The End of an Era

Last Friday Savannah and I went out for dinner and shopping for her birthday.  It's a tradition that we started years ago.  Actually it doesn't seem like that many years, but it must have been because Savannah just turned 18. 

You remember the girls, yes?  Barry's three daughters.  Some of you who used to work with me at the store will remember their little faces coming to visit every so often.  Others will have heard way too many stories and seen way too many pictures.  They were cute, huh?  Well that's all over now because they've grown up.  I wrote Sierra's eulogy when she went off to college; Mariah's when she graduated from high school, and now Savannah.  I guess she's still cute, for a little while.

Savannah was 3 months old when I moved back to Salt Lake after coming home from my mission.  Such a beautiful baby, and so quiet.  I stayed with Barry and Melody for a few months while looking for an apartment, and slept on a mattress in her room.  On babysitting nights, while the other two ran wild instead of going to bed, Savannah laid quietly on a blanket in the living room waiting for her turn.  I'd go in, see her there, and say, "Oh! Savannah!" then pick her up to cuddle and talk for a while.

Another night, when she was a toddler, I was babysitting again, and this time she was the one who didn't want to go to bed.  She said that she was scared of the monsters in the closet.  I said no, there weren't any monsters in there.  She insisted that of course there were, so I picked her up and carried her to the closet for an inspection.  We took a good look and then I said, "See, no monsters."  She looked at me and said, "Let's go check out on the couch."  Well played, but her move to get out of her bedroom did not work, and she was soon asleep. 

And now she's grown up.  Not as cuddly as she used to be, sometime during middle school she decided that she didn't like hugs.  Ridiculous.  I've been fighting that ever since, and she endures me with the same quiet fortitude that got her through those baby years.  She has a kind heart, a sharp brain, and great sense of humor, and her head on straight, pointed forward.  I really, really love her.  Come January she will be with the other two at BYU-Idaho.  Barry and Melody will be empty nesters.  It's hard to believe.  

I decided some years ago that I would stop buying birthday presents after the kids turned 18 because with so many kids now I had to draw a line somewhere.  But with each one I've been a little sad when that last present was bought.  And Friday, as I drove away from Savannah's house, I couldn't help tearing up a little knowing that not only was it her last birthday outing, but that those years with the girls are done.  It is the end of an era.  A really great era.  I hope they still remember me when they're 100.

It is Kind of Funny

I was at Marla’s on Sunday afternoon, and of course spent most of the time following William around. We went into the backyard where he showed me their garden and a big pile of fertilizer that they had just had delivered. He said, “That’s cow poop.”  Ha, I started to giggle, and told him not to climb in the pile of cow poop. He agreed, in all seriousness.

William has a friend about his same age who lives in the house on the other side of the backyard fence. We’ll call him Olie. While we were in the yard he spotted Olie and started hollering to him. He ran over to a lawn chair that was very strategically placed right up against the fence, climbed up on the seat, the arm, and then to the top of the very back of the chair where he could just reach the top of the fence and pull his little chin over it. From there he and Olie had a shouting match that only they could understand. Every now and then he’d turn around and repeat to me what was going on over the fence. Olie has a little dog named Sadie. She showed up in their backyard and William hollered at her, and then turned to me to tell me about Sadie, and then he said…

“Sadie poops EVERYWHERE!” It was the beginning of a rant of gibberish that was so cute I couldn’t stop laughing.

William stopped and looked at me, almost in disgust, “Poop’s not funny, G.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right.”

He explained to me with all of his 4-year old exuberance exactly why poop isn’t funny, including something about it getting on his foot.  All from the top of his chair, up against the fence.

There was another time when we were talking on the phone that he went off on something going on in their house. I don’t remember now what it was, but he had strong feelings. I was laughing, of course, because he’s adorable, until he stopped the discussion to ask me what I was laughing at. I guess I’ll have to take him more seriously from now on. But look, look at how cute he is! How can I help it?

His 4th birthday, and yes that is a Legos garbage truck on his cake, and it was awesome.

I’m in a new class with BYU-Idaho (online) in my life-long attempt to finally finish my degree. It’s a research and writing class, and we are asked to pick a topic that we will work and re-work for the entire semester. I’ve decided to look into the post-World War II history of Korea. As most of you know, my sister, and William’s mom, Marla was born in Korea and spent a few years in an orphanage there until my parents adopted her in 1975. She has vague memories of her life there. I’ve decided to use this opportunity to really learn about what was going on in the country at the time, and to understand the world she was living in. If the final paper is worth printing then I’ll put it into a book for her and her boys. I love Marla so much. She’s one of my greatest blessings, and I don’t know why I didn’t do something like this sooner.

In other news, and kind of related because Marla went to this event with me, my good friend Joel hosted a backyard concert at his home on Sunday. He sang several songs that he had written and recorded with Afterglow, all about faith and hope in the Savior. It was a beautiful evening, perfect weather, good music, all very, very nice.

It seems that the blogging world is fading. I don’t post much anymore, and neither do most of you, my friends. But, I keep looking for news from you, and will still share things here and there.

Thanks, as always, for checking in. You are loved.

This is Only a Test

Sometime last week employees of the COB got handouts telling us about an upcoming earthquake drill and how to respond to it. There were pictures with urgent labels telling us to Drop! Cover! Hold On! and pictures of a friendly stick-mail office worker getting under a desk and gripping it for dear life. Monday we were told in a staff meeting that the drill would be today, Tuesday, at 10:15, and that we all had to participate. The members of the Emergency Response Team would be coming around to see that we were all under our desks and holding on before giving the all clear. One of the older men asked if there would also be someone coming around to get him out from under his desk. Ha Ha, oh wait… I think that was a serious question.


This morning everyone was abuzz about the 10:15 drill, “What if I’m on the phone?!” “Do I really want the computer over my head?” I actually started thinking through the whole thing and taking a good look under my desk. There are two power strips under there, and a lot of power cords for the computer and the phone. Is a dark hole of potential sparking, fizzing, smoke and high voltage really where I want to be in an emergency? I found a corner back behind me (my cubicle/desk wraps around like the letter C), where there’s an open spot free from cords and other dangers, and made mental note to dive in that direction. What a relief.

We have a coworker here who spends at least half of his day wandering around the floor visiting everyone, opening up closed doors and sticking his head in, asking where everyone is, and yapping away with anyone who will pretend to listen. I think he thinks that he’s taking care of business, but really he’s just a busy-body. A few minutes before the drill, I was walking down the hall and saw him in someone’s office talking, and wondered just whose office he would be in when the alarm sounded, and will that person be willing to share cover under his or her desk? The two of them wrapped up in fetal positions, nose to nose… I kind of doubt it. Cheryl gave me a definite no when I asked her.

10:15, appointed drill time, came and we were ready. We heard something like a bell, and then a voice over the PA telling us that this was a drill, and would everyone please drop and take cover. We did. Cheryl’s desk is right next to mine, we share a cubicle wall. We were scrunched down with our faces in the same corners and I heard her say, “Are we allowed to talk?” Everything went dead quiet. I said, “It’s so quiet in here!” “It really is.” I kept picturing Cheryl on the other side of the wall, all curled up. We were like two prisoners in damp cells quietly sending signals to each other, letting each other know that we weren’t alone. Also, we were like two grown women in skirts scrunched up under our desks trying not to choke to death on the dust, which is a less romanticized, more accurate picture.

After about a minute we got the all clear to come back out into the light of day. Just as I was straightening up, there’s our busy-body with a camera! “Oh, you were too fast. I didn’t get your picture.” What? Why? The only picture he would have gotten would have been of my derriere. Why on earth? This guy just gets weirder every day. It’s a good thing he didn’t take that picture or he would have lost his camera, and maybe an eye.

I asked if we should go down to the second floor where some of our good senior is to see if got out from under his desk, but no one did. Maybe he’s still there? And now I have a pain in my back, just under my right shoulder blade, which has to be the result of being in a fake earthquake. I’ll go talk to my HR rep and start the paperwork.

I actually do think that the drill was a good idea, all ridiculousness aside.  We're on a fault line, and an earthquake will hit someday.  We have to know how to act when it does.  And I've got my corner, away from the power cords.

A Birthday in San Diego

I have for years wanted to go to the coast for my birthday.  This year Melody and I finally did it.  Much thanks, up front, to the Fabulous Melody for booking the flights and the hotel.  She's one of the best things that ever happened to me.  And she has a friend who gives us a deal at Marriott.  We had a bay view room on the 23rd floor, so swanky.

Breakfast every morning was at the Broken Yolk Cafe.  The food was good; we could walk from the hotel, and it had this awesome fan.   

After Eggs Benedict under the Big Ass Fan, we took a trolley tour of San Diego, with a stop in Balboa Park.  See the lovely Spanish architecture.

The botanical gardens in the park grew the prettiest orchids I've ever seen.  

Back on the San Diego port.   

On our second day we took the ferry across the bay to Coronado Island.  When I took this picture of Melody she said that it better not end up on Facebook.  She said nothing about the blog.

Coronado Beach

My toes in the water.   

The beach was gold, literally gold, white sand full of gold flecks, shimmery, iridescent, and indescribably beautiful. We spent the afternoon reading, walking in the water, reading some more, eating, chasing a seagull away from our leftovers (Melody did the chasing), and getting the worst sunburn I've had in years. Strange, we didn't even think about the chance of sunburn. It's March. It was a nice cool day.  We were wearing shorts and t-shirts, so fully clothed, and yet we were both flaming red by the end of the day. Best way to get a sunburn ever.

Coronado Beach is the setting for the Marilyn Monroe, Jack Lemmon, Tony Curtis movie "Some Like it Hot".  This is the Hotel del Coronado, also in the film.  It's gorgeous.  The trolley tour man said that the wood was shipped down from Northern California by boat, and that it's the largest coastal, wood hotel in the world. 

We got home last night, exhausted, sore, relaxed and happy.  Happy Birthday to me.

For My Cousins

My cousin and her husband recently lost their little boy, Drake.  He was born with cardiomyopathy (a heart condition) and died a few days later.  He was a fighter.  The doctors didn't expect him survive through her pregnancy.  He just kept holding on, and I was beginning to think that he was really going to make it.  My cousin and her husband handled everything with so much strength, an inspiration to all of us.  This is a little something I wrote for them.

Drake

Born to a mother and father whose love sustained him
Beyond all expectations,
Drake had a valiant spirit
Determined to have its small piece of this life

Before going on
Into the arms of the Lord,
To be cherished there
In his home in heaven,

Cherished by grandparents,
Great-grandparents, all those
Who have gone
On before him.

These great souls
Who see their children’s generations,
Who are angels
Watching over them,

Now have Drake in their midst,
So small, with the sweetest face,
So dearly loved,
So painfully missed,

Yet given over to God
By his parents with unshaken faith,
Showing their beautiful,
Gracious strength,

Supported by God,
By family,
By friends,
By generations of love,

And by Drake’s love
Radiating to them from heaven,
Giving them a tie
To eternity

Season's Greetings

It’s going to be a quiet Christmas for me this year. I will go to church and then to Barry and Melody’s for dinner. Actually, I might go to church with them before dinner. That might be nice. The Utah siblings always get together on Christmas Eve. It carries on one of the best things from Christmases when we were kids.

Christmas Eve was a big deal. We had a traditional dinner of spare ribs and potatoes with some vegetables mixed in, and mom always made lutefisk for dad. I think that Dad grew up with Christmas Eve spare ribs, and that’s why we had them. If you’ve never had lutefisk on your dinner plate, then count yourself lucky. It’s pretty vile. I don’t know why the Norwegians would sully Christmas with such a horrible food, but then again winter is very cold in Norway and dark for 20 of the 24 hours in a day, and that does something to the psyche. Lutefisk is cod or any other whitefish, dried and salted and mixed with lye. Its name literally means "lye fish." Don’t ask me, I don’t get it either, but dad loves the stuff. He pours melted butter on that jelly looking glob and eat it up. I can still see the butter on his chin.

After dinner we opened presents from our grandparents, aunts and uncles. Oh the joy of a child ripping into boxes that she’s sat by the tree and stared at, held and shaken, hoped to “accidently” rip the corner of paper off of just to get a peak, and driven her mother crazy to open just one a day early. Finally, FINALLY it was time to open presents, sheer exhilaration. I loved Christmas Eve almost more than Christmas day then, so it’s very nice that Aaron, Barry, Marla and I and their families still get together to celebrate.

I feel very content this year. It’s nice to feel the Christmas spirit again. I don’t know why I’m so much happier than I’ve been during Christmases past. I’m still single, still no children, still working retail (oh the horror), but nothing about that seems so bad this time. In fact, it isn’t bad at all. Maybe I’m maturing. Whatever it is, I’m happy with what I have and not so worried about the rest, and that’s a wonderful gift.
Have a very happy holiday season!

You are loved.

A Gift Idea

This year I bought an advent calendar from Jacquie Lawson, a website with e-cards and other fun, gifty things.  I absolutely love it!  I've sent a few off as gifts to friends hoping that they have as much fun as I've had.  Here's the link http://www.jacquielawson.com/advent/london?source=jl510.  They calendars are beautiful, inexpensive, and easy to send off.  If you're like me, you'll get two for yourself so that you can have one on every computer.