Ghosts of Christmas past and other Ghostly tales

Here it is, the day after Christmas (Boxing Day) and I have ghosts on the brain--

Kelli told a ghost story on her blog, and said of it "I know what I saw." And I believe her. Now let me tell you what I saw once upon a Christmas past...I was about six years old, and the youngest child in the family. The older ones had long since convinced me that if I stood on the bed and looked out the north window, towards the North Pole, I could "wish to Santa" and he would hear me, and then on Christmas morning bring me whatever I wished for (if I was a good girl). So I had been doing that every year for as long as I could remember.

I loved to sing and dance, and during December, I would sing and dance along to Christmas records. One of my parents old LPs had my favorite secular Christmas song on it, "Santa Claus is flying through the sky"--
When the wintery wind is blowing
And the Christmas trees are glowing
Santa Claus is flying through the sky!
When you hear the carols singing
And the reindeer jingalinging,
You can almost see him passing by!
and so on...

Well, one night, when I was standing on the bed wishing with all the energy of my heart to Santa, as my siblings had taught me to do...I looked and I SAW Santa Claus flying through the sky! He was passing by, just like the song said, in his sleigh, and a bunch of reindeer were pulling it, just like that! They were far away, and looked kind of blue-ish against the night sky! I was astounded and just gazed open-mouthed in awe and amazement.

After that, I was a die-hard Santa believer. I KNEW he was real because I SAW him. I SAW him flying through the sky! I defended him against all nay-sayers at home, at school, at church, on the bus--I was indefatigable in my defense of him because I KNEW he was real.

And then came Grade Six. And the line in our language arts text book, in a unit on debate, that said, "Should you or should you not tell your younger brothers and sisters that Santa Claus is a hoax?" And all the other kids were treating that like a real debate question and not reacting by going "What!!! A hoax!!!" like I was doing inside...and I was disillusioned just like that, all the air out of my balloon at once.

Yet I still know what I saw. That image from that night, staring out of the north window of my bedroom on a farm in Alberta, is with me to this day. It was a very vivid image that I have not forgotten. But things that are imaginery can be just as real as things that are, for lack of a better word, real.

On to other ghostly tales...I thought I would share some of the tales about our Haunted MAD Library. Our library is called the Music and Dance Library, and we (the employees) lovingly call it the MAD for short.

When I first started working in the MAD, the building was having a lot of heating and cooling issues, and besides uncomfortable variations in temperature, the system made a lot of noises, which I guess could sound eerie, especially at night and if you were in an eerie kind of mood.

And then there was the chair. In the harp room, one day we found a chair that didn't really "go" with any of the chairs in the building. It had its own type of upholstery, and didn't come from any of our department's rooms. So we moved it into the hall...the next morning, it was back in the harp room...we moved it...it was back...etc. Until we gave up and let it stay in the harp room.

But as far as anyone knew--no ghosts were involved. But Jared, who was a fun guy to have around (since graduated, and now an optometrist) decided that it would be fun to write about the hot/cold, the noises, and the chair on a website about haunted places in Utah. And so he did.
I think this is the site: http://theshadowlands.net/places/utah.htm

So, which came first, the chicken or the egg? And was our MAD Library really haunted, or did Jared's joke start something?

Because now we have a whole bunch of stories, far beyond what is recorded on the website. Every Halloween, some newspaper or radio station will want to come and ask questions about our hauntings. And one year, I even had to make up song lyrics and do a powerpoint for us to sing at "town meeting" which is what we call our greater HBLL staff meeting. I'll have to look for that powerpoint at work, and if I didn't delete it, I'll add it. The song was to the tune of "There's something howling in the old oak tree..."

"There's something spooky in the music library"...all the way to "I'm not scared, but I think I'll hide." I'll find it and add it later...

But now for the stories...

Mike closed up at 10 PM. He went downstairs to use a printer, but they were out of order, so he decided to let himself back in to work and use our printer. He unlocked the door and went inside, but didn't turn the lights on because he didn't want patrons to think we were open. As he was getting his document ready to print, he glanced across the room, and saw through the glass of the door into the Reading Room a woman. He thought that was odd--he was sure he and his coworker had checked and that all people were out before he locked up. He supposed they had missed someone, so he got the key for that room, walked over and unlocked the door, saw the woman further on in the room closer to the outside windows, called out to her "We're closed," but no one was there anymore.

Link to pictures of the reading room: http://music.lib.byu.edu/FloorPlansFacilities/refroom.html

Jessi was working at night, and when it was time to close, she went to check the rooms down the hall, like the Harp room and the PIVA room. She keyed in the code for the PIVA room, and saw a woman standing in the dark at the back of the room. She felt cold chills, and quickly closed the door and walked back to where her coworker was, saying, "I'm not checking that room alone!"Brandon was working in the PIVA room. He was sitting at the computer near the window, entering data, when he looked up and noticed one of the red-bound scores slide its way off the shelf and fall to the floor. And then another one. "That's weird," he thought. So he walked over and picked them up. He went and sat back down and started working...and they did it again.

Nicki was really tired. She wanted to take a nap, but she didn't have time to go home. She decided that the Music Recordings Archive would be a great place to take a nap, because not very many people go in there. She went in, and settled herself down between the stacks, and was just about to doze off when she heard the door open. She heard footsteps. She thought it was one of her coworkers, so she decided to just pretend to be asleep, so they would go away and leave her alone. She heard the footsteps coming closer, and then stop just at her feet. She expected the person to say "Boo" or something...but nothing... She just lay there with her eyes shut, thinking, "go away." But they didn't go! She was getting annoyed, so snapped open her eyes and her mouth, ready to let fly a comment...but no one was there. Nicki decided to sleep somewhere else...

Link to MRA: http://music.lib.byu.edu/FloorPlansFacilities/mra.html

One day Annie, Tony and I noticed that all the clarinets in the clarinet display case were all wonky. One of the clarinets was even taken apart, in three pieces. But the case was locked and appeared to be exactly in the same place it had been the day before. We got the key and put the instruments back (this takes 2-3 people because the glass lid is extremely heavy) and then we tried ramming into it to see if the disturbance could have happened if the case was bumped into. We had to ram it really hard to get the clarinets to slip out of position, but there was no way we could ram it and get a clarinet to come apart.

And just the other day, one of the other librarians came in to where I was working at the desk and said, "Myrna, have you seen the chair from the harp room?" I said, "Which chair?" He said, "You know, the one with the patterned uphostery." I said, "You mean, the ghost chair?" He said, "Yes." And I just looked at him and said "Hmmm..."

Maybe the chair decided it was time to leave--I can't wait to go back to work and see if it has reappeared or if it is still gone.

What's in a name?

I have had names on my mind a lot. First, there was Abra's blog in which she quoted Malachi's question, "Is Jesus a dhost?" and when I read that, I thought, "Yes, he is!" because in Hindi "dost" means friend, and Jesus is a friend, a very good friend indeed.

We have an advent calendar that was in the Friend in 2002. We have been using it every Christmas for a long time. Every night, you read a scripture about Jesus, in which he is given a name, like "the bread of life" or "Alpha and Omega." The last one is "The Light of the World." Last year, we forgot to take the advent calendar down, so it has been up all year, and when December rolled around, it seemed like we had just quit doing that Advent calendar, so this year we didn't do it. We just left it up, all filled in with all the dates already.For FHE tonight, we talked about all our names, and then talked about the names that Jesus is known by. The kids thought it was interesting, and so I am posting about it.

Bruce is a Scottish surname of Norman origin. It doesn't really have a meaning, but is associated with a place in France, Brix. Robert the Bruce was probably the most important Bruce, known for bringing independence to Scotland. So the name has associaitions with bravery and independence. Bruce has been among the top 1000 names in the English speaking world (for boys) since 1900. It was at its most popular in the decade 1950-1959, which happens to be the decade in which my husband Bruce AND my brother Bruce were both born.Myrna is an Irish gaelic name. They would have spelled it "Miurne." It means "beloved." Who knew? It will be no big surprise to my daughters or nieces that Myrna has not been on the list of top 1000 girl names since 1979. It reached its zenith in popularity in the decade of 1930-1939, which would have been about the time my mom, born in 1928, was thinking about names that she liked and might want to name a daughter someday.
Kelli is also Irish gaelic, "Ceallach," and has meanings to do with war and strife...but!!! Like so many words, it also has the meaning "bright-headed," and I think that is very apt for our Kelli, because she is a very bright girl. This name was on the top 1000 list for both males and females, but only for a short time, relatively speaking, from 1950-2004. It reached its highest popularity in the decade 1970-1979, which was the decade in which Kelli was born.
Abra has a very unique name. It has never been on the top 1000 list. One idea about this name is that it is the female form of Abraham, therefore of Hebrew origin. And there was a girl in King Solomon's court named Abra. However, another possibility for this name is gaelic yet again, formed from two syllables, one meaning "elf" and one meaning "power." So...elf power! Very fitting, I think...Abracadabra! For me, the association is with the John Steinbeck novel "East of Eden," a very powerful book. If your name is Abra and you haven't read it, I suggest you do. You will like Abra very much.David is from the Hebrew and it means "beloved" too! Who knew that I named David after myself, and that we have the same name? Not me, I didn't know; I just found out! The name David has always been popular, ever since David fought Goliath and then later became King of Israel. It has been on the top 1000 list ever since 1900, never lower than position 31, and at its highest was #2, in the decade 1960-1969.Nancy is really a nick-name to names like Annis (Agnes), Anna and Hannah. So its meaning changes depending on which name you look up. I personally like the assocations with Agnes, which derives from the Greek and has meanings like "chaste" and "lamb" which I think suit our Nancy very well. Nancy is another name that has always been on the top 1000 list--surprisingly, even on the BOY list earlier in the twentieth century. But 1940-1949 was its stellar decade (hello, Nancy Drew!).
Patrick derives from the Roman, and means nobleman. And Patrick is a very noble soul, so it suits him. Saint Patrick was so revered that his name was considered too sacred to actually use...until the 17th century, and then people got over that, and Patrick has been among the top 1000 names every year, with its peak being the same as for David, 1960-1969, where it was at #32.
Josie is, like Nancy, a diminutive. It comes from French, the female form of Joseph. Like Joseph, it means "s/he will add." No, this doesn't mean that Josie WILL do her math--it means she will add by her presence; she will add to the conversation; she will add her ideas...and she does add a lot to our family. While some form of Josie/Josephine has been on the top 1000 list for a long time, it was most popular in the decade 1900-1909, which was the decade in which my Great Aunt Josie was born.
Jesus comes from the Aramaic Yeshua or Hebrew Joshua (unless I have those two mixed up) and means many things, including "salvation." His name has also been on the top 1000 names forever, especially in Spain. On the advent chart you can see scripture references that lead to his other names or meanings of his name, some Bible scholars counting up to 700--our chart doesn't go that high, though Patrick said that we could make one, and just use it for two years. That could work for us, since we can't remember to take the advent calendar down, anyway.

I am glad that Jesus is mera dost, my friend, and at this Christmas time, I am happy to remember his birth, his life and his promises to me, and to all of mankind.

Find it at the library!

Check it out here:
http://net.lib.byu.edu/tutorial/librarysearch/

For better or worse--and which is which?

I tried to go to sleep, but sleep is far away. My mind and heart are heavy, and I keep thinking about the accident in Taber, a thousand miles away from me, that happened on my birthday. A millisecond in time that changed so many lives irreversibly...Three boys, all seventeen. And all with different outcomes. One dead. One in a coma. One who walks away with a broken arm. The one who had been driving on an icy road, who experienced the loss of control, the totally unforeseen moment in which everything changes.

No one, not the semi driver who hit them, certainly not any of the boys, saw this coming. One moment, they were driving along, the boys on their way to a Christmas supper, the driver on the job, just trying to get his load delivered. And in a tiny bit of a second...so many, many people impacted.

Our family goes a long way back with the families of each of the boys.

My dad grew up in Dogtown, where his best friends were from the Harris, Francis, Evanson, Valgardson and Haslam families. He wanted to be a pilot, and had his own plane--but due to a tiny medical difficulty, I am not even sure what, his plane sat and became spare parts for tractor repairs, and a wonderful set for the imaginations of his children and nieces and nephews as we played in, on and around it. Sometimes my dad's friends Johnny Evanson, Bill Valgardson or Van Haslam would take him up in their planes, and oh, how he loved to fly with them. Our family was also good friends with the Haynes families. Lee lived a mile away; Dad home-taught Lee's older brother Percy. Percy's son Roy was a frequent visitor, and as farmers, Dad and Roy often helped each other out with the farm work. Roy and my dad often talked about being fathers, and shared with each other their love for their children.

Dad didn't know the West family when he was young; they moved to Taber from Raymond when I was in elementary school. But Dad and Mom and Al and Jackie became friends. The Wests believed in working with their kids, and they often contracted with Dad to hoe our sugar beets as a family.

Grandma was good friends with Minnie Price; her husband Edwin was our Stake Patriarch and gave me and my siblings our patriarchal blessings.

Next generation: Colleen and Bruce were near the ages of Thom Evanson, the son of Johnny, and Jerry Haslam, the son of Van. Arlene went to elementary school with Wendy Price, the granddaughter of our Stake Patriarch. One of Arlene's best friends in our ward was Carol West, Al's daughter.

Carol married Thom; Wendy married Jerry. I went to school with Robert Price, Wendy's brother; and in junior high, got to know Jay Haslam, Jerry's brother. Jay married Shawna Layton, my piano teacher's daughter. And I married one of Shawna's third cousins. Joan West, Carol's sister, was one of my best friends in our ward.

Colleen used to babysit for the Haynes kids. Sometimes I would go with her especially to change the diapers, something that I was very good at and didn't mind doing. Denise was such a cute baby! A pretty strawberry blonde with a quiet, happy personality.

When Josie and I were in Taber in August, we went to Taber Third ward, and Denise was there because her husband, Rod Yokoyama, was speaking. It was High Council Sunday. Denise came up and smiled in that pretty way that only she can smile, and she seemed like she was about ten years old to me...the same quiet, gentle way about her that I remembered from the past. A lovely person.

And now, the subsequent generation:
Chris, son of Thom and Carol, in a coma.
Darren, son of Jerry and Wendy, with a broken arm and a broken heart.
Chris aka Beans, son of Rod and Denyse, who did not survive the accident.

Who would you want to be of these three? Who would you want to be, of the parents? Is it harder to live or die or to hang between two worlds?

One millisecond in time, and such a big impact. I live a thousand miles away, and I ache for the parents and siblings of these boys. I ache for Darren; oh, how I ache for Darren. If I had to be one of the boys, I don't think I would want to be him. His role is so difficult. But the other two roles are difficult too!

And the parental roles--all three different, all three so very, very tough.

Now, I know that God lives and loves me and you and all three of these boys and their parents and extended families, and all their friends who are in shock and sorrow. And even knowing that, this situation is hard and weighs on my mind and heart. I can only imagine how it feels to the people directly affected, and I pray that they will feel the love of God surrounding them, to bear them up through the difficult days, weeks, months and years ahead.

The beauty of a small town is just this: the shared history. Three and four generations of intertwined lives, so that you don't just know one person in a story like this, you know them all, and their parents and grandparents and great-grandparents, and there is a sharing that can happen that can help to heal. There is shared faith, shared testimony, shared pain, shared sorrow. And that is the comfort that arises from tragedy.

Seeing double

For some reason, my work place seems to attract a lot of twins. A few years ago--well, five to be exact--TWO of our male students had pregnant wives who, within weeks of each other, delivered twin baby girls. (Another library worker downstairs from us had twin baby girls herself that same month--August of 2003.) A music grad student who, though not our employee we saw a lot of, had twin boys around the same time. A few months later, one of our male students who had gone off to grad school in Colorado became the proud father of twin boys.

Shortly thereafter, we hired a girl who, though not a twin herself had two sets of twins in her family--a girl/boy twin set, and identical twin girls. This girl got married and soon found herself with fraternal twin sons. We hired her sister, one of the identical twin girls, to replace her.

Right now, we have one half of two sets of identical male twins working for us. Both sets have names that start with A and B: Aaron and Ben, and Andrew and Brian. Ben and Andrew work for us. We have a lot of student employees, all of whom know Ben and Andrew, and who say "Hello!" very cheerily to Aaron and Brian when they see them, assuming they are seeing Ben and Andrew.

Last night was our student Christmas party. Brian, being a good brother to Andrew, brought his potluck item to our party venue for his brother. I said, "You're going to stay and eat with us, aren't you Brian?" He said, "Yes, I am--I might as well. After all, I know all of you, and you all think you know me!"

P-P-Puddles

Nancy issued a challenge: when was the last time you wet your pants? Except she didn't say wet, but I am my mother's daughter, so I can't use the word she used, not here! My mother would weep!

I hope this was the last time--my memory is slipping sometimes--but I think it was when I was in Grade Three. So I would have been eight. I was a student of Mrs. O at Dr. Hamman School in Taber AB. I really liked Mrs. O, but she was strict about letting students leave the class to take care of bodily functions. She particularly felt that students should use the facilities at recess or during the noon hour, not while school was in session. I am provisionally fine with that--but I do think that elementary schools in general sometimes carry these kinds of rules to the extreme. And only grown-ups who can't remember being a child at a strict school would imagine that EVERY child was allowed to go to the bathroom--once you were outside, you had to get a patrol to let you in, and some of them, though children too, were the worst martinets in the school.

So, it was just after school was back in session following the noon hour, and I needed to go to the bathroom. But I didn't want to ask, because I knew she would say no. I waited and waited, because whatever we were doing was followed by PE and we would be getting up and walking down the hall to the gym, and surely by then, since we were walking right by the washroom, surely THEN she would say yes, wouldn't she?

Then I could wait no more. Practically dancing, I got up and walked to where Mrs. O was writing on the chalkboard, and timidly asked permission to go. "You should have gone during the lunch break!" she exclaimed. "No, you sit back down and do your work."

So I sat back down. And I did my work. And then I did my business. I didn't know what else to do. My pink sweater (with the chewed up collar) was hanging on the back of my seat, so I just pushed it onto the floor to soak up and hide the puddle. No one noticed. So far so good.

Now I had to have a plan...it was soon going to be time to walk to the gym, and here I was sitting in wet stuff. I thought of something that just might work...

Time for PE. Everyone lined up by their desks ready to march out row by row. Just as I figured, the person behind me--I am pretty sure it was Judy G. (B.--who lives in High River now)-- said, "Myrna, your bottom looks like you wet your pants!"

And I said, "I know! I am so embarrassed! I fell into a snow drift, and I just sat there, and I guess it melted, and when I got up, I was all wet! Does it look really bad? Do you think anyone else will notice?"

And she said, "Well, it's not really that bad--it'll dry. Too bad!"

And no one else said a word. We ran around the gym, I don't remember what we did, but if we were moving, that was good for my rear end! And then we went back to class.

At the end of the day, I simply gathering up my soaking wet sweater into my Beverly Hillbillies lunch box, and took it home.

My mom could smell it as soon as she opened the lunch box. I don't know what was the matter with all the noses at school--maybe kids just generally stink when you cram a bunch of them into a room! So there you go--my last wet pants and my first really big lie, all in one fell swoop.

Little cabbages have big ears

If you have read Abra's blog, you know that she was surprised by a pop quiz from Deklan, and was perplexed by a difficult question...

I thought about this while I was sitting in the Fine Arts Center enjoying a recital by a bassoon student who works for me, which was very good, I might add.

Now, I openly admit that many things pass me by, flying right over my head, but I have been living for half a century, and I actually have noticed a few things.

For example, I noticed that on Friday night, while David was on a date and Billy and Bruce were watching a movie, that Abra, Josie and I were at the computer showing each other random things, a lot of them on YouTube. And the little people were popping in and out and around while this was going on.

And once, Abra took us to a YouTube song, and announced "I really like this song. In fact, I want to have it sung at my funeral. Billy even knows this, and he said he would make sure it is performed at my funeral." Or words to that effect.

Of course, me being a bit oblivious to what goes on around me, I did not notice what song it was--but then, I didn't have to, because Abra made a point of telling us that Billy knows, etc. So that was permission for me not to notice or remember, right? Because it was not a song that I already knew...

So I am guessing that Deklan rolled up near us at some time during that conversation, so HE has probably been thinking about funerals and music and wondering why his mom...are you following me here? Yes, indeed. He got the idea from his mom!! In both cases she "really liked" a song...so if one is good enough for your funeral, is the other one, too? A valid question.

So, since I am at least Abra's mom, and in case any of you were wondering, I really like a song called "Waked from my bed of slumber sweet" by Roger Hoffman, and I would really like to have it sung at my funeral. There are problems with this: The music is not easy. The piano part is especially challenging, as it keeps changing key. But it is way cool.

Here it is:http://www.hoffmanhouse.com/sheet/Parley/Waked.pdf, the sheet music, starting out with SIX FLATS, then four, two, none, and ending with two sharps, unless I have missed one of the key changes. I was trying to listen to a sample of it here, but without much success, but if you would like to try, here is the link: http://www.ldsaudio.com/shop/music.aspx?type=album&id=309

We (a group of singers) sang this at the Parley P. Pratt Memorial fireside a few years ago, and it was so much fun to sing. A sad, happy (sappy) song. And amazingly, I couldn't really find a great web source for the fireside, or I would post it. I can only find references to it, but not an actual site. However, I sang in it for a couple of years, as did Nancy and David.

So, little cabbages, that is my story.

Gamelan Bintang Wahyu

I was saving the Gamelan pictures for Josie to post and blog about, but she hasn't felt like doing it, so I am going to do it. In this picture, you can see Josie and I playing instruments that appear to be the same, but really they are quite different. Josie is playing the jegogan, which is a very low-pitched metallophone. The one I am playing, which Josie says is called a penyacah, and she may very well be right about that, is two octaves higher. (penyacah; cah sounds like "cha".) The jublag, not pictured, falls between these two. If you tried to lift them, you would also be able to tell the difference, because the jegogan is much, much heavier. Like all the gamelan instruments, they come in pairs, one of the pair pitched slightly higher and one slightly lower, to produce "beats" in the music, which ends up with a shimmery, calliope-like sound in the metallophones.

Here is Josie playing the reyong, which is the one she likes to play the best. It is also the most difficult to learn the techniques for, both the striking and the dampening. But Josie likes it! Just behind her you can see the jublags, which may look like the jegogan and the penyacah to you, but they really do have their differences--size and pitch. The reyong is played by four players, each of whom has only a couple of the knobbed gongs to worry about--and that is plenty! The rhythms are tricky.

Here Josie is playing the gongs. It is said that the gong was invented so that the ordinary people could communicate with the Gods, high in their mountain-top homes. Our gamelan has three large gongs, and it was Josie's privelege to hit one of these every four counts in Puspanjali. Our friend Kourtnee, seen behind Josie in the top picture, hit the highest pitched of the three for that particular piece.
Here is Josie playing a kendang. The kendangs come in different sizes. The kendang is exactly what it looks like, a drum, so it just sounds like a drum. Josie plays the kendang in one of our pieces. With thanks to David, for getting up early and visiting our early morning practise to be our photographer. (Gamelan music can be a little loud, so the only time the HFAC can schedule us is early morning, so our sound doesn't interfere with other classes.)

The last picture shows the other side of the gamelan -- the ugals and the gangsas. There are eight gangsas, in four groups of slightly different instruments in size and pitch. The ugals carry the melody or play really spiffy ornamentations, and you have to be very brave to play them, so you will probably never see me sitting behind one of them. I played gangsa in the topeng. There are some Youtube videos of us playing, but I will have to find the links later. So...there is a quick introduction to Gamelan.

Puspanjali:http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=pTvxa_CVuC4
Capung Gantung:http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=IwRamNXhGIc
Sekar Sungsang:http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=kkFD_AXZ-sU
Topeng Keras:http://fr.youtube.com/watch?v=JrFDNSa3d48
All videos courtesy of our friend Tanielle, who is a real Indonesian. (Our Gamelan is Balinese. Bali is in Indonesia. Just so you know.)

Shopping memory

Wow, my kids inspire me! I would have nothing to say if they didn't blog and give me ideas. Abbi blogged about shopping with her kids, and it was so funny...too bad it doesn't seem as funny while it is happening...like the time we went shopping once in about 1981.

It was a gorgeous day in sunny southern California. Like many days, we had Jenna and Lance at our house. Their parents were working hard at building their business, and some days we got little pajama-clad kiddies in the morning, and sent little pajama-clad kids home at night. This was one of those days.

Lance would have been not yet one--about 9 or 10 months old. Jenna was two, Abbi was almost three, and Kelli was almost four. I had my hands full! But it was fun! This particular day, Bruce was home, and we were going to the beach. We got a picnic ready, had the sand toys, suits and towels packed in the car. We just had to make one little stop at Gemco.

Gemco was like a Super Walmart...everything you could think of to buy. We were the managers of our apartment complex, and needed to stop and buy something for the apartments, like weed killer or something? Who remembers! Not me...

We got a shopping cart, and put Lance in the little seat, and lifted 1, 2, 3 girls into the basket part, and warned them all to SIT DOWN. We were in the "weed killer and other poisons" aisle when two things happened at once--Bruce drew my attention away to the right hand side of the cart to show me something for like two seconds, and one of the girls saw something cool that just cried out to be touched on the left hand side of the cart, and if one had to touch it, they all did.

I swear, it was only about two seconds, and what made me turn around suddenly was the crash of the cart, the screams of three little girls (one of whom had a high pitched wail that could shatter glass--hmm, was it the screaming or the cart knocking into all the glass bottles of poison that caused them to break?) and a baby's frightened cry. The cart and the kids and the glass bottles of poison were all down for the count.

If you have ever wondered in a store, "Doesn't anyone work here? Where are the clerks?" just pull this kind of a stunt with a cart full of kids, and I guarantee that you will find out how many people work there! They were all so kind, helping to pick up and soothe kids, clean up the mess...and instead of going to the beach, we headed for home and everyone who had been soaking in poison had a warm soapy bath, followed by naps all around!

Tagged

I have been tagged several times by my daughters to tell 8 quirky things about myself. I have been slow to respond because a) there are so many quirky things about me, I didn't know what to choose, and b) they have already tagged any of the people I would tag, so I can't play the game completely. But, after carefully making a list over a period of time, I think I can at least tell you 8 quirky things about myself that won't be too embarrassing...

1. I talk to myself all the time if I am alone. I explain to me what I am doing, and make comments about what I could or should do, ask myself questions; just generally keep the self-talk going.

2. When I am concentrating really hard, I stick my tongue out just a little bit, always on the right side of my mouth. Never the middle or the left side.

3. I prefer to sit with my knees up. I have done this my whole life, in spite of my mother telling me over and over again that it isn't very ladylike. I am just more comfortable that way. This did get me into trouble once, when I put my knees up inside my nightgown and then got off balance and tipped over right onto my face on the floor, smashing the corner of my glasses into my left eyebrow, which required a run to the emergency room for stitches. And it was a little embarrassing to describe how the accident happened, but hey...only one accident because of that little quirk in 50 years is not so bad.

4. I was thinking the other night, while watching Bruce take his T-shirt off, that he does it in a very quirky way. He always reaches one hand behind his neck, grabs his T-shirt in the middle and kind of pulls it over his head from back to front. I don't do it that way, but that made me think that he probably thinks that I take mine off in a very quirky way, too. I cross my hands in front and pull it over my head from the front to the back, from the hem of the shirt.

5. I have a cold right leg. It is always colder than my left leg. While I love going barefoot, my right leg and foot always cries out for a sock.

6. If I don't have my glasses on, I can't answer the phone because I can't hear without them. This makes sense when the lights are on and an actual person is in front of me, because clearly I have bad hearing and do a lot of lip reading. But on the phone? And I can walk around in the dark without glasses and do perfectly well, but if the phone rings and I try to answer it without glasses on, forget it. I just can't hear.

7. When I am walking and not carrying something, I wiggle my fingers. It is like their own little exercise session.

8. My best friend in my ward is 87 years old, and is having issues with her memory. We have the same conversations over and over again. For me, it is practice for my inevitable future, because I can feel my memory slipping away already. If I forget something, Joyce says "Oh, not you too! I must be rubbing off on you!"

Lost children episode 3

The day we lost Patrick had started out to be a very good day. I don't remember what day of the week it was, I just know that I had to go to work and Dad was at work, too. But all the kids were home, so it was either in the summer or it was a PD day. In any case, for some reason, all the kids went to Kathy's house that day, something they all enjoyed doing very much. Patrick must have been about two years old, give or take six months.

I got to Kathy's after work, went inside--there were kids everywhere, both mine and Kathy's, and pretty much everyone greeted me and then would be running off somewhere to do something. The only person I didn't see was Patrick. So I said to Kathy, who was working in the kitchen, "Where's Patrick?" She said, "Oh, he's around. Maybe he's down the hall." I went and looked in all the bedrooms--no Patrick. I went back, and said, "He's not there." Kathy looked so puzzled. "But he was just here," she said. Their house had a sliding door between the kitchen and living room, and Patrick had been on the living room side, sliding the door open and closed and playing peek-a-boo with Kathy just before I got there. She came out of the kitchen, and the two of us searched the entire house, but no Patrick...

By now all the other kids were aware of what we were doing, and they began to join in the search. The back yard, the street, the neighbors' houses--no Patrick. Kathy lived in a cul-de-sac ish place, so it seemed like if he had gone outside, he should be pretty contained. The big worry was that there was access to a path that led to one of BC's many creeks, and some forested areas...some of the kids went to look there.

I most especially remember that Emily was so upset. The tears were streaming down her face, and she said "Why did this have to happen to Patrick? He is so young, he has his whole life before him? Why couldn't this happen to me instead?" (If I hadn't been so distraught, I would have laughed out loud, because if he was two, she was only seven--not so much older!! She had HER whole life before her, too!)

So there we all were, about ten of us plus neighbors, all searching for this vanished child. We gathered to pray, because we had exhausted our own ideas and needed help. I had the feeling to look in the living room, where we had already looked over and over again, just like we had looked everywhere in the house. I walked to the corner of the living room, where Kathy had a great big round chair. Behind it was a cardboard box. I had walked over and looked in that corner over and over again. But this time, prompted by the spirit, I looked in the box--and there was Patrick, curled up fast asleep. You remember he had been playing peek-a-boo with Kathy? He must have decided to turn the game into hide-and-seek, but he forgot to tell Kathy. And, hiding so quietly so as not to ruin the game, he fell asleep. And slept peacefully for an hour or so while we all frantically looked for him!

I snatched him up, and was hugging him tightly, while grateful tears ran down my cheeks. Pretty soon, all ten of us were gathered around, the girls all crying, the boys all cheering...and he woke up! He was so confused--everyone was so happy to see him, and he couldn't understand why.

Lost children episode 2

When Abbi was "lost" she knew right where she was! And so did David, when he got "lost." We were doing a major house remodel in 1985. It was a really busy day at our house, with workmen coming and going. I was tired, because Nancy had recently been born, and it was hard to keep the kids safely entertained while the house was a construction site. On this particular day, my parents were there, and I was hoping they would want to take a child or two home with them until the construction simmered down a little, but they weren't too keen on taking any small folk home with them--which, now that I am in their shoes, I can entirely understand.

David was two and a half years old. He was having a bath; someone turned their head for two seconds, and he disappeared right from the bathtub. Where could he have gone? He was naked! My mom, my dad, my daughters and I were all looking EVERYWHERE in the house and yard, but he was just gone!! I was worried, but not like my mom was worried! (She was a much better worrier than I have ever been, and I am pretty good!)

Kelli saved the day...she ran down the street about a half block south to a friend's home. Kelli remembered that earlier in the day, she had taken David over there to play, because her friend's little brother (also named David) had a new big car to play in. Our David had really, really liked that car...and Kelli thought, correctly, as it turned out, that David had gone over to sit in that car again. There he was, our little streaker, in their back yard, sitting in the other David's car. Kelli carried him home, where everyone fussed over him... and Grandma packed him into her car and took him home with her for a few days, while we got the house back into a more livable state.

Lost children episode 1

Abbi and I were talking about using life experiences as a starting point for fiction. She wrote on her blog about a time when she perhaps had a potential kidnapper right in front of her, and as she expressed it "stared down her worst fear, and even argued with it" or words to that effect. Then I thought about our daughter Kelli who WAS kidnapped as a young teenager, only we were led to believe that she had run away...and the horrific aftermath of that event, which was life-changing for all of us. And I thought about my other four children...had I ever lost them, even for awhile? Yes. Indeed. And it is always so frightening to lose a child; my heart goes out to those who lose them permanently, because even the temporary losses are chilling.

Actually, Abbi was the first of our children to "go missing." It was on Canada Day. Probably in about 1984. We watched the parade from the corner of our street and main street, a short walk away. After the parade, we were at home, and decided to go to the park and play. For some reason, Abbi wasn't quite ready to go. Bruce wasn't coming with us, but Kelli and I put David in the stroller and started, leaving Abbi to catch up with us. We were going to the park that was one block north and a half a block east of our house--just a short distance. The kids had walked there themselves dozens of times. We were walking slowly so she could catch up with us...she never did. We played at the park. She never came. We thought maybe she decided not to come, just to stay home with her dad. So we didn't worry, just kept playing. When David was ready to go, and Kelli probably hadn't had her fill yet, but crying babies usually win arguments like that, we went back home.

"Hey, Abbi, why didn't you come?" Bruce heard and said, "She did go. She left soon after you did. You mean, you didn't see her?" Now we were really worried! How could she have gotten lost? She knew the way to the park! Bruce thought she had left so soon after us that she should have been able to catch up with us while we were still on our way to the park. Yet we had looked behind us, and never seen her. Panic quickly set in, as we checked with neighbors, walked to the park different routes, drove our car around the neighborhood, all the looking you do...It was a big worry because what if she was kidnapped? With it being Canada Day, and the rodeo going on, there were so many more people and cars than usual...scary thoughts!

As is our custom, we prayed. We knelt and prayed, most fervently, that we would know where to look. We were on the point of calling the police, when a still, small voice whispered to me, "Look at the park where the pool is." I was surprised by the thought--that park was quite a long ways away, past the "downtown" part of the town. I didn't know if Abbi even knew the way to THAT park. We were definitely a swimming family, and Abbi was the most enthusiastic swimmer, but she had never walked there without a parent. Yet the thought had come in answer to prayer, I knew it. So I left the other kids with Bruce and drove over there.

And there she was. Sitting inside the wading pool area, waiting so patiently. "Where were you?" she asked. "I didn't see you." But, due to Canada Day, there were so many people at that park, she thought it prudent to sit and wait, because we said we would be at the park, so we must be there.

I thought that I had made it clear which park I meant. Apparently, I did not. I would never have expected her to walk to THAT park by herself. But it was her favorite park, so I guess that when I said park, her mind clicked onto her favorite park, and that was the one she walked to. I was just so glad to find her!! We went home and, as a family, said another prayer of thanks.

Success

The Phantom of the Opera silent movie night came off fabulously. Which was nice, because the dress rehearsal was pretty disorganized. They decided the best way to get us gamelaners on to the stage was during the prayer. That may sound disrespectful, but honestly--backstage you can't hear anything anyway; it all sounds like the people out front are speaking Martian. So as soon as the prayer began, Josie, the designated door-opener, let us all out and we snuck into position. The technicians turned the fog machines on, and as soon as "Amen" was said, the first two instruments began to play. People gasped in surprise, because of the changes that took place while their eyes were closed. Amazing! We played our eerie music while the pall-bearers carried the coffin in, while dracula waved a hand in the air and finally arose. We played until he was on the stairs leading to the organ pit, then waited until he began Bach's "Toccata and Fugue in D minor" and then we melted away into the darkness. No one knew what happened to us, except for all the people on Row L who had to put up with our whispered "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me" while we crawled over them to our absolutely perfect, dead centre seats. Then we just enjoyed the 1920's sing-along slides and the movie. Mike Oman's organ accompaniment was so perfect for the movie that I sometimes forgot it was not a part of the soundtrack. And I was especially proud of Paul, who was playing the gongsa for the sound of the clappers of the phantom's alarm system. He had not been able to rehearse that with the movie, and his timing was terrific!

Bruce and David seemed to enjoy the show, too. And we gamelaners especially enjoyed their help to put the instruments away when it was all over. They are WAY heavy! And awkward. We got to use the secret spiral stairway that leads directly down to the Green Room to take some of the stuff back--that was a very smart idea! Good for Josie thinking of that.

Sorry that I have no pictures--but the evening will be televised at some point on one of BYU's channels. And they are making a documentary about the gamelan, too-- I don't know what will happen with that either.

Halloween Eve

Tomorrow is Halloween...not my favorite day of the year, like I know it is for some of you. I just have never really enjoyed being scared, and I am quite picky about candy: two reasons not to love this holiday! But I don't mind being on the scaring end of things, really.... so tomorrow, the Balinese Gamelan Josie and I are in will be playing scary music at the silent film of "Phantom" (1925 version). We will be playing at the beginning while they are carrying in the coffin. Sounds interesting! We will let you know how it goes!

Thoughts on Jack the Ripper

On Saturday, David, Josie and I went to Salt Lake to do a bit of Grandpa-sitting. It is hard to watch the effects of old age--hard to be watching over someone who used to be the one who did the watching. We were glad that we could give Grandma a small break to get things done. It was hard to hear Grandpa say things that were way out there, like when he turned to Josie and I while we were eating lunch and said "Did you find Nancy okay?" We looked at each other, unsure how to respond, then I said "Nancy didn't come with us today." I wasn't sure that I wanted to get into the whole "she lives in Egypt" thing right then...that might have been confusing for him.

While Josie and David went to get the hamburgers (and chicken burgers of course, for the Hindus in the family :o) Grandpa and I sat quietly together. He was dozing most of the time, and I was making sure he didn't decide to get dressed and go to work, or pull out his catheter or other things dangerous to his well-being. Kevin had left the TV on tuned to the History channel, and so Grandpa and I watched a show about Jack the Ripper. It was creeping me out, but I didn't know how to work the electronics--no surprise there--so I just kept watching, hearing creepy sounds in the house, and getting up to look out the window in hopes that David and Josie were coming back. But I am actually glad I watched that show. Because while Jack the Ripper was terrorizing Whitechapel, there were worse things going on there--deadly diseases, poor sanitation, all kinds of horrors of life were taking many more lives than Jack the Ripper. Jack the Ripper was totally selfish, deliberately brutalizing his victims in terrible ways. But from his crimes came something good: the publicity surrounding the cases awoke not only the country but the world to the terrible conditions in Whitechapel, and help came. Money was spent, slums were demolished, homes were built, sewer systems were improved--none of this had anything to do with Jack, whoever he really was, and I am sure that he wouldn't have cared--but in spite of his best efforts to spread fear and be evil, God's hand was there and out of badness, people were inspired to create goodness. I thought that was awesome.

And I thought about how this is also true in our individual lives. We go through scary, horrible, difficult things, and sometimes even because of them, we turn our attention to the things that really matter, and God's hand is there, and out of badness, people are inspired to create goodness. It might be ourselves or others, but people become the instruments in the hand of God to create goodness. And I think that is awesome.

Mothers!

Mothers can be so embarrassing, don't you think? I remember when my mother was very embarrassing. I was so sensitive about how she looked, what she would say...so worried that she would say or do something that would embarrass me. She used to put on her makeup while driving to town. I would scrunch down really low in the seat so that if any of our neighbors pulled out onto the highway, they might see her, but they wouldn't know that I was in the car. I have never pulled that one on my kids--putting my make-up on while driving. For one, I don't wear enough make-up that I would need that kind of time (seven and a half miles) and for two, I am way too blind to even think about doing something like that while driving. So my kids have never had to worry about that one! But as a mother with 28 years and 6 children under my belt, I have had many opportunities to practice being embarrassing, and I think that I have gotten to be pretty good at it. Practice makes perfect, after all!

So, I just drove Josie to a birthday/halloween party. We had the address, but had a bit of trouble finding the house. When we knew we were on the right road, it was a bit confusing because the number was 17, which should be really close to Center Street, only there isn't really a Center Street there, just a place where the numbers get smaller and then larger again. So I saw a 33, but wasn't sure if it was a rising or a falling number. On one side of 33 was 11, so I figured that the house south of 11 must be 17. Where else could it be? But there was no number on the house. So I announced that I would go look. That was pretty horrible, in Josie's eyes. I was going to get out of the car and approach the house and LOOK AT IT. But as I got really close to the door, I couldn't see a number anywhere. Picture Josie in the car, her face turning red, cringing, as I do the most embarrassing thing--ring the doorbell. A pretty witch came to the door. I asked if this was house number 17. She said, "I don't know; this isn't my house." She turned to the ninja who walked up behind her, and said "Is this house 17?" The ninja said "Yes," so I said "Hi, you must be Brianna." She admitted that she was, and I said "I am just bringing my daughter here, but we couldn't see a house number, so I am just making sure we are in the right place." And then I went out and told the ninja in my car that it was safe to go in the house, and she was not too happy with me. But I told her that the girls in the house have mothers, too, and they are likely to be at least occasionally embarassing, too, so they are used to it! Wouldn't you think so?

I am so proud of myself that I could do this embarrassing thing. I am afraid that when I was a younger mother, with less experience making a total fool of myself, my kids might have had to miss the party because if no one can be totally uncool by going to the door and asking a stupid question, we wouldn't know where we were. I'm glad that I have learned this part of the Mom Job Description.

Happy Birthday Kelli!

If you have twins, you have lots of help blowing out candles! Hope you have a happy birthday, Kelli! Thank you for being a great daughter!

Our October Gals

So, just in honor of October, and our two October birthday girls, Kelli and Abbi, here are some pictures of them from years gone by... Here is a picture from April 1980 of my dad, Kelli, Abbi and me. Abbi was 18 months old, Kelli 2 and half years old. In months, that would be 30 months.

Kelli and Abbi loved these cute little jackets. (We would call them hoodies now.) Kelli liked to put hers on by herself. "My help me!" she would say.



In May 1980, we spent a few weeks on the farm in Taber with Grandma and Grandpa. We decided, because curly hair was "in" I am guessing, to do some home perms. Was I crazy or what, tormenting these poor little sweeties with the whole perm thing? Good sports, the girls cooperated, being patient for Grandma while she put in all the rollers.

One thing Abbi really started to like to do at this point in time was to wear the shoes of bigger people. If Grandpa couldn't find his slippers, he just had to find Abbi, and invariably, she was wearing his slippers.



This picture was taken March 26, 1982. I did not take the kids for mall pictures very often. I don't remember why I did it this time...who knows? It is a rather scary looking bunny! There is no way anyone would believe this is really the Easter Bunny! I am amazed that Abbi is smiling, because she generally did not have much patience for grownups in silly plush suits.

Kelli looks happy enough, too. She did like these kind of characters...she was always trying to find out who was really inside the costume!



Our house in Raymond had a back porch that made a perfect stage. Kelli and Abbi loved to sing, dance and act on that stage, often involving David in their spontaneous "productions."

Maybe they can remember what this one (Summer of 1986) was all about? Maybe "I know my number..." or something like that?

Fun times, happy memories. What joy you girls have brought into my life! Frustration and stress, worry and tears, too--but definitely an abundance of happiness!

Abbi's Birthday

Wasn't it Robert Burns who said "The best-laid plans of mice and men gang aft a-gley" or words to that effect...so basically, plans have a way of going awry. My plan for this morning, coming to campus early since Patrick has to be to work by seven, was to post pictures of Abra and captions, and just do this great birthday thing for her. And then...I left half the pictures at home. That is what I get for grabbing them in the dark. And then...I couldn't figure out how to get the pictures to go where I wanted them in the post. I ran out of time, and had to leave for UVU to teach my class. So, here is a picture of Abbi 30 years ago. She was sweet and pretty then; she is sweet and pretty now. Some things never change. Happy Birthday! Je t'aime ma belle fille!

The Big Dolly

I had a wonderful gift given to me yesterday by my cousin Lavon. She posted this picture of me to our family group Facebook page, and it made me so happy to see it! In a flash, I was three or four years old again, enjoying a moment from the past almost as though re-experiencing it. I have not thought about Lavon's big dolly for a long, long time. Lavon is about 7-8 years older than I am, and apparently she got this doll for Christmas one year. Perhaps this was our family Christmas season visit to their home--I am not sure. In the picture, you can see my sweet mother smiling as she watches my happy reaction to this doll that was almost as big as I was, and my dear Aunt Zilpha, Lavon's mother, is leaning with elbow on her knee, also watching me. In the background, Lavon is watching all of us. I do not remember that I coveted Lavon's doll. I know that I wanted one like it, and did my share of saying "Can I have a doll just like that mommy?" But I do remember looking forward to going to Lavon's house so I could once again play with that doll--I could pretend she was my little sister. I wanted a little sister so badly; I did not like being the baby of the family.

Even though Lavon was the youngest child in her family although she was the age of my oldest sibling, I always liked to go to their house. Some of the houses of my mom's siblings were very hard to be at, because there were no children or toys, but Lavon's house was always fun. Her parents were fun, and they had a fun little dog. I don't normally like dogs very much, but their dog had an insatiable appetite for chasing balls. It didn't try to jump on me; it just wanted me to throw the ball, and it would run and catch it, bring it back, and wait for me to throw it again.

One of my favorite memories at their house was a day that Aunt Zilpha let the five of us--Lavon, Bruce, Colleen, Arlene and I--go in the kitchen by ourselves and make valentine cookies. My mom was much more hands-on in the kitchen, but Aunt Zilpha let us do it by ourselves, while she and Uncle Arnold and my dad (Lavon's Uncle Arnold!) and my mom visited. We made the icing every imaginable color, and even colors that I had never imagined before! My mom was a bit of a perfectionist, or precisionist as my niece Elizabeth prefers to call it, so she cared more about the colors of icing--Aunt Zilpha just let us loose! I remember black and purple and gaudy shades of green on those cookies, as well as all the usual cookie-icing colors. It was so much fun to pass the cookie plate to the grown-ups and watch their reaction to the colors!

All these reactions from one photo! And sad reactions, too, because my Aunt Zilpha had a stroke and died in 1963, just a short year or so after this picture must have been taken. I was five years old when she died--and my Grandpa, her father, died later that year in December, right around the time of my sixth birthday. I remember that my parents didn't take me to my aunt's funeral, because they were afraid that I would behave in an embarrassingly loud and inconsolable way--I was that kind of child. And I am sure that my grief-stricken mother just didn't want to have to deal with that AND her loss while at her sister's funeral.

But I did go to my grandpa's funeral (they knew that I didn't really like him very much so I would not over-react--well, it wasn't that I didn't like him; frankly, I was afraid of him! He was SO old and wrinkled and just OLD! In his nineties--he really was old compared to me.) And what I remember most vividly from his funeral was seeing Lavon's face, the first time I had seen her since her mom died, and how sad she looked. I was a strange child; I can remember going to funerals with my parents at a very young age, and seeing all the people crying, and being unable to understand why they were crying. Nothing bad happened, the person just died. Big deal. That was my standard reaction...but at my Grandpa's funeral, when I saw Lavon's face, I began to understand how real and difficult loss is.

My own mother died five years ago, when I was forty-five, and I felt way too young to lose my mother, and when I miss her, I often think of Lavon, and how long she has had to go on in life without her mother, and I admire her for her courage. And I am so grateful for this picture, which shows both our mothers, even if they are not the focus, and they are both so happily enjoying a moment with me, Lavon and a doll. I am so grateful for this memory, this flash from the past, surrounded by some of the wonderful women in my family.

Question for all and sundry

If I have a word document and I would like to post the whole page on my blog, so it will look the same--is there a way to do that?

I's a small--teeny-tiny-world...

Patrick and I took Icelandic for about three years from the same person, a native Icelander from the Reykjavik area. He isn't teaching Icelandic anymore because he is doing an internship for his graduate degree, but we are still friends. Yesterday he told me that he and his wife are going to adopt two boys from Ghana--so I told him that Patrick had been to Ghana as a volunteer in the summer. So, it turns out that, although Patrick did not work at the same orphanage they are adopting from, he has visited that orphanage, and his volunteer director knows that orphanage director...well, it just seemed so interesting to have all these connections stretching from Iceland to Utah to Ghana and back again! You can read about the adoption adventures they are having on www.thebookof samuel.blogspot.com

Now, what would you call a post like this?

I do not have the talent my daughters have for coming up with good titles for posts...so I will write the post and see if a title suggests itself. I just have a few random experiences to talk about while I wait to fold the clothes flipping around in the dryer. Here goes: On Saturday, Josie was at her friend Elicea's house, and I went to pick her up. I took my purse. Came home. Went into my room, flipped my sandals off into the corner where I usually flip them, and then went off to do other things to get ready to go to bed. I was SO tired!! It was about 11:30 pm. I was downstairs, and noticed that I still had my sandals on (I was clomping around; it didn't sound like bare feet). Weird. I could have sworn I took them off and flipped them into the corner...I went back upstairs to do that. And there was my purse flung down all ski-wampus upside down in the corner with the shoes! Man, I'm losing it!

But I redeemed myself on Monday. I was at work and a random stranger called me. She said "Do you know a Judy?" Well, actually, I know a few Judies... She continued, "She is really sick. She is in the bathroom near B90 in the JFSB." I said, "I will be right there," having figured out that it must be Auntie Judy. I just left my office (locked) and went right on over. First, I had to find B90. I looked at B190 (the little theater) and momentarily wondered if maybe she meant B190--but no, I would find B90. I walked very close to a bathroom without knowing it, and walked all around the building, finally finding B90 in the back corner as far away from the bathroom I didn't see as possible--no bathrooms anywhere close. I asked two people and was directed to the bathroom on the south end, not really close to B90 at all, but kind of close to B190. But it was completely empty of people. So I stopped in the FLAC and asked if there was another bathroom (Canadians please note: I was saying bathroom all the time because I was communicating with Americans who don't really get the whole washroom thing) and the very nice girl told me where it was--the one I had been so close to before. There were a lot of people coming and going from that bathroom--and I found a very, very sick Judy. So I spent some time finding Wally, moving my car into the underground parking lot, taking Judy home. She probably had food poisoning, possibly maybe even E-coli. So, my brain was working a lot better that day!

Answered prayers: Patrick was going to play Halo on Saturday night, but couldn't find his Halo game. We all prayed about it, because even though it is just a Halo game, it was important to him. He didn't find it in time to take with him to E-man's house, but Josie found it soon after he left. She was very worried about it, too--didn't want to be thought of as the person responsible for losing it. Then he lost his wallet--much more important!! It took two days of looking and praying to find it! But we found it. Patrick was pretty irritated with himself--he is usually a pretty organized person, unlike others of his siblings who constantly lose things! With my purse in mind, lying in the corner with hastily flung-off shoes, I told him that such things are likely to happen with more frequency as he gets older...I don't think he is a big fan of getting older at this point. The idea will probably grow on him.

Now, what would you call a post like this? Hey, there's the title!

The best seat on the bus

Today I went to the bread store--for an obvious reason: to get bread. After I had chosen the bread I wished to purchase, I noticed a display of "Uncle Ray's" potato chips (http://www.unclerays.com/). I have not tried this brand before, but the price was good, so I thought I would get some. I picked up the bag, and as is my habit (probably from growing up reading the French on cereal boxes) turned it over to read the back. Amazingly, this kind of potato chips has chapters of The life and times of Uncle Ray, and my particular bag had chapter 14 on the back. Let me share the first paragraph with you: "With my car in the shop, I boarded a city bus for a ride home. I looked around for a seat and noticed the bus was empty except for the driver and four young women. I took one look at Myrna Layton and knew where the best seat was." He goes on to say things like "her beauty was almost too much to resist" and other flattering things. Well, who knew? Who knew the best seat on the bus was beside me? Who knew that I was irresistible? Well, let me say that I could not resist buying those chips! Of course, the Myrna Layton he was talking about looks nothing like me; and he married her, so she isn't even Myrna Layton anymore. But still, it was fun to read nice things on a chip bag about someone who shares my name. I hope a seat beside me on a bus would be a good place to sit.

Ronan Tynan

What an interesting person we had as a speaker at the forum today! It was such a good talk. If you have not heard about the life of this amazing athlete (Olympic medalist with a so-far unbeaten record) , double amputee, medical doctor (both obstetrics and sports medicine), and professional tenor (Shrek on Broadway, for example), I recommend that you DO. A very human, personable, funny, humane, achieving human being! http://www.ronantynan.net/

Thompson Soiree

So, our second soiree in just a couple of days...Auntie Judy had a very spontaneous one on Saturday because Mindy and Jim and their kids were here...and tonight Grant and Janae had one for Grant's parents who had flown into town for a couple of days to see their stateside sons. It was fun...I listened to lots of Donna's stories from her years working in Frankfurt Germany during her single days. Grant and Mark were making sushi, and Dad was eating it and visiting with Jim. Josie was in ketchup chip heaven, although had Donna brought MORE Josie would have been even happier, and Patrick was comparing skydiving notes with Janae (who just recently went for her first time) and Grant (who is an old pro at it). Food, friends and fun. All in all a good night.

My blog

So, apparently I have a blog. I didn't know it, but Abra said that she checks it from time to time to see if I happen to write anything, but I never do...well, how could I? I didn't know that I had it! So today I found it. And so I am writing on it. We will see if I can find it again. Who knows...it could happen! Anything is possible.