Disneyland Fail

Yeah.  I decided I HAD to go to Disneyland.  I mean, Mark was heading off on another trip to Who Knows Where (okay, it was Tajikistan) and I thought I should get to do something fancy and expensive, too.  It's only fair.  "Wait," you may be thinking.  "Mark's trip was not only paid for by your Church, it was not 'fancy' unless you consider working 17 hour days while battling e-coli a holiday."

Well, shut up.  I HAD to go to Disneyland.

Testing, 123.

Why did the last one be stupid?  Did Blogger hear about my Wordpress account?  Ugh

Vive la France!

Two days ago, over 130 people were murdered in France.  Innocent people who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time... 

Ya know - risky places - like a soccer game, eating at a restaurant, visiting with friends at a bar, enjoying a rock concert.   

Naturally, Facebook and other social media EXPLODED with the kind of responses that only the truly meme-iophiles can compose -  

"I stand with France!" 

"We're with you, Paris!"  

Profile photos were 'shopped' so that the colors of the French flag were everywhere.  We were irate.  We were hurt.  We were one with our amis.  

But about 3 hours into our heart-felt show of love and support, the first Somebody had to point out, "Why is PARIS so special?  Look around.  What about ---  Where are their memes and flags and shows of support?!!!"   

Um... WHAT the???   So all night I stewed and burned and fretted - and worried about the stroke I was about to have - while mentally giving lectures, and writing speeches, and letters to the editor.  The following are my feelings without all of the swearing that always bounces around my head.

So, for those of you who said I should publish my Facebook 'musings,' here's your 'book.' Enjoy. Oh, and pretend it's written in blue, white and red.  

                                                       ***********

I'm truly perplexed by some of the comments on Facebook critical of why so many people are changing their profile pictures and posting big memes that say things like "We're with you, Paris." They think that because thousands of people are killed every day by despots, and little girls are kidnapped from schools and raped, and people are suffering every day without a break, focusing on Paris is somehow... what's the word...? Wrong? Misguided? Whatever.

So, lemme see. Let's say the people a couple of streets over from me have their house burned down over and over and over. Nobody but the police and fire department personnel can go onto their property and help, because it's just too dangerous. So none of the rest of us can personally help, no matter how much we want to or how hard we try. But, even though we don't KNOW them or anyone like them, or understand their culture or clothing or rules, we donate money and we pay taxes so the help can be delivered by professionals. We pray for them and feel so badly for them because it's been going on for years and years and years.

There's another family a few doors down from us. We and some of our other neighbors have been to their beautiful and historic home a time or two. Their home had nearly been taken over by some truly horrible people about 60 years ago. It was bombed and partially destroyed - in fact, many of our ancestors and friends went there and risked their own lives and fought to keep them safe. So some of us even have a bit of their history in our family stories. Heck, we've even learned some of their language at school and read books written by them and have seen some of them in movies.

Over the last 60 years, they've rebuilt that home and made it a showplace of lovely things. They've felt safe, and except for a few break-ins and a couple of cross burnings on the lawn within the past few years, they've been able to move forward.

But a couple of days ago, their home was savagely attacked by evil men. Men who just wanted to hurt and discourage them - and you know why? It's because they offered THEIR support to the people whose house was constantly burning. They offered them shelter.

We were shocked! How awful! How evil! And most of us want to show our support. Because we on our street know what it's like to have evil men savagely attack our homes - it happened to us back in 2001. And we know what it's like to have some people across town say our own house deserved it because we tried to help others whose homes were being destroyed.

We put our signs up for and send our messages to the fancy house that was just hit. We know that it doesn't diminish the pain or hurt or fear of the people who are living under constant siege - they're never far from our thoughts.

I know that the people under siege would also raise a flag of support and solidarity if they could. Because that's what people do. They support one another when they take a hit.

So yeah. I'm gonna post Paris memes and keep my face blue, white and red - to show solidarity to the people who were hurt because they showed solidarity with and took in people who were hurt.

I Heart My Liver

Well, sometimes God just yanks you into something you don't appreciate until someone pulls out the i.v. and lets you put your shirt back on.

See, in the wee, small hours of Sunday, I woke up feeling like a knife-y thing was coring my heart like an apple.  I did the appropriate "systems check" deal - no numb arm, no achy jaw or neck, no nausea.  I couldn't remember if  "feeling like you swallowed an auger and it is now trying to exit through the spine" was a symptom of heart attack, but it didn't seem likely, so I just decided to lay there and think for a minute before doing anything extreme . . .  like asking for help from the doctor asleep next to me.

I couldn't come up with a definitive diagnosis, so I thought, "Well, do I have a gut feeling I'm going to die soon?" (I wonder this a lot.) Because I know God WILL give me a warning.  Sure, we don't hear of that happening a lot, but it's ME.  I just KNOW I'll have a peaceful feeling and enough time to gather my loved ones around for a pep talk.  So I was reassured when I didn't get the "You have 4 hours," and when the pain left in a few minutes, I fell asleep.  Then BAM!  Here we went again with the coring and boring.

More thinking:
"I'm not burping up the 2 cups of gummy bears I downed while watching episodes of Community before I came to bed, so it's not reflux . . . "  Then, when the pain got to a "9" I thought, "If I start to get really woozy, as I'm passing out I'll smack Mark and he'll wake up, instinctively know I'm dying and will start CPR & bring me back."    I have no idea why I thought that would be an okay solution and that we'd all just have a big laugh about it later, but that scenario played out a couple of more times until I finally fell asleep.

Some time Sunday afternoon I started wondering if I'd been a tad silly.  All of the information that I gleaned from the professionals - web md, google searches, and family members - implied that I had missed a great opportunity to be saved from a heart attack.  So I thought I'd drop my doc an email on Sunday night to ask if he'd like me to get some tests. Clearly, my less than hysterical approach was not okayed by Big Pharm, as my doc's Monday morning reply was  "go to the e.r. asap."  I took that to mean, "Meh.  It's probably nothing, so enjoy Candy Crush for the rest of the day."  

My big mistake was telling Sidney what the doc said.  She went into full Defcon 5 mode and was giving me worst-case scenarios, telling me how hard it would be for everyone if I died, and threatening phone calls to friends.  Stuff like, "If I call Debbie, she'll come over and we'll hog tie you and take you in."  (She actually dropped several names of women we know. Let that be a warning to anyone who thinks it's a peachy idea to let their children make friends.)  After waffling for a couple of hours with "Okay, let me get dressed"  then "Nah, I'm okay" and "Well, my chest DOES feel a bit tweaky" I decided that Sidney would stroke out if I didn't make a decision.  So I got dressed ("You couldn't find those underwear last time we went to the e.r. either, Mom!") and off we went.

The good thing about going to the e.r. with chest pain is that a nurse swoops into the waiting room within 90 seconds - the pee left on the chair by the last person doesn't even soak into your jeans -  summons you to the place where, lets face it, lots of people die,  and practically has e.k.g. leads on your chest before the door closes behind you. Because nothing promotes healing like someone using tiny sharp, sticky things as an excuse to grope your breasts.  Guys have a totally different, pleasant experience with e.k.g. leads but they get payback with catheters, so if you're a man, just think, "OW!"

To make a long story less long than if I wrote about the full 6 hours I was there, I'll summarize:  My heart is fine, my doctor looked amazingly like "The Dean" from Community and my liver is a mess.

Still no idea why I had chest pain, but the knowledge that there aren't many more organs that can be removed from my body without serious repercussions has moved me to the point that I'm okay with meeting some new medical professionals.  Especially since they will have no excuse to handle my breasts.  

It took forever, but it was worth the wait.

On March 16, 2012 

Stephanie Elizabeth May

became our new daughter when she married Scott in the 

San Diego LDS Temple.

Lemme tell you about Stephanie -

Steph is a wash and wear beauty.  

She doesn't get caught up in fashion or wear designer clothes yet she 

could be a cover girl.  

Her wedding dress came from eBay but she looked as though she'd been

personally fitted by Vera Wang.  

She had me do her wedding makeup, but I suspect it was simply because

it's a given that women get fancied up for stuff like that 

and because she loves me.  

She doesn't wear chapstick because she believes it's addictive.

 Her biggest fashion statement is wearing one of her crocheted 

animal hats.  

Steph is brilliant.  She is one of those people who can still play while

acing all of her classes in college and pharmacy school.  

She is an amazing cook who googles Indian recipes and takes pictures of her 

favorites and posts them on facebook under 

titles like "Bread Porn."

She knows how to work hard and has spent summers sweating in the fields 

picking melons, and moving boxes in a warehouse 

with the big boys.

She is competitive and will take you apart as quickly and viciously in a 

game of Yatzee as if she was after a Super Bowl ring.  

She is funny and happy and quick and I miss her when she's gone.

But what I love most 

is that she loves my son with a fierce loyalty, and 

when I see the way she looks at him and the way he looks back

I'm grateful that she said 

"Yes."

Gone too soon.

The Remains of Halloween, a photo by pietroizzo on Flickr.

I worked so hard on my little pumpkin friend. Shaping his face with a carrot peeler and sharpened knife; sculpting cheeks and wrinkles, frowning brows, and a sneer.

Soon, a black spot appeared on his cheek and grew like a porous cancer. I thought that if I laid him on his side, the ventilation moving through his head might dry the tissue and slow the moldy growth. But alas.

As I picked him up, the skull started to cave in, and my fingers began to penetrate the fuzzy gray soft tissue beneath the skin.

I tossed him in the garbage. But first, I stuffed a kleenex into the hole on his face, dribbled on some bright bloody red hot sauce, and left his corpse for Mark to find in the morning.

Happy Week Before Halloween.

Punkin Guts.

30/10/10 - Pumpkin Carving, a photo by Bond Girly on Flickr.

Sid & I decided that this year we were going to actually CARVE our pumpkins rather than let them sit around the house until the Christmas season. So we put on one of our favorite movies, Harry Potter, and went to town - for hours. The worst part of carving a pumpkin is the fight with the messy, slimy, tangle of seeds that have to be scraped free in preparation of taking that first eye slice. Soon, the house was full of the musky-sweet scent of raw pumpkin and wet newspaper. Ya know, after doing all of that work and slopping up the goopy seeds, I find it incomprehensible that overachieving hippie earth-mother mommies (who probably give birth in the bathtub while canning peaches) will slush through that mess in order to pick out the seeds, soak them in salt, then roast them in the oven. No food is worth that. But I digress...

Anyway, I love this time of year. The trees slip on their gold, yellow and orange outfits in their last sunny fling before their brown winter strip-tease. I love the way the sheets feel when I climb in at the end of the day - cool and crisp with a hint of the cold feet to come by morning. The pressure on my toes is a reminder that the comfy-cozy warmth of the comforter is just a tug away. Soon, the smell of burning wood will season the neighborhood each evening, and the sweatshirts will come out of storage, bringing their own woodsy drawer-scent. The hot chocolate, cider, and camomile tea will be regular companions as we relax with a good book or movie.

Aaah. It's a wonderful time of year. Even if the pumpkins don't get carved.

Leilana's Peace

spring break a photo by stoneth on Flickr.

I've been thinking about "beauty" a lot lately. Maybe because it's what I do for a living now - try to help women feel pretty at a makeup boutique in Sacramento.

Women of all size, race, age, and status come into the shop. Some know who they are and ask for what they need to complete themselves: "I just need some more of my foundation," or "I ran out of Mineral Veil."

Others come in because they're curious; they walk slowly and study the shelves, wondering at the rows of tinted powders. Maybe turning the super-sized lazy susan full of glimmering eyeshadows, then carefully dipping a finger into a pot and scuffing it onto the back of their hands.

The shy and self-conscious, hopefully asking: "Is this really as good as they say?" No mention of the acne boiling from her forehead or the dark spots that betray years of fighting the battle. But there's hope in the eyes that maybe THIS makeup is the one.

And then there are the dissatisfied, frustrated, obsessed. Pinning their life's problems onto a freckle that only they can see: "Can you cover this?" But nobody can.

I want to forget myself. To pass a mirror and skip the disgust because I'm not a size 4 anymore. To get ready for the day and rejoice that for a girl of 54 I'm still doing okay.

Even with a few spots and creases.

Please click on the photo and ready Leilana's story. And give thanks for your own peace - your reasons to smile.

I'm Just Gonna Dump !

ice cream man at the garbage dump
Originally uploaded by baansok

I don't usually blog about how yukky I feel. I try to keep this blog my "little happy place." Another place where I pretend to be who I want to be - funny & happy & optimistic.

But I feel rotten. I can barely move my neck, my lip hurts because I have a cold sore, and I'm sweaty and exhausted.

Taken separately, I can handle these things - I'm pretty used to the fibromyalgia body pain stuff, and can usually handle it by using my favorite combo: massage and narcotics. Being sweaty and exhausted isn't particularly out of my league either. But the cold sore...

The cold sore pushed me over the edge. For most people, a cold sore is an irritating little blemish. For me, a cold sore is a potentially massive agonizing open wound that leaves a scar, as verified by the 1974 memory on my bottom lip. The first tingle strikes unimaginable terror in my heart. Really.

So today, in the midst of my ick, I naturally searched for a flickr photo of a "garbage dump." And again, I am humbled and embarrassed by what I found.

Pictures of Indian kids sorting through rubbish for scraps of food or stuff to sell. Proving that one can always find some good mixed into the bad - one man's trash is another man's treasure.

Photos of bagged garbage - once people's prized possessions - piled against flood-ravaged homes. The sign of communities coming together to rebuild. Optimism and hope.

And this photo "ice cream man at the garbage dump." Showing me that even though life can be full of crap, you can make a life in the middle of it.

But I still feel rotten.

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Bed...

Everybody's into the whole vampire thing. The craze, started by a book written by Stephanie Meyer, has been going on for about 5 years, and I just never understood it.

I mean, I was always attracted to The Bad Boy as avidly as is anyone with double-X chromosomes, but when the vampire with smoldering (golden) eyes & glittery body and his Native American enemy crashed onto and destroyed the literary scene, I was righteously disgusted. It was my duty as a former English lit. major to stand up for elevated prose, for goodness sake!

But before long, every Earth woman above the age of 2 had either read the first Twilight book or had it read to them by their panting mother, sister, Aunt, Grandmother, or babysitter, and I swiftly and firmly moved from disgust to anger.

Didn't these women know how silly they acted? Getting all swoony over a stupid vampire named Edward Cullen? I was embarrassed for them. And besides, c'mon! If you're looking for a hunk, check out that Malfoy kid from the last Harry Potter movie! He doesn't need any glitter, baby!

But I digress.

I finally decided I had no business judging something I had not seen, so I gave in & watched the first movie made of the series: Twilight. And I hated it. Loathed it. I thought it was the worst movie I'd seen in my life. Bad special effects, badly-acted characters, sketchy plot.

Then my dear, innocent, impressionable young daughter (oh, okay, she's 25) read Twilight and, although she disliked the movie as well, enjoyed the novel and convinced me to read it. I didn't loathe it as I did the movie, but I didn't much like it. You'd think that the author was a 12 year old girl rather than a religious mother of several young children. The drool almost seeps from her lengthy and repeated descriptions of how delicious and sexy and amazing and handsome and scary and dangerous Edward is. I think I even spit up into my mouth a few times.

So why, oh why, did I go to the last movie, Eclipse? I guess I really WANTED to like it. It was surprisingly unbad! However, my feelings about Edward have not changed. He might glitter. He might run fast. He might smolder. He might even look nice when he threateningly sneers at the Native American boy - who turns out to be (tick tick tick) A WEREWOLF....

but I, Patricia Underwood, now howlingly swear my allegiance to Jacob forevermore.

New Neighbors

Skunk
Originally uploaded by floridapfe

My dream has come true.
It is Mark's nightmare.

We have a mama skunk and 3 (or 4!) of her babies living under our shed and I am thrilled. We saw the mama leading the babies across the neighbors' lawn and across their porch last evening and then found the babies scratching the ground for food outside our back door last night.

They are the cutest dang things in the world!

Scott decided to look in the back yard at about midnight and one started coming toward him. When it saw Scott, he stopped and dove at the ground and clawed it as a show of strength, and then came closer. He clawed again, then got really brave and "attacked" Scott's shoe. Then he backed away, and hit him again.

Now this thing is tiny. A fuzzy Nerf football with a bottle-brush tail that looks as though it is coming right out of it's back. Not exactly threatening.

Scott stood and laughed as this little thing hit him about 4 times as it moved in an arc to get closer to the shed. Finally it just turned and waddled away to his hole!

Poor Mark is sure that we're not only gonna get sprayed, but that within a few months we'll be overrun with skunks. Our 2 cats are already comfortable with them and wait by the windows and door for them to begin their evening hunt for grubs and bugs.

And I am putting out watermelon rinds and looking forward to them being wonderful little friends.

Famous last words.

I'm a quitter - on my way to being a loser.

colored sugar in my kitchen...
Originally uploaded by ::sämyii::

What WOMAN! I'm so stinkin' proud of myself I could burst. But not of fatness. Nooooooo. I'm popping out of my buttons because I quit eating sugar.

Sugar. My life has BEEN sugar for what .... oh.... 48 years or so?

I love all things sweet. Ben & Jerry's ice cream. Grocery store cakes with greasy roses. Toaster Strudels - several times a day. Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper. Gummy bears & worms. Spoonfuls* of Nutella. Large spoonfuls. (*See, I think it should be "spoonsful" but Mr. Spell Check disagrees. Idiot.)

I have lived on sugar for so long that I really dislike fruit. Oh, I can handle watermelon & cantaloupe, maraschino cherries, strawberries smooshed up with lots of sugar, and Fuji (the sweetest) apples with Jiff (which is bazillion% sugar) Peanut Butter.

But I've committed to 1 week without sugar. No sugary treats, no syrupy canned fruit, no sweetened juices, no jam or jelly, no kid's cereal. No Nutella. No cookies. No cake. Did I say no sugar? **GASP**

And I'm on day 3 and I'm feelin' good, feelin' strong, givin' 110%, takin' the ball & runnin' with it, and bringin' it home, baby. I have high hopes for a long run of this. Pass day 7 and not look back. My goal is to learn to like fruit, figure out how to make good food a priority ... and in the process feel better and ... bonus: maybe lose weight.

And I've gotta say, so far it's not that hard.

And God saw that it was good.

I gots me a new camera last week. I've taken about 150 pictures (and deleted 70 of them). Photos of the cats. The plastic plants that decorate the house. The textures of our recliner and curtain. The camera-shy (thus, usually posed) family.

But the jackpot was our back yard. I played with the lavender bushes, the roses, the cherry tree. But my favorite photos have to be the ones I snapped of the funky guava blossoms.

I've noticed that there is not a single man-made thing that can compete with the beauty that God has created for us on this Earth. And when I look around and admire His wonderful gifts and offer my thanks, I feel His smile and hear Him whisper, "You're welcome. Thank you for noticing."

Nose Droppings

Water Breathing Dragon
Originally uploaded by Sangudo

I'm married to a doctor named Mark.

It's always good that I'm married to Mark*. It's sometimes awkward that I'm married to a doctor. Because I'm arrogant enough to argue with him.

Take today. (Please. Ba-BOOM!) I've had a stupid sore throat and chills for about a week and have spent the entire time in my jammies curled up in a fetal position.

I'm mighty sick of it all, so earlier today I held my little mirror in front of my face, cranked my mouth open as far as it would go & shined a light into the deep recesses of my pain. It was red and I was glad. Glad, I tell ya. Because redness means it's not "all in your head."

Then Mark goes and looks and tells me it's not inflamed. WHAT? He goes on to say that I probably have allergies. Well, I won't even GO into that part - Okay, I will...I've had allergies forever, and this ain't no allergy. But, just to be fair, I squirted the requisite nose spray into my nostrils.

Because Mark doesn't always love my joke,

"And you call yourself a doctor..."



*hi honey. I love you forever.

Water Color

water color
Originally uploaded by Nora Al_F

I've decided that I want more color in my life.

Nothing symbolic here. No allusion to variety or excitement. Just literal COLOR.

I want my life to be full of bright, uplifting, joyous colors.

And I shall be happy.

Non-Fat Yarn

Ms. Darcy's Knitted Cupcakes - For Sale?
Originally uploaded by NineInchNachosII

I think I've mentioned these in past blogs, on facebook, in conversations, my prayers, and on grocery lists: CUPCAKES.

Intellectually, we all know that cupcakes are just, uh, cake. Cake with frosting. They're just little. So what's the point?

Well, I'm glad you asked. Here are my theories, but remember, I'm no expert.

1. Cupcakes are portable. Not like stick-em-in-your-purse, or even popped into a baggy, of course. Just "no plate necessary," fingerable treats that leave the other hand ready for the milk.

2. Cupcakes can be made without dirtying pans, as well as enjoyed without the burden of silverware.

3. Cupcakes just SOUND happy. Say it with me. CUP-CAKES. Fun, huh?

4. Cupcakes are a blast to decorate. Frosting, fondant, sprinkles, jimmies, sugars, glitters, and them silver ball things that when you're a little kid you aren't sure if you should eat them cuz you don't know if they're food; and then when you decide to bite one, it feels like it will break your teeth so you're still not sure if it's food, but you chomp anyway and feel like a grown up when you realize you've conquered the mystery. (My silver ball dawning was in 1st grade - but then, cupcakes weren't the norm on the ranch.)
But I digress...

ahem...

5. Cupcakes can be made of stuff besides flour, etc! Yarn, felt, clay - heck, I've even seen them made from plaster of paris. Of course, those aren't quite as tasty.

6. Cupcakes are WAY more fun to look at then regular cakes. Sure, most of them can't hold a candle to a wedding cake, but you've got to admit that you don't see a lot of pictures of Betty Crocker's sheet cake showing up online.

I've listed a few reasons why Cupcakes absolutely rock. Now I admonish YOU to take a few minutes to ponder what Cupcakes mean to you.

People-Control Pills

Birth Control
Originally uploaded by visual28

About a month ago, Sidney's former "bosom friend" - the girl who played Diana to Sid's Anne of Green Gables - posted a message to Sidney on her facebook page congratulating her on her marriage and the upcoming birth of her baby. Sidney was less than happy. Much less than happy.

It was not the first time that "Diana" had done something like this. And not the first time that she apologized over-sincerely - and then turned the situation around and blamed Sidney's reaction on misinterpretation and over-sensitivity.

THEN...today I got a message from a friend in Montana who had heard from her daughter - who lives in Los Angeles - that I'm going to be a grandmother. So because of a "joke," I have good friends 3,000 miles away wondering why I haven't told them about my child's upcoming parenthood.

And I'm so overly sensitive that I'm hoping someday somebody comes up with a pill that will shut the mouths of the "Dianas" of the world.

hEadAcHE

Headache
Originally uploaded by fabbriciuse

Ya ever get that thing where you start out with achy shoulders and then it moves up to a neck that you stretch and crank and rotate but it doesn't work so the ache climbs up to your temples, then turns into a pain and starts throbbing in the deepest innards of your head then makes you nauseated?

Got that as we speak.

Trip....UP

orbitz
Originally uploaded by mobpon

Stupid night.

Last month I made a reservation through ORBITZ for our 3 day stay in San Diego. Today, I found out that they made our reservation for THIS month - day. after. tomorrow.

After speaking to "Aries" (an Indian man) in Manila for 25 minutes, I was more confused than ever. And so was Aries. He had the reservation listed on his computer for next month as well.
He tried to contact the Marriott, but was unable to get through - even though it was 2 o'clock in the morning - not exactly "crunch time" for the front desk guy. Once I told him that I had already spoken to the man, he asked me to make a conference call so the three of us could work it out!

Idiot that I am, I woke Mark up. Turns out that we can't do a conference call using our good old home phone. I finally gave up on Orbitz and cancelled my reservation, then called James back at the Marriott and re-reserved!

Even though it was a huge hassle, it turns out that I got a lower rate ($18 less per night) than I had gotten through Orbitz. Now I can buy 30 churros at Disneyland!

My biggest problem now that the hotel is taken care of is that after being on hold for 20 minutes, I've lost my love for Pacabel's Cannon in D.

Made the Reservations!

University of California,San Diego
Originally uploaded by olasisucsd

Stephanie is graduating next month, and Sidney & Scott (DUH!) and I are going down for the gala. I booked our motel accommodations today, and wanted to show a photo of where we're staying. But I thought this photo of the University of CA San Diego library was a lot cooler.

Yeah. Good choice.