sick puppy

We have two bathrooms. We do. Sort of.

The problem is, one is not all that habitable. Even with the new toilet it’s pretty dang gross. Hubby has been calling it his for the past twenty-some-years. And it pretty much resembles a guy’s bathroom. Picture two college guys living in an apartment. Yah, pretty disgusting. The tub is beyond repair, stained beyond hope, and the grout has a life of it’s own. Literally! There are approximately eleven empty shampoo, conditioner and body wash bottles in the bottom, an old net scrubbie, and a razor blade lying there.

A good wife would clean it for her hubby.

Not me.

This week we have eight people living at my house — seven of them girls. Tracy had to use the bathroom the other day and couldn’t wait for the line at my bathroom. She was gagging just thinking of going into hubby’s area. But then she said, “Is this a new toilet?” and was able to relieve herself of a bursting bladder.

I’m fine to use that bathroom, occasionally. I just don’t put my glasses on and try to hum a nice tune while I’m there.

Here’s the way I look at things. [Side bar, I know I'm wrong. I know I will be judged at heaven's gate for not cleaning my husband's bathroom. I know!] I clean the kitchen, the living room, the dining room. I do all the laundry, 98% of the dishes. I do the front yard. I put out the garbage when hubby forgets his one weekly job on Friday mornings. I’ve been feeding and watering the horses for five weeks. I get my oil changed myself and rotate tires. And I clean my own bathroom, occasionally.

So I feel entitled to leave his bathroom for him. I know it’s mean. I know!

Mikelle would never do that. Tracy wouldn’t. I’m sure my mother is disappointed in me and is nudging me right this moment to feel a little guilt. Perhaps me writing this is her doing, her inspiration from up there where her spirit lives now. She’s saying, “Now, Dorothy, you know it’s a wife’s sacred duty to keep the bathrooms clean. Both of them.”

I clean 21 toilets a day at work. I clean the C-wing, the Performing Arts and the Commons area toilets all the time. But for some reason I can’t bring myself to clean hubby’s bathroom. Maybe there is something deep-seated going on here. Maybe it is total rebellion. Maybe it’s a power struggle. Maybe I’m one sick puppy.

I always thought that we’d  split the housework right down the middle. We both work long and hard. We both come home tired. But I have to clean and cook and do laundry and hubby goes to bed. So, my mean, passive-aggressive self refuses to do that one little thing.

I’m totally ashamed.

Who needs therapy? I’ve talked this through, feel really crappy and will tackle  his bathroom as soon as I get home.

m.a.y.b.e.

On the other hand, maybe I can pay the grand-kids $20 to clean it really well.

log

I have a relatively new son-in-law. His name is Logan and he lives in Logan, so that’s a bit of a conundrum sometimes as I type. I feel as though I’m always repeating myself mid-sentence, which I tend to do, anyway, so there you go. Maybe I have a good reason now.

This guy is six-foot-something tall, and two feet wide at the shoulders. He doesn’t look like he wears 38X34 jeans, but he sure does. He actually fits into the 36×34, but I made him take those back.] He’s NOT fat! So I can write that in Weighing Matters. He’s just big, strong, healthy, a total sports jock, and fast. Faster than a speeding bullet, which by-the-way, puts him square in the middle of Superman territory. [He's also stronger than a locomotive!]

I first met Logan [from Logan] the summer-fall that daughter, Mikelle, moved to Utah in 2008. Oh, he was cute enough and fun enough. He was polite and home from a mission in Atlanta. [making points with the mama.] He was just a little too-umm, goofy at times, though, and a little weird, to say the least. I figured he would move on, eventually. But a couple of things so warmed my heart. He took pictures [really goofy pictures] with Mikelle — some of them on the Logan Temple grounds. They dated, she called and rehearsed to me. Tons and tons more pictures. Some of them on the computer with their faces all wavy and distorted. Some with their eyes crossed, some with their tongues out. Umm. Goofy. It kind of bothered me. But take a look at these gorgeous eyes!

Mikelle told me she was reading the Book of Mormon. Logan bought her a picture of the Savior to put in her apartment. Logan prayed with her. He was pretty dang stable. He encouraged her and gently [superman-like] prodded her towards truth and light.

He drove Mikelle to Ogden Regional Hospital and stayed all night in the lounge area while we cried and mourned our dying mother and grandmother. He heard us sobbing and watched us break in two while we dealt with the reality of losing our rock and foundation. He supported us during those crushing moments. He didn’t look away and act embarrassed. He looked us straight in the eye, and hurt for our hurt.

Logan loves, adores, and respects his own mother. And everyone with a trickle of common sense realizes that is an important marker for how he will treat his wife.

Yah, we all fell in love with him. Camille, Tracy, and I. [We all told her to look for qualities that Richard and Eric already possessed. We could see potential in this guy when she really didn't even know what potential was!]

Then Fisher and Annesley fell in love with him. That was IT for me. He played with and tortured them until they laughed hysterically. Annesley may be two-years-old, but she knows what she wants in a guy! He wanted to learn to play Rook, our favorite card game. He survived the teaching process. He didn’t let all the jabs from Scott and Steev soak in. [the kind of 'let's-see-what-he's-made-of tests that go on when somebody's new in the family.] He survived Mikelle’s near-disastrous side relationship with another guy, and when that didn’t work out, was willing to forgive her for that calamitous event. He went camping with us and cooked dutch over for all twenty-five of us. He is learning to fish with Steev and hubby. He’s learning to dress to fish with Steev and hubby. He’s willing to wear a button-up shirt and a cowboy hat to fit in.

But what I love most about this guy is that he protects my daughter. He protects her. She was pretty much on a train wreck collision course when he came along. He is grounded in the gospel. He wears white shirts and a tie. He knows the Book of Mormon. He prays. He PRAYS! He pays his tithing. He has a testimony of that. And I can see her little testimony growing.

And he rubs her belly. Oh my gosh. Melt my hard old heart!

Yesterday at our local [Bridger Valley Days Celebration] softball tournament he was a little frustrated — ok, a lot frustrated — with the calibre of teammates he had. Some of them were women and kids, who really were just having fun. He was not having fun because he was there to win. [Oh, did I mention he plays semi-pro football, soccer, basketball, etc, etc, etc.  Always there to WIN!] He actually swore, [the H word] he was so frustrated. Anyway. One ball came flying out toward center field, but it was going fast. He was running away from the ball, deep center, with his back towards it, looking backwards into the sun and caught it.

Oh my goodness you should have heard the chatter over in the stands where we were sitting. Great catch! Did you see that catch! Wow, where did that guy come from? Who is that guy, anyway? Um, yah. He’s ours! Hello!

OK, maybe I’m getting my sports and my all-important-life-skills mixed up, but I’m seeing that if he can do that, if he can catch an impossible-way-over-everybody’s-head fly ball, he can do other things. Because here’s what it proves. He has ambition. He is strong. He is fast. He is determined. He is focused. He is a fighter. He is going to win. Translation? He’s going to be ambitious, strong, fast, determined and focused on his new little family. He’s going to fight for them, against evil. He’s going to win.

Yup, a keeper!

He endures my cooking, even though he cooks better than I do. He ignores my lack of housekeeping, even though he cleans better than I do.

He opens the door for Mikelle.

He carries things for her. [She called and told me "Oh my heck, Logan just carried a hundred really heavy things down the three flights of stairs out to the truck in just a few minutes! -- during their recent move last weekend]

He is surviving well a hormonal, teary, hot, pregnant wife. [That is a huge test! I’ve got to have a man who understands this is a temporary, expected, and amazing season of their lives. Not just time to be endured, but a really wonderful event they share, t.o.g.e.t.h.e.r! She’s not pregnant. They’re pregnant!  And that her amazing body is carrying a child from God and growing him to perfection. And that takes a lot of work and a lot of time and a lot of pain. And it will all be worth it when they are birthing and nursing and snuggling and adoring.

I’m not sure about the able-to-leap-tall-buildings-in-a-single-bound part of the equation. I did see him leap over the entire picnic blanket yesterday, though, while playing ‘tag’ with Fisher and Annes.

bent

I’ve always been a multi-tasker . . . always had several projects going on at the same time. I’ve, on occasion, considered myself ambidextrous, although, of course, I’m not — even though I can stir a pot of simmering spaghetti sauce, balance my checkbook with the other hand while talking on a cradled phone arranging visiting teaching appointments. Perhaps the term for that is multi-dexterous. I’m sure I could add to that list, scooting a small child along the floor to a safer spot with a free foot, or shutting the kitchen door with my knee. These are common and even expected skills of any mother.

I look at my niece [or is she a cousin? . . . let's see she's the daughter of my first cousin] Tami Lyman. She’s the mother of eight. We recently had our big Leon Rollins Family Reunion and I watched in awe as Tam  balanced three of her youngest on her lap while playing Rook and winning! Mikelle and I discussed again and again how comfortable she is as a m.o.m, how she nurtures, adores, and gently guides each one of  her little brood. We watched in amazement how each child checked in with her throughout the day and, although each one played their little hearts out and explored and went off on their gigantic adventures, she is like an all-knowing mother bear who is definitely the one in charge! She’s hard and soft and funny and smart and definitely multi-dexterous!

But,

I am not able to do some things at the same time! I can either focus on eating healthy OR exercising.

I can either focus of taking care of my physical health or my spiritual well-being.

I can either work on my mental/emotional self or my physiological self.

Because when I try to work on everything, nothing is improving.

For a couple of months I’ve been attending the Church’s addiction and compulsive/obsessive disorders class. No, that’s not really the name of it. I just made that up to make me feel totally included. They always use the word ‘addiction’ but I always add ‘compulsive and obsessive’ to make it a better fit for me. And I love this program. I love the manual and the supplemental book, Clean Hands, Pure Heart.

Every single week I say, “Wow, it’s as if I were totally transparent, someone has been taking notes on my whole [hole] life and written it all in a course manual for all the world to see.” Every single week I’m amazed at what I learn about me, what layer of myself I’m temporarily able to peel away for an hour, and what I allow myself to actually feel for 60 minutes. And then, of course, I patch myself back together, dry the tears, plant a smile on my face and head back to reality as I know it, and  somehow get through until the next class.

I’m not addicted to alcohol, nicotine, prescription drugs, pornography, anger, or spending. But something is amiss. [I do have an unhealthy relationship with food, to be sure!] But somewhere along the way, something has grown a deep space where my heart should be. Something has disconnected my soul from my heart. Something lingers in the depth and keeps me from being who I want to be, who I really, really am, who I was meant to be and who I can become. And I’m working on being more successful as I learn and grow from the lessons of life.

So, that’s one of the reason I haven’t written much about my current daily weight and food struggles. That’s why I’ve not gotten on here day after day posting my most recent five-pound gain — and then my four pound loss. I’ve not written about veggie stir-fry in a spinach wrap, blended protein smoothies, and vanilla-almond granola or 8 glasses of spring filtered water with a lemon wedge. I’ve neglected typing about flab and muffin-tops and thighs like tree trunks and swollen ankles and my ever-increasing immovable ring on my ring finger. [I'm seriously considering having it surgically removed.]

Because all I think about now, is finding that empty feeling and figuring how to fill it with light and lightness and joy and peace.

I’ve always, always said:
“If I can just get my weight under control, I could work on everything else.”
“If I could just weigh 140 I would be happy about everything else in life”
“If I could just get my eating under control, the rest of my life would fall into place.”
“If I could just blah, blah, blah, I could blah, blah blah!”

Once, when I was explaining this continuous tug-o-war-with-myself to Tracy, she aptly explained why I keep struggling. She said, “All things were created spiritually before they were created physically.” That rang a rather large bell in my overworked cerebellum! “Concentrate on the spiritual and then the physical!”

For now I’m trying to be spiritual-dexterous.

[PS: I am also 145, which is OK for the moment.]

[And of course I still have tons of satisfying, energizing, memorable, exciting, gratifying, productive, wonderful times filled with children, grandchildren, friends, significant and life-changing experiences. I love each of those! I love so much about life! I'm not focusing on 'negative,' I'm focusing on 'positively' finding peace and joy! I'm not broken! Just a little bent once in a while and I'm trying to work on that for the moment.]

fourth commandment

I love Sunday!

I love the sunshine early this morning just as it peeked over the eastern horizon. I love that I can sleep in and wake up at leisure. I love wearing my mother’s nightgown and housecoat out into the yard for a little visit to the wooden swing and to feed the horses some old baby carrots.

When I was younger I resented the Fourth Commandment. But I have come to know these truths:

Sunday is a special day. On Sunday we can focus on our families, our friends and on the Lord.

In this day and age, Sunday has started to feel like any other day. Many of us have to work, and after that we try to get everything else done that we didn’t get done on Saturday. It seems like the weekend feels busier than the rest of the week. But Sunday, or the Sabbath, is a time to worship God and to give us a break from our day-to-day obligations. After creating the earth in six days, God set the seventh aside as a day of rest and remembrance. On Sunday we can spend time with friends and family, visit the sick or lonely, spend extra time studying the scriptures and go to Church. At Church we sing, pray, and discuss the gospel with the other members of the congregation and we also take the sacrament in remembrance of the Savior. At Church Mormons participate in the sacrament by eating bread and drinking water that was prepared to symbolize the body and blood of Jesus Christ. We can take that time to meditate on how Jesus Christ can help us and think about how we can live more like Him in the coming week.

Besides giving us a rest from the stresses of the workweek, keeping the Sabbath day holy shows respect for God and reminds us to slow down our busy lives to give thanks to our Creator. Sunday is a day to look forward to, one when we get to enjoy the things that really last.

Now I’m grateful for the command to slow down, to ponder, to appreciate, to study, to refuel, to pray to serve, to love, to notice.

I am grateful for Sunday because it’s the day I go to my amazing and wonderful 12-step class/meeting.

I’m grateful for Sunday because I see my ward family and my neighbors and friends that I don’t take time for during the week.

I’m grateful for Sunday because I don’t have to rush or worry or work or sweat or spend.

I’m grateful for time to call the grandchildren and listen to what they learned or sang or spoke. A couple of weeks ago Fisher gave a talk in Primary and he called me to practice it. It was adorable!

I’m grateful for Sunday because it is the Lord’s day, and I love the Lord.

d.a.n.d.y.

I’ve had the most delightful weekend!

Friday morning I drove to Logan for Mikelle’s baby shower, hosted by her sister-in-law, Becky, who might very likely be the most organized and creative person I’ve ever met. She is also very generous, kind, loving, happy, athletic and amazing. The shower was wonderful, well attended [several very pleasant surprises!] and, well, just perfect. Two of my sisters, Diane and Carol, as well as Amy, Becca and Spencer were able to find Logan’s parent’s home in Hyde Park and we had a very nice visit! Several of Mikelle’s friends from cosmetology school and from her work also attended. Logan’s family had a good showing and were so kind to my little girl all-grown-up daughter. It was an open-house format which was perfect for long talks and catching up.

Friday we enjoyed Mikelle and Logan’s new little apartment that they had moved in to the night before, again, organized by Becky, her husband, and assorted family members and friends. WOW! What a humongous effort by all involved. Anyway. Her apartment is darling and clean and coordinated and perfect for the two of them — soon to be three of them.

Gibbs [yes, after the one-and-only Jethro Gibbs of NCIS fame] will arrive here [on earth] the first or second week of October. By my calculations.

This morning we got up early and chatted, cleaned, [some more] organized all the crafts for wall-hanging and went on a little shopping spree. Logan got two pair of work pants. Mikelle and Gibbs got a little Martha Stewart shelving unit from Home Depot with multi-colored canvas baskets for all his cute little clothes and socks, and ear swabs. [We called hubby and Stephen  from Home Depot to see if this was, indeed, what they would love to give for a shower gift -- and it was!] We also picked up another black saddle-seat stool for the bar in the kitchen. A couple of hanging organizers for the closet completed the tour and Mikelle rushed home to put it all together.

I decided to drive back to Lyman tonight instead of early in the morning so that I could mow the lawn and get some food for the upcoming week. I don’t want to mow or shop on Sunday, so this turned out just right.

Early in the week I said to Mikelle, “Isn’t it weird that a couple of years ago you could hardly stand me [hated, most days] and now we enjoy each other’s company so much!” [I'm so glad those years are over.] She returned with the same statement, just changing the pronouns to vice-versa.

Now my other daughter, Tracy, and her four [plus two friends, I heard . . .] will be here for the next two weeks and then we’re all off to Green River Lakes.

I feel so blessed to have my family ‘close’ by. Scott and Andie were here for about ten days — off and on — last week and a half, and now the girls are spending time with me. I swear life is turning out just dandy.

dear trace

just wondering . .

are there any other tops

i just have to have

from christopher and banks

on the buy-one-get-one-free sale?

excuses, excuses . . .

Time for business. Time for serious get-back-to-work kind of business.

Apparently I’ve given myself some time off. I’ve given myself a little mini-vacation from eating/caring/doing healthy.

And I haven’t shopped.

I went to Mexico in mid-June. When I came home there were a few things in the fridge that hubby had bought. Then I stayed a few days and went to Idaho for the Fourth. I bought lots of groceries there — most of them healthy — but when I got home, still nothing in the house. Then I worked like crazy on the gym 14-16 hours a day and didn’t have time to shop. Next was the family reunion, which I did buy a few things for . . . but my assignment was two kinds of cookie bars, so nothing healthy there. But Scott and Andie and I filled up a cooler on the way. Got home Sunday evening and still nothing in the fridge or cupboards.

Monday night sweet Andie said, “Grandma, are you planning anything for dinner and if you are is there anything I can help you with?” I said, “I don’t cook anymore.” She said, “You don’t? Well what do you eat?” I said what ever there is. I just ate a bowl of cereal a few minutes ago.”

I ran and got a pizza.

Next day they went to the grocery store and Andie called me from Benedict’s. “Grandma, is there anything we can get at the grocery store for you? Would you eat lasagna if we buy some?”

How embarrassing.

“Maybe if you just get some hamburger I can make spaghetti.” Which they did. Which I did.

Last night they were at the Paul McCartney concert in SLC and I came home from work exhausted. Still no groceries. I looked around in the fridge for something, anything! And there was a brick of low-fat-Swiss cheese on the bottom shelf in the back. Alleluia! Real food.

I ate the entire brick of cheese.

And three bowls of almond vanilla granola.

Oh my good heck!

I’ve got to get back to a normal eating schedule.

Yah, my weight is up! Way up. A month of unbridled-eating has done a number and I’m not even going to type it. Because I’m determined to get rid of it before the ink dries!

Oh what the heck. 148. I haven’t seen that number for a year!

[Yuck!]

the Mrs.

Long story short, I’m doing much better.

My weight the other day was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration since I rushed in from the car [what else does a OCD person do? They drive 800 miles and rush in the house and jump on the scale . . .] and it was an evening weight with clothes on. The very next morning [Tuesday] I was 146.5 and this morning 145.

I was in panic mode. I was in frustration mode.

But the rest of it was not an exaggeration: the horse poo, the light bulbs, the dishes, [not one dish was done in five days!] the RS lesson, my missing pillow, lost Orion, the bike wreck, the melted chips, the spent money, the off-champagne paint, the licorice, the Augustine feller, the grass catcher.

But I cope. That’s what I do. That’s part of who I am. You may call me Mrs. Cope. It’s what I’m used to.

And that reminded me about the sign.

Because Monday night I got home around 8 and mowed the lawn. Tuesday I worked 12 hours at the school, five hours for the Census, made two pans of cookie bars for the reunion, did two batches of clothes and one batch of dishes. I also finished mowing what I had left the night before, watered the lawn and fed the horses and dog . . . and crawled [literally] into bed at 10:30.

I get crabby about life and I apologize. I guess if it were bad enough I’d do something about it. But instead I cope.

Here’s the sign. I’m just sayin’!

tee hee.

[I know there are lots of guys out there that don't really need a sign.]

no, nothing’s wrong, well, everything’s wrong. . .

I’ve been home a couple of hours. I just read several emails and have two texts asking what’s up. It’s been ten days since my last post and several people wondered if anything is wrong. Come to think of it, Mikelle and Tracy asked me the same thing when I was in Idaho at Tracy’s house for the weekend.

Well, there are some “things wrong” but I’m not sure they are worth writing about. In fact while I was mowing a little while ago I thought of at least a hundred things that are wrong, but certainly not worthy of posting. But I thought, what the heck, I’ll just make a short list and once I see them in black and white, I’ll know better if it’s a post-worthy list.

OK. First of all I have approximately sixteen pieces of chocolate licorice lodged somewhere in my esophagus between my mouth and stomach. I got hungry on the way home and after having a particularly good and healthy day, I chose to pull off the highway, search the trunk for some nearly melted brown strips and stuff them two-by-two down my throat with relatively no chewing.

But is that worth blogging about?

Hubby told me he finished painting the back of the house while I was gone. I was both surprised and thrilled that after three years the horrifyingly ugly brick-orange in the back would match our tan with lighter trim in the front. He had said earlier on the phone that it took another 5-6 gallons of paint. However, what I found when I got home was that he mixed several [old] gallons of tan and browns together to get a color that is neither tan nor beige, but a sort of off-champagne. There are roller marks on the screens, drips on the porch, ladders propped up against the house, and a whole lot of brick-orange peeking out on the edges, the trim, the door, the shop. I’m thinking he will never be able to match that lovely color again, so it will never be completely done, ever ever ever. I will spend the rest of my mortal life in another multi-colored house.

But is that worth blogging about?

I came back from the trip to Mexico at about 148-150 pounds and worked pretty hard to get down to 145 before going to Idaho. I hopped on the scale when I came in the house and I’m 150 again. And I realized I am so sick of my weight and writing about it. I am tired of pretending I have something to say. I am tired of eating healthy for three or four days and having an all out binge and then either writing about it for the one millionth time, or pretending it didn’t happen and not writing about it.

I also read a post last week that made me, once again, realize how superficial and ridiculous my writing is. I read this paragraph:

Sometimes we treat God as if He is our last chance. We try other things to get us through life. Try to find happiness in other ways. Even try to get clean in other ways. But in reality, He is not our last chance. He is the only chance we have.

. . . and at that very moment I realized my life was right in front of my eyes, yet I continue to write about silly things that don’t really matter. I’ve never written a profound or thought-provoking paragraph in my life.

I really can’t write about that! That would make me cry. Too many emotions going on for this subject.

I spent nearly $500 this weekend and, I swear, I have just one more thing to add in my 12-step program. I’m truly out of control.

Still wondering if that is worth writing about.

I seriously had 18 comments in my comment box. When I opened it they were, every one of them, from idiots extolling the merits of Viagra Professional. Super Active ED Pack. Levitra. Zithromax.Viagra Super Active+. Tramadol. Cialis Super Active+. Cialis Professional. Viagra Super Force. Viagra.Maxaman. Cialis Soft Tabs. Cialis. Viagra Soft Tabs. Soma. VPXL. Propecia . . . and more.

There were also many new friends from foreign countries who have written their lovely comments to me, personally. Here’s just one, this from Augustine Keblish [exactly as written]:

I just want to post kindly hi and want to say thanks for enlightened I keep trying to find through the web for some kind of goodpost. like this, or at least a website. That coveredwhat i want to
Thank you.

Yes. Apparently, Augustine thinks enough of me to send a little note. Poor Augustine can’t speak English, spell or type, but he cared enough to write. <g>

Can’t believe I wrote about that!

Then there is the trouble I’m having with teaching my RS lesson. Last Sunday I thought I had a very good lesson. I had prepared, studied, prayed, prepared more, made visuals, made posters, taken a beautiful presentation for the table, and not one person, not even a single person, made a comment. Here’s what I wrote on facebook about it:

Dorothy Smith Pitts is still wondering what happened on Sunday during my RS lesson. Not one person made a comment or asked a question. I was mortified, embarrassed and so uncomfortable. If I hadn’t handed out four parts for others to read, there would have been no other speaking whatsoever. Miserable standing up there making a fool of myself! Ugh! Talk about humiliating!

That was pretty devastating, but I got a few comments back telling me to not worry about it, so I’m not going to. Still nothing to write about.

My stupid lawnmower is twenty five-years old and hubby and I are having a war — each of us trying to hold out and not buy a new one. I think he should buy one, he thinks I should. I bought the washer and dryer. I also bought a washer a dryer for Mikelle and Logan when they got married. He bought the stove. He also was out of work for three and a half months for his knee replacement. So it’s a stand-off. Back to the stupid lawn mower . . . Every single time I went over a bump [we have lots of roots in the yard] or changed the speed from slow to normal, the bag flew off. I got so dang mad I actually said a swear word out loud. I finally finished the lawn without the grass catcher and now I’m really mad. Tons of grass laying all over the lawn and now tracked into the house.

Still not post-worthy.

The new census operation isn’t what I thought it might be. I was so looking forward to making a bunch of moola but it’s only going to last three weeks and so far I was gone the first five days. Starting tomorrow at 5 a.m. I’m going to be sanding down, re-painting and re-finishing the gym and I really won’t have much time to work for the census. I’m only going to be here four days, then off to another three day reunion. My census boss is getting frustrated with me!

I so wanted to weight 140 for this reunion. But how do you spell s.a.b.o.t.a.g.e?

Yah, my life is driving me nuts: my weight, my yard, my house, my basement, my jobs, my lack of real comments, my marriage, my lawnmower, my budget, so many things.

Also: the chips I bought for my chocolate chip pumpkin bars melted on the way home.

And: I left my favorite pillow in Idaho.

As well: I wrecked on Tracy’s bike and have a bruise from my right knee up into my thigh.

Can’t forget: Hubby let the horses into the yard so there’s piles of poo all over the back.

And last:  I came home to three burned out lights. Seriously? Could someone else change a light once in a while?

That’s why I haven’t posted in ten days! I really have nothing to say.

I’d absolutely love to have a guest poster! If anyone has something of interest, please send it my way and I’ll hook you up to my wordpress settings!

[Oh. And I haven't seen Orion all summer. Not since last winter when I noticed it one night in the southern sky near the horizon. That pretty much sums up my whole life right now.]

ok, i’m not using the song!

OK.

I am feeling a lot of pain right now.

I want to download a song that I might want to use for my lesson this coming Sunday and I am not lying about this! [Yes, perhaps, I've been known to lie in the past or maybe exaggerate but . . .] I have been working on it for over three hours. I’ve had Tracy on the phone encouraging me from her sick bed and telling me [guessing] what I should do in a series of steps. She kept saying, “Oh for crying out loud, it can’t be that hard! Did you try this? Did you try that?”

What I heard: “blah, blah, blah.” as I tried to picture what SHE was looking at on HER computer, but it wasn’t the same on this one, even though — we have the exact same computers.

Of course I tried this and that. I tried several hundred thisses and thats!

Earlier she said, “You could get in the car and drive to Ogden in less time.” I know that! I’ve considered it, believe me. Even though Ogden is 120 miles away and the round trip would be about four hours. Seriously, I could have been on my way home by now! Even if I had stopped at Great Harvest for a free slice!

She said, “Well something is wrong.”

YES, something is wrong. I could tell that from where I’m sitting.

I asked if I could just pay her to give me lessons. She said no.

I think she said no in a sweet way because she thought it wasn’t going to be hard and she didn’t feel good about charging her Mother to teach her something so simple.

All I know for sure is that the little CD icon is still going around on song number three and has been going around continually for over two hours. I want song number eight, wouldn’t you know it.

I said “I think God is trying to tell me not to use the song.” A simple statement in and of itself. And I’m OK with that. I won’t use the song. My lesson will be fine without it, even though it’s a great song and I would have loved to use it . . .

Then the stinger. She said “Don’t judge God by your inadequacies.”

OK.

I am feeling a lot of pain right now.

[I'm kidding. You know I'm kidding, right? No actual pain going on here!]