Eight Cow Wife

I just realized I didn't blog about my anniversary--what we did. First, well, last, but this is so cool, I learned how to text message and spent the ride home playing with Bill's phone. Then I spent the next week text messaging the only child of mine who would answer me. It's quite fun and now I am like a teenager totally ignoring people around me as I click with my thumbs.

When Bill and I got engaged, I didn't get a diamond. I wanted one--I never had one in my first marriage--but we were poor and had the kids and other considerations. I kept hoping he'd value me enough to go into debt to get one, but he listened to me when I said never mind. So I didn't get one and I held it against him.

About five years after we got married, he gave me a pair of tiny diamond earrings. When I saw that box, I was thrilled, thinking it was finally a diamond. I tried not to show my disappointment. When I turned forty, he gave me a beautiful diamond necklace. I love it, but my resentment festered because I am that way.

While I held it against him for not getting me one, though, I never thought I really deserved it. I never thought I was a normal girl or even one anyone should marry, let alone gift with a beautiful ring. My inferiority complex kept me in a prison as I went back and forth, resenting him and feeling sorry for myself, then berating myself as unworthy, then feeling even sorrier for myself because I hated myself.

Am I a nutjob or what? Well, this year he did it. He bought me a beautiful anniversary ring, small and simple with shiny diamonds, exactly what I would want.

He cried when he gave it to me, I was in shock, but you guys, you wouldn't believe how it has changed our relationship. It just feels more official. I feel more valuable.

I always chastised myself for being materialistic in wanting that ring. And I got after Sarah because she felt Nicolas could have done better than the pawn shop diamond he got her (the stone kept falling out and now it's lost) and, when she couldn't wear her ring because of the aforementioned falling out of the diamone, I'm the one who put the bug in Nick's ear to buy her a band. A $30 band from Wal-Mart.

I don't think Sarah will feel good about herself until Nick puts a real ring on her finger. I don't want to make anybody feel bad here, but for heaven's sake, Bill and I wasted 25 years feeling bad about something that he could have fixed in the first place with a $500 ring. It seems a cheap trade off.

Women have tender feelings. These things mean a heck of a lot more than a material possession.

Welfare Mom

My mother was a welfare mom. We still went hungry but she always had booze and cigarettes. I sort of grew up embarrassed and a bad feeling towards welfare moms.

But I'm having second thoughts. I'm thinking "mom" is the important word here.

My daughter-in-law, who I've griped about to the heavens has moved to our area with my four grandchildren. She gets some child support from my stepson, but I'm not sure how much or how consistent he is, as we are mostly estranged.

She's working at Albertson's in their pharmacy from 11 am to 9 pm, making something like $11 an hour. She's had a tough time getting babysitters for that late at night. I have the three oldest kids on Wednesdays after school and her foster family helps out quite a bit, but it's still a dodgy proposition.

The state will pay for her babysitter, approximately $2000 a month. But they will not pay her $2000 a month to stay home with her kids.

That just doesn't make sense to me. It seems like it would benefit society for her to be home, assuming she's not drunk out of her gourd like my mother or stoned, etc. She's got her faults, but those kids would be better off with their mother.

In this case and others like it, forcing them to work defeats the purpose and tends to break up the family even more.

My marriage Part 2

Well, I didn't realize I was sounding so negative in my prior post. I guess I need to clarify a couple of things. First of all, Bill would disagree that he didn't love me. In fact, he often does :). I will say, "no, you didn't." And he will say, "I did, too. It was just a hard adjustment."

Tell me about it. I went from a free and easy life with one child to three children and a husband. I'd only needed to work part time and I was more of a bachelor than Bill was. We ate macaroni and cheese. He canned his own tomatoes, did his ironing and kept a spotless house. He dated one other woman besides me. I had a little black book.

When I was happy, I was very happy. We both agree that when it's good between us, it's excellent. But when we aren't getting along (think Felix and Oscar), it's pretty bad. But despite the terrible times, we've always had a spark. Sex is not to be underestimated.

I will now go on with the story of my marriage. Looking back, I don't know how I survived four kids. I always had a couple of callings, worked in the PTA, bottled all the vegetables we ate, ground the flour that made the bread we ate, cooked, cleaned, and washed. I trucked kids to baseball, dance lessons, piano lessons, scout activities. I did birthday parties, Christmas, Easter, and on and on.

I remember when the kids would get sick and we couldn't seem to shake the flu, I would strip the beds and wash blankets, spreads, mattress covers, everything. Looking back, I worked my tail off. Oh, and I managed the finances, paying all the bills and doing the shopping.

Heck it's no wonder I was a nutjob.

Now when I have my four grandkids overnight, I have to rest for a week.

My heart just goes out to you young mothers. Honestly.

Bill, despite his devotion to the gospel, was less than supportive about family home evenings (which we had faithfully until James died and I lost all faith in these programs--and myself) and scripture reading and prayers. He is a task oriented person. He's definitely the one you want around if something needs doing.

However, as men go, he was probably better than a lot of men. He would rock the kids at night, cook, and he's always good for washing dishes.

The middle years of our marriage, looking back, were simply consumed with surviving parenthood and hoping our kids would survive as well. Being a blended family, we had unique challenges in his ex-wife and her influence against what we were trying to instill in the kids. Bill and James never got along. It was more my fault than either of them. Long story for another day.

Now, Sarah got married a year and a half ago. After the year of me going kind of crazy with menopause and adjusting to being alone in the house with my husband, we are coming to another place in our life.

He's getting to be my best friend. Don't tell him I said that in case I ever hate him and change my mind.

But really, life is so different without kids in the house. We have more money. It's quiet. We are forced to get to know each other and appreciate each other, perhaps for the first time in our lives.

Young people who marry have at least nine months together to get to know each other, to bond, and solidify their commitment. We didn't have that, so we're sort of backwards. It's sort of peaceful and pleasant now.

I can see his sterling qualities. And he's nicer to me. Thank God kids leave home.

As for my wish that I'd been one of God's smarter children and chosen to stay in heaven, I'm still convinced that's the way to go. Marriage is only one hardship of mortality. I really don't believe anybody told me mortality was mostly hard. I think I got sold on the body, becoming like Heavenly Father, "it'll only be a minute out of eternity" that sort of sales tactics. Somebody up there is a very good salesman. I should have read the fine print.

My marriage Part 1 of 2

As I posted before, Bill and I have been married 25 years. This is a total miracle. Also Bill isn't a quitter. I am. If it were up to me, we'd have been divorced the first year.

Bill didn't love me when we got married. I wasn't his type at all, I was the total opposite of his former wife and it took him some time to stop trying to re-make me in her image. I felt I was totally out-classed by both of them and I allowed this for awhile before my inner nutjob came out and I began to regularly rip his face off.

We met on a blind date-set up by my bishop, no less. I was dating someone else quite seriously and I didn't want to go out with Bill. My bishop said, "I'm not asking you to marry the guy. He's just divorced and I want to fix him up with a date." I grudgingly agreed to go out with him.

You guys, he was so hot, tall, dark, and handsome with a deep voice and a commanding air. He spent our first date talking about his ex-wife (who'd cheated on him and left him with their children). I figured he was too "pretty" and on the rebound and trouble and when he asked me out again, I said no. Also, I was almost engaged to somebody else.

But I broke up with the other guy (long story) and I needed a date for this ward thing. So I called Bill, totally blase about it and asked him to go. We went out a couple of times and the other guy was killed in a terrible accident. That was a rough time in my life. But Bill and I bonded.

He seemed to really like me, but I think it was all physical as I look back on it. He proposed about six weeks after we began dating in earnest. I must confess that I wasn't really in love with him, either. He was handsome and rich (I thought, what a joke :) and active in the church. He seemed perfect.

We did have an idyllic six weeks of engagement and a wonderful honeymoon. Everything ended when we had to come home and take care of three kids and deal with the laundry and bills. And he realized he wasn't married to his ex-wife anymore and I realized I wasn't married to Jesus reincarnated.

I was prettier than she was but not as organized. Not as good a cook or housewife. I drove him crazy with my emotional demands. He thought now that he had a babysitter all he had to do was go to work and bowhunting. And bowling and play poker with his friends.

This is sort of funny, but he gets mixed up about "our song." He still thinks it was "You Are the Sunshine of My Life" which was his and Julie's song. Every once in awhile he will say "you are the sunshine of my life." I reminded him once that was Julie's song, but he's old and senile now, so I just look at him and sort of smile and think "I married a moron who only looks like Gregory Peck."

It was rough for the first, oh, 24 1/2 years. LOL. I threw him out regularly the first two years, had a total breakdown from exhaustion and stress. Through it all, I cooked and bottled and stretched the few dollars we had to clothe the kids and provide them with lessons and bikes.

But I can honestly say that, while I've been legally married for 25 years, I've only been happily married, oh--maybe six months. That would be the first month, this last month, and a day here and there in between. I won't know if we had a good marriage till we're both dead and can look back and see if it worked after all.

And I still often think if I had to do it over again, I'd be a ministering angel to all you guys and skip all the grief of mortality.

Don't ever grab a lady's purse in Cedar City

I was walking into the grocery store last year (don't read this if I already posted on it and forgot) when a lady suddenly screamed and shouted, "he took my purse!" I looked up to see twenty or thirty people chase this guy down and one tackled him, bringing him down hard.

Then they piled on top of him so he couldn't get away. I walked over and yelled, "you're going to hurt him, you guys!" I was seriously worried.

The cops got there right away, rescued him, and the lady got her purse back. They took him to jail. He was a runaway from Pennsylvania. The paper wrote about it.

I think it's quite funny how that kid almost got killed purse snatching in Utah. Bet he never does that again.

Rowan

Rowan, my six year old granddaughter, is a pistol. She never stops talking and is very aware of her person-hood. She's funny, too, we get each other's jokes and we laugh a lot. I spanked her the other day because, contrary to my instructions, she banged on the door where her sister was sleeping and woke her up. Well, I swatted her once. Boy, did she get mad. She was taking her toys and going home.

A couple of weeks ago, she was over here, sitting in her little rocking chair watching some childrens show on TV. I was cooking in the kitchen and I could hear a lady on the show saying, "nobody's perfect, and that's okay!"

Rowan got up and came in the kitchen, looking very disgusted. She said, "Grandma, I don't like that show. That lady said we're not perfect and I know I'm perfect."

I said, "Sweetheart, nobody's perfect."

She declared, "well, I am!"

Twenty-five years

When I was a little girl, I used to eavesdrop on adult conversations, my grandparents quiet murmuring as my grandma got my grandpa off to work, the good smell of coffee in the air, my mom and her friends gossiping and laughing. I longed to be able to have conversations where I could say, "remember 20 years ago when. . .?" Now I can. Twenty years can go by in a blink of an eye. In fact, the older I get, the more time flies. It's cliche, maybe, but it's true.

It seems like yesterday that Bill and I met and fell in love. What fools we were. He thought I was a cute, sweet girl, who would worship him forever. He didn't know that I would say up all night holding my eyelids open to read a book. He didn't know that I am the laziest person on the planet and I avoid the outdoors like the plague. He didn't know that I would fight him to the death over a recipe or nag him to take wood to the neighbor. And nag him to do it again.

I didn't know he was a big jerk. LOL, not really. I thought he was the perfect man. I fell for that pretty face. I didn't know he would get up at 4 in the morning, starting in April and practice for the bow hunt, ignoring the rest of us for months at a time. Then gardening season would come and he would continue ignoring us. I didn't know he had a temper like a bad thunderstorm or that he was the cheapest man on earth.

But, then, he didn't know I would open his eyes to the rest of the world through reading. He didn't know that he would be blessed by the relationships that would come into his life as he served others. He didn't know, couldn't know, that my emphasis on family would bring his oldest children back into his life and bless him with the joy of a close relationship with his grandchildren. He didn't know that when the chips were down for him, I would be there.

And I didn't know that he never gives up. He wouldn't let our marriage fall by the wayside. He has an inner strength I never dreamed of as he's been there, strong (and silent, yep) for our kids as they've struggled. I didn't know he would be so strong when Jared got cancer, holding his grown son in his arms as they both cried and vowed to fight it. I didn't know he was a total weenie for animals and little kids.

Twenty-five years. How did that happen? March 6, 2006, we will be off celebrating somewhere, it's a surprise for me and no one will tell me. Here's to another twenty-five.

Plus I've figured out how to crop

Toby & Shelby: guess who's the dangerous one.



Jessie's mermaid picture which is on the alphabet blocks at Primary Children's. My child is a famous person.

Now I wish it were faster. . .

That's pretty much all I have to say. I am having so much fun.

I have joined my sister to E Harmony and LDS Singles. I plan to pick the guys, too, because despite the fact that she's kind of a battle axe, she's very gullible about men. So I will be the one to tell them "hit the road, Jack" if anything seems out of line.

LDS singles is interesting because they post tons of pictures, unlike E Harmony. Although it costs.

I've joined Classmates.com and listed every school (almost) that I went to. Which why doesn't anyone post their pictures? I want to see what my old boyfriend looks like now.

I just wish it would go faster. It's hard to blog and surf the web and keep up with e-mail and play hearts all at the same time.

I have DSL!

I got DSL yesterday. I've been plodding along on dial-up, where it takes a half hour to complete a search. This is downtown, you guys.

Bill and Sarah wouldn't use my computer because it was so slow.

I am having a blast with it, too, all over the planet looking for stuff. I've been playing Who Wants to be a Millionaire on-line (did you know JFK went to Stanford?) and checking out my netflix queue and reading the Drudge report.

And it doesn't cost more because I bundled on Qwest. And guess what, we have satellite with 185 channels, too! Which I think 60's music is the best music. I love the travel and food channels and animal planet. There is actually a whole channel devoted to gay Mormons which I haven't watched.

This is all very exciting.

My garbage can is my new best friend

I am a pat rack. Uh. rat pack. Strike that. Reverse it. I save stuff just in case and if somebody I loved blows their nose, I frame the tissue. As a consequence, we have a house crammed with junk.

Lately, I have been feeling much better and going through stuff and hauling out bags of garbage. And it is garbage. As I am going through old drawers and find ragged clothes, I say to myself, "make the garbage can your friend, this has filled the measure of its creation" and I toss it. It is working for my messed up psyche and the house is much more organized and clean. It also smells better, not that old grandma moldy smell.

So, at the risk of offending the environmentalists (well, recycle as much as possible), I would like to say to you, meet your new friend, the garbage can.

Sarah came crying home to Mom.

I need advice. Real advice.

Sarah came home a couple of days ago upset with Nicolas. No immorality, no abuse, or addiction problems. Long story. Also she might not want me to post it on my blog.

What I need to know is how far should I go in advice/comfort? First of all, I adore Nicolas. So that's not an issue. But they are considering a move which will entail some debt and we are nervous about it. I sort of said as much to her and let it go. We'll help them as much as we can.

I have to be careful, because if I make a suggestion, she takes it as an order and gets mad or decides she has to obey. I have to always add the caveat "you don't have to do this, just a thought."

But Bill wants to sit her down and really go through the financial implications of their decision. Which makes me nervous.

What would you guys do?

You've Got to Read This Book!

That's the title of a book I'm reading now by Jack Canfield, the creater of the Chicken Soup series. A bunch of famous and rich people tell the book that changed their lives. It got me to thinking.

The book that changed my life was True Story magazine, anybody remember them? My mom used to read them and leave them laying around. I guess she was hungry for romance.

When I was seven, I had already gone to four schools and lived in, I think five towns. Somewhere I'd learned phonics. I was bored one day, leaning against the radio where we spent much of our time being entertained and I picked up my mom's magazine. I thought since I knew the sound each letter made, I could sound out the words.

I did. By the end of the year, I was checking out big books from the library and I'd found my salvation from the world of degradation and poverty we lived in.

True Story is not an appropriate magazine for a seven-year-old. But it saved me.

What book changed your life?

The Laughing Hyenna(Guest Post by Barb)

Shortly after starting at my current I company, I sat a reserved position with the name of someone who I had gone to school with starting in the first grade. I pondered leaving a note signed, "The laughing hyenna was here." I wasn't quite sure if she was one in the same or if she would even remember that nickname that she called me sometimes in first grade. I don't know if it was here or Danny who gave it to me, but I think they both liked to say it. She said that the name fit as I laughed just like the hyennas at the zoo.

When I finally saw someone occupying the desk that matched a mental image of what my friend may look like, I confronted her to find out if she were my friend from grade school who I last saw at age twelve. She was. She said she would not have recognized me as my hair is a much darker blonde. I access memories quite easily of first grade and grade school in general and running into her may make what I call my Norman Rockwell years more concrete. Home life and school were great in those years. My school was a small Catholic school with a small town feel.

My first grade teacher was a nun with dark brown hair and very pale skin. She wore dark rimmed glasses that were not very stylish but probably about the norm for the 70's. I have little sound bites of her and my class. My family thinks I remember everything. Of course, that is not true. But there is so much that I recollect from first grade that may equal my memories in a given year in high school.

One day before the school day started, I was walking around with jerking movements acting like I was a robot or something thereabouts. Sister let me do it for a time and then said it was time to wind down as the school day would be starting. I followed her cue and said my batteries were running out. Later, I would read a report card with her comments from first grade where she wrote about my coming out of a shell. I don't remember being in a shell. Perhaps I was very observational without talking at times until I got to know people, which is different than being shy.

The boy's plaid pants that my mom had me wear under my uniform to keep my legs warm on a walk on a cold winter morning were the subject of conversation one school day. The fact that they were boys pants was pointed out by one of my classmates. Sister started talking about hand-me-downs and how if you had an older brother that you may receive boys clothes. Wow, that was just like me. I felt special.

After randomly questioning us as to what we had for breakfast one morning and pointing out the food groups, sister said the french toast that my mom made would have all the groups if I had some fruit with it. After all, it is made with milk, eggs, and bread. She queried if I had orange juice. I thought I must have. I don't think I knew about food groups before that. I beamed at the new found knowledge of my healthy breakfast.

Sister had us students seated on the ground one day and she must have been reading a story. Danny who was my best friend in the class as we sat next to each other and talked a lot the easy conversations of youth. While seated on the ground, Danny scratched me out of the blue. I liked Danny, but I wanted him to know I would not take this. I promptly bit his arm. I am not sure if Danny's offence was seen by Sister. Mine did not pass her by. She asked if I had my rabbi shots? I am sure I looked dumbfounded as sarcasm was beyond me at that age. At that moment, our teacher's aide was there and I was ushered out of the room with her. The aide asked me why I bit Danny. I offered the oft repeated, "I dunno."

In my first grade mind, Sister had made one incredible mistake during the year. She had picked another students doll to be the baby Jesus. The event may had already come and gone, but I still wanted her to know how wrong she was. For show and tell, I took my newborn baby doll that could pass for a boy unlike the obvious girl looking doll chosen. I think I expected her to comment on what a perfect choice for the nativity my doll would be. The events of the day took a different course. I walked my doll around the room for other students to view. Questions of what can it do were made. This was the era of dolls that could eat and perhaps even craw. Sister came to my rescue in saying the doll was for loving.

This was the year I started reading first with sight and see flashcards and then easy readers. We practiced our addition. For music, we had rhythm sticks. During one music lesson, sister held my attention as she told the story behind the writing of "The Star Spangled Banner." They say your first grade experience sets the tone for your future school experience. I received a great start!

In Their Eyes(Guest Post by Barb)

I noticed such kindness in the eyes of one of my Sunbeam's fathers. I think at that moment he was holding his daughter and talking to me. I had seen him before but the kindness never really stuck me before. Maybe it was the covering that glasses provide that kept me from my initial observance. Intelligence is what we are often conditioned to find behind lenses. Those were very difficult days for me and the warmth found there was something that I took in with gratitude. I don't recall anything he ever said to me. I was very shy and probably said very little if anything to him.

About four years later, I would actively seek to stare into a Sunday School teacher's eyes. It was my third area in my mission field. That was the area that I would hit what was known as "the wall." I know what my trials were in the area but not exactly right at that time. I just remember feeling that if I stared into his eyes that it would help me to hang in there. Again, it was not about him or I having any type of friendship. It was not about having feelings for this man. I did not know him other than the fact that he seemed strong and nice. I don't think we ever had dinner at his home so he probably lived in the Elder's area. In addition, we only had very casual and limited contact. He did not seem uncomfortable to my knowledge. I just wanted something to lean on or hold onto when I was a shell. I gazed intently into his eyes as he taught trying to shut everything else out.

Several years later, I noticed the eyes of my professor during a lecture. I thought I may have detected his eyes watering. This professor seemed to ignore me in lectures never calling on me when I raised my hand. After my second test, he let me know how he thought I was so promising after the first one and was disappointed on my performance on the second. I think the moment when I encountered the humanity in his eyes was much later in the semester. In that moment, I saw more than a professor in front of me. I wondered what trials or sorrows he might have in his life that I do not think I ever considered. Through my sister, I would learn that he was diagnosed with dementia. I am not sure of the exact timing of diagnosis in regards to my class. Through his early stages of dementia, I thought how perhaps he would understand more what it was like for those who did not have his ability to recall trivia and data.

It was a few years after his diagnosis that I saw his by line in the alumni paper. I took that as a wonderful sign that he is still functioning well as he is able to organize his thoughts in a literary manner. I do not know if he felt connected to me as I tried to search his mind and heart as I looked into his eyes. Maybe, just maybe, I was a source of compassion or strength for him right when he needed it.

Kindness Goes a Long Way(Guest post by Barb)

He sat with me in silence. It was one of the acts of kindness that I recall with fondness to this day. I have had a few occassions through the years when I can be rather hyper. This was one such time. A group of Young Single Adults were talking about a trip they were planning to Utah. I do not know if I had thought about it before, but I know in that moment I felt like I really needed to go to Utah to visit some old companions. They said there was not room. I think I added something about riding in the trunk or on top of the car. I didn't think that seemed entirely far-fetched in my state of mind. It really was unrealistic for me to even think of such a thing. Going places was very hard for me by that point and I scarcely went to Church due to my condition. I did go to Young Single Adults and School, and Work(unless this was between jobs), and Institute. But it was hard as I have problems everywhere I go. I may have broken myself of the habit of asking people if something was safe that was racing through my mind at this time having asked one too many people who made me feel like I was a pain in my asking. Eventually, I would just stop going and that is probably for the best. Avoidance of going places is still a strategy that serves me well today in surviving.

Then I told the small group that it was okay that I understood that they were not my friends. I didn't mean anything buy it. I don't remember if they usually hung out together or such, but I was thinking that they must as they arranged to go to Utah together.I think the one man and the woman in turn said they were my friends. I kind of knew the one and was fairly good friends with his brother. I think I replied I did not know him and think I made some comment of like nature to the woman who I don't think I knew. She seemed nice. That young men said that I had an attitude. I promptly agreed in the moment with a complete lack of attitude in my acceptance of his pronouncment.

The other young man said he was my friend.(This is the one who would stay). He was in my ward and I do recall inviting him to an activity shortly after he came home from his mission. I think he really thanked me for letting me know. We would see each other at Church or Institute and he was always friendly. But we were by no means close.

I'm not sure exactly the order of events or all that was said. I do recall telling him that he was just nice to me because I was not active in Church. From what I had gleaned, he had been a very hard working missionary. I think he was serving in some capacity as a Stake or Ward Missionary during that time frame. I sensed a little astonishement at my accusation in his voice when he asked if I thought he could be nice to me for so long for that reason. I am not sure exactly when the others left and it was just the two of us.

At one point, I had a very forlorn feeling come over me. It was then that he sat with me in silence. Time seemed suspended. Then, I dismissed him saying something about how I didn't need him. He must have left shortly after that point. I must have been carrying on to the point that those in the next room heard me as I think somebody repeated something I said. Of course, that is embarassing to know that my display was more public than was supposed by me.

I called the young man later to apologize and let him know that I did not mean anything by it. I said that it was more about the definition of friends versus acquintance.

"My friend" would fall from his lips often when I would see him in the future. I don't think he used that term of endearment before that time. He paid for me to go to a movie once after Institute Graduation. I think that was after the incident.

A couple times he would ask me questions that were a little personal and say that is what friends do is ask questions. I think one of the questions was whether I was afraid to die.

When I was trying to move out of an abusive situation, he gave me a ride to an elderly ladies home that I had heard about through the school list of those who take in borders. I had never talked to him about my situation and he wanted to know why I was moving out. I did not go into how very bad things could be. I just glossed over by saying that my dad yelled at me. He told me that no home is perfect and that I should just leave when he yelled at me at that time and tell him that he ruined my day. That is not so easy when you do not drive and also when you do not like to go places when you feel contaminated. I would only go places immediately after bathing and getting dressed and incidents are not likely to follow such a time table. Although he did not understand, it was so nice that he cared enough to ask and give advice. He thought the lady was nice when he took me. She thought he seemed like a fine LDS boy when I informed her of our faith. She was RLDS herself. Moving in with her fell through ,by the way, as she decided not to take in another border at the time.

I haven't seen this young man for years. He is married now with children. I think of him sometimes when I need to remember that men can be nice to women and not want anything out of it. I have an inner smile when I think of how he seemed to always try to insert "my friend" at least once when we ran across each other. I think of how comforting it was to have someone just sit with me. I do not doubt that he is my friend. He won more than my friendship. He won my respect.

Tagged by bookslinger

Barb e-mailed me and explained tagged. Hmmmm......I think you guys pretty much know everything about me.

1. How much I weigh - you will never know that. Only one person knows that, the doctor's nurse. She lets me fudge, so the doctor doesn't even know.

2. How's my sex life? You will never know.

3. How much money is in my checkbook? I never discuss money.

4. I am an extroverted introvert. There's an official word for it. I'm not shy and am very friendly, but I need to be alone 99% of the time. And I hate parties and get-togethers. I even tell my kids to go home after awhile. People who don't know me well are always surprised by that one because I seem so outgoing.


5. I am the laziest person on the planet. My favorite thing is to just lay on the couch and eat popcorn and click the remote. Or just lay. Lie? I can lay in one position for a whole hour and just feel my muscles relax and enjoy the whole process. People who know me well know this is no exaggeration.

I tag Jeff Lindsay, also. I miss your posts, Jeff.

Merry Christmas, everyone! We are having nine people for Christmas Eve dinner, Prime Rib and Shrimp. I am dreading it.

Epiphany

I've had an epiphany. I love visiting teaching and I have a testimony of this program in furthering God's work and serving others. I bellyache about those who don't and I complain about the hypocrisy of those who attend church regularly and bear their testimonies and don't do their visiting teaching. I know who they are because I'm the coordinater in my ward. Which is a totally thankless calling and I don't recommend it.

But somebody made an idle comment the other day that perhaps these people don't have a testimony of that particular principle, but they have a testimony of others. And I thought, "yeah, like how I don't like to go to church. I don't have a testimony of the importance of attending meetings."

And now I'm nicer to the ones who don't have that testimony, but have testimonies that I don't have. I'm also looking at myself nicer because it's not that I'm lazy and church is boring, it's that I don't have a testimony of it. Yet.

Fast Food Times(Guest Post by Barb)

Working at a national fastfood hamburger chain was a very pivitol experience in my young adult years. Therefore, this is probably going to be long.

I started working at the fastfood job at 18 when I was in my first semester of college. I consider it to be my first real job. I was so nervous! In high school, I had so much anxiety about my future and could not envision my sucessfully holding a job due to my spacey nature.

I remember being trained to make hamburgers in the back and thinking it was cool when I learned how to fold the paper around them. They did not keep me in the back long. I was quickly moved to work up front.

Shortly after starting there, I waited on my grandpa and his lady friend of many years. His lady friend remarked how I looked just like my grandpa's grandaughter. They did not know I was working there. Finally, I said something like, grandpa with a tone of endearment and they knew it was me. We would have a good laugh over that through the years.

I gained a reputation as a somone who tried to stay busy. However, I was not noted for my quickness in filling orders. Once a co-worker saw me move faster than usual and said she never saw me move so fast. I was so surprised the first time they called me in for over-time. They actually wanted me around! There were a few weak areas such as the fact that when reviewed, I did not smile when waiting on the customers. I was very polite though. They liked how I was constantly picking up in the dining room when it slowed down enough. I think I was forever giving too many fries. I may have given too many napkins too. We had a slow volume store and managers were very edgy about profits. The owner owned a few in our area and one elsewhere. Once he came in to let us know that he just bought his son a BMW.

Having the owner around made me uneasy. I was even more nervous when the person who I think was the district manager would come around. He would stand behind my shoulder and I would feel so tense. The managers were usually pretty satisifed with my work and did not give a lot of feedback. There was a manager who started to work there a little while after I did. She was a nice person. However, she followed me around constantly. She had a pointer for everything from how to do the fries to cleaning the window. Finally, it was just too much and a stream of tears started falling and falling. I waited on the customer and kept going until I was composed again. I think she made an effort to be more laidback from there on out.

I was very shy and quiet in those days. I would apologize for the smallest things. If someone was mopping, I would say I was sorry if I happened to be in the way. I was also very meek when I needed to ask the back workers about the status of an item. I would be just audible enough for them to hear me. I think I was incapable of raising my voice in that setting.

I did gain skills such a dove-tailing as I had to stock things up and also start shutting down the salad bar between waiting on customers when I was on the closing shift.

Sometimes they would have me do the prep work on the salad bar. I always felt very inefficient as I had to ask a lot of questions of the regular prep person. One day day I was doing dishes and had the bright idea to make sure I got the tomatoe slicer very clean by taking the cloth against the blade. Don't try that one at home as I had to go directly to the doctor's office to get stitched up. Upon my return, they told me to take my break and get back to work. While my fingers were still in bandages, I worked a holiday when it was slow and had to try to find cleaning projects to do that I could manuever.

I consider myself to be one of the least mechanical people on the planet. I was so impressed when I was able to take the shake maching apart and later learn how to put it back together. When I closed, I would wash the parts. I liked the order of having an indented place in plastic to put the parts.

Closing was fun for me because we would play the popular music of the day into the front microphone. It could get to be long on my feet though. I think I started at 5 pm once and we did not get out of there until 5 am. That is not supposed to happen.

They had trouble getting me to take my breaks as I was supposed to as I was such a nervous type then that I did not like sitting out there. I was always worried if I was doing a good job. I also would not order their regular food, which was related to my shyness. I would order a shake. It was weird. They thought that I did not like the food when in reality I often had their food at home with my family.

Then, it came time to quit. Not to many months later, I had to return as I could not get the schedule I needed at my other job to work around my school schedule. One of my former managers hired me back on the spot. I so did not want to work there. My home life was stressful at that point to put it mildly, school was stressful as I wanted high grades, and this job was stressful. I think I had a break when I did not work and cocentrated on my studies. I had liked the job that I worked in the interim. It was telemarking- my niche in life.

Then, I quit again and vowed never to go back. After my mission, I was not able to get Sundays off at my telemarking job where I had worked previously. I had gained weight as a missionary and thought this would be convenient as it was close enough to home to walk and also that I would get exercise on the job. This was during the break between my first semester and second semester back to school after my mission that I started working there.

I was abysmal as usual in the back. I was moved up front and the one supervisor said kindly how things should be easier as that was what I was used to doing. I was all confused. The cash register was different. I do not recall having difficulty reading the print out before. In addition to combos, they had dinners. I had trouble reading the print out and also remembering what went with a dinner or a combo. There were only combos before. Ironically, I had thought that I would concentrate so well when I returned to this job that I would outshine my former performance and fill the orders so efficiently.

There were new health regulations and also a video about food safety that was new. I had episodes of ocd. One of these caused nightmares for me. This was when it all started spiralling out of control.

I couldn't go on. All the managers were different than my previous two times working there. One of the managers was rude and sarcastic in the little sampling of the week that I worked there.

He was on duty when I walked the frigid walk from my home. Oh, how bittter cold it was. I don't think I was scheduled that day. I don't think I told my parents I was quiting. It felt like one of those windshields and temperatures that were dangerous to be out in for more than a few minutes and I had a strange feeling about me like I almost didn't care if I were being marred for life from the damage of the low temperature. It was a strange and surreal determination. I told the manager I was quiting and asked him if he wanted me to work the next day I was scheduled. He said yes. I worked that day and one of my duties was to mop the floor, which was something I was never very good at as I got it too wet and probably sudsy. It was really a back staff duty before when I worked there so I may not have had a chance before. I did my time and left.

When my grandpa found out I no longer worked there, he said that he did not go there anymore. They went to the other hamburger chain just a few blocks away. The coffee going downhill at my place of employement was the reason that he offered.

Sometimes we go through the drive thru there. That was a position that I worked there quite often that not all the register people could do. You had to be able to do the math in counting back the dollars. There was a coin maching that would give the change. After working there so long, I often knew without even thinking the amount of change on some items. Yes, I gained a lot of confidence there. As you see, I also lost a part of myself there that I have never entirely regained. My worries multiplied in so many directions starting at that point. What started as isolated incidents became every moment of my day on some level of having ocd part of my being. I didn't know as I quit that my life was turning that inside out. It was like up was down and down was up.

I like to imagine that there is a disembodied me in there. The part of me that was able to function and somehow if I were to go in back there that I would get it back.

But how I hope that I never have to go back!

Happy Grateful Day

Happy, Happy, Thanksgiving!

Well, like the early Pilgrims, I am thankful that I live in America and have enough food to eat. I'm thankful that the natives are mostly friendly.

Today and tomorrow I will attempt to manage my material blessings to accommodate the company that is coming for the holiday. Bill and I struggled to feed our children well for years and now we finally have that total year's supply. A lot of it is piled over the basement floor and I need to clean it up and freshen the bedrooms down there for the company.

I will be warm as I do this. I will get to take a hot shower afterward and will have a clean bathroom available for breaks. I will have lots of fresh, clean, cool water to drink and snacks up the ying-yang. I will not have to worry that gangs of thugs are going to break into my house and rape me or burn me alive.

I am going uptown to the bank later. I have enough money to get cash to be able to treat my grandchildren to Santaland and the movies. Odds are a car bomb isn't going to go off while we're at the parade.

There is much in my life that is good. What is good in yours?