I’m doing a demonstration on ADD over at Segullah today. Join me?

there i was. dragging my feet through the house, solemnly bearing the heavy load of overwhelmth (not a word, but it should be). overwhelmed at my to-do list:

to-do
to-find
to-call
to-see
to-clean
to-fix
to-feel
to-file
to-put-away
to-dump
to-worry-about
to-buy-with-money-we-don’t-have

my former excitement about meeting up for lunch with friends before today turned to fear and dread. i can’t go. i feel so low. buried.

of course i can’t find what i need for pack meeting tonight and at every turn in my search i’m confronted with another pile of things i need to-do-something-about.

i want to go back to bed. too little sleep make all the rest of the tos feel even more heavy, more hopeless. i want to curl up in a ball and wake up to no more tos.

and then it happens.

walking past the bed–resisting the urge to throw myself upon it–towards the bathroom i glance down at the laundry basket erupting with to-files and to-put-aways and i notice a little brown corner of something. gently i tug. out comes the scout shirt i so desperately needed to find so my youngest (you know, the one who also needs new church shoes, new regular shoes and a new church shirt and with whom i have been supposed to have been practicing math facts all summer) can get his arrow of light tonight and transition from blue to brown without once more being humiliated for not being offspring to one of those with-it moms. the ones who have a new scout shirt for every son (neatly pressed and with all the requisite badges and bandelos and banditos (or whatever) neatly sewn on in perfect tiny stitches).

the phrase may be overused, but there are no other words.

tender mercy.

as i continue past the basket intending to hang the crinkly shirt in the bathroom (iron? really?), i smile, glance heavenwards and send up a tiny prayer. cognizant of the fact i have walked past that basket hundreds of times. knowing i’ve looked everywhere for that shirt, even dragging out the two adult shirts from my husband’s closet to see if perhaps one of them is really the one i’ve been looking for.

sure it is a simple thing. but it is no accident. i needed just a glimpse of light, some tiny ray of hope. reassurance that somehow i could make my way through it all.

sent, received and duly noted.

thank you.

this is my friend melody

this is what my friend melody’s front yard–which is truly a haven even without the tents–looks like at the moment

melody and i often refer to one another as each other’s sisterfromanothermother. there are many things i love about this wonderful woman–nurse, mother, sister, favorite aunt, nana, poet, teller-of-truth, sister-friend–but one of the things i love the most is how she treats children. melody has never been one to turn away the little ones. instead she opens her heart, her arms, her home, and loves the children with a pure love that is one of the best examples of christlike love i’ve ever known.

she has always welcomed the neighborhood children who want to play in her paradise-yard, even though sometimes they wear down the grass from their bikes and trucks and cars. every summer before school starts up again, melody builds tents for them in her yard, knowing if she builds them, they will come. and then she comes out to visit with the neighborhood kids who can’t resist–even taking them refreshments or treats on occasion.

little ones are not invisible to her in the way they often are to other adults. she knows their names and she treats them like they are real.

which of course, they are.

and she is way better than a band-aid or a kiss when they are hurt.

a nurse, melody is the first person we call when one of my children is injured.

“can we treat this at home or do we need to see a doctor?”

usually the answer is we can treat this at home. and usually melody has just what we need in her professional-strength first-aid kit.

but it’s not really about the antiseptic wipes, antibacterial cream or the gauze.

one day after we had returned home from having melody treat a wound–i forget which one, there are so many–on my daughter’s arm, suze said to me,

“i still feel melody’s hands on my arm.”

i didn’t even have to think of what to say. i knew.

“that’s the love. it stays with you.”

update: turns out you don’t have to take my word for it. you wanna know how amazing this guac really is? two words: sold out

if you didn’t jump on it already, you’ll have to wait till next saturday. get your chips ready.

late last saturday evening the doorbell rang and my friend ~j walked up the stairs bearing a gift. “I was wondering if you’d do me a favor and taste test this guacamole?”

if i didn’t already consider ~j a friend for life, those words would have sealed the deal. i love a good guacamole and i could tell just by looking at the fresh green of this one, it was going to be good.

it was beyond good.

and because i don’t mind sharing a good thing when i find it, here you go:

gourmet guac

available in two flavors, at a farmer’s market near you (well, only if you live near provo).

i tried the spicy first. it had just the right amount of kick to it–managing to wake up my tastebuds without completely drowning out the avocado (and isn’t the avocado the whole point of guacamole?).

but because i was hungry for more (and under the pretext of needing to be thorough in my analysis), i also tried the mild–picked it up fresh this morning. i had good intentions of taking it to work to share with my co-workers (because i’m nice like that). but after the first bite i knew my co-workers would have to buy their own gourmet guac (sorry guys). because i just couldn’t stop eating it. in addition to the fresh flavor (all natural ingredients), i also loved the texture–just the perfect amount of chunky to its smooth.

come on, admit it. you want some, don’t you?

you can pre-order it online or, if you don’t want to take my word for it (but trust me, you should), you can taste it yourself at the provo farmer’s market this saturday and choose your favorite there.

here’s the cool thing: some of the proceeds of your purchase saturday will go toward a good cause. i like supporting an original idea by people who want to give something back to the community.

don’t you?

Originally published on my original blog, November 2006. Brought back in support of my good friend Becky and her sweet dad, Bud, who has just been diagnosed with lung cancer that has already spread to his brain. He seemed perfectly healthy just two weeks ago. Bud’s family asked the doctor if there would have been anything they could have done had they found out earlier. “Maybe three months ago,” was the response, “but there were no symptoms. There was no way you could have known.” They had no warning.

One of my favorite scenes in one of my favorite movies, “Twister,” is when, in the midst of tornado aftermath, the protagonist, Jo, finally confronts her “issues” with tornadoes.

“You’ve never seen it miss this house, and miss that house, and come after you!” (Hint: it’s not about the house, it’s really all about her father).

I feel that way about Cancer. (Hint: it all started with my father, too).

Jo devoted her entire life to chasing and, essentially, fighting tornadoes.

In truth, I, myself, am much better at running away, getting distracted–avoiding real problems and issues. But in my other life–the imaginary one in which I, too, am a protagonist, and I spend my days being really, really good at something significant–I am a storm chaser. At least I like to think I would be.

I watched Cancer take my Dad before we even knew he had it. Before I ever got to say goodbye. And a woman who was at that time the same age I am now found herself wondering how in the world she was going to raise and support six kids–four of them boys–all by herself.

I watched it take this friend and that friend. Or that friend’s baby.

Tayson. His family had just moved into our neighborhood only months before. I remember meeting Alice and thinking what great friends we could be. I really, really liked her. I remember seeing her walking Tayson down the road in his stroller. She told me he wasn’t feeling too well. I noticed he had a bad bruise on his face. We talked about the usual things one discusses over childhood illness. Maybe he had an ear infection. Who was her pediatrician. I hoped he felt better soon.

Later that day another woman from the neighborhood me asked how everything was. “Fine,” I said. “You haven’t heard?” she asked. Turned out Tayson didn’t have an ear infection. He had leukemia. L-E-U-K-E-M-I-A. My world stopped still. And I couldn’t even begin to imagine.

They had hardly even moved in, didn’t really know a lot of people. And now they were practically living at Primary Children’s Hospital. I remember one night we drove up to Salt Lake to see them. I had the hardest time walking through the halls at PCMC. I still can hardly make myself walk through those halls (don’t get me wrong–PCMC is a wonderful place and we are so blessed to have it. I just can’t handle thinking about the anguish of those kids–their mothers, their fathers, their entire families–must go through with whatever it is that brings them there. I know miracles happen there. But I also know there is a great deal of pain). Somehow at the end of the visit, we ended up with tickets to the ball game. Alice and Barry were glad someone could use them. We had a great time; but somehow it seemed wrong to be having a good time while they were left behind to witness the constant suffering of their son.

I remember the day Tayson died. I tried to imagine my friend rocking her baby in her arms while the people in the mortuary were waiting for her to release him. How does one ever let go?

I remember the night of the viewing. I had to make myself go. I didn’t think I could go in. But I made myself go in. I was blessed to understand that the too-small body lying in the casket wasn’t Tayson anymore and that Tayson was OK now.

I remember serving in the kitchen on the day of Tayson’s funeral. Alice came in to say goodbye. She hugged me long and hard. I didn’t want to let her go. I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone. But mothers with empty arms are alone.

Another Alice. When I was just starting out, I used to call her and seek her advice for a number of homemaking and cooking and baking issues. She helped me sew something for one of my kids once. She had the best laugh and was so much fun at girls’ camp. I will never forget the night at some Stake RS dinner when we sat together and she was telling us about her back pain and how frustrated she was that no one could seem to help her. She wasn’t complaining. She was explaining.

Within about a month she was dead from bone cancer.

She had two girls still home.

Who do they talk to about their hopes, their fears, their broken hearts? Who will help them with their hair and their dresses on their wedding days?

Meridith. You may have read about her. She was diagnosed with leukemia on Valentine’s Day. The gift of marrow from the bones of her twin sister saved her eventually, but did Cancer really spare her? No. The radiation used to beat it back broke her body and her mind. She suffers still. “I’ll just turn it over to God,” she says as she wears herself out serving her husband, her family and her every neighbor.

Sue. I don’t even know how to describe Sue. My favorite picture of her is one in which she is wearing sunglasses and holding some great big novel in her hands. I think she has a beach hat on, too, maybe. She was likely wearing a bathing suit and sitting lakeside or poolside somewhere or on a boat. Sue had a hard life. But she was frank and real. I liked that about her. She helped me refine my pie-baking skills and gave me the recipe for the best sour cherry pie ever. When life gives you sour cherries by all means make a dessert out of them.

Breast Cancer. I remember her stopping her car to talk to me as I walked down her street and she was returning from yet another round of chemo. She looked great, but she felt like hell. I will never forget how her co-workers at NuSkin worked her shifts for her so she could keep her medical insurance.

Sue finally found peace at the end. Her funeral–mere days before Christmas–remains one of the best I ever attended.

Adrienne. It always seemed to me as if Adrienne and her three beautiful girls had stepped right out of a Jane Austin novel and right into our little old neighborhood.

No one kept Christmas like Adrienne. She kept it the whole year through. Her house was decorated for it for months before and after. But it wasn’t mere decoration. She embodied the Spirit of Christmas. It was said of her at her funeral something to the effect that she and her equally amazing husband must’ve had input into the creation of the Garden of Eden for it to have truly been as lovely as it was. Adrienne made the world a more beautiful place.

Ovarian Cancer. I remember trying to help her during her last months. I never had any trouble finding women willing to come to clean her lovely home. The problem was more Adrienne wearing herself out trying to clean it before we came to clean.

I remember sitting by her bedside sometime during her last couple of weeks. I hugged her and held her hand. She was in so much pain. But so gracious and loving. My memory of this final moment is kind of blurry. I think it’s both too beautiful and too painful to recall in sharp focus.

I have never known–nor will I ever–anyone quite like her.

The list goes on: My Aunt Pat: She survived breast Cancer some 20 years ago, but another one eventually took her. She’d been widowed from my uncle since I was a baby. Now my cousins have no parents.

My Grandma Jacobs: Breast Cancer. My Aunt Darlene: Breast Cancer. My friend Laurie: Thyroid Cancer. Just to name a few. They are survivors. Cancer didn’t miss them entirely, but it didn’t take them away, either.

And now I just learned that Cancer has chosen to go after my neighbor through the back fence: Stage three testicular cancer.

A good man. A husband and father. With kids the age I remember being when it went after my dad.

I am trying to imagine being this family. Being the wife who must be sore afraid. Being the four kids who probably have no idea what this all really means for them. Being the provider of a family and wondering not only what lies ahead for you, but what will happen to your family? Feeling alone because although we may offer prayers and sympathy, no one really knows what it’s like to be them right now.

I want to help. But what can I do? What can I say?

There are no words for this.

I know.

update: Cory has finished chemo and has tested clear of cancer. We hope and pray his remission continues.

Just like at the end of the movie, sometimes the twister will pass by your house and leave you all still standing.

Present day update: Cory continues to be in remission and is doing great. Sometimes we cross paths at the gym in the wee hours of the morn and to see him, you’d never know what he’s been through. But since Cory, there was his neighbor across the street, our scare, our neighbor across the street, a man two streets south, another neighbor down the street from Cory, another neighbor down the street from us, and now Bud, who lives next door to Cory and kitty corner to us. The names and the organs and body parts may change, but the pain and anguish it brings does not. Nor does my rage against it. Especially when it goes after yet another one of the good guys. A husband, father, grandfather, uncle, neighbor and friend. The one person who remembers to ask me me every time he sees me how my missionary is doing.

It seems such a small gesture–like going up with my tiny fist and punching a steel-clad Goliath–but I hate it so bad I am wanting to walk the walk, not just talk the talk:

Anyone want to join me next weekend for a 5k next saturday? Proceeds will benefit Huntsman Cancer Foundation.

this is what i missed in relief society at my ward today, as recounted by melody’s daughter, sara

during the “good news” minute, one of the grandmothers in the neighborhood reported on having seen my son k~’s friend talon in the production of tarzan at tuacahn. talon is a quite talented actor, already at the tender age of 11, having performed at tuacahn, the shakespearean festival and a number of local productions; he’s about to head out as michael banks in the broadway tour of mary poppins. you’ve probably even seen him on tv.

a member of our relief society presidency-you may or may not know her, but i won’t mention any names–piped in, “we saw talon too, and he was great. i don’t know if it’s appropriate to say in this in relief society, but the older tarzan is not hard to watch, either.”

apparently the older sister concurred and um, may have even elaborated in some detail as to why grown-up tarzan was so easy on the eyes.

did i mention the bishop was attending relief society on this day?

after good news, my favorite relief society chorister ever stood up to do the “musical moment.” as she has done on occasion in the past, laura began her segment by recognizing a couple of women who were sporting really fabulous shoes. she invited them to stand and take a turn down the aisle. (now, you know i am a birkenstock girl. but i do appreciate a great pair of shoes. this is one of my favorite parts of our “musical moments.”)

laura then noticed the to-die-for pink heels sara was wearing. she invited sara to stand and take a walk, which sara obligingly did.

“wow!” laura said, “those would make tarzan beg for mercy!”

did i mention the bishop was attending relief society on this day?

11:04 p.m.

i’m sitting here in my pjs after another long day in another long week in another long month in this crazybusy year.

my eyelids are heavy but i’m fighting to keep them open as it’s the first chance i’ve had to check my e-mail and google reader today.

knock knock.

hmmm. that’s odd. although it’s probably the best time to catch me home, not too many of my friends drop by after 11 p.m.

it’s the grandaughter of our neighbor across the street, cecily. we’ve known her since she’s was little, but she’s all grown up and married now.

“we were out for a walk and somebody hit your cat.”

“which one?” (zack will be devastated over any of them, but my first concern is for mowgli, who has a piece of my heart and a big chunk of last month’s paycheck.)

“the yellow one.”

i sigh. “tigger.”

suze and tigger summer 2009

i send shane out to look because i know i just can’t bear to watch if tigger is suffering. then i remember to ask

“is he dead?”

cecily nods her head sadly.

as i bury the tears of my youngest in my chest cecily explains,

“the same thing happened to my cat when i was 12.”

i stroke my youngest’s back and nod my head.

i am sad at tigger’s brutally abrupt end and guilty that the last time i saw him i tossed him out of the house (they really do land on all fours) three times in a row after he kept sneaking in. i wonder how zack and suze will take the news–it’s too soon. i feel a twinge of guilt over the twinge of relief i feel knowing that’s one less cat to feed, neuter, immunize.

“he had a good life here,” i search for some scrap of comfort to share with k~ “he got to go and do whatever he wanted.”

we go in the house and while i wait for shane to return i ponder over which flower bed will make the best gravesite for this one.

i hear the door open and some scuffling, but there are no words and no shane. i wait and wonder and then look up as shane walks up the stairs with a very lively cat in his arms.

tigger!

i scratch his belly and apologize out loud for not being entirely patient with his antics of the other day, at the same time hefting again the weight of the responsibility we’ve inherited along with these cats.

apparently it was someone else’s yellow cat who met his demise tonight. (may it rest in peace.)

shane sends tigger back outside to work on–i’m not sure, do you count up from 1 or down from 9?–well, the next one.

i’m posting on parenting over at segullah today. please come.

wherein i tell you…

i got my first e-mail today.

it was short and sweet and i loved every word.

i also loved that he had his first fish and chips.

and they were real chips.

yeah baby.

************

and also the daughter got her learner’s permit.

i actually let her drive my sienna.

you all know how i feel about my sienna.

i hope my daughter knows howloudlyitscreams I LOVE YOU! when i let her drive the swagger wagon.

************

and right now i’m looking at flight plans.

from manchester, england to slc.

august 19.

yeah baby!

two of my children had birthdays this month.

other than a birthday cake and song for k~ at the meeting formerly known as a farewell and a cupcake from the sweet tooth fairy for suze, we still haven’t celebrated.

this one was away at 5th grade camp on the day he turned 11

this one (left) was still recovering from the airport scene (we’re all still recovering from the airport scene, but trust me when i tell you i spared you the most heart-wrenching of the photos) and was with us at a family reunion in the uintahs on the day she turned 15

this week my mother is having hip replacement surgery. on the very same day i am also helping host a baby shower, to be held in my backyard. at the exact same time (i was informed this afternoon), i am supposed to be attending a training meeting of sorts for my new calling.

in my spare time this week i’ll preparing to present as part of the blogging panel at the first ever segullah writing retreat.

and waiting by the mailbox for letters from zack (posting them here), who, if i remember correctly, will have to use snail mail instead of e-mail until he leaves the mtc for the leeds mission. (i want a physical address that contains the words “lister hill,” i’m just sayin.’)

and looking forward to hearing about the reunion of the two elders rowley.

i’ll try to keep you posted.