Buon Natale

The idea was born a year ago when Scott Bateman asked me if I wanted Italilan cypress trees for the Christmas party. But last year was "Feliz Navidad". So, no Italian cypress for me. I mulled it over all year, and around the first of October the idea was born: buon natale!

As I browsed through ideas from other blogs, I found a photo that inspired me: long banquet tables lined up with red tablecloths and strings of Christmas lights above, scattered with paper lanterns. From there, I googled Italian Christmas traditions and menus, and came up with my plan. "Precipe Vivente", or live nativities somehow captured my interest. They sound like just the right combination of the department store window displays in Union Square that I remember from my childhood, and the community nativities that churches in Santa Monica put up in Palisades Park.

Our Ward building is one of the few that is actually architecturally beautiful. I do prefer Mediterranean architecture, but still, our building has niches, arches, courtyards and wrought iron that combine into my idea of beauty. The one thing the architect got right was the aesthetic! A torchlight procession to view live nativities, each scene in a niche on the side of the church building! I dreamt about it. I planned for weeks. Then I started passing around the sign-up sheets. Only two takers. The shepherds were taken care of easily, but how do you have a nativity without the "holy family"?

In the end, it all worked out. The Relief Society presidency created centerpieces with a neighbor's pine tree trimmings, some pinecones, vases with red mylar shreds, mini ornaments and, the real inspiration, a picture of the resurrected Christ. I was running around all day getting the last few things together, as the women worked. When I came back from Smart and Final with the peppermint and vanilla ice cream, the tables were done, and I saw the pictures of Christ. I blinked back tears. I knew that somehow it would work, and the Spirit would attend our party.

We had Parmesan chicken, pasta and salad for dinner, then everyone went into the chapel to sing Christmas carols until it was their turn to take a walk through the Christmas story.

For too many years, I have sat at the back of the cultural hall where I could neither see nor hear the Christmas program. So, as many people complained about having to go outside for the program ( come on, we live in southern California. Some Christmas days have topped 80 degrees!), I argued that with only 15 to 20 people per group outside, there would be no such thing as a bad seat, and the walk would be fast. The weather cooperated, and I got my way.

As the viewers visited each scene, starting with Mary's visit from the angel Gabriel, they were transported. We had costumes, scenery, music, and wisemen that questioned, "do you seek him?"

Finally, back inside, the most beautiful little naked baby was smiling in the manger while his angelic three year-old sister danced around the stage to harp music (dressed in Heather's old Santa Lucia nightgown), and their proud parents beamed. I thought that the audiance would come in from the cold, and smile and nod at the family as they made a bee-line for the homemade Christmas cookies and ice cream at the back of the cultural hall.

But I was wrong. They stood there, transfixed.

Scott turned the stage into an Eden. But the Morgan family elevated it to a glimpse of heaven.

And we had a party that started with Santa, but ended with the true meaning of Christmas: remembering Christ.

I've got sticky teeth

If today is Friday, there must be a football game. And if it's a home game I must make treats for the cookie table. And yes, it's Friday, and yes, it's a home game. So I decided to make popcorn balls for the first time.

First disclaimer: I LOVE carmel!

I searched the web, and found a recipe from Paula Deen on the Food Network site. It seemed to me that a chubby southern woman "of a certain age" should know how to make good popcorn balls. Now maybe it's because I love carmel as a flavor a whole lot more than corn syrup, but these were not tasty.

Second disclaimer: Paula Deen has failed me before.

I decided to document my cooking adventure just in case it was to die for. Instead, I've documented a failure. I'm an Einstein in the making! This is one way to NOT make popcorn balls.

I started by popping the corn in a cool kettle that we got as a gift many years ago. The corn had passed it's "best by...." date over a year ago, but with nothing to lose I used it anyway, and it turned out great! I picked out the duds, and to my surprise there were very few.

Next I started the syrup. The reviewers on Paula's site suggested adding a quarter cup of butter, which I happily did. I also left out one cup of sugar. OOPS! Half an hour later the syrup was still not at a softball stage. So I removed the syrup from the heat and added the sugar, stirring to dissolve it before returning the pot to the heat. A few minutes later it was at the soft ball stage, and I was on my way!

Cookie sheets lined with was paper: check

Wax paper sprayed with Pam: check

Popcorn sprinkled onto lined cookie sheets: check

I drizzled the syrup over the popcorn, greased my hands with shortening, and tried to mix the popcorn and syrup. Not check. The syrup puddled on the was paper, then cooled quickly and didn't want to scrape back up and coat the popcorn. I tired one reviewers tip and nuked the syrup. So that worked a little bit, but the stuff was just cooling too quickly.

third disclaimer: perhaps I was too busy with the camera to be thinking clearly...

Eventually I formed maybe 10 balls, and had a lot of popcorn leftover, and quite a bit of syrup stuck to the bowls, spoon, spatula and wax paper. Time to taste! My mouth was watering. The bite was perfect: crunchy popcorn with a soft, but not too sticky, glaze. Great bite, disappointing taste. It just has a thickened corn syrup taste.

Oh well, next time I'll use my carmel recipe and I'm sure I'll be much happier with the results. I just hope these things sell at the cheer squad's cookie table tonight at the football game.

I'm moving again!

Just when you think you've got things under control, something hits you that you didn't see coming. Is it because you're relaxed and have your eyes closed? It's easier to hit a target that's not moving? What?
When it was announced last summer that we'd be getting a new Stake Presidency at Stake Conference, I was mildly interested in the speculation, but knew that I had nothing to be concerned about. Stake Presidents and their counselors are typically called from the pool of Bishops and High Council members. No worries, Alan's not part of that crowd. So when the day came and the new names were announced, I was thrilled with the choices, but sad that we'd need a new Bishop. We LOVE Bishop Packard, and in the words of Sheryl Alderman, "the new Bishop has big shoes to fill". My response to her was that his shoes could not be filled, so we'd need some new shoes. That was before we got the phone call to meet with the new Stake Presidency.
So now I'm the Bishop's wife. Like I said, a shot out of nowhere! I knew when I married Alan that he'd be a Bishop at some point, but after 22 years, that thought was buried under years of raising a family, other church callings, softball, basketball, career, pulling weeds... all the usual "stuff". He got a "Handbook of Instructions", but there isn't one for the wifey.
I think that my job description is "Logistical Engineer". How I worked that out of a BA in Interior Design just shows how very creative I really am! It will take an engineer to create order out of our current state. But a house of God IS a house of order, and the inhabitants at this address are now put on notice: Mom's in charge because Dad is busy. So if you leave your stuff laying around you'll have to buy it back from me. I can't mix a messy environment with the need for a clear head.
It was going so well when I moved Brandon out of his downstairs bedroom and made the girls share until Heather left for college. It freed up Brandon's old bedroom to be an office/guest bedroom. What heaven! We've been able to have guests so easily. Well, that's easy for me to say, I'm not the one who had to sleep in that bed..... But still it was great until I realized that Heather would need a place to stay over the holidays and summers. Oh no! So I moved my computer and files into a corner of my bedroom as a temporary solution. And it better be REALLY temporary. I think my great office space will have to move to the loft. It can be done. I just need to figure it out.

trick-or-treat

I finally thought it would be safe to buy Halloween candy yesterday. That way, we'll still have it by Sunday. I always stare at the bags for awhile wondering, "Am I buying this to suit me, my kids, or the trick-or-treaters?" Some years I win, other years the kids do. This year I finally got smart and bought a small bag of Reese's cups for the family, and two different bags for the trick-or-treaters: one of Skittles and something else, and a back-up bag with chocolate. The fruitys go first in hopes that there will be some leftover chocolate.

So the question is, which candy did you hate as a kid, and what is/was your favorite? What I always threw straight in the trash was apples. Too many stories of kooks putting drugs or razor blades in them. Anything unwrapped or homemade followed the apples, unless it was homemade by someone I knew. Those horrid peachy colored peanuts that felt like chalk in your mouth only made it into my mouth once!

Snickers were a favorite that made it to adulthood. Also Baby Ruth's, and anything else that combined chocolate, caramel and peanuts. But 3 Muskateers and Milky Way's were always on my "don't trash it, trade it" list. There will always be those that love them, and I will always not be one of those people.

What I always wondered about were the people that gave out pennies. Did they just forget? Or did they think we would go buy one gumball with the penny? They were probably just cheap!

So this Halloween I'll be enjoying hot apple cider, homemade cookies, and whatever chocolate I can scavenge, and I'll be remembering how on Halloween 16 years ago, eating the Snicker's put me into early labor with Chelsea.

Happy Birthday, Chelsea! I love you, and thanks for NOT being born on Halloween!

a plea to Costco

There are some products in this world that just deserve a "thank you for existing". And the first one is MAC's cremesheen glass lipgloss. I love it! It's not sticky or gritty, and it doesn't make my lips feel like they're on fire. I have ultra-sensitive skin, so many lipsticks and glosses are simply painful to wear.
Second is my Pampered Chef food chopper. Pow, pow, pow! And it's done. Nuts, onions, celery, anything. AND it's top rack dishwasher safe. I don't want anything that I have to wash by hand, that's why electricity was invented.
Vinegar. Just plain old-fashioned white vinegar. It goes in the laundry instead of fabric softener to keep things from getting static-y without getting gummy. I clean with it, keep drains clear and make salad dressing with it ( unless I want flavored vinegar). And it's cheap!
Bath and Body Works hand sanitizers. I've been using them since my kids were little, and still keep them in the car and in my purse. My latest favorite is "Midnight Pomegranite". Yum!
And the last one for today, an herb called "Maca". I started taking it a couple of months ago for hot flashes. I don't think it cools down my body, but it sure cools down my temper! And gives an energy boost, too, without drugs. Now if I could just find the right herbal solution to the hot flashes. Black cohosh root doesn't seem to be working.
The one product I want back is the instant mashed potatoes that Costco used to sell. No sulfites, cheap, and delicious! Better than any other instant, and sometimes better than homemade because they don't get lumpy. But they're gone, gone gone! COSTCO: please, please, please! bring them back. They've been gone from my pantry for a couple of years now, and my mid-life mind has forgotten the brand name. But they were the best ever.

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood!

It's October 26th, and it was 74 degrees when I picked Chelsea up from cheer practice this afternoon. What could be better? I've loved the cool weather and drizzle for the past month, but today my hair didn't frizz (too much), the sun is shining, and we went to Shave-It.
It would be beautiful to see the fall leaves change color, and I would love to wear sweaters and shoes other than flip flops sometimes, but who can argue with the view from my bedroom window (green trees, no real view)? I have an autumn leaf wreath hanging above the front door, and pumpkins out there, too. That's enough to say "Fall is here!" I'll never have to shovel snow or put chains on my car, we don't get tornados or hurricanes, and I seldom have to carry an umbrella.
I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. And more important than that, I'm grateful for the people that I get to enjoy life with. I have great friends, good neighbors, I live in the safest city in America (sometimes), and I have a great family.
I'm thankful for my family. Every one of them. Thankful that Heather is at BYU where I know she'll learn a lot, and be safe in the meantime. Thankful that she has a great work ethic, and oozes creativity. It's so fun to watch her work through her creative process on things. I'm grateful that Brandon is working so hard at school and at work. And that he sometimes likes to go to Taco Bell with me! I'm thankful that he almost never complains about anything. Grateful that Chelsea is still only 15 and that she likes me to drive her places. Grateful that I can stay home with her so that I can drive her places, see her cheer, enjoy a Shave-It with her, and listen to her sing at her voice lessons. I'm thankful for Alan. Thankful that he makes that long nasty drive every day so that he can support the rest of us. I know how icky that drive is, I've had commutes that long before. Not fun. I'm grateful that even though he's married to me, he still says that every day is the "greatest day of his life".
And I'm grateful that I know what I have to do to feel like this for the rest of forever.

Cafe Rio has finally come to Thousand Oaks!

I love it when my friends come to visit. It makes the same old thing new again. So my great friend Sheri Caringer is here from Denver, and in no time she has brought sunshine to the dreary weather we've been having. Along with a new blog that features * (ta dah!)* copycat Cafe Rio recipes!

The blog is called "Favorite Family Recipes" it sounds like every fundraising cookbook I've ever seen, but it's not. It's heaven!

Enough said. I'm off to the grocery store to find some "boneless pork ribs". And tomorrow we feast on Sweet Pork Burritos! Cafe Rio on a Sunday, and we're not on vacation.

party on, dudes

There is a world of difference between planning birthday parties and planning Ward activities. I don't know why. They both have the same elements: guest list, choosing a venue and theme, menu, decorations, set up, music, planning of games or activities, budget. Parties for my family aren't hard to figure out what to do, all I have to do is the work and figure out how much I'm willing to pay.

But Ward activities? "They're killing me, Larry!" I have no ideas. None. I'm always looking to others to inspire me, or, worse yet, outright tell me what to do. And to think that I considered the idea of being a professional party planner! What was I thinking?! Some things just kind of take care of themselves. But sometimes the status-quo is just not an option anymore. And I don't know why. I guess when I've "been there, done that" and "that" was too boring for words, I just can't repeat it.

So, the truth comes out. Yes, I have been to many Ward Christmas parties that I couldn't wait to escape. Why would I want to do that to anyone? But the very parties I hated, many other people enjoyed. So, I've complained (only to myself, and perhaps to Alan) even though I've had no idea how to improve. Well, I do have some ideas, but they involve taking away others' agency. Along the lines of "if you can't or won't control your child, kindly remove them". Then there are the programs that put me to sleep, or seem more like auditions. Oops.

I've been thinking that I want to do something Italian. I want to borrow Scott Bateman's cypress trees, and line up the long banquet tables end-to-end across the cultural hall with red tablecloths on them. And hang the little lights again. Someone will shoot me for that one! I've got the program figured out. It's the food that I'm stuck on. No lasagna! So now what? I've searched the web, but just can't find anything that seems "right". Maybe I'll get released before Christmas!

The Samaritan versus online video

"Tell me whom you love and I will tell you what you are" (Arsene Houssaye). This thought intrigues me. It sounds like it comes from a mystic or a prophet or a charlatan. How do we know who someone else really is? Back in the day, when I was single, this was the biggest question in life for me. How do I get to know who someone else really is. How much of life is a charade and what parts are real? I would have loved to have had a crystal ball to see into the heart and minds of those around me.
Tweek one word and the quote becomes easier to believe - "tell me what you love" and it's easier to figure you out. But how many of us really know what it is that we love? And what about the "who's" in our lives. We're supposed to love our families, and anyone who doesn't top the list with their closest kin goes on the list of suspicious people. Then there are those who put the right people on the top of the list, but don't act accordingly.
The story of the Good Samaritan seems like a good placed to start in examining this philosophy. The Samaritan showed love for a stranger, but not just any stranger - a stranger whom he had been taught to despise. In reality, an enemy who needed help. And the Samarian helped to the point of inconveniencing himself. He loved. So "what is" the Samaritan? He is the person we all want for our "significant other", or a friend, family member, neighbor, or the person to be nearby when we need help. We all want him near. He has earned his reward in heaven, probably on regular occassions. What he is is Christ-like.
The news abounds with stories of those who are on the other end of the spectrum from the Samaritan. A recent example is the college dorm-mate who posted video of his gay roommate's sexual encounter on the internet, which led the gay young man to commit suicide. Who did this roommate love? The frat house mentality of this event would indicate a very immature desire for the attention and praise of equally twisted minds. "Love" from those who can't or won't give it. All he could get from that audiance would be online "comments". Is that where we are today? There is no REAL interaction between people, it's all virtual. Who does he love? He who cannot love in return.
"This new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another as I have loved you". Christ loved us enough to suffer all the pain of the world for us. Who does He love? Each one of us, regardless of who we are, how we behave, where we're from, or how much we love him in return. That's why it's called Christ-like love, or god-like love. They, the perfect, are the only one's capable of it. But they ask us to try, as the Samaritan did.
It's worth thinking about. How does my behavior show whom I love?

Little Lovisa

I'm an addict. I've discovered family history and I'm obsessed. This is probably only because I'm Swedish, and the Swedes conducted "household examinations" annually starting in the 16th century. So when I was in Salt Lake City, I told them my great-grandparents names and dates of birth, and they found them! Each parish had a record book with a page for each household. The head of the household was listed at the top of the page, with spouse below and then each child was added as it was born. The priest kept track of who attended communion and what each persons knowledge of church doctrine was ( with some symbols that I don't understand). The record was updated annually for 10 years, then they'd start a new book. So there they all were, in 30 minutes or less I found a household full of people that I'd never known existed!

When a child married, if they stayed on the farm, the spouse was added (with a notation of where they came from - either a page number if they were from a family in the book, or with a moving certificate number if they came from somewhere else), and then the children, as they were born. I guess that's the advantage of having ancestors who were farmers, they tended to stay in the same place for a long time.

Now that I've found these lists of names, I've become curious about them. How did they meet a spouse from another parish? Why did they immigrate to the U.S. ? They tended to use the same given names over and over. That can be a clue that I'm looking at the wrong Johansson family. What?! A son named Erik? No Eriks in this family, must be the wrong Johansson's. And names that sound so ugly in 21st century California actually sound nice, such as Lovisa. Imagine Lovisa as Louisa with an accent. It's kinda cute. Lovisa is a three year old in wooden clogs and tights. And bangs.

I don't know what their reality was. But my imagination is very charming. They all bathe regularly and have three meals a day. And they brush their teeth! My grandma said that her father had 2 brothers and two sisters. But the household examination shows he had an older brother, Pehr Anton. Maybe Pehr was never mentioned in America because he was the one that inherited the farm? And there was another Clara ten years before Klara. But she died at two years old, several months before my great-grandfather was born, so I guess he can be forgiven for never having mentioned her.

Now I just want to find Uncle John's wife. We use his sugar bowl every day, I ought to be able to find his wife and son somewhere. I think that he might have snuck aboard the ship that took him to America, because rumor has it that he was only 16 when he joined the US Navy. These people's stories are something! I'd love to meet them, but not in person yet!

Just so that you don't miss camp....

Lately cooking had become.... drudgery. Still love to eat, though. Then I started browsing through epicurious.com, and I can usually find something there that I feel like eating. Or I should say, cooking then eating. There's a difference.
There are lots of things out there that I'd love to eat, but don't want to cook. Like anything that it takes more than one sheet of paper to print the instructions for, or that has a list of ingredients more than 2 or 3 inches long. And there are lots of ethnic foods that would require MORE spices. The cupboards full - no room for more. So anything with lemongrass - got to eat it at a restaurant.
So I've been surfing the easy section of epicurious, because the same old things just seem - old! Found some winners and some losers. The spicy pork stir fry the other night was AWFUL!! Usually I eat whatever I cook and try to convince the family to stop being such babies and just eat it! But this was so bad that, yes, I ate it. But the leftovers went down the garbage disposal.
The kitchen drain has been stinking for the last couple of days. I guess it didn't like the pork either. I've tried the baking soda-bleach-boiling water rountine several times. Then I tried adding coarse salt. Then a lemon. Nothing has helped. Now I have the stuff pulled out of the downstairs closet, and I'm contemplating pulling the drain plug and checking for a clog. But that really scares me. Don't want that yucky stuff oozing out all over the wood floor in there.
Like much of the rest of my life, I'm hoping that if I ignore it, the smell will go away. I guess that means we'll have pizza tonight. And eat it in the backyard on paper plates? Maybe. Welcome home from camp, Chelsea. Our kitchen smells as bad as the lake at camp. Sorry.

Grandma, this one's for you!

I spent 11 1/2 hours yesterday on the computer doing family history research. Sore rear end. And what did I find? My mom's family found their ancestors long ago, but my dad's family seems to be descended from ghosts. They hopped the pond and left behind -- nothing. Is that why they came?
My grandma used to tell me stories from her childhood growing up next door to an Indian reservation. She was an artist, and painted scenes from the stories. Sometimes she's take me on her shopping trips to Aaron Brothers. She loved the one cent sale! Those paintings lined all the walls of her home, and I'd fall asleep with those cowboys and Indians staring down at me. They invaded my dreams, so I didn't sleep well....
When I was eight she wrote the story of her parents' lives and published copies for all of their descendents. But now, trying to use that information to trace their roots has proved, well, useless. In Sweden a last name doesn't last long, so who knows what name to look for! I have all these little heirlooms from her life, but so little to tie them to.
She was the kind of Grandma who thought I could do no evil. Whenever I got in trouble with my mom, Grandma would hold out her arms and let me curl up in her lap. She had the softest skin I've ever felt, and soft words to cool my temper. As "tweens" my cousin Sherry and I flew down to vist Grandma for a week. Of course she spoiled us rotten! One afternoon she brought us little cream cheese sandwiches on date-nut bread, and served it on tv trays in front of "Let's Make a Deal". Woo hoo! Heaven! One evening she pulled out an old record of music she and Grandpa used to dance to. She was humming dreamily away when I decided that it was really un-cool and proceded to make fun of it all. I'll never forget how bad it felt to make my Grandma cry.
She never met her Grandparents. They were in the "old country" and never came here. She grew up on the prairie where everyone worked hard and didn't mess around. But somehow she became my soft place to land. Somehow she became the greatest Grandma ever. She did it without any example to follow, it just came from within.
I imagine my Grandma being there when I set foot in heaven, and her soft arms hugging me again. Somewhere, she has a Grandma, too, and I hope that I can find her Grandma for her.

til we meet again

I am so tired of having to say goodbye to friends! Not those of you who I'll see again in a few days. I'm ok with that. It's the mass exodus out of California. I understand the reasons, but I don't have to like the end result, right? I know it's shocking, but I don't have an unlimited supply of friends. Here's a shout out to Melody - thank you for moving here!!!
It's the job thing. Gotta have a job in order to pay the bills. And the jobs are leaving. I got it. So, is Meg Whitman the answer? Really, can one person clean up this mess? I really doubt it. But one person could make it a lot worse.
I remember Jerry Brown's first time around. I was in High School and college, and not too interested in politics. But then the fruit fly invaded southern California, and Jerry had to figure out what to do about it. He didn't figure it out very well.People did not like the aerial spraying that got all over their parked cars, and required them to bring their pets in the house at night. Even the very liberal San Francisco Chronicle had a political cartoon that I can still remember. It was a fruit fly with Jerry's face on it. The caption said simply "The California Fruit Fly". I will not be voting for Jerry.
So, I'm leaning towards Meg, although I didn't vote for her in the Primary election. I just want the jobs back, and the problems solved so that I can stop hemmoraging friends. I doubt that the friends who have gone will come back. They seem to like where they've gone. And many other states are benefiting from our highly skilled, well-educated work force moving in. I think they want to keep them. They're playing nice.
What does California get in return? Probably illegal aliens. Personally, I don't really have much of a problem with that, except that I believe in obeying the law, which states that you have to enter through a check point, not sneak across the border. I like all the Hispanics that I know, and I have no idea what their legal status is. I wouldn't want to deport them, they're not the problem. They are hard working, really nice, and certainly not criminals. But then there's the others, the one's I don't know. Those who are in jail, or should be in jail, not simply because they swam here, but because they broke the law after arriving. I wonder how much truth is in the stories that say that California's budget is being gobbled up by illegals. I know that newspapers and politicians both spin the truth right out of everything.
I would love to see a guest worker program - people coming from wherever to work here, but only crossing the border once they have a job offer. I don't think we can afford to support unemployed non-citizens. It's not working too well at the moment, and I doubt it will magically start working in the future.
And as for the friends who have moved out-of-state? I have already implemented a guest program right here in Brandon's former bedroom. It's called the office/guestroom. All friends are welcome. "If you'll visit, I'll give you a bed, a shower and any meal that you'll eat with me". How's that for hospitality? And I'm only southern by marriage!
In the meanwhile, goodbye to Sunni,the Lassens, Mackelprangs, Aldermans, and Gerigs. And perhaps the MacInnesses and Willeys before too long. And God bless the Baumanns!

I'll share this recipe cuz it was sooo good!

I just love friends who share! I also love to eat, and like to cook. One of my favorite dishes is the Santa Fe Salad at Cheesecake Factory, and I've finally found a combination of recipes and items that allowed me to recreate a decent version at home.
I started with Cilantro-Lime Chicken Fajitas from epicurious.com. We loved the fajitas, and then I used the leftover chicken, peppers and onions for the salad. I also used a fabulous Cilantro salad dressing that I found at Trader Joe's, leftover corn-on-the-cob, fried my own corn tortilla strips, and added black beans, romaine and spring mix, queso fresco and a drizzle of peanut sauce. Yum!

pioneer day irrelevant in California?

As the Ward Activities leader ( AKA cruise director), I'm deep into planning our Pioneer Day festivities. Or not.
Last year was my first time around. I really knocked myself out. It was outrageously hot and no one wanted to play the games or participate in all the activities that I had spent untold hours preparing. I'm not stupid ( I think?), so there will be no repeat this year. But I have this nagging sense of guilt that I'm trying to ignore.
So here's the question: for those who do not live in a community that was settled by Mormon pioneers, is Pioneer Day relevant? Does skipping the focus on people who walked (or road in a covered wagon) to Zion mean that we're ingrates?
Quick disclaimer: I have "pioneer heritage". I also have Lutheran, Catholic and undetermined heritage. Some of my ancestors came west on foot, some in covered wagons and some in cars (without air conditioning!) I'm either the 5th generation or the second or the first, to be a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints ( there's another subject for an entire posting on that name!) So, I am and am not one of those people.
Is that why I'm conflicted? I loved dressing up and turning our wagon into a covered wagon for the Stake parade when I was a Primary girl. I loved the big party. As an adult, I don't like to wear costumes. Especially long dresses in July in southern California. But I do like to party. However, I have been to so many boring pioneer day picnics that I'd love to never see another one. If I promise to not drag out my pedigree charts ( or let anyone else drag out theirs!)will that solve the problem?
Let me say, the trek I got to chaperone last summer fulfilled a dream of mine. One item off the bucket list. The stories of what the pioneers endured move me to tears, sometimes just from thinking about them. I don't want to forget those stories, or purge them from our culture. The thought that angels helped to push the carts of those who couldn't go another step make me ask, "could I have been one of those angels?" I hope so!
So here is the point. I don't know if I was "there in spirit" or not. But I am here in body today. And all around me are those who cannot pull their load another step. So, will I set down what I'm doing to help, or race on? Overcoming obstacles is always a relevant topic. Our culture is obsessed with self-help. If we combine the two, help others overcome their obstacles, we have helped ourselves overcome a bit of self-centeredness and followed in the footsteps of more than just the pioneers.
Our Ward will not be holding a service project on Friday night. That part of the plan didn't work out. But we will eat, play and enjoy each others' company. Hopefully bonds will be created that will make someone, someday, say "I'm a little tired, but my brother needs my help, and I'm going to give it all I've got!"
We don't need to dress up, have a parade, or do the stick-pull game to honor those who sacrificed on our behalf. All we have to do is follow their example: don't give up when the going gets rough, and then help those around us up and over the hill, too.

I checked something off the list today

I always have a million "to do list"s lurking. Multiples because it seems that I lose them as soon as I finish writing them. I can list my lists:
grocery list: divided into three parts, always stuck to the side of the fridge. It has the "Costco" list on top, then things that I need to pick up when I'm out doing errands, and the real grocery list on the bottom. It's on the bottom so that I can rip if off when I leave the house, and still have the other lists where I can find them.
house repair list: this one is just a dream list. Everything that's broken, worn out, or just somehow icky. Nothing ever gets crossed off this one. Or maybe, once or twice a year something gets done. But then it usually gets back on the list because I did it wrong. Like grouting the showers. Check. Then, after a few weeks, it''s back on the list. I'm a lousy handyman.
reading list: books get on the list, then when I find them and take a look inside, they usually go back on the shelf. But if I don't try to insist on high quality (or "guilty pleasures"), then I do find a few. A couple of weeks ago I read "The Broker" by John Grisham, and "The Other Boleyn Girl" by Phyllipa Gregory, and liked both of them.
the "don't forget this" list: this is the stuff I write on sticky notes and post on the front of the kitchen cupboard. It usually works! People I need to call, people I need to remind Alan to call, pick someone up, or pay for something. The important stuff - I put it right in my face.
the real to-do list: these are the lists that are scattered throughout my life. People to call or email on my desk. Lists of things I need to do pick up for the next Ward activity in my purse or clipped to a file folder. The list of things that I need to buy or pack for Heather to take to college is tucked between the bath towels that I packed into a shopping bag. I know where to find this list! The lists of things I remember just before I go to bed flitter around my nightstand and disappear into the drawer, under the bed, or, rarely, find their way into my purse. Or, the best one - whatever is really important is scribbled on whatever scrap of paper I can find, and then gets lost in my purse.
Yes, I am a list maker. And the things that are really important usually get taken care of. But if they're not of earth-shaking importance, they're really just giant confetti.
Today I checked off something that never even made it onto a physical list, it was only an item low on a mental list: changing out the brass knobs on the kitchen cupboards. But I was at Target, and saw some great knbos for a great price, and how could I resist? Unfortunately I was two knobs short. Because I didn't count the doors and drawers before I left. Because new knobs were not on a list. So the cupboard above the fridge still has brass knobs because who ever remembers that there's a cupboard up there? That's where everyone keeps the stuff they never use: ice cube trays, ugly candles (for if the power goes out), the blow torch for making creme brulee, and thermoses. And that's why I forgot it. The forgotten stuff in the forgotten cupboard.
So, what I need to do is write "two more knobs" on a sticky note and put it on the kitchen cupboard.

why now?

I've always loved to write. It started as short stories in elementary school, longer ones in junior high, then on to term papers in high school and college. Then there was the long silence. At least on paper. My family will attest that it moved to my mouth. Now it's time to silence the mouth and improve my typing skills. And save the ears of family and friends.

When prop 8 came along two years ago, I took to the web, commenting and following others' comments. I discovered Facebook, and found long lost friends. But the status updates are not totally satisfying. A blog is the place to really express all of what goes on in my scattered mind. Some of the same old thing, and a bit of the latest obsession. Journaling out in space. Somehow both safer and scarier.

Why now? As my first baby prepares to leave the nest (second baby, first to leave), it seems the right time to embrace a new communication technology. I can record my feelings, the ones I'll forget by tomorrow. She can read whatever she wants to, ignore the rest, and I'll never know the difference. I can write without that novel facing me with the imaginary "reject" stamp already burning across each page. No editors required!

So the truth is, this Bud's for me. And if anyone else wants to share it with me, the more the merrier, but it's really just for me. The front door is open.