Letter to the Edges of the Galaxy

There is no standout headline for this day, so I will spew randomness by sending a letter to the universe.

Dear All-Who-Float-In-The-Ether,

It was a beautiful sunny day here in Salt Lake City.  I should have been out running in it, but I had an unfortunate nap-attack.  AGAIN!  What is up with me?!  Have I been bitten by a tse-tse fly?  Sometimes, when I feel like making excuses, I tell myself that I am mentally tired from all the changes in my life,and that I am more tired from stress and single parenting than I would like to admit.  Or maybe I have become unbelievably lazy!  That is probably closer to the truth.

I'm sitting here listening to The Kinks on Radio Paradise.  I should really send a message to my cousin Andrew on Facebook and thank him for posting the Radio Paradise link.  This is my new music-expansion strategy.  

My head aches a little because (this is embarrassing) I cried so copiously at the movie Warhorse today. Yes, Budget Babe actually took her kids to a new-release movie.  I try to stick to my guns about only seeing movies once they get to the dollar theater; but Sara loved this book, and has been patiently waiting to see the film for months.  I decided not to make her suffer.  I HATE crying at movies.  Especially schmaltzy, sentimental movies.  I always feel like I have lost some sort of contest of wills.  "They are just trying to manipulate my emotions!  Steven Spielberg wants me to cry.  Must!  Not!  Give!  In!"  Yet I do.  I didn't cry when my father died, but I balled my head off at Charlotte's Web?!?  (Sigh!)  Go figure.  Anyhow, I try to draw attention away from the fact that I have been crying by accusing others.  Sara just shrugged and said it didn't make her cry much because she already knew the story.  Nate denied at first, then said that he got a tiny bit of sugar from his Sour Patch Kids in his eyes and that made them water.

The best part of today was just the general feeling of well-being that I had while cooking supper.  There was a voice mail from Chuck waiting for me after I got home from the movies.  Just called to hear how the movie was; but his voice sounded so loving and sweet to me that I saved the message for my future listening pleasure. I got started on a new recipe:  mushroom lasagna.  It called for half a cup of white wine, so I went to the liquor store yesterday and found a bottle of Berringer Chenin Blanc on sale. Chenin Blanc and Vouvray are my two favorite white wines, and I have not had even a glass of white since I moved out of Swiss Oaks.  I opened the bottle of Berringer and started cooking.  Sara put on first Rusted Root, then ABBA (both excellent groups to cook/dance to, especially if you are also imbibing).  The mushrooms smelled spectacular, sauteed with shallots and garlic.  Chuck called and found my tipsiness amusing.  Sara interrupted my conversation with him to ask whether he could come for dinner.  I extended the invitation, but it was already kind of late and he had eaten.  Tomorrow night.  He told me that it made him feel happy that Sara asked for him.  Sometimes, we get an hour of perfect grace.  That was mine.  Could it be that I am finally learning to live in the moment?

The worst part of today was disciplining Nate for saying "fuck".  He said it yesterday while telling about something his teacher had done that made him mad.  I took his Nintendo away for 24 hours.  He hadn't had it back in his possession for two hours before he said "fuck" at Sara and I had to take it away from him again.  Loud was the wailing, the door slamming, the "I hate you"s.  I ignored this and started our evening read-aloud routine with Sara in my room.  After a while, Sara went to get the AA Milne poetry books and made a few requests.  While I was reading "King John's Christmas", I heard the kids' bedroom door opening.  As I continued reading, I heard him creeping closer and closer, then requesting a poem as if he hadn't been screaming at me 20 minutes earlier.  Ah, well.  That's how he rolls.

Tomorrow...  What's on my plate? Our Adult Education Floor Manager, Brittany, will have her LDS Missionary Farewell at her ward in South Jordan.  I will go to that and say good bye to her before she heads out for a year and a half in Taiwan.  I'm going to make (and blog) a new recipe:  Grapefruit Pound Cake. Check this out! 

I left my tube pan behind at Swiss Oaks and was a bit dismayed to find that I need one for Grapefruit Pound Cake.  I looked at them at the supermarket.  $20!  "FUUUU..."  I mean, "Darn it!"  Imagine my delight when I found this one at the thrift store for only $2.  A savings of $18!  Precisely the amount that I spent at the movies.     

Tomorrow, Chuck will come for supper and we will make omelets, I think.  Maybe a DVD?  Maybe a few games of Hearts?  I want to run tomorrow.  Clean house.  Write a grant proposal.  Read my book?  NOT nap?

I will end this very unfocused vignette with a question from Plinky:

What do you wish you spent more time doing?

Wow.  For me, that's huge. 

1. Reading!  If only I had about two hours a day just for reading.  That would be heavenly.
2. Making music.  Here, in my present incarnation, that means practicing guitar.  Someday soon, I hope to be reunited with my piano.
3. Writing curriculum for my students.
4. Playing outside.
5. Hanging out with people, having fun conversations.  With some Chenin Blanc. And mushroom lasagna.  I can't wait to make it again.

Anybody out there?  Not so many these days.  I need to get out and read my friends' blogs. I haven't been reaching out and making contact lately,and I want to. 

6.  Read more blogs and communicate more with my blog-buddies. 

Wanna post in the comment section about things you wish you spent more time doing?  Share please.

Snail Mail

When life gets a little bit sucky around here in my brick bungalow paradise, I sometimes get discouraged by blogging.  I CAN'T WAIT to move forward to the point that I can relay the humorous side of single-girl life.  I am expecting some surprises.  (Hmmm... That's a little oxymoronic...)  Right now, it's all yuck.  What to write about when my life is a steaming heap of day-old possum innards?

I'm a member of this little thing called "Plinky".  Plinky sends prompts and suggestions to writers who want to experiment with different topics.  I have a vast collection of these now, because I never use them:  my life is giving me abundant material just now.  But I'd love to rest from all the emotion for a short interval, and this one is pretty light-weight. 

"What was the last real letter you received in the mail?"

I disqualified Christmas letters. So, would you believe that the last social letter I got was in 2006?!?  From Dad, who was 75 at the time.  He was such a Luddite. No computer in the house, so no e-mail.  I saved it - here it is.

9/6/06
Dear Simon, Kate, Sara and Nate,


Adventure Central checking in:  the conquest of Whitney, Labor Day weekend 2006.

No permits available for the regular "tourist trail", but we could get a last minute permit for the "Mountaineer's Route" - so we did it (PMP [that's Dad], Jerry Hershman [his best buddy from medical school - late Triassic Period], Dan and Jeff Hershman [Jerry's sons, who are about my age, and who often find themselves hauling their asses up trails with Dad and Jerry]). There is no real constructed trail with switchbacks, etc...  An indistinct path (or paths) that will get you to the top, following cairns, rock, gravel and dust.  We camped first night at Boy Scout Lake, 2000 ft. up from parking lot; next day another 2000 ft. up to Iceberg Lake, elevation 12,000 feet.  Third day up to summit - we scrambled up rocks & gravel to the "Notch"  Then Dan had us rope up while we climbed the last 1000 ft. up on big rocks and cliffs.  Hand holds, looking for foot holds (don't look down!).  After the steep rock, all we had to do was walk up to the summit, meet the hikers who came up the real trail.  Coming down was hardest for me.  Dan thought I might not make the 4000 ft. descent from Iceberg Lake.  First he took my sleeping bag & finally just strapped my whole orange pack onto his (total: 60 lbs.).  My thigh muscles were like rubber bands at the bottom.  3 days to recover!  But we all survived the mountaineer's route!

Jerry H. and I have made a solemn oath:  no more mountains!  How about the beach next time?

We had company from some climbers from Belarus (White Russia).  They went up the steep east face.

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

So, you have to put a new roof on your house!  Must have been quite a storm!  Just put a blue tarp over the holes - that's the Alaska way.

Everybody is back in school?  Routine getting settled in, I trust?

Your peaches should be in season if not damaged by the wind storm.

Other news:

Gilman Ness died of cancer.

Badgers and Packers just getting started.

Brewers in decline!!

Next adventure:  in a few weeks we embark on Canadian train at Winnipeg - ride to Jasper - get off for four days, then on to Vancouver for a week then ride the luxury train back to Winnipeg & drive home.  No phone calls, no tasks except eating a lot.

Sara & Nate - here's a picture of me climbing the rocks.

Yeah, I know:  Dad is making more appearances than usual in the blog these days. Coincidence, and a lucky one. I have just remembered that I did get a letter a couple of months ago from Evelyn Jahnke.  She played the role of grandmother to me when I was a kid.  I didn't save that letter, though.  Just as well.  You would have had to read all about every single thing she entered in the county fair last summer. 

I saved this letter because I was proud of Dad for taking a challenging route at his age, coming from the much lower elevation of Wisconsin.  My quads would have been pretty rubbery as well. Mom was pissed, though.  Squawk, squawk!  "He could BARELY WALK when he got off the plane!  He and Jerry are ridiculous.  They act like they're....60 or something!  One of these days he's going to keel over and die on some trail."  That was his stated plan.  No wonder he didn't leave an advance directive.

Miss you, Dad.  I'll be up at the cottage in a few days.  Yes, the family has suggested that I go where everybody goes when (as Charlie says) "it hits the fan", and some serious R&R is called for.  Plus Charlie wants someone to get the raking done.  I plan to build a fire down on the point. I will lie on the sand and roast a sausage on a stick.  I'll drink a beer for you.