollars this week.

Our young women, on the other hand, need to come up with our own fundraiser if we want to go to camp. We are selling very cute breakfast baskets for mother's day. The leaders will make the sign-up sheets, collect the money, make homemade rolls, buy all the materials (which, no doubt will come at least partially out-of-pocket), and assemble them at six in the morning on Mother's Day.

As frustrated as I'm going to be when only 1/3 of our YW women show up to help assemble said baskets on Mother's Day, it is nothing compared to the blood I'm going to be after if ALL of the YM leaders and fathers of the 12-18 year-old boys in our ward don't sign up for at least TWO of these babies.

Even then, I bet we still have to hold a car wash in mid-June to get everyone to camp.

There are a few men who stop by here regularly. Please, help me to understand why the men are disorganized, delegate any real planning and responsibility to the women and still take the majority of the budget reserved for the youth? If you can offer me even a smidge of insight here, I'm happy to make a full apology.

And Memory

My trip memories need to be preserved today, but this morning a news report triggered another memory. One much less pleasant, but which has had a powerful impact on my life.

I had been teaching school at my first job for just 3 1/2 months when I got a message over the intercom to go and pick up the phone immediately. This in itself was strange, but when the secretary said that the phone call was from my aunt, the weird meter hit the roof. Was something wrong with my grandmother? My parents? I hurried to the phone in an adjoining teacher's supply room. My aunt proceeded to tell me a story about teenage-gunmen, a hostage situation, SWAT teams, the Trenchcoat Mafia and pipe bombs at a school in south Denver. She wondered if I knew what high school my Colorado cousins attended; she had been unable to reach their dad and I was the next best person to know. Somehow I pulled a memory out of nowhere, "No, I think they go to a Denver school that has an Indian-sounding name."

I was right. My cousins were at Arapaho. Not Columbine. Neighboring schools, same community, same demographic.

I walked back to my students in a daze, repeating what I had heard to them. One student laughed out loud; I looked at him in surprise. He was an extremely nice kid. He backpedaled, "I mean; it just sounds so weird! They must be joking, right? It must all be a big hoax!"

The next day he apologized profusely for his cavalier attitude. Within the week, our school counselor asked us to have a conversation in each class about what had happened. Some classes wanted to talk a lot; other groups brushed it off and wanted to move on. One student, whom I'd never noticed anything strange from, said, "Those jocks got exactly what they deserved." I knew then that the counselor had asked us to talk about it in class both to help the kids work through emotions they might be having, but also to identify those who might sympathize with the perpetrators.

Public schools entered a new era, a post-Columbine era. Teachers, counselors, administration and communities approach bullying differently now. The school safety plan and classroom evacuation procedures are given as much weight as lesson plans. And our trust has eroded just a little bit further. I didn't know that a columbine was a flower until I married my Colorado boy. They grow wild in the Rockies; the ones you buy and plant as perennials in your garden have hardly been engineered at all, and look much the same as the ones you find in unexpected places in the Colorado Fourteeners in the middle of summer. I love these hardy and beautiful flowers. I never seen one now without thinking of that school. Those kids held graduation just a month and a half later: to show they world that they could not be defeated. Those there that day would never to be the same again--in the summer of 1999 I worked at a tutoring center in Denver just after Plantboy and I got married. One of my colleagues was a history teacher at Columbine. He was there that day. He wouldn't talk about it. No doubt the memories were too fresh and painful. Maybe they always will be.

Memories don't always come from things we anticipate. Maybe the most powerful memories are things that surprise us for good or ill. Things that throw us off balance so much that we never look at our lives the same again.

And anticipation doesn't always lead to great memories, nor does anticipation and planning necessarily mean that snafus will not occur. If this doesn't sound like an exactly promising start to a post about a vacation, well, there is reason for that. We knew we should take care of a muffler issue on our family car before heading out of town. We did not. When we DID get it to a shop near my parents' house before heading to Dixie, the mechanic told Plantboy that we were lucky not to have blown ourselves up; the burning smell that had plagued us all the way from Oregon was melting plastic and carpet fibers--from a big hole just inches under our luggage. We got rid of the burning smell only to spill a gallon of water into said carpet from a container with a slow leak. It was too cold in Southern Utah for the car to ever properly dry out and mildew was a constant and aromatic companion for the duration. (I know--it is an enigma. Too cold to dry out and yet warm enough to grow mold.)

As we headed south, the weather seemed to actually get colder. Because of the car issue we were way behind schedule and I called our bed and breakfast at the mouth of Zion Canyon to find out I'd made my booking a week late and there were no vacancies. Thinking that it MUST be their mistake, I called to confirm our second bed and breakfast. Oh, it was actually MY mistake. I booked both places for a week that we would not actually BE in Utah. Perfect. When we stopped to take our first hike, there was about four inches of uber-sticky red mud at the trailhead.


We drove (at least) two hours out of the way in a snowstorm to attend a session at the Manti Temple, which we have never done before. When we pulled up to the temple, the parking lot was practically deserted and the workmen at the front who were dismantling the doors informed us that the temple was on shutdown. This two week hiatus for deep cleaning and noisy and/or messy repairs is generally done in February and again in July. No, the engineer, informed us, with so many temples now in operation, the shutdown periods are staggered.

In ten days we drove 2000 miles. This car-time has been so kind to my back that I think it is finally time to break down and find a chiropractor here in my fair city. The mountain of laundry in the hallway does not rival Mt. Everest, but it probably gets at least K2 status. Today I have two kids with croupy coughs. It is like living with seals.
And yet . . .
We had a wonderful time.
I'll spare you the travel log, and instead I will just show some of my favorite pictures from the trip. I'll try to keep the commentary brief. (After all, brevity is my strong point.) They are not in any particular order. It is hard to say on how many levels I hate the way blogger loads pictures and I just don't have the patience to arrange them chronologically today.


This is the view just outside Capitol Reef National Park. Yes, this is outside the park. I loved this park--in part because I've never been there before and it was cool to try something new. It reminded me a lot of Lake Powell. The south end of CRNP actually touches the Glen Canyon area, which is where Lake Powell is. The mountains all around our bed and breakfast looked just like this. Amazing.

This is Torrey Pines Bed and Breakfast, which is just outside Torrey, Utah to the east a little bit. Because we were a week early, the proprietress wasn't there; it was just her husband. He took excellent care of us, including biscuits and gravy with fruit on a very pretty table setting for breakfast. He also gave us a recommendation for a fantastic restaurant. Eldon said that the county Torrey sits in has the cleanest air rating in the entire country. I believe it. Even with the clouds we could see for hundreds of miles at any vantage point between Bryce and Capitol Reef.

If you ever find yourself in Torrey, sans children, you must eat at this restaurant. It is probably our most mediocre photo from the entire trip, but I did find a picture of Planboy's meal on their website.

What do you think it is? Here are your choices:

a) Turnip ribbons on lamb chops

b) Radish shreds over fried potatoes and pork roast

c) Baby back pork ribs, slow roasted in chipotle, molasses & rum glaze, squash & zucchini, with mashed sweet potatoes

d) Not food at all. A centerpiece.

These are Anasazi wall carvings found in CRNP. The Mormon pioneers settled the area not long after arriving in Utah, like many communities in the western US. When they arrived in the Fremont River valley, they found lush grasses growing along the river's edge, a micro-climate perfect for growing fruit trees, and thousand year old irrigation ditches. They built their own community the same place the Indians had generations and generations earlier. Like the Indians, the fickle river eventually flooded out the Mormon pioneers and a permanent community was never established right on the river. The surviving area is called "Fruita" and has been a part of the park for decades. In the summer you can camp in the park and pick seasonal fruit for about a dollar a pound. Bargain.

This was the only view we got of the Fruita orchards with any sun in the background. We had clouds and wind that entire day. When the sun peaked out for a moment, Plantboy got the above shot.

These close up shots are Plantboy's speciality. I think his plant pictures are always so amazing because something about him speaks to the soul of a plant. They show their beauty to him in a way they don't reveal to me.

This tree was at the top of a hike to a bridge called Hickman Bridge. Plantboy found a place to scramble up about two stories of rock which came out to a plateau that connected the bridge. Initially he was hoping to cross the bridge, but there was a gap too wide and too narrow to safely cross. He backpedaled and saw this tree on the other side of a wash through a slot canyon. I walked down the bridge and waited and saw him pop his head out of a small divet to the side of the arch, 200 feet above the ground. He called, "I guess this way doesn't go out!" Uh, no. His voice echoing all around the wash under the bridge. My heart nearly stopped at how close he was to the edge.

I didn't hear an all-clear from him for several minutes and began to have visions of Sevier County Search and Rescue pulling my husband's half-dead frostbitten body from the top of a cliff when I finally heard him coming back. He presented me with a tiny twig with one of these lovely pink flowers on it, apologized, and said that the tree made him do it. How could I stay upset?

This is my tiny self dwarfed under the bridge referenced above. There is still fifty or hundred feet of ground below the picture, the niche that Plantboy hovered in was to the right of the arch, just out of the picture. This was a fantastic hike and the arch was amazing. Not quite as picturesque as Delicate Arch, but I think I enjoyed the hike more. There were a lot fewer people also and the arch was just enormous. The rocks I'm sitting on fell to form part of the arch.

This cool wash was on the way up to the bridge. If you look past Plantboy, there was a whole room in there. We scrambled around a little bit and explored both the inside and got up on top of it. When I see such amazing places it is no wonder to me that the Native Americans so resented the encroachment of the whites. No doubt, such natural retreats were sacred to them. It must have been like bile for them to watch each place systematically desecrated both literally and figuratively with our indifference. I'm immensely grateful to the presidents and politicians in the early part of the 1900's who insisted that some places be set aside.

Oh look! A little chair, just my size.

Look at those natural steps. How convenient! Okay, not really, but I love groomed trails that have attempted to become such a part of the landscape. I think they are beautiful. It also keeps you from straying off the path when you see how hard they worked to make a path for you. I don't mind trailblazing; it is actually pretty fun, but if everyone takes that attitude, then eventually the thing that was once so lovely becomes ruined.

Remember those views I talked about? Seeing for hundreds of miles, even on a cloudy day? Well, the best place for such views is the highway between Bryce and Capitol Reef. In a very controversial move in the last month of his presidency, Clinton designated thousands of square miles in southern Utah as a national monument. The environmentalists were pleased--the move effectively kept oil and gas and shale exploration OUT of that region. The locals were furious. The cattle and sheep grazers who have used those public lands for generations were no longer allowed in, and the future revenue from the jobs and taxes brought in my oil companies was lost. It sure is pretty country.

I didn't know until this trip that the reason this region is called the Grand Staircase is because, geologically speaking, the bottom layer of Bryce is the top layer of Zion and the bottom layer of Zion is the top layer of the Grand Canyon. Seeing a cross section of the parks lined up on a poster with one another was fascinating. It made me wish for a moment that I was teaching 8th grade science again. It also convinced me that if I had to kidnap them to do it, I'm taking my Young Women hiking this summer. (I might have to. My 16 year-old neice said of their own trip to the parks, as we were showing our pictures around, "That was the worst vacation ever!" She did not just say it once. )

This is Bryce Canyon near sunset. We were going to head out earlier that afternoon, but the sunrise had been so amazing that we decided to have one day that we didn't drive at all and wait for the sun to go down. Alas, after a gorgous morning, the clouds rolled in that afternoon and we didn't see anything more interesting than a wonderful couple from New Zealand. It was our day in Bryce that really convinced me not to miss the kids--sunrise hike, late breakfast, a rigorous mid-morning hike, afternoon nap and a very late supper after more hiking. One day, when the kids don't need their routines and hovering parents quite so much, this will be exactly the vacation that we'll take. It will be a few years.

It is so easy to photoshop things now that if I hadn't been there that day to witness it myself, I would be absolutely convinced that these photos from mid-morning in Bryce Canyon had been doctored up to make the sky that color of blue. They have not been. It really was that blue. I've never seen anything like it. The clarity it gave me was equally sublime. Several of these shots are from a hike called the Navajo Trail. Plantboy once had a backpacking magazine that ranked it on a list of 100 best hikes in the US, with some contributors arguing that it was the BEST hike in the entire continental US. They may be right.

More from the Navajo Trail. It wasn't until that day that I understood why The North Face called the color of my jacket Sky Blue.

We hiked portions of the Rim Trail at Bryce several times in a 24 hour period: our camp site was just fifty yards down from it. Before sunset we hiked almost as high as inspiration point then hoofed it back down just in time to see clouds instead of any kind of sunset. This is such a cool shot with the hoodoo formations in the background and those tree roots surviving against all practical chances.

We were there early enough in the season that you can still see ice forming in the mud. The tracks above are ice patterns in the soft, red earth. It is a micorcausm of the millions of years of freeze and thaw that have created the amazing landscape at Bryce Canyon. No wonder early man went to the tops of the mountains to commune with God.

A tree with a second tree growing out of it in the slot canyon at the bottom of the Navajo Trail: Sunset Point side.

Again, real sky. In many places we could still see quite a lot of snow too. I've never seen such vibrate colors--blue, white, orange, green--in a natural place before.

Natural arch over the switchbacks on the Navajo Trail. I was so short I didn't even have to duck going through it.

I just love the late sunrise light on this shot.

Again, cool lighting. I think Plantboy plans to mimic this very tree in his next Bonsai creation. We'll see!

Sunrise. Wow. The wind was very cold that morning and at one point I realized that tears were just spilling out of my eyes. At first I credited the wind entirely, but then I knew that no breeze could make me feel so emotional inside as well. I stood on the lookout listening to the soft cacophony of foreign voices around me and felt such a deep love and connection to all living things that I wept for the beauty of it. Every setback, expense and difficulty was worth that ONE moment. For all the years I've been told that you-have-to-see-Bryce-Canyon-at-sunrise, I'm glad I've never done it before now, and that I was with just Plantboy. He understands things like this; he understands this deep and beauty-loving part of me in a way that nobody I've ever met understands it. He and I are different in many ways, but all of those differences pale compared to being able to feel this way and not having to explain it. It was a glorious morning.

This is at the top of Emerald Pools in Zion National Park. (The third pool.) It was a great hike, moderately strenuous; I imagine it would be quite brutal in July, but the coolness of the water was nice. If we'd had two days I think I would have attemtped Angel's Landing, but I'm glad we picked this instead. Not as scary.

At the mouth of the narrows, a very large blue heron was looking for a meal just a few yards away from where I sat on a rock. This was about the only shot we got and it really doesn't do it justice; the light was fading. The reality is that he was gorgeous and had a huge wingspan.

Plantboy and I waded in the frigid water while he stared longingly up the too-deep Narrows and dreamed, no doubt, of a time in the future when he'll bring his three adventurous boys back to this spot and keep going right up the creek. I think Mom will come too.

A shot at Zion Park. We were constantly shedding and adding layers throughout the day, never quite sure if we were warm or cold.

The top fall at Emerald Pools.

I'm such a geology freak, and the ripples in the stone at the bottom of this waterfall just made me so happy. I love seeing natural processes of the past and speculating about what the geologic footprint of similar processes would look like. I think this one is proof.

This shot, no doubt, is how emerald pools got its name.

When I realized the mistake at our first bed and breakfast, we saw this charming place off the side of the road in Rockville, a very small town just before Springdale (at the mouth of Zion Canyon). On a whim, we whipped into it and sure enough, she had plenty of rooms. She was waiting only on a German couple (who were about our age and very cool; we ran into them at Bryce two days later also) and threw in a free room upgrade because of our bad luck and long day. Breakfast was fantastic and generous and her decorating was amazing. In the summer, the Desert Thistle has a pool with a ton of deck furniture as well. Yes, I'm making a plug for them. When you go, tell them we sent you; she said she'd give you a 10% discount. They lived their lives in the airforce and she is from Scotland. They were full of fascinating and hilarious stories.

No pictures of the inside, but you can link to their site to see more. Absolutely charming.

These pictures are from Kolob Canyons, which is the northwest entrance of ZNP. Nobody really goes there and it is very remote. I'd love to go back when it is a little bit drier and earlier in the day and go in a couple of miles deeper. It was getting dark and fairly chilly on us and so we didn't go in as far as we would have liked. Apparently there are a couple of arches up there and some really great slot canyons. It is just south of Cedar City and only a few minutes off the highway. A great day trip.

Bryce again, in the late afternoon. This is a bit out of place from where the others were, but it is just too gorgeous to leave out.

These are some shots of my adorable children in the new clothes grandma bought for them (not the baby--he is in his grubbies) just before we loaded up to come home and at a really nice state park we found in Idaho to picnic at.

A last word on memory: eleven years ago, I was trying desperately to get a fresh start and was helping my mom with some spring cleaning. I pulled tons of junk out of my room that had all been moved when my parents moved, but between college and mission I hadn't taken time to really decide what needed keeping and what needed tossing. There was a stack of letters from someone I had once loved in the pile of things-I-didn't-quite-know-what-to-do-with. They were tied with a silk ribbon. I held the stack in my hands for a long time.

Then I took the whole pile and threw them in the trash. No soul-cleansing bonfire, no keeping them for a good laugh some five or ten or twenty years later, no re-reading them and breaking down into a storm of weeping. I just threw them out.

Poignant memories, I quickly learned, are not so easily discarded. The letters were gone, but my heart was still tender. Just five months later I met Plantboy and began making memories to help heal. I was pleasantly surprised to feel less pain about the old memories, even as new ones too their place. There were times I could even look back on the good days and genuinely smile. My last trip to southern Utah was with that someone-I-once-loved. How grateful I was this week for the chance to form new and happier connections to such beautiful places.

Our last alone-vacation spot was at the Timpanogas temple. The snowstorm and side-trip to Manti had set us back timewise and Plantboy and I decided to do proxy sealings instead of an entire endowment session. As he and I knelt on behalf of others, I felt the power of those covenants that he and I made nearly ten years ago. The workers at the temple were so kind and congratulatory over our ten measley years--there were enough gray-hairs in the room that we were, no doubt, in the presence of decades upon decades of covenant marriages--that it gave me immense hope for the future. There are unlimited numbers of memories yet to make.

Anticipation

Several weeks back I wrote a post about looking forward to things. The post was prompted by our vacation plans. We leave tomorrow.

As I rush around today to finish the rest of the myriad things that need doing, I have realized something. In my great anticipation for the next big event, I have failed to recognize a lot of the wonderful things about daily, mundane living as well. I've been a rather hands off mother for the past several days--worrying more about my laundry and my vacuuming and packing than my kidlets. My sleeping patterns in the past two weeks are nearly as poor as if I have a newborn baby in the house, and I was in full grouch mode yesterday.

I'm trying harder today to just breathe and tell myself that even if it is not all perfect, it will certainly all work out. I'm learning the hard way (as too many of my lessons come) that while it is important to look forward to something, it is perhaps more important to not look beyond the something we already have. The future is worth planning for, but only the present is worth living in.

In the spirit of focusing on the little things that made this week interesting, here are some entirely random thoughts.

My last post pointed out Plantboy's gift for ruining (or improving?) any chick-thing I might be interested in watching. Last week at the Goodwill I was looking for old Disney movies on VHS. The kids don't care a whit for about the poor picture quality and I can pick them up for a couple of bucks apiece. I scored Emperor's New Groove. The big boys got giggling so hard at one point they could hardly hear the movie. I also picked up this:


Plantboy saw it in the stack and said, "That is a cool movie, but its soundtrack is terrible." Soundtrack? What was he talking about? He can't even remember his kids' birthdays. How can he remember the soundtrack of a movie made in like 1985?

"So do you want to watch it or not?" Says I. A little bit testily I might add.

"Of course. I always love doing anything with you." Plantboy has a way of taking the wind out of any tirade I might be prepped to start. So while I was in the middle of making Hazelnut Ring-a-Lings, we decided to give in a try.

Plantboy said nothing as the music started up and just waited for its utter cheesiness to sink into my astonished psyche. After about ten minutes I said, "It is really like Manheim Steamroller meets the Boston Pops. In an elevator."

"Told ya."

The in between moments were okay, but every time that soundtrack got going at top volume I just about had to plug my ears. "I'm sorry; I think I've ruined it for you."

"How hard would it be to just orchestrate over the top?"

"Easy. They could hire John Williams."

"Or Danny Elfman."

"Or maybe they should just remake the whole thing."

"I don't think anybody but Michelle Pfieffer could do this part. And this is easily Matthew Broderick's best movie."

"But Rutger Hauer?"

Long pause. "Why is he the only one without an accent?"

Anyway, it is official: Ladyhawke is the coolest movie with the worst soundtrack. And don't even get me started on why there is and extra "e" on Hawke. Ye Olde Bad Musique.

We had a couple of supremely gorgeous days this week. Sunday afternoon it hit 75 degrees. We don't normally do the park thing on a Sunday, but we just couldn't help it this week. It was too nice to stay home. I think part of my anticipation thoughts today have to do with the bleakish weather forecasts we are reading for our destination. Even with the best preparation and dearest excitement, there is nothing to be done about chance.

The garden doesn't look like much, at least this portion of it, but in a few weeks it will be growing like crazy. As long as it isn't too warm and dry while we are gone, this whole area should be sprouting by the time we get home. You'll have to excuse the ugly grass. My darling water-boy has it in his head that we should be growing food instead of grass. Go figure.

In my last salute to living in the moment, I have to attribute the funniest phrase of the week to Jedi Master. We have had some extremely serious and highly frustrating potty training issues with my oldest darling. Just when we think the problems are over and past, something will happen to set us back. Sure enough, he wet his pants TWICE at school this week. After the second time, when I was finally calm enough to discuss it with him, I asked him about what happened. He explained, "I was on my way to the potty both times and I just didn't make it."

"Did you go to your teacher then?"

"No. I went straight to the office."

"To the secretary?"

"No, there is a special office you can go in if you have problems." I said nothing for a moment figuring he probably meant the counselor's office. In my pause he must have decided I was confused because he clarified, dropping his voice to a whisper for some reason, "Not math problems, Mom. Other kinds of problems." I wish we all had an office like that.

The video is of the kids dancing to Beyonce. The baby wants to listen to my iPod all the time, but only if I put on "Single Ladies." 1000 songs to choose from and he wants the only piece of dance music in the bunch. I guess The Youngling likes his music bouncy.

The children are looking forward to seeing grandma and grandpa too--how could they not? But I need to try harder to make sure that they are just looking forward to getting out of bed each day, and that my enthusiasm matches their own.

Gotta Get Me One Them Thar DVR Thingies

Sunday, after Conference, of course, I announced to Plantboy that I was going to watch the Academy of Country Music Awards. My palms broke out in a sweat as I said it, with just a trace of defiance. In typical Plantboy fashion, he just shrugged and said, "Okay."

"You aren't bothered by that?"

"Why should I be bothered?"

"I'm kind of embarrassed to admit that I like country music."

"It's not a revelation; half the presets in the car are on country music."

Having no answer for that, I nodded sheepishly. I'd like to say, in my defense, that in our fair city, there is a dearth of decent music stations. In Utah, I'm all about 101.9 The End--classic alternative with new and interesting music thrown in as well. The DJ's are also hilarious. But here! Where do I begin? The only stations playing any NEW music are the two country stations, the single hard rock station (yes, Metallica is STILL recording music) and the two rap stations. There are at least two awesome 80's/90's stations. Which is probably about 1 1/2 too many. There is another station that plays a mixture of classic rock, raggae music, and any U2 music recorded before 1995. And about 8 Christian Rock stations. We must have the highest Christian music to Christian ratio anywhere in the country. Texas included.

When 8:00 rolled around, the kids all tugged snug in their beds, I turned on the awards. I knew it was off to a bad start when Rascal Flatts was headlining. Plantboy sat on the couch opposite, "You mean you are going to watch with me?" I said, with no small amount of anxiety. Plantboy can be very snarky when he takes a mind to be.

Shrug. "Where else am I going to go?" My turn to shrug. Excellent point. A moment later he said, "Why don't they just take the Twinkies OFF the tour bus?"

"You know, he does kind of look like Beaker."

"From The Muppets?"

"Do you know a lot of other Beakers?"

I immediately checked the TV guide. Discovery Channel was premiering a three-part show called "Who Was Jesus?" that looked very interesting. I flipped over to it, grateful for the back up plan. It turned out that the back up plan actually became the main plan. The ACM's were really only bearable in short bursts and as often as I tuned them in, I couldn't help but FLIP right back to the Discovery Channel. What is it about famous people that when they all get together in one place they just look ridiculous? They get so hyped up and self-important it is laughable. Here are snippets from other moments at my house Sunday night:

Plantboy said, "How old is Reba again?"

"Um . . . like fifty-something."

"She has definitely had some work done."

This was not the first comment about 'having some work done,' nor was Reba anywhere near the oldest woman in the bunch to go under the knife.

Deep into the second hour I said, "Now, what is that on the ground behind Carrie Underwood?"

"All that maroon fabric?"

"Yeah what is . . . IS. THAT. HER. DRESS?"

"There are at least 20 yards of fabric there."

"There is no way she moved in that dress. She walked out there in her undies and a crane had to lift her into it."

"She IS really pretty though."

FLIP.

And speaking of Carrie Underwear, I think she changed clothes almost as many times as Reba did. There were never any shots of her in the audience, except right before she won an award, because she was always back stage changing clothes. Her white halter dress was quite pretty, but she had to do some quick hitching under the armpits during one trip up the stairs because she just about had a wardrobe malfunction. I have to say, I think such a malfunction would have made Kenny Chesney very happy. He was sitting next to her and was quick to offer a lingering hug every time she won an award. I think he was happier about her bare back than even the prospect of winning himself. Too bad for Kenny, hugging Carrie was the only prize he won all night. Maybe the Academy has finally figured out that rum-soaked Jimmy Buffet wannabees are not actually country stars.

She IS pretty. I think this unfortunate photo makes her look a bit like she's going to fly someplace.

At one point the (great) Keith performed. His wife tried to look human as she moved her head in time to the music. She nearly succeeded. Plantboy said, "Did she just smile?"

"Yes, I think she did."

"Does her plastic surgeon allow her to do that?" (And note to Nicole: next time you are out in public with your short hubby, wear flats or something. You look like an Amazon woman.)

Shrug. "This song sounded a little off on the Ellen show the other day; I think they had a bad sound check or something."

"Um . . . it sounds a little off tonight. He is really not hitting those high notes. He sounds like he's been on tour every day for the past year."

"His album came out this week and he's had a bunch of publiicity appearances: maybe it is the strain of all that . . ."

"I think he's drinking again. Ooo. . . there's another botched note."

FLIP.

When this band came on,

Plantboy said, "That is like the worst hat ever."

"Didn't you say that about Toby Keith?"

"Yes."

"What about that guy from Sugarland?"

"It's a toss up. And what is up with the face of that girl from Sugarland. She just looks weird."

"Like she stole all of the facial expressions that Nicole Kidman can't make."

I couldn't bring myself to watch Miranda Lambert, but I found this photo. Though she seems nice and smiley, I can't help but wonder if she's thinking, "Who told that jerk in the band that a mohawk was okay? He'll take all of the attention away from me. Me. ME!"

Billy Ray Cyrus got up to (NOT sing, praise be to the Heavens) announce his daughter and Plantboy had to go get some popcorn at that point. I called out, "You know, I'm not sure his new look IS an upgrade from the the white sneakers and mullet days."

No answer.

And then, Miley Cyrus. Oh. The. Miley. Like a full body dry heave set to music. Whomever is mentoring this girl really needs to give her some advice about the headbanging. Or if she is going to headbang she at least needs a barrette for her unfortunately-lengthed bangs. Is there non one in her life honest enough to tell her that sitting down while raising one arm and clutching at your chest with the other makes you look more like a Solid Gold dancer than a superstar. Of course, her father is the one credited with the mentoring and he gave us the line dance for "Achy Breaky Heart." I don't think he is going to be stifling Miss Montana's creativity any time soon.

Plantboy made it back with the popcorn just in time to miss her; I had been too mesmerized by horror to remember to flip the channel. However, he did not miss the beginning of "Johnny and June" sung by Heidi Newfield. This song is, apparently, about wanting to be in a totally dysfunctional relationship. Which is all the rage right now. (Read: Twilight) I said, "Is that an evening gown? Over jeans?"

"I don't know; but I'm pretty sure she's a transvestite."

FLIP.

This guy won song of the year. It is a song about black and white photos and there was a weird camera trick that made him look like he was black and white during the verses. It was creepy really. He is only 25 even though he looks like a grizzled old man. When you add in the black and white effect it's like watching Merle Haggard star in a remake of The Ring.

Jamie Foxx was asked to present an award. Since there is now a token Black man singing country music, the powers that be decided to actually invite a Black presenter this year. He was funny-ish and then he said, "Times, they be a changin'. There's a black man runnin' this country now! Let's give it up for my man, Barack Obama." There was a smattering of tepid applause, almost as hostile as the response he'd get if he'd called for the audience to take off their cowboy hats. I'm sure Mr. Obama will get over the slight; I think the MPAA voted to carve his face in the moutain behind the Hollywood sign just last week.

John Rich sang a song called "Shutting Detroit Down." About halfway through it, Plantboy said, "Is this a real song?"

"A real song?"

"Yeah, like on the radio?"

"Yes."

"It sounds like he wrote it in the car on the way over to the show."

I started to explain about how the song made sense from the viewpoint of middle America--country music's demographic, and how it no doubt resonated with a lot of people blah, blah, blah.

"Yeah, but it still sounds like he wrote it like ten minutes ago."

He has a point.

All in all, it was a good time at the ACM's. There were actually some moments that were hard to mock:

For all my dislike of Trace Adkins, he stifled his inner porn star to reasonably pass for a class act when he sang with the Westpoint choir. The song was called, "Til the Last Shot's Fired" and the proceeds from its sales are going to help veterans. He described the song as "haunting." I agree completely, but in a very good way. Not like an I-see-dead-people thing.

Reba's timing was spot on in her joke about Willie Nelson and Michael Phelps starting a band to cover the music of the Doobie Brothers.

Though his belt buckle was absolutely ridiculous, even Plantboy had to admit that he'd never seen a better looking piece of clothing than the jacket Matthey McCounaghey was wearing. His award presentation was really funny in a blue-collar-comedy-tour sort of way.

Martina McBride looked like a Greek goddess in her luscious purple gown. She is getting better with age, I think, and doesn't even look like she's been too worked on. Unfortunately it seems that no one took a picture of said gown and so you'll just have to take my word for it.

Brad Paisley was sitting on a ratty couch somewhere via satellite. At first I thought his being at the undisclosed location was like a Dick Cheney thing: you know, if something terrible happened at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas and all of the country music royalty was wiped out, there would still be someone left to carry on. But no, his wife is due to have a baby any minute and he didn't want to miss it. He was sitting next to a really old tiny guy and at one point said the baby HAD been born and that it was a Benjamin Button kind of a situation. Very funny.

It turns out that Taylor Swift can appear out of thin air (Plantboy: What DOES David Copperfield think he's doing?! He's just waving his arms around. And THAT is the worst hat ever.) The country wunderkind can also play the piano. I really like the song she did, but perhaps she needs to stop listening to Miley's advice about a little bit of head banging improving any number. Even a ballad.

Lady Antebellum sang a great new song called "I Run To You." I think they are quite wonderful and hope to see them start beating the pants of Brooks and Dunn and Sugarland in the coming years for best duo. The only really unfortunate thing was that they were both wearing skinny jeans. He looked, well, gay; and she looked, well, fat.

They are also giving a humanitarian award annually now to honor a singer who has done a lot for charity. After all, charity work is all about getting recognized. The award went to LeAnn Rimes. The following photo makes it look like she was nominated in the most frontless dress category, but not so. Though I think several of the women missed the memo about the discontinuation of the category, because there were a couple of others who were missing the entire center piece from the middle of their tops. I'm just not sure I could ever really get into an event where bras are optional.

The upshot of this ridiculously lengthy (and ridiculous) post is that I could have watched all I cared to see in about 15 minutes. With the DVR, I could have also watched Discovery's three part documentary in about 2 1/2 hours, on any night of the week that I wanted to. That $15 a month investment is starting to look better all the time. With all the time I save I could, I don't know, watch more TV!