Monday, June 30, 2014

Finally a Scout- The long journey!

Readers, it has been several years that J. has waited to be a full-fledged Scout.

He has now been one for a few months and I have some time to think about the road that led to this magnificent accomplishment and record J's first real SCOUT ACT.
Or should I say REAL hard.
(and no it wasn't the 12 mile hike they took.)
The other day he returned home from one of his Scouting nights and exclaimed in exhaustion:
"We (as in the mere 11 years olds) just moved a couple's stuff onto a moving truck!"
Me: I thought you guys were going to go over getting ready for the Scout Camp Out.
J: "Chh! I know! We did too. But there was a couple that needed help and asked THE SCOUTS- US- to help! Our leader told them we would do it!"
J's countenance reflected the evening's hard work. His shirt was untucked and he was tired.
It had been a hot evening and he'd worn a normal shirt with his new one hastily thrown on and tucked into long pants with the belt loops. 
Tucking in a shirt for J. is on par with me wearing full fledged nylons for three hours of church.
(Remember, I'm a potato shape now- mixing nylons and pototoes is not pretty)
His core temperature had to have cooked going up and down the apartment stairs and into the truck with all his layers and then a kerchief and slide around his neck like a tie or noose.
He embellished the evening's events and the circumstances. I listened and then, I broke it to him, Readers. I told him the truth about scouting and why he had to learn all he did for all those years that he pined away at wanting to be in a forest of pine trees back packing. 
Me: "Guess what."
J downing a tall glass of water:
Me: "All those years of preparing in cub scouts is basically to prepare you to move people. And usually people that live in an apartment and have lots of steps because they live on the third floor."
J: "Move people?"
Me: "Yes. In fact, if you decide to serve a mission, it pretty much will be the same. A lot of moving people, cleaning people's houses, cars, pulling weeds, mowing and doing yard work on lawns or areas of land that have been untouched for possibly years. Oh,  you might teach them the gospel- while sitting on the floor or ground. "
I felt like I was breaking some sort of news , like Santa Clause was not true or something far fecthing.
Jaden sat there.
So I took advantage of the time to remind him of another event that is in the near future that will give
give him opportunities to do more service in the community, our neighborhood, our ward, and our church.
"You will eventually get into young mens...
(in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, this is what the next step is in his life. He will turn 12 and it is ceremoniously the time that he will receive what we call the Aaronic Priesthood and he will pass the sacrament.)
do more service projects for people that could have a lot of things you will have to lift.
Or visit the sick, and the afflicted in nursing homes or homeless.
 And they may look, act, talk, or do things way differently than you.
In fact, if you choose to serve The Lord, you will move even MORE people."
Readers, he honestly had a heart to heart with me on this because he had been under the impression that he was now able to hike, camp, make fires, and essentially learn how to survive in the wilderness.
He has spent hours earning money (with me right there helping him earn and learn up until just last summer) so he could buy that new tent.
That money was tithed, a percentage to savings, and an allowance given to me for the help I gave him on occasion.
Which money went back to him because I'd stick it in savings.
(like shopping, saving can be addicting. I mean look at all the couponers out there saving like crazy!
J  slogged hours and then went to practices or games. Or I had to sub for him if they intervened.
J: "You are kidding me."
Me: "No." I chuckled. "Tonight you did what a Scout is trained to do-  help!"
J. had been led to believe it was all about being prepared, Readers!
In all honesty I was surprised they had this chore so early in his first scouting experience. Truly was glad, of course.

It opened his eyes. Like going onto a college campus would help a child see that there is more to elementary than Jr. High and then graduating High School, that there is a huge campus in some forbidden land that is windy, cold, and a campus so spread out there is no time to gain 15 pounds.

Oh, wait, that is where I went to college. He could choose a sunny climate or go for a trade like becoming an electrician, handy man which is essentially the title for a husband and father.

They sure come in handy.
He sat down to the table to talk with me about this new detour of scouting he had come upon like a mama bear in the wilderness.

 I reminded him to remember all that had been done for him. For me. Essentially the 'debt' that each of us had to others.
It was hard not to look back on the VERY FIRST months when he'd become of age to enter Cub Scouts.
I had been a leader so none of the initial stuff was a shocker- bird feeders, walking a planked board, push-ups. He wanted to move up so badly, we spent hours and days in a row doing everything.
And he didn't even care if it was repeated with his leaders and pals after school!
One Sunday we walked all over the neighborhood passing off things that he needed to learn or read and commit to memory from the book.
It was Scouts on Steroids, People.
And our summers were unknown. Would he be home or at Dad's? So springtime was "Scout time."
We hit it like a crash course so as to earn the badge, learn the thing, and move up.

(we've had some things that I thought he knew how to do cause it was checked off in his book.- like make his bed for a straight month. Now that was a hard one.
To any parent and mother facing this daunting challenge of the word, Scout, take heed.
Yes, it is like a rubix cube to look at all the requirements. As a leader I wish I would have read the scout book like a normal book. Not flip through pages and look at the out dated pictures of kids doing things and then look at the little squirts in matching shirts trying to learn the scout motto and stressing out because they just wanted to fool around and joke rather than roll peanut butter in bird seed.
Remember that using a coping saw is doable. If you make a mistake, it's just cheap wood.
And all the boys will make a mistake. But they will LOVE YOU for teaching them to build a paddle boat.
They also will have no idea how much effort you put into them. Pace yourself. Or reign in your kid when he wants to pass of something all the time. But our situation was different. I had one on one time and one child.
And I had a TON of help.

That was the key.
I have to thank the person who got him the shirt and did the initial sewing on of the patches, including his scout troupe number.
Best Gift.
Purchasing a book at the local Scout Store for a birthday is also a good idea because most of the time you are doing a birthday celebration and getting those Scout things rounded up (shirt, scarf, belt, book, etc. add up to EXPENSIVE.

Heck, that could be a good baby shower gift. Because then you will have finished reading it by the time they get
(It does make it hard to hear that the top dog makes over a million. But I guess if I had to go on that many scouting trips through out the year..... I'd want to be paid too.)
Readers, scouts have great leaders (at least J. has. In fact, they have been astounding and are a dying breed.) but they need parent involvement too. Actually they need you In a BIG way.
Some kids wait 'til their birthday is in three weeks and a parent frantically calls and asks how to get it all done so the child can earn his Arrow of Light or something. 
No, an 'Arrow of Light' isn't a shooting star they have to watch through a telescope to anyone new. 
Don't make this mistake!!
There were hours spent handing out fliers for food drives (me too), learning sign language, Morse code, basic safety drills and athletic drills, different sports learned for the heck of it, (cause J. did most of them in his leisure hours) neighborhoods picked up, library visits on top of regular ones with me, recycle plants visited that we already went to to take the cans he recycled, craft projects,

environmental mottos learned- LEAVE NO TRACE (this was hours long of listening and reading and then doing a poster and teaching his fellow cubbies about how to act in the wilderness and anywhere; Leave a Place Better Than You Found It.), hours spent reading what was "required" in a book that got lost, got found, got grubby and the pages ear worn,

and some real words from another language, MANY hours spent sitting on a cold folding chair each month as funny skits were performed, nervous/proud/bashful/boisterous boys did a different clap or hoorah for a fellow cub scout who earned something, those expensive "somethings" were purchased by a dedicated leader, then sewn *eventually I got the sticky tape*. or pinned to a flap on the shoulder, and placed on a  blue shirt- one that barely fit toward the end and ended up just having to get into the tan scout one that didn't show all his bells and whistles earned-

Oh- don't forget those Pine Wood Derby Days. Luckily, I have the great blessing of men that helped with that part. But the FIRST one was literally so stressful that I dreaded it like college exams. First, the "design" had to be chosen, then cut out.... Yes, it was so intimidating as I didn't take shop class.

Yes, being single made me more intimidated at this task for some reason. It was the male bonding time designated in the history of, well, man. Like when cave men went hunting with spears or something. Maybe they actually just did a lot more cave drawings because it was easier than putting together a small, rock wheeled race wheelbarrow.

Well, the other day my scout told me about the birds that would come to his Gazebo- finches, ------
Posting this as is. Take or leave it!

 It's on sale!

 Cause I can't recall the birds that are gonna come and I'm tired. I can only recall that he said there is one type that are real Gossips. I did not know this. I should have been a scout. Lucky for me, he is.

A Thousand of White Legs Under the Sea Part II

Some White Legs

My last post was halted due to a misbehaving computer. Pulled 'er outta putting her nose in time out. 

Now I gotta go read what I wrote and why I thought what I was gonna write would be funny.....*

K- now I remember. I have white legs, it is now summer and my blog title is linking Jules Verne's 20k legs (Leagues/whatever/)  to be funny and well, it isn't. But, incorrectly, there are more than just that; a thousand untanned legs are in the water right now.
(not counting the ones that have been to tanning salons. The lines get long especially now that men are using them, too.

I haven't crunched the numbers cause we sent the snorkeling stuff to the thrift store after realizing it was just a faster way to drink chlorine, and salt. And I don't want to pay to rent any.
And, actually, I don't know of much recreational scuba diving going on around here unless, sadly there is a tragedy along the Snake River or nearby dams. Please be careful, Readers.
(truly. no funny in that last request. Our community has had many tragedies that could have been avoided. And summer always brings news and articles of inevitable loss. Hug your kids.)
Technically it should be summer but, in Idaho,  you recall it snows on occasion in June. Once in July. (See library Archives. I didn't but I know I heard it snowed in July and so the library must archive that stuff.)And just last week it snow/hailed and gusting across  Broadway while I drove while I ran errands. It [the snow] was the topic of conversation with everyone I talked to that day.

Me: " Can you believe this?" I said as if surprised that weather in Idaho was jumbled up like a rubix cube used by someone who never figured it out on their own. (I just peeled the stickers off to match up the sides.)
Person: shaking his/her head.

Me: "It's as if we are driving over  Malad Pass in winter!"

Another person: "I didn't bring an umbrella before I left today. The sun was barely visible behind semi- dark clouds"

Me: "Me either! But that is only because my umbrella likes to crumple when it sees the wind coming ;it hides behind my back or worse yets runs away. Very wimpy umbrella I own."
(Clap your hands together and pretend I am a boring professor just did the same and who has lectured for some time now and you, as a student have been day dreaming on a hard auditorium chair and wishing the professor, or I, was going to get to the point.)
My point: Even us locals act surprised when weather misbehaves.
We haven't had to witness any views of the earth showing a huge hurricane looming onto toward Idaho, an advantage being inland and only a stones throw from a huge volcano that is a National/International Park.
Nope, we don't have monsoon season to worry about. Just hunting season if you are married to a hunter.
What we do have in common is advisories. For instance, there are snow advisories for going over The PASS- which there are several mountain passes depending on if you go North, East or South of I.F.
And then we have PAST experiences (not to confuse with the treacherous winding roads that are always under construction this time of year), like mutual funds, aren't necessarily a predictor of future fluctuation.
Heck, I was in a line at the gas station along with some tourists from, well, not here, because they clearly were not dressed for the weather. Nor for the long line at the gas station.
And they looked like travelers to me while I was trying to act surprised by the weather and pretend I was smart enough to dress for the bad weather, and they only nodded.
Clearly, they didn't know Idaho.
Oh, and one person
 did say: 'Yellowstone' and nodded while I was trying to dry off with a towel in my purse. Yellowstone is basically a stones throw from where I live.
The thing that finally tipped me off that they were travelers was that they left their luggage on the bus outside and I was juggling mine to find the towel and hand sanitizer.
Rubbing my hands on my arms,  I found out is a universal feeling/language for:
"It's cold outside!"
Or at least it gets a smile.
And some people nod their heads.
Just like a smile is universal for the sign of happiness. Or fake happiness. Or the fact that you save money and that makes you happy. Because you don't have to worry about bills. So you smile.
And whistle. Even while you work! Or wait to use the bathroom with Crohns Disease!
People, for the most part, are pretty nice when you are in a
l     o   n    g 
gas station bathroom line and you are having small talk about the weather.  What else can you do when you have to go so bad, and your plight is futile?
You don't want to simply cut in front of everyone in front of you and show a card that you are
Gastrointestinal Challenged.
And besides, that would give Idaho a bad name. For the most part, we are nice. I've been in other states and found un-nice people. they think us Idahoans are bad drivers cause we like to enjoy the ride.
We don't race in and out of traffic unless we are training for the Indy 100.
So ya gotta be nice in the bathroom even if you have to just go.
By the time the bathroom wait is over, you have walked into a well used stall,  relieved yourself of the impending doom, exited the inward swinging bathroom stall door and managed to only get your purse and backside dunked into the toilet, then maneuvered around the others in line, and to the sink- there comes the awkward moment of goodbye.
Well, you have to reach through the line to get to the paper towels, or the air blower installed in environmentally friendly bathrooms, so you have a few minutes to say that goodbye and wish them the best. But what do you say?
 What do you say to someone that seems like a long time friend? Even though minutes before you were mere strangers. ?
I've found myself just not talking. Rare. But sometimes you have to reserve your energy.
So back to summer in Idaho. White legs emerging from clothing.
Purple veins sticking out like the roots of a huge tree suddenly stripped  by a landslide/mud slide in a place no one thought water could reach.

Oh, ho, ho! How wrong meteorologists and cosmetologists and just those of us ignorant folk are!
 Oh, yes, those legs have to come OUT! Cause eventually it's hot. Then they suffer the consequences. And all the sudden you have to add shaving your legs on a daily basis to one of the jobs you don't check off on your To Do List but ya feel guilty. The hair, that kept you warm in winter you rationalized, suddenly wants to be laser -ed off once and for all!

No more cutting your shins with a dull razor as you sit precariously atop the bathroom counter, with your white leg crying under some white shaving cream, or conditioner from a hotel stayed in some time ago, or better yet, a bar of Irish Spring that sat on a shelf for two or three years, neglected cause of its dryness. No! It is smooth sailing skin from here on out!
 (Irish spring isn't the smoothest lubricant on the block but Padre loves it.)

So back to my hair rant which will lead to my solution for white legs....

NO!!!! White legs everywhere are picketing for equality! They have unionized, gotten on buses and headed to the WHITE HOUSE in droves. There they can really make a change by walking around in front of a building that empathizes with their feelings behind the black gate.

However, the White House is manicured daily and that could cause some jealousy. But, shhh- don't tell. Just make they jealous.

THAT'S RIGHT! A lot legs are jealous and can't wait to hide under an expensive wrap from Wal-Mart that is meant to hide your legs but pretend you would shed it when the tide came in.

So are you ready for what I laughed about in the middle of the night and then made a mental note to write about? Here it comes!

I sprayed fake tan on my legs one day.

Yup. I bought a can of it at Wal-Mart. Since my legs have protested against actual sun, having changed their stance from when I was a teen and naturally just soaked in that lovely honey golden rays and made me feel cooler when I unwrapped my towel and dove into a pool like an Olympic medalist competing in the games
- slicing through water without a ripple.

Where was I? I was on the bean bag that I had covered with old towels cause I didn't want to spray paint Padre's carpet even if the bottle said the "tan" only lasted a few days or week or so.
Carpet tans waaayyyy easier and longer than legs from a tan in a can.

So that's it, Readers. Kinda anti-climatic, huh. For some reason I laughed and thought it would be a great blog post .
For your sakes I have tried to bring in guest bloggers. Like J. Or Padre. But they look at me as if I asked them to go to an appointment for me or something; like it will be a pain in the back side; waste of time, or something.

So, yeh.... I painted on a tan. When you see me, let me know what you think. Oh, and if you saw my legs and they looked red- it wasn't the tan can's fault nor the sun, just a minor allergic reaction to something that made me look beet red.But that is another blog post.  Oh, and if you see a tan and then white parts, that is just where my leg hairs cast a shadow when I was spraying the tan on. Not a big deal.

=Just a head's up! The grass is growing so there are mowing stories to share in upcoming lawn posts. You know how much J. loves that! And this year he gets to juggle a few. And football is in September and so we start training for that, like, in the Spring while we gut out track and sit through windy 'first of the season' baseball games.

So those boys are out there doing football drills to get ready for September. It's really confusing mixing all those sports. Kids don't know if it school is in session, if it's holiday, or summertim

Maybe white legs will help them know it is summer...

White legs reflecting the sun off them like a solar panel even when the kids are swimming in the water. So, Readers, please wear sunglasses. The glare off the glassy water is one thing but for those of us whose tans wash off like a loosely double knotted string bikini when it sees a riptide, we can't be held responsible.

So forgive us for any UVA of UVM or Uof U or USU rays  that come off our legs that could ruin your health.

One last question: Should I just go natural?

Bag the tan and worrying about wearing flip flops and someone looking at my feet and WHITE legs
offering to buy me a membership to Tan America? Cause really, at this point, I mean who am are my legs trying to impress? I will just ditch short shorts and stick with the longer ones called pants.

Update- I tried the Neurtrogenia Tan in a Can. Worked great. However the person applying it didn't take the precautions for joint areas so I am tanner in some spots.

The good news is that my feet are no longer white, white. the tan covers a couple shades and makes the bulging purple veins less obvious. However, there is bad news and that is my feet now look "dirty" in some areas. So folks might think I have a skin problem, or I don't scrub my feet. Or I missed a few spots while in the tub.

The parts I like tan are washing off but not my feet. This is sounding like an episode for Seinfeld.

Monday, June 23, 2014

A Thousand White Legs Under the Sea

Whew! Getting a minute to write on here feels like being a runner on base finally getting to slide into home.

For those not into baseball or smaller boys' baseball that can be a long, long time. In fact, I have seen a kid on second base wait so long for the chance to come to run that he has actually started finishing an assignment from school.
Thus suffering amnesia and not realizing school has let out for the year.

Where was I? Oh, glad to be home, writing on my lap top. Which has been acting funny again. It enjoys research and, apparently, it wanders into blogs and articles that are Padre's equivalent to going to bars.

The other day it just went blank, overheated. I got a bit concerned, like any parent. And when it shut off I rebooted it and initiated a scan. Then it asked for something which is like asking for the keys to a parent's refurbished, Chevy Truck.

Since my computer is a teenager, it was bound to take that truck and get in a fender bender. Or on a bender.

5 a.m.

Me: Why is it asking me this question? Oh no. I better ask Padre.

Padre: sleeping.

Me: "Padre my computer went somewhere last night and is trying to sneak back in the house as if nothing happened."

Padre: "What? How often do you scan it?"

Me: "Scan it? You mean the Full scan, or the not so full one?"

Padre: "Ya, know..... First of all, get out of flopbott and see if it is the spywear we put on it. This is the time of day when I don't have to do this sort of thing like I do on my job day in and day out....."

as his voice trailed off.

Me: "It is, it is the computer's licensed and worthy scan."

P: "Well, then my first initial thought is to not do what it is requesting. I think it has a bug again."


I took my computer and gave it a talking to. And stayed on floptbott for a second. Or hours.

And my topic? Something that made me laugh. Ah, yes- white legs.

May and June usually mean the first days that legs come out of their cabins after a long snowstorm in which they experienced cabin fever; they are timid. Or excited. They can't wait to throw on shorts and a pair keds and ride their cruiser.

Owner's fail to put on sunscreen because it's Idaho- surely an overcast will come or some snow and hail and the time in the sun is minimal. Except for that enticing hot summer day when it is super hot and the virgin white legs head out all day with out a thought to the sunscreen that their parent's lathered on greasy white sunblock that made all toe headed children look like albinos.

This blog has been interrupted! It has been caught tramping around and is being sent to TIME OUT!

Saturday, June 21, 2014

Jakey- Another dog Tale

(Lawrence Pretended Not to Notice- a painting by James C. Christensen,)
*When the artist asked a group of children what they thought the picture meant, one girl raised her hand and said it meant you have to ask your mom first before you bring a pet home! He told her she was right on!- From the book of his works entitled:
 'The Passage of Faith.
Well, when you happen to enjoy talking with people and learning about their lives, you find out really good dog stories.

It just happens. Originally it was due to kids bringing a stray home before asking but I am seeing a trend that has shifted and that people are getting their pets in different ways these days; buying them.
(How would we have asked first? The dog would have strayed into the next neighborhood and we'd have had to put up lost dog signs before we'd even met and learned about its likes and dislikes.)

So, people have dogs greater numbers these days and they love their dogs; their life story is intertwined with their pet(s). They even breed their dogs so that others, who like their dog so much, can have one of the brood.

 Padre had let us have dogs like an adult would let a baby have a sip or taste of something from the dinner table before they were weaned; it just whetted our pet palette. So I don't have a lot of continuity of dog stories.

So I got to know another dog- and much like my favorite author, who worked the English country side as a veterinarian, I found myself thinking of  the dog, Tricky Woo. The famous dog who would send James letters and even party invitations instead of the owner's name to the events, and James would attend them.

He also had a slew of pictures of Tricky Woo  put up on his fridge. Actually, I don't know where he put the pictures but Tricky signed all of them on the bottom corner like a famous star would autograph their picture. Or a baseball.

Friends of mine lived in England and every day they walked they encountered people with their dogs. Because they were serving a mission, they weren't able to get a dog. And they often would have the dogs bark at them. She felt it wasn't because they were strangers, but that the dogs were yelling at them for not having their own pet to walk. A sort of pro pet stance you could say.

So, across the pond, it seems that they have pets on a larger scale than we do. Or it's just that you notice more dogs when you actually exercise.  We could actually have pets on the same scale but they get to walk them around in a lush country side and we let ours tear up backyards and fore-go the walks so we can watch soccer.

 Unlike Tricky-Woo, Jakey did not have flopbotting going on but he did have some major medical problems and had to see a Vet. My new friend is quite smart and got second and a third opinion on Jakey's medical diagnosis.

As Jakey's story unraveled, I could  tell that we had a lot in common. From many doctor appts. to  being anemic and even prednisone! This is quite common as I am finding out- pet owners spending a lot of time finding the right doctor for their loved one. Oh, and prednisone. Great inflammatory band aid.

However, and I share this with you Readers with my friend's permission- Jakey had to have a blood transfusion. Yes, a blood transfusion. At this point in the conversation I had to pause.

ME: A Blood Transfusion?

She apologized and confirmed: "Yes, a blood transfusion."

 I pictured in my mind the infusion rooms of the many hospitals and infusion centers I have been in. I pictured Jakey there , laying back in a hospital bed with his arm up connected to an IV, a blood pressure cuff wrapped around his arm and his paw limply open, as they delivered the life saving blood.

Which makes me wonder for the first time,
do dog's have blood banks?

Do dogs go into the Red Cross and give blood on a regular basis like Padre? And if so, do they get patches, pins, and the ultimate- a T-shirt- telling the Pet World:

"I gave blood."


Do dogs trial meds like we do in order to advance medicine? Do they have shampoo that isn't tested on people?  And that made me wonder if they have to sign up for medical and dental insurance and how expensive that could run a dog.

The picture of a dog navigating the medical world  made me laugh and I had to apologize to Jakey's owner. She, of course, said it was okay and had even apologetically told me about the efforts she went to in order to prolong her dog's life and felt bad for the fact that it might diminish the importance of my own plight.

(on the contrary.)

Unfortunately, despite the top notch medical treatment, Jakey died.

 (Well, Jakey was actually put to sleep.)
 I inquired how long the medical treaments had extended Jakey's life. Sadly it was only a month. However, Jakey's owner felt it was worth every penny.

The other day, J. hollered to me: "Mom, I am facing my fears and gonna put in Marley and Me!"
Thinking that his fear must have been about death I went in there and asked him if this was why he never wanted to watch the movie with me.

J: "Nah, it actually is the fact that Marley's owners are both writers and had to live in a bad part of town until their careers took off."

ME: "Oh."

Now I can't watch the movie.

(Disclaimer- all names have been unchanged. Jakey is a real dog. However, J. did have another reason for not enjoying Marley and Me.... can you guess what it is? It isn't what one would think! Which goes to show that you never know what goes on in a kid's head. )

Monday, June 16, 2014

Warning! Door to Indoor Salespeople

Summertime is when the door to door Salespeople blossom.

Usually I take in stride the vacuum sales persons that jump out of a van toward the neighborhood entrance, or the earnest book sales lady, and the super duper cleaner that does everything but BBQ your steaks.

This year another breed was born. Sitting in the living room the salesperson was talking out on the yard as if he were a family member and we were mid-sentence of a conversation. Before I knew it, he was opening the door because I had engaged- meaning I opened my mouth and uttered something and he took that as a: "Come on In!"

This person wasn't a family member or neighbor- but a complete stranger with a ball cap on.

What the... I got outta my chair and
I literally had to tell him to step back and out of the house.
He said: "Yes, Ma'am."

 I wasn't in the mood and hollered for Padre to listen to the sphill because the whole thing seemed.. odd.

Since there have been some cool breezes we Idahoans like to open the door and just have the screen let in that nice coolness that takes a hot room and makes it enjoyable to sit in.
Now that big black door is LOCKED.
No more comfy casual neighborhood.

 I think the conversation Padre had with the overzealous salesman (who still tried to talk to me through the screen once I had him out, went like this:

Padre: "I'm not interested."

Guy: "You don't know what I am even selling!"

Padre: "I don't care."

And that pretty much sums up the tutorial. Except I just had another reminder from him at breakfast.
I told him I had locked the information in the brain vault and for good measure would blog about it so as to help warn the rest of you.

Good luck! And remember- don't engage!

Saturday, June 7, 2014

late library book

Flopbott is back on the blog shelf.

For awhile I needed to read it- by myself. And, like all my checked out library books, I haven't gotten it back to you Readers! Ban libraries if you are sick cause those fees can stack up. Anything above five bucks made me cringe and I had to turn to just buying them or borrowing.

You will have to fine me because I have no excuse. But I can't afford to not write here as it helps my writing as a whole I have noticed.

Update on J.- he concluded another chapter in his elementary history that he will refer to for the rest of his life. Bit solemn as this year he had his favorite teacher.

"He just got it."

is what J. says about him. And so it goes; we have to move onward and

upward. Which is what I guess I am doing at the time; progressing. And I forgot that this was a good outlet for others and myself to do that on the Crohns journey as well as just life.

And the burning in my back right now is keeping me up and turning to my writing here.

Tonight is the Eve of Summer, as J. put it and he tried to milk as much out of a late night as he could with Swimmer's Ear. - A topic that I googled way too much about and learned enough ear anatomy to at least sell hearing aids. Or work as a secretary in an Ear, Nose, & Throat office.

Which gives me a flash back to a surgery done at the U by a really good looking ENT. - Even the married nurses all called him handsome because he was truly movie star good looking. Tall, dark hair, perfect face. Married. whew. Cause you don't want someone that good looking being single while the scope goes up your nose and suddenly nose hair is really disgusting and you feel apologetic for it. (he told me I needed it so not to go and have it lazered off before my surgery.)

Garden update: Padre tilled. For me. I think. Planted only a few things and really gave them some space for weeds to grow in between. Which I am hoping that the small tiller, praying mantis device will work on killing any big weeds.

Some cute yellow/orange and periwinkle colored peonies are amongst some other flowers out front. I will have to rely on the seeds from last year's sunflowers to dot the garden. The lilacs came on around Memorial Day weekend and smelled lovely mixed with the honeysuckle that bloomed at the end of the lilac's season.

J. can grab a hummingbird out of mid air and look it over. Which wigs me out. But he sets it free. Catch and Release motto for hummingbirds here!

The smells were delicious there for awhile.Occassionally cracking the window at night would fill our rooms with enough allergies to make all of our eyes puffy and sinuses inflammed that we couldn't smell the scents anymore.

 Did I mention I can't camp anymore.? Well, I did. And it is painful. So I have decided that I am a Crohns Camper. Which is a camper that camps in a hotel. Or her home.

J., on the other hand, can not wait to get scrappy in the bear and wolf infested wilderness. I'm excited for him. Life is exciting at this stage he is in. He has learned enough skills that he can pretty much handle a back yard campout without waking me up.

Since I am that kind of camper we have had to keep our outings and date nights close to home. Date nights usually consist of looking at sports equipment with J. Which is fine. I wonder, however, if the salespeople wonder what on earth a potato thinks she is doing looking at bats. I wish I could just tell them I like the smell of baseball gloves and take J.'s stats mentally for after game replays.

It is crazy windy whenever they play it seems so I have had to grit my teeth a few times and have resorted to sitting in the car. For some reason baseball is really nostalgic of our nation's history for me. - You can't beat watching a group of boys hanging their hands on the chain linked fences and spitting soggy, uneaten sunflower seeds.

Watching them sit on the bench, their numbers out of order as they wait to bat.... I hope my little leaguers from years past have good memories. Dang, I wish I could coach. I feel such guilt about not getting some young kids whose names are at the Rec. and haven't been "chosen" for a team.

I hope that J. will do that- coach kids that aren't the all stars but need an experience that only a volunteer can give. Maybe that's all that will be able to happen since our economy is like it is?
And by the time J. is in HS, the cost to play will be through the roof.

heck, by then even the NBA will have to fly themselves to games.

I gotta start putting up pics again. That helped me to see the little things in life to be grateful for.
Best Memory in the last month: Bear Lake and reading on our backs in a cemetary filled with the prettiest flowers I've ever seen. (A place called Edward's in Logan, I believe is where a lot of them came from that were around my Grandparent's headstones. AMAZING.)

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