when i was a little girl growing up in the lush green rain valleys of the pacific northwest i used to look forward to the one week every summer when my father would pile us all into whatever precursor to the mormon assault vehicle we owned at the moment and embark on the almost non-stop and all-through-the-night (then) 18-hour drive to utah. (the drive is shorter now, but still almost as long as the preceding sentence.)

one of my favorite parts of the journey–besides looking out the window at a star-filled universe that could just about swallow me up–was driving through logan canyon on our way to grandpa’s ranch in randolph. as much as i love the green of oregon, my heart is equally enamored with the red, red dirt found in many parts of utah. it’s one of the beauties of this earth that is so overwhelming to me it almost makes my heart hurt just from taking it in (i also feel this way about gazing into joy-filled faces of children).

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so my daughter plays softball. i love softball as much as i love baseball (cue the don henley song). what i don’t love is that her high school team wears white uniforms. and plays on red dirt.

last week they had a game on that very rainy tuesday. a game that, you know, should have been called. you know, on account of all that rain. but it was only the second game of the season and everyone was hungry for play. so they played. with standing water on the field. which, when properly churned up by the determined sprinting to base of cleat-clad athletes, quickly became mud.

and all of a sudden the once pristine uniforms were red, not white. and my daughter was reading the laundry instructions out loud: wash in cold water. do not bleach.

um yeah, right.

i called another softball mom (her daughter is a junior–so she knows) how she got the white pants clean.

“white pants are the worst idea ever. i’ve tried everything,” she said. “the only way you can get them clean is to use some hot water and a little bleach.”

i scrubbed suze’s pants down with a broken bar of fels naptha (best stain remover eveh) and tossed them in with a regular load of whites on my “whitest whites” cycle. (hot water, and um, yeah, a little bleach.) honestly, whatever inches thick of synthetic that can withstand steals and slides of a softball player ought to be tough enough to take on a little bleach.

suze came down just before the washing machine completed its work. “it smells like bleach,” she remarked. i pleaded the fifth on that one and, just a few minutes later pulled out a pair of softball pants so clean and so sparkling white (white than some famous utah celebrities’ teeth) i had to reach for my favorite pair of sunglasses.

“i am a goddess,” i thought out loud. and, just for that one moment (because generally i get a big FAIL for laundry), i was.

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last weekend, after a HUGE storm in st. george (and i’m speaking actually and metaphorically here), the sun came out and dried up all the rain. then our little family went for a drive. and we ended up at one of my favorite places on earth, snow canyon:

never been there? i recommend you go next time you’re down south. it’s gorgeous.

Wednesday marked a significant anniversary, but I wasn’t quite sure how to acknowledge it. A cake didn’t really seem appropriate. No relevant gift ideas came to mind. But as I mentioned previously, the events that led up to that day, as well as what followed, have certainly been on our minds.

People still ask me how Shane is doing. I usually respond that he’s still adjusting, but he’s doing fine. Neither of us were prepared for how much they were going to remove or what the implications of that loss would be. The wound has healed, but Shane won’t ever be able to speak clearly or eat w/o the prosthetic. The prosthetic is a pain.

I try to put myself in his shoes, but I know anything I can imagine falls short. I remember how much I hated wearing a retainer during a couple of years of orthodontia treatments. His prosthetic is not unlike a bulky, bigger and surely more irritating retainer. And he’ll likely have to wear it the rest of his life. I do know how weird it feels when something is “off” in your mouth–a canker, a sore, or a chipped tooth–and how you can’t stop touching it or thinking about it. You’re constantly aware of it. It never goes away. Some of the doctors have assured him that with prosthetics, eventually there comes a time when one does get used to it and doesn’t even think about it anymore. I don’t know when that time will be.

But Shane has been a good sport. He doesn’t complain. He makes funny jokes about the hole in his head, tries to appreciate having one less sinus to get infected, and learned a few really great tricks with which to entertain his students. Or sometimes even dinner guests. And, in that subtle way he has with kids, he’s helped perpetuate understanding, tolerance and kindness among all the students at his school.

As I’ve said before, a lot has happened since that day. As I look forward, I continue to reflect on and feel gratitude for the blessings that poured down on us during that difficult time. I have a greater appreciation for faith and hope. I’m grateful for Shane and his courage and for all of you who shared that journey with us and bestowed your love and prayers on us during that time.

Thanks–

First off I have to say I absolutely love keeping chickens.

When I selected my sweet tiny babies from the local IFA it was all about the eggs. I had no idea how entertained I would be as I patiently endured their gawky teenage stage, tripped over them as they flocked about my feet every time I let them out into the yard, and discovered the smart ones who seemed to inherently know if they would climb up on my lap as I sat in my back yard to observe them I wouldn’t be able resist feeding them by hand.

But I did know that in addition to making sure they had plenty of love, food and water I would also be responsible for mucking out their coop.

And if I’m going to be mucking out a chicken coop you’d better believe I’m going to be wearing a cute pair of boots. (I have the same attitude about other necessities of life. You should see my pink plaid reading glasses.)

photo courtesy of western chief

A pair of these arrived on my doorstep yesterday. (Two pair, actually. I got a screaming deal so I bought a matching pair for my daughter.)

I decided these boots are going to be the symbol of taking care of business.

And this summer I am all about taking care of business.

Especially in two areas: my home and my health

my home

Spending a week in a two-bedroom condo reaffirmed this feeling I’ve been having that I simply have too much stuff. Managing that much stuff (or not managing it, as the case may be) is both a time-suck and an energy-drain. And I’d rather be doing other things. So I’m going to be getting rid of it. It may take me all summer. It might even take up part of the fall. But I’m going for it.

I hope I can be ruthless.

my health

My attitude toward my body has basically been a twist on the old “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it.” My version is “if you don’t know what’s wrong it ain’t really wrong.” But having met all our out-of-pocket medical this year is kind of a big incentive to take care of some things I’ve been putting off. So instead of ignoring my body in hopes whatever it is it will just go away (it generally doesn’t), this month I’ll be seeing doctors and getting tested.

Nerve conduction study. Check.

Still to be scheduled:

Mammogram.

Colonoscopy.

Yeah. I’d definitely rather be mucking out the chicken coop.

Also on the list: coming up with some sort of a fitness plan. I have hesitated to do this in the past because I won’t start it unless I am serious about sticking with it. But for the first time in several summers–knock on wood–my knee and feet issues are relatively mild (it’s just my hands and elbows this year). I won’t have a kid in early morning seminary this fall–so I might have a few spare minutes in the mornings to do something for me.

I think now’s a good time to get this party started.

And that’s where my friend ~j comes in. I already mentioned how she inspires me. She just completed her second triathlon. Now she’s hosting a great giveaway on her blog. Three sessions with her amazing personal trainer. I seriously want to win this one. But I’m all about playing fair so here’s a link in case you want to enter as well.

When I was a little girl I was one of those kids who used to beg and plead and beg some more for the Easter bunny to bring me some baby chicks and ducks every spring.

Never happened.

So eventually I grew up and today I finally went out and picked out my own.

I think the semi-smile was worth it.

(Having fresh eggs on hand in a few months will make it even more worth it.)

Sure they’re cute now, however I do know what I’m in for as they grow up. The other day I asked my friend whose baby chicks are about a month ahead of mine how her chickens were doing.

“Stupid.”

Yep. That about sums it up.

Love ‘em anyway.

I woke up this morning to hear this story on the radio.

Asked later what motivated him, Abess said he had long dreamed of a way to reward employees. He had been thinking of creating an employee stock option plan before he decided to sell the bank.

”Those people who joined me and stayed with me at the bank with no promise of equity — I always thought some day I’m going to surprise them,” he said. “I sure as heck don’t need [the money].”

”I saw that if the president doesn’t come to work, it’s not a big deal,” he said. “But if the tellers don’t show up, it’s a serious problem.”

Just what I needed on the morning after my company announced layoffs.

(Not me. I’m spared. Whew!)

So I thought I’d share it just in case you needed a feel-good story, too.

Now you tell me. What’s got you feeling good today?

(p.s. stay tuned for another Shane update and a San Francisco recap.)

Shane waiting for the sun to come up (Finland 2006)

Besides getting our feet knocked out from under us and the very breath knocked right out of us as we both learned the news, one of the worst parts of this (of this what? there are no adequate words)…has been having to break the news to others. Nothing prepares you for it. Absolutely nothing.

Hopefully being able to share some good news (I don’t even have to wait for Relief Society to do it!), will compensate for that somehow.

The MRI indicated that the first surgeon removed the bulk of the tumor in the initial surgery.

For the first time in almost a week we felt we could breathe again.

That means three things:

One, they now just have to go in and remove the bone in which the tumor was growing and a safe margin of tissue around it.

Two, instead of a five-hour surgery in which they would have removed a lot of Shane’s facial structure, they predict to perform a much less drastic surgery around about an hour.

Three, they believe they can get it all. (So this last one may have been a little redundant, but I just needed to say it one more time.)

We’ll cross the next bridge–finding and meeting with an oncologist, considering possible radiation, and completing more tests in order to determine that it hasn’t metastasized to anywhere else–when we get to it.

The surgery will take place on January 8th. (We’ll all be fasting for Shane on January 4th, in case any of you would like to join include him in your fasts that day.)

Our collective prayers are being answered already. Thank you!

I realize a mere “thank you” is not enough to express the deep appreciation we’ve felt as so many dear friends have rallied around us. But please know we have both been so touched and blessed by your love and support. So thanks again.

Shane and the kids on Thanksgiving Day 2008

Shane sitting in the sauna of Jean Sibelius (Finland 2006)

As Sue commented on my previous post, “Sometimes boring is GOOD.”

Indeed.

A girl could get used to this.

(But that was yesterday. Today I have to go to work for at least a few hours and my husband goes in for oral surgery this afternoon. I should have gone into nursing. But I faint at the sight of blood.)

And as to the question of the ambulance ride, this is what I learned during a recent CPR class:

Your taxes pay for the ambulance to come to your house and for the paramedics to assess your situation. If you or someone responsible for you are conscious and of a reasonable mind they will at that point advise you either to remain at home, hitch another (much cheaper) ride to the ER, or they will strap you down, load you up and drive you to the ER themselves. That’s when your tab starts rolling.

…I’m reading.

My second-born says I sold out.

I say if you catch me reading *Twilight then you’ll know I’ve sold out.

I’ll come up for air sometime tomorrow.

*No offense to the legion of you who love it. It’s just the way I am. I have a hard time making myself jump on the bandwagon for anything. I didn’t read The Da Vinci Code until the week before the movie came out and then only because I really love Tom Hanks and France (you see–I’m certainly not on the bandwagon there) and I made myself read the book before I would allow myself to see the movie. If I get a hankering to see a vampire movie I think I’ll save myself some trouble and simply watch Van Helsing again.

Well, they have become bountiful branches laden with tart juicy crabapples.

I’ve got some stewing on the stove right this minute as I make my first attempt at Crabapple Pomegranate Jelly w/ Rosebuds. If you prefer a more traditional recipe you could try this.

Want some?

If you live near the old P-town and you’d like some bunches of crabapples for whatever culinary delight, well, you know where to find me.

So for those of you who don’t want to be defined only by your appliances and gadgets, what about your music?

According to this study by Professor North of Herio-Watt University, a look at your playlist could also serve as a revelation into your soul.

The general public has held a stereotype of heavy metal fans being suicidally depressed and of being a danger to themselves and society in general. But they are quite delicate things.”

Who knew?

Here’s a summation of the *current results:

BLUES: High self-esteem, creative, outgoing, gentle and at ease

JAZZ: High self-esteem, creative, outgoing and at ease

CLASSICAL MUSIC: High self-esteem, creative, introvert and at ease

RAP: High self-esteem, outgoing

OPERA: High self-esteem, creative, gentle

COUNTRY AND WESTERN: Hardworking, outgoing

REGGAE: High self-esteem, creative, not hardworking, outgoing, gentle and at ease

DANCE: Creative, outgoing, not gentle

INDIE: Low self-esteem, creative, not hard working, not gentle

BOLLYWOOD: Creative, outgoing

ROCK/HEAVY METAL: Low self-esteem, creative, not hard-working, not outgoing, gentle, at ease

CHART POP: High self-esteem, not creative, hardworking, outgoing, gentle, not at ease

SOUL: High self-esteem, creative, outgoing, gentle, at ease

Source: Heriot-Watt University

*The study is ongoing. You can participate here.