Maybe you didn't know...

This is a picture taken last year at Emily's house when several of us trekked to San Antonio for Ellie's blessing. On the left side of the table is John, Bill's brother and Laura, his sister. Bill, of course, is at the head of the table and I am trying to hide behind the Christmas tree. I include this photo to introduce you to Laura, who has tasked me with listing five things that my readers may not know about me. This will be difficult as I feel like I am an open book. I will have to dig deep...

1. I have made a study of both the Lizzie Borden murders (of course she was never convicted, but really...) and the Jack the Ripper murders. I have a small collection of books on the subject which includes several photos of the victims.

2. I HATE spiders and snails. I am not afraid of them, I HATE them. I smash all snails I see and I have been known to kill black widows with the palm of my hand. (You have to be fast.)

3. I don't like to make phone calls. I'm really bad at chit chat and I feel like I communicate better in writing. I have an arrangement with my visiting teaching partner. If she will make all the appointment calls I will prepare every lesson and handout.

4. I enjoy bland food.

5. One of my biggest pet peeves is public misspelling.

Okay...any surprises? Laura has already tagged Clare and Emily, so I will round out the family tree by tagging Carl, Liza and Sarah. Let's see how cooperative they are... Give them 48 hours, then start spamming them with complaints.

Guilty as Charged

I've been accused of manipulation through guilt and I guess I have to plead guilty. I don't feel real bad about it, though. I'm a mom--it's what we do. And it worked...sort of. Laura posted a delightful grandchildren story and Emily has actually updated her blog AND posted new pictures. I guess I'll have to break out the water boards for my other four.

In my defense, I have to say that I didn't set out to guilt trip everyone and solicit a lot of nice comments. (Although I got some very kind, supportive comments--thank you.) I was experiencing a bit of the "birthday blues" and feeling a little Moroni 8:3-4 ish. In my further defense, I have to confess that guilt-tripping comes naturally to me. I come from a long line of women accomplished in the art. Not on my father's side, mind you. They are straightforward German folk , more likely to cuff you on the side of the head and yell "Snap to it!" than invest a lot of time in mind games.

My mother's people, on the other hand, are Scandinavian. They had those long, dark winters in which to formulate complex psychological strategies, passed on from generation to generation and as closely guarded as the family recipe for potato pudding. (I told you they were complex people.) They not only could get you to do what they wanted, but, at the same time, make you feel profoundly remorseful for any pathetic attempts at willful self-determination.

My Grandma Day, bless her heart, is a case in point. ("Bless her heart" is a universally recognized phrase which translates loosely as "I'm about to say some mean things, but I don't want you to think that I'm a mean person.") My Grandma Day (bhh) chose me as her anointed one. When she gave my three brothers, or any of my cousins, a quarter for ice cream (this was in the old days) she would give me a dollar. While they raked leaves, I watched T.V. While they slept among the canned peaches in her haunted basement, I got to sleep upstairs in Grandma's big double bed, where I was served a cooked-to-order breakfast each morning. I don't know what they ate down in the servants' quarters. Thus, through a combination of fear, genuine love and personal greed, I was transformed into her willing and devoted slave. I don't know why I was the chosen one; maybe it was my innate charm, or maybe I was just more easily bought off. Whatever the reason, this is where the seeds were sewn for my belief that I actually am the center of the universe.

During my childhood, we made frequent trips from our home in Northern California to Provo, where my grandparents lived. Upon saying good-bye at the end of each visit Grandma (bhh) would always say, "I don't suppose we'll see you again until Linda is grown and married." After I was married, and I would visit her and Grandpa with my husband and children in tow, the parting line was changed to, "I don't suppose we'll see you again until we're dead in our coffins." (Which is kind of a disturbing picture...)

When it came to guilt-tripping and manipulation, though, Grandma Day (bhh) couldn't hold a candle to Grandpa Day's great-great grandmother, Cornelia Snook Staker. Cornelia and her husband, Conrad, had eleven children, four of whom joined the Church. Their oldest son, Nathan, and his family emigrated to Utah with the early saints. Cornelia, by then a widow, was left behind in Illinois. Following is a letter that she wrote to Nathan a year after his departure. (I apologize to any who have already heard this.) For those who are untutored in the decoding of guilt-inducing phraseology, I will type in bold the salient points:

"It is through the goodness of God that I am spared and able to communicate with you through the silent medium of the pen; although if it was God's will I would rather it be face to face, but as He has decreed it otherwise I must be content and trust in His holy name, that if we ever meet again on earth may we meet around our Father's throne there to sing and praise His adorable name to all eternity.

Do you ever think of your mother now feeble and old, her locks intermingled with gray, her footsteps once fearless now are feeble and old. It would be a great pleasure to me if I could spend the remainder of my days with you and Elizabeth. I think so long as parents live it is the children's duty to take care of them, especially when they are so old and helpless as I am. I would feel more at home and not so depending if I was with my children for I was once their supporter when they were more helpless than myself. I am now living with one of my grandchildren who saved me from a loathsome and miserable death in the poor house. Her family is large and she has more to do than she is able without me. I have been here over a year and have not been out of the house since I came.

I would like to see all of your family. Give them a grandmother's best love and tell your children to be good children and write to me."

Nathan immediately packed his bags, saddled up his horse and set out to retrieve his mother and bring her west. The interesting part of this story is that at the time she wrote the letter, Cornelia was 90 years old and her dutiful son, Nathan, was 72! Cornelia came to Utah, was baptized at the age of 90 and interfered in the lives of her large posterity until she passed at the age of 101.

So, take heart all of you guilt-tripping grandmas. It doesn't matter that your children may be grown and gone. There is still a great work for you to do.

I Surrender

I've fought a noble fight, but I give up. Of the six blogs maintained by immediate family members, plus the handful of extended family blogs, I am the only one still posting, still telling stories, still sharing photos. I've been defeated by the lure of Facebook, where you can share snappy one-liners and the latest family photos with everyone from the kid who sat next to you in the third grade to your nearest and dearest. I can't compete with Facebook's fabulous mythical world of virtual pets and pokes. Apparently, the real world has fallen out of fashion.

You may be tempted to say "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." Well...been there, done that. During my brief sojourn on Facebook it was way too easy for someone to hijack my identity and, posing as me, send out fake messages to my smattering of friends, attempting to spread a virus. It was a mess to clean up so, at the Facebook security people's suggestion, I closed my account.

We had a good run with our little attempt at an online family (and friends) newsletter. I believe that everyone has enjoyed seeing the latest photos of the kids and participating vicariously in each other's many adventures. I know that it has given me a lot of great stories to laugh about, be inspired by and share with others.

The Cat's Out of the Bag

It was really only a secret for about twenty minutes, but having let it slip in my last post, I am now officially confirming the news...

Chris and Clare are having a baby!

Grandchild #14 is a real miracle baby and an answer to many, many prayers. We will be welcoming the little rug rat in early December. I know that the proud parents welcome your best wishes and prayers.

And now, for a sneak peek at what the nursery is going to look like:

See what I can get done when my internet is working?

A Brave New World

Years ago, Bill suggested that we sign up for something called “the internet.” His main talking point was that the kids could do research for school reports at home, on the computer. Think of the possibilities…I told him he was crazy. What did we need with the World Wide Web? I could check out an entire set of encyclopedias at my local library, thank you very much!

You can clearly see that I am no visionary.

As it turns out, easy access to articles on aardvarks to zebras was just my gateway drug. I quickly became hooked and now freely admit to being a ‘net junkie. And, as with all addictions, the withdrawal can be ugly. Case in point:


We came home from Utah Monday night and I hit the bathroom and the computer, in that order. Much to my horror, I discovered that somehow, during our brief absence, our DSL modem had died, leaving behind only its earthly remains. We discussed funeral arrangements with a nice man in New Delhi. Actually, we talked to several AT&T employees, all lovely people, who talked us through our bereavement and made arrangements for a replacement in 3-5 business days. So far, it seems like 3-5 years.

As a small tribute to my missing friend, I have compiled a list of everything that I was unable to do following his departure to the great Ethernet in the sky. I hope he knows how much he is missed.

1. I couldn’t check e-mails, so I missed 75-100 notices a day from freecycle. It was through freecycle that I acquired eleven years of back issues of “Antiques” magazines. It was also through freecycle that I found someone who was willing to haul off my cedar of Lebanon that blew over in last year’s windstorm. Who knows what kind of deals I missed out on this week!

2. I found out that I missed a stake YW camp meeting Tuesday night because I didn’t get the e-mail. Heeheehee.

3. I couldn’t let Sarah know when (or if) bunkbeds popped up on the St. George craigslist.

4. I couldn’t continue my search of the local craigslist for a new chair for my sewing room.

5. I couldn’t read Roger Ebert’s reviews of the movies opening this week.

6. I couldn’t read the review of this past week’s “Office” episodes at tvguide.com to see if they, like me, fear that Jim, Pam and Michael have “jumped the shark.”

7. I couldn’t check the five day forecast or I would have known that Wednesday night was going to be unseasonably freakin’ cold for our scripture scavenger hunt at Mutual.

8. I couldn’t go online to order Netflix as Emily has suggested we do. (Maybe the delay is a good thing. I never like to be in the forefront of new technologies.)

9. I couldn’t go online to print out a coupon for my visit to JoAnn Fabric store.

10. I couldn’t e-mail Emily the pictures from our Easter weekend with her and the girls in St. George.

11. I couldn’t go online to order my spa chemicals from the place in Tehachapi that delivers to my door without a delivery charge.

12. I couldn’t prepare my family life class for next week because I can’t get on the BYU Family Living website.

13. I couldn’t download and print bird silhouettes for the embroidery that I am designing for Clare’s nursery. (Whoops—I’m not sure I have permission to say that.)

14. I have no idea what’s going on in the world because I won’t touch actual newspapers (the smell and feel of newspaper ink makes me gag) and I have little faith in broadcast journalism. Instead of eating my Cheerios while reading The Drudge Report I had to watch House Hunters. It felt weird.

15. I couldn’t do my online banking, so I couldn’t record our direct deposit.

16. I couldn’t read up on Betty Hutton after watching an interview with her on Turner Classic Movies. I need to know if she is generally considered odd or if I am being unkind. (I'm pretty sure she's odd.)

17. I couldn’t send Liza links to the different style of dresses that I am considering for Riley’s baptism to see which she prefers. I know it’s quite a while until her baptism in July, but a work of art can’t be rushed.

18. Liza couldn’t e-mail me the photos of Jake in his new glasses.

19. I couldn’t read my nephew Thomas’s weekly e-mail from his mission to Portugal and I couldn’t forward it to Carl.

I’ve compiled this list after only 48 hours without the internet. I am writing this in Word in hopes of a happy reunion soon. In the meantime, I am trying to control the trembling and limit the amount of time I spend staring mournfully at my desktop.

UPDATE*****
I’m back in business! I would write more, but I have 216 e-mails to sort through. (I’m not kidding.)

Naked in the Cave

I've got to stop watching so much HGTV. Like an insecure seventh grader I am succumbing to peer pressure. I have become convinced that I am only a rung or two above cave dweller on the evolutionary ladder because I don't have granite counter tops and stainless steel appliances and I'm not sure I deserve to live and be happy because not only do I have ceiling fans but...gasp!!!...my floors are covered with carpet.

With echoes of my mother's voice ringing in my ears ("If your friends told you to jump off a bridge would you do it???") I recently followed the advice of yet another anorexic stranger with good hair and the title "designer."

She convinced me that it's tacky to keep the book jackets on my books when displaying them in bookcases. I had never considered this before. For me, the book jacket is just a protective layer to keep the spa water off my books while enjoying my evening soak. It had never occurred to me to attach an aesthetic value to book covers.

I may be a cave dweller at heart, but I don't want to be a tacky one, so I immediately set about stripping every book in the house. I filled two giant black yard bags. About the time I was stuffing them into the garbage barrel, it occurred to me that I would never again be able to refresh my memory of a book I had read. I no longer had a handy synopsis to refer to. I could rescue my book covers from the trash and cut out the flaps, gluing them into the books like they do at the library. This would preserve their new non-tacky appearance, but I knew that it would be a time consuming job. What with working in the young women's program, I hardly have time to shower...or chew my food. So I knew THAT wasn't going to happen. I could rescue them from the trash and put everything back the way it was, but the covers had gotten quite crushed in the process of stuffing them into the barrel and I was pretty certain that crushed book covers were definitely gauche.

So there my books sit, in all their naked glory. The designer chick should have mentioned that this works best if underneath your tacky book covers you have leather-bound first editions. It was Bill who pointed out that my cheap book club editions are not really meant to be seen in their birthday suits. They DO look rather grim...but not tacky:


Speaking of books...I would be interested to know what everyone is reading these days. I just finished "Find Me," by Carol O'Connell. No, she didn't play Archie Bunker. In my opinion, this is the best (and I fear the last) in the fabulous "Mallory" series, which begins with "Mallory's Oracle." I highly recommend the series to anyone who enjoys somewhat gritty (though not graphic), psychology-based mysteries. Waiting in the queue on my nightstand are; "Death of a Witch," by M.C. Beaton, "Execution Dock," by Anne Perry, "The Birthday Present," by Barbara Vine (a.k.a Ruth Rendell) and "Life Sentences," by Laura Lippman. They are all still fully-clothed.

Festive!

I don't want to continue to shake salt in the wounds of everybody who didn't get to go to San Antonio last week, but I DO have one more comment on my trip.

I have a new standard for festive. Actually...that should be FESTIVE!!!!!!!!!

On my last day, we went to lunch at Mi Tierra, a San Antonio landmark which has been featured on The Food Network. It is a very traditional old-school Mexican restaurant which features a fabulous bakery. They also win my prize for possibly the most festive decor of anyplace I have ever been. And that includes Thailand, where they gold-plate all their temples and palaces.

Take a look at these photos and tell me what you think:

I'm Home

Nobody really enjoys other people's travelogues, but I need to make a few points about my trip to San Antonio.

First of all, air travel is the closest that most of us will ever get to being end products at a feed lot. As I and my fellow travellers dutifully remove our shoes and shuffle barefoot across the filthy airport carpet I feel sorry for us. Air travel used to be glamorous. Not so much anymore. In old newsreels, you can watch passengers gaily boarding airplanes wearing furs and carrying bejewelled chihuahuas. Nowadays, they're carrying Big Gulps, Happy Meals and ratty fleece blankets. I fully expect to be seated next to a crate of live chickens on my next flight.

Secondly, travel makes me feel fat. Well, fatter than usual. You arrive at your destination with those twin travel demons in tow; water retention and constipation. And then you are suddenly confronted with lots of big, reflective surfaces that you have learned to avoid in your own home. (Woa! When did Emily put up a fun house mirror in her dining room????) I'm just saying...

And, finally, San Antonio is a great place to visit. This was my fourth visit to the Alamo City and I have seen and done new things each time. As proof, here are a few photos of my visit. Don't look for any pictures of me...I was feeling fat.