Spaghetti thoughts

I sat in church yesterday and fought the urge to speak up and say something that would have made my husband want to sink into the floorboards. Since I controlled the urge then... I think I'll get it out of my system now.

It just bugs me sometimes to see and hear the collective ego that can run rampant amongst "righteous people". Im sure it's not just my faith... well, pretty sure, anyway. The Sunday School teacher yesterday said, "Can't you just tell who are the members of our church in a crowd? You can always tell them. They look happier, and have a more wholesome countenance. I love keeping my eye open for members and seeing if I can't pick them out." Then a couple of other class members shared experiences that they'd had to prove his point and the "yeas" rang throughout the room. WHA??? What on earth would cause any one group of people to presume that they held the market on joyfulness and purity, twinkling eyes and "Miss Dairy America" smiles? It irritates the ..bleep bleep.. out of me. Good grief! If it were possible to tell the "righteous" from the "not so righteous" a story like Ted Bundy's would never be told.

And why are we out there looking for "our people" anyway? If we're as godloving and righteous as we claim to be, shouldn't we at least occasionally be spending our time on the lookout for the lost and lonely? Shouldn't we find delight in finding those bereft of hope and giving a hand up to someone who's in a spiritual, emotional or financial slump? I'd rather have my arm around the shoulder of a weeping soul who's looking to find his way back to the good life he can barely remember, than around the shoulder of some pompous, arrogant twit who thinks that his breed of faith gives him the corner on a peaceful face.

And then... in the women's group we got into a discussion on the responsibilities of motherhood and ridiculous promises were thrown out that if we have family prayer, and teach the kiddies church songs, and take them to their youth group activities, and do all the other wonderful things that we all WISH we always did as mothers, that they will never stray from the path to God and eternal life in His Kingdom. Poppycock! In the first place... none of us, and no one that any of us has ever met, meets the criteria for being the Perfect mother...although, mine came close. Stepford mom's, like Stepford wives, are the invention of a somewhat troubled mind. And why would a kind heart speak words in a public meeting that could wound another's heart? I just don't understand how we can be that unaware that a myriad of experiences fill the chairs in every gathering. I promise you this... in any congregation, in any church in the nation... there are mothers whose sons and/or daughters are caught in a tangled web of alcohol or drugs. There is someone sitting in that room who has a child in prison, who's son is gay, who's daughter just had a child out of wedlock... She's hurting and feeling all sorts of misplaced guilt. She needs someone to help her through this heartache... to help her feel like she belongs among the "Norman Rockwell" families she perceives to be all around her. She doesn't need us to stomp all over her pain, or to clumsily intensify her feelings of isolation.

We all do the best we can as mothers. Some didn't have great examples of nurturing to follow. Some were mothers at such a young age that they hadn't grown up themselves yet. Some were completely overwhelmed when too many babies came to quickly. Some have husbands who are neglectful or cruel. Some are happy, intelligent, sweet, and loving women who have done everything right...And some of every one of these groups have a child who has, or is, stumbling along a darkened and rocky road. Almost all of us have regrets...something we wish we'd done more of, less of, or differently. But we did what we knew how to do, what we thought was best at the time.

I heard a speaker years ago who said something that will always stick with me. Not only because his words are a salve... but, because his words make sense. He said,
"So many of us are puffed up and proud because all of our children have served missions for the church, been married in the temple, and have accepted callings of high positions. We stand tall, behind our facade of humility our eyes search for those who applaude our great parenting. But, there are among us parents who have hearts torn in two because they have children who have strayed, become lost, and are struggling mightely along lifes paths. Behind their smiles, their eyes are soft and they search with longing for someone who will understand, who can lift the burden of sorrow for a while. Let me suggest something to you. Is it not entirely possible that God in all of His infinite wisdom, looked at a difficult, rebellious spirit waiting to enter this mortal existance and said, "If this child has any chance at all, it's going to be with the _____ family". And he gave some of his most difficult, challenging spirit offspring to those He knew He could trust to be the most patient...who would be strong enough to carry the difficulties and disappointments... who would never stop believing in the precious child He had entrusted to their care, who would defend them, encourage them, pray for them, plead with them, ..forever, and for always. He found some of His most stalwart and faithful young parents, those He knew could withstand the lessons that would give them an understanding of the pain our Father in Heaven feels at the loss of so many of His own dearly beloved sons and daughters."

Makes sense to me. Anyway... I just had to let pressure out of the cooker before the top blew off and I had a spaghetti dish of stringy thoughts hanging all over the kitchen walls. I feel better now. I hope you're still doing okay.

Round One ended with an OOF

Dustin and Davin came down not long ago to join Wayne for some Jeep crawling in Moab for a week-end. Dustin brought down his beloved dog, Bronco, to stay with me while they were away. Now, Bronco is a beautiful German Short Hair Pointer! He's got more personality than 99.2% of the dogs on the planet. He's genuinely funny! And he's a pretty well behaved pup. You may know what I mean here, almost always comes after you've called him a dozen times or so. It should have been fun having him here to run and chase with Pogo, our generally sweet mutt. There was only one reason it wasn't a particularly good time....what am I saying? It was a royal pain in my sit spot. Our gentle by nature, happy little Pogo, seems to absolutely hate Dustin's bird dog. If they get within four feet of each other, Pogo snarls and growls and lunges and does his utmost to rip Bronco's throat out.

Bronco could take him...easy. And he knows it. However, that obvious fact, somehow, eludes our pup. It takes no less than an Olympic wrestling team to pull them apart.

So...since I am but one aging woman, with all the strength of your average hula hoop... I had to make sure they never got within sight of one another unless they were heavily chained to fence posts at opposite ends of the pasture. It was NOT a good time. If I put Bronco in the garage, he'd bark and howl and whine and slam his body against the door...for HOURS. So, I put Pogo in the garage and brought Bronco in with me at night.

Now, I can't even begin to explain how miserable it is having this animal sleep with you. He will NOT stay on the floor. Pogo will. He will NOT sleep at the foot of the bed. Pogo's lucky if he gets the chance. He will NOT stay on his own side of the bed. He will NOT stay on top of the covers. He has to crawl under the sheets with you and sprawl his two tons of dead weight across your legs... that is, until he decides to cram his head and co-co-cold nose into your jaw, throw his chest across your shoulder blades pinning your arms in place, and settle in for a while. I pushed and pleaded, "UGH"ed and "OOFed" half the night before I finally gave in, grabbed a gardening magazine I could barely reach off my nightstand, and pretended to read it until morning light.

Will I ever, ever, EVER be caught tending this nutty dog again? I'm pretty sure I will. So... the question is, I guess... Mirror, mirror, on the wall...who's the nutty one after all?

At this stage of the game...

At this stage of the game, I've just about decided that the weather can carry on with the soft flutter of snowflakes in winter.... or spring can finally carry it's profusion of petals on a warm breeze to my land. I almost don't care. I just wish Mother Nature would make up her mind.

It doesn't matter what I pull out of my closet to wear in the morning, I'm almost always wrong. I've taken the flowering plants that I purchased for my container and perennial gardens out to place them where I want them twice now.... and had to carry them back in because of the news announcments that a freeze could be expected in the next night or two. What the heck?

I'm about ready to pack up my capri pants, flip flops and granola bars and head to Kauii. A few months of playing in the surf, slurping the juice of a fresh pineapple slice, and listening to IZ would be a great balm for my withering hopes for summer

Anyone care to join me

Am I the only one?

Okay... I work. My husband's retired. Now, granted, I don't work every day. At least, I don't drive the 30 miles into my office every day. But, on those days when I do, I've asked my sweetie if he didn't think it would be nice for him to make the bed while I'm in the shower, or make a smoothie or a bowl of Quaker Oats for breakfast. I even suggested that it would be nice when I get home at 7:30, after putting in a 10 hour day, if he'd have dinner ready. Well... I do happen to live with one of the twelve sweetest men on the planet. And as far as his sense of fun... he ranks up there in the top two. I wouldn't trade him! Not for anyone and not for anything. But.... am I the only one who thinks he hasn't quite taken hold of the idea of "helping" when I come home from showing properties and find that his idea of making dinner is putting a couple of chicken breasts on a plate to thaw, and plugging in the George Foreman grill. If he wasn't so dang sincere about it, I'd be a tad ticked off... I think... But, he's just so proud of himself, that I can only laugh, season the chicken, place it in the grill, make a salad & some rice, set the table and thank him for helping with dinner. I don't want those of you who have hubby's who are gourmet cooks, who do the wash, and vacuum the floors to go getting all cocky, now. Wayne has vacuumed, he's never done the wash, but he has made the bed... sort of. It's kinda hard to tell when he's finished that it's been made. He has made breakfast, at least he's taken the cold cereal box out of the cupboard and put it on the table, he's made hamburgers for dinner once, and smoothies for breakfast. Although I did catch him just in time to stop him from putting cottage cheese and a whole apple in our fruit smoothie a couple of weeks ago. I'm talking WHOLE apple, ..seeds, core, stem, price sticker. We have a pretty dang powerful machine, but why chance it! I kind of regretted not letting him try the cottage cheese. Who knows, it just might have been pretty good. Anyway, he keeps his clothes up off the floor, cleans the shower every time he uses it, and always squeezes the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube... so, if you take all that into account, along with the fact that he listens to my blather whenever I want to talk...even if a Jazz game's on, and he makes me laugh every day, and he's always provided me with a home with a great view and a car that makes it every where I want to go and back home again without breaking down... well, except for the T-bird, oh, and the Suburban. I've had it, and continue to have it pretty good. Life has been bitter occasionally, but generally pretty sweet, and sometimes, just downright delicious! Maybe I've always had to season the chicken, but he's spiced up our life together.

What was that again?

So... It's a typical evening at home. I'm sitting in my faded, tattered and torn, but very comfy, chair sharing a burrito with Wayne and watching Bill O'Reilly. He brings up the topic of a recent show on Oprah... OPRAH, a mainstream, nationally syndicated and respected program... featuring a MAN who is 12 weeks pregnant. What did I just say? What was that again? Yes. It's true! A transexual MAN who still had his ovaries in tact was artificially insemenated with "lil swimmers" and he became impregnated. He'll be delivering in three months. They actually showed a video of him walking out on stage on the "O" show. It was bordering on outright creepy to see a guy in a pair of maternity pants. Now... I don't know what you think about that... but I'm thinking, if he wanted to have a baby... why didn't "he" stay a "she"? This "guy" is married (to a woman), so why couldn't they have made arrangements for her to have the baby? And what the heck was with the ob/gyn who planted the eggs in this gender confused patient? Can we say, "Just make that check out to Dr. Blank Brain." boys and girls? What else could he have been thinking about other than his hefty fee for service? And where are the people who donated the eggs and pollywogs for this experiment? The whole thing gives me the willy's. I understand that the world gets wackier by the minute, and that medicine is making great strides, and that once upon a time the general population couldnt' imagine prosthetic hands with fingers that move and grip. I know all that. But... this is just waaaay too wierd for me!! I can't convince myself that it's an "advancement" toward anywhere I think I care to go.

Cadbury Eggs

Ask my daughter what her favorite Easter Candy is and she'll most lilkely say, "Minature Cadbury Eggs". Of course I know that's not true. She REALLY loves the caramel eggs from See's or Mrs. Cavanaugh's. But, let's just set that technicality aside for a minute.... She and I were invited to meet the "Stott women" at Olive Garden for some tasty food and a gab fest last Friday. Ten of us gathered around a table at the eatery while we chewed and chatted our way through a couple of hours of reminiscing, sharing, and passing around the two newest members of our close knit extended family. The party spilled over to Trina's house for crepe's stuffed with napolean ice crem and covered with fresh strawberries and hot fudge. More laughter... more chatter...more warmth from one another's company. It was perfect! Almost. My favorite thing to do with the gathering of sisters, cousins, daughters and best friends is to sit on a couch somewhere for an evening and soak up their sunshine. Well, almost my favorite. The technical truth is... I prefer a looong week-end, sitting in camping chairs somewhere in the mountains, in our menfolk's beloved Southern Utah, at Bear lake... wherever and anywhere. So, if you ask me my favorite thing to do with the women who were either born or married into the Stott family, I would most like say, "Spend a Friday night eating and giggling together." But, like the Cadbury eggs sitting on the coffee table, it's technically a second favorite.

The Music of Sounds

I opened my friend, Lin's blog this morning. She'd written about music and asked for a response from her readers telling her what their favorite music was. That should be pretty easy to answer... but, as is my habit, I had to make it difficult. Let me share some of my answer here:

There are moments when I hear Billy Joel's "It's my Life" and my feet all but run away with me. I just can't sit or stand stlill when I hear that song. It's joyous and exhilarating. I absolutely love music that makes me want to move.

I also love slightly melancholy songs and songs with great swells of sound (think The Lost Chord, Ave Maria, Rachmaninoff) I like country music with lyrics that make me smile, music of the 40's most of the 50's. Heck, I even like some elevator music. But, she asked for our favorite.

The truth of it is that I often turn on the sound system when I'm home alone, but I don't listen to it the majority of time. I really like natural sounds. Music to my ears is:
The crunch of gravel in the driveway when Wayne returns home from an errand, the dogs playing with each other in the yard, the rush of water in the creek. I love the sound of my kids talking to each other in the next room, the door closing when the kids come in late at night, the teapot whistling, water running in the shower, the refrigerator door opening and closing. I like the sound of flip flops and bathroom slippers, my family's footsteps no matter where they are and what's on their feet, a neighbor knocking at the door, and hearing the clack, clack, sputter, chugg of the lawnmower while I'm outside working in the flower gardens.

Sometimes the music of a piano, quitar, violins and harps, or a soothing baritone voice, although most pleasant, serves to filter out those sounds that bring me the most contenment. So, my favorite music? The soft noises that remind me just how lucky I am. I like enough silence in my world to enable me to hear them well...and often.