Finnish sisu

Sisu---strength of will, determination, perseverance, acting rationally in the face of adversity, sustaining an action against all odds.

My mom has been going to the Language Training Mission every Thursday night for about eight years.  New missionaries who are learning Finnish knock on her door (a classroom door), she answers, invites them in, and they present their lesson.  There are two rules.  One, my mom knew about.  All words spoken there must be in Finnish.  The story I will tell is about the rule she didn't know about.

  

Mom learned Finnish when she was acting as the Finnish Mission secretary in 1948, while my Grandfather was the mission president there.  (He was called as the first mission president because he was an American born Finn, a faithful convert, and an awesome man.)  My dad was serving his mission in the North Central States (without purse or script! c c c cold!)  They were engaged at the time so when dad left on his mission, mom left on a mission.  Finnish is a difficult language (it has 16 cases while English has 3) and she has worked hard to keep up on it.

Mom is proud of her Finnish heritage.  She always makes some Pulla, a Finnish sweetbread, for the departing missionaries so that, in her words, "they can have a taste of Finland" before they leave.  Every 6 weeks for 8 years, 4 loaves of pulla have been lovingly prepared and transported to the MTC.  Many missionaries have left and returned, some to come back to the MTC teaching new missionaries the language. The tradition of Sister Packard's pulla has become sort of a right of passage and is much anticipated by the newbies about to launch into their great adventure.

  

I was with Mom on a recent trip to the MTC and came away with a crystal clear understanding of Finnish sisu!  One this particular night, there weren't lessons being taught but there were some missionaries leaving for Finland so our trip was to bring the traditional pulla bread.  We entered the office and sat down.  The delicious smell of the bread wafted into the room.

From the corner a young man in a suit said, "You know that it is against the rules to bring food to the missionaries."  Mom said "Oh?!"  "Yes" he said.  "Even teachers are fired if they break the rule!"  Holy cow, I thought, this guy is curt.  My mom was quiet and I looked down at my hands.

"You can't give that food to the missionaries" he went on.  I realized at this point that I was sitting exactly between mom and this man.  I couldn't see either of them without turning my head.  Mom continued to be quiet and I continued to look at my hands.

"What is your name?" he asked.  Mom said "Betty Packard".  "How did you learn Finnish?"  She briefly told him why.  Why doesn't she tell him about grandpa being the first mission president and start some 'shock and awe' I wondered.

"Oh yes,  I have heard that name" he cooly said.  Silence.  He is rude, I thought.  Is mom  going to cry? 

Silence.  My fingernails are dirty I noticed.  More silence.  And yet, more silence.  I started to pick at my nails.  I knew that if I were in mom's place, I would be apologizing for myself and begging for forgiveness.

"If you promise not to give any more food to the missionaries, you could give that bread out tonight."  Mom thought about it and asked  "Could I bring some to the small group going out in a couple of weeks?  After that there will be a natural break."

"No."   Long silence.  "But you can give that bread out if you pledge not to bring any more after tonight." Poor mom!  I was starting to tear up.  Should I jump in with some witty repartee, I wondered.  But, I couldn't think of anything to say. 

After some minutes the man said "Maybe we should give that bread to the office staff."  Mom had a cut up loaf in the bag which she spread out with some napkins.  No one moved.  Silence.  He took a halting step toward the bread and took a bite.  Then came the first break in his facade.  "That's good" he said spontaneously.  Oops, I thought.  A realtor told me once that in business negotiations the first man that 'blinked' lost his edge.  Our man had blinked.

People had started coming and going from the office, asking if they could have a piece.  Of course, there many oooos and ahhhhs over the flavor.  There is nothing like homemade pulla.

The man in the suit took another step back and out of the corner of my eye, I saw him pop the rest his piece of bread into his mouth and then slip out of the door, , , , backwards.

There were many people in the room by now and an older man came up and greeted mom.  She told him that someone had told her not to bring any more bread and she described the man.  The older gentleman said, "Oh, he is the director of all of the language training at the MTC.  We had talked about your pulla in a planning meeting and we were told it was alright.  I think he was there."  Then he winked at mom and said,"Just give me that pulla and bring the bread to me from now on and I will see that it gets to the missionaries."  

While we were leaving I told mom how I would have been groveling and crying if I had been her. I asked her how she could keep her cool.  She said, "I was thinking about those boys."  There was a golden key, a key for the future.  Forget about yourself and think of others.  And of course, apply a liberal dose of Finnish sisu.

My dad has often said that when he gives his opinion on something or other, he can tell when mom agrees if she brings it up later.  When she doesn't, he knows that it wasn't a good idea.  Most of the years of their marriage he assumed that when he said something, mom felt just like him and did what he said.  Since he has retired, he has learned a lot more about Finnish sisu.

Recently, mom found out that her young friend in the suit had been by the office asking if there had been any more pulla bread.  He knew that my mom had never wavered.  She hadn't made that pledge like he had expected her to.  He probably won't ever find any more Finnish sweetbread because it has gone into hiding.

I secretly think that he is hanging around trying to snag just one more piece of Sister Packard's heavenly pulla bread.   

   

      

Bridget's travail

We are accustomed to hearing Bridget whine to be let out.  She whines that special whine that says "I can't hold it any longer", I open the door for her and leave the door ajar for her to come back in.  Last night, the same old routine, whine, she runs out, and runs back in except a horrendous smell came in with her.  She ran into a skunk and it got her right in the face.

First question:  What smells worst than skunk smell wafting into your windows? Answer:  Skunk smell right under your nose!  Bridget ran in and started rolling around, wiping her face and dripping ear on the family room carpet.  Then before I could catch her, she rolled around spreading skunk concentrate on the wool rug at the side door. 

Second question:  Where would you grab a dog that has just been skunked?  I figured that the back end was furthest away from the attacker so I held Bridget's back legs while she walked into the laundry room on her front legs (like the old wheelbarrow game we used to play).  This might have been funny if my eyes hadn't been stinging so much.

I raced to get tomato sauce and a can opener and then proceeded to dump tomato sauce all over the dog's head and ear, massaging it into her heavy coat.  Then I ran to look online to see what else to do.  The first thing everyone said was not to use tomato sauce because it doesn't work.  When will I ever learn to read instructions first?  One person online suggested baking soda and hydrogen peroxide.  Another suggested vinegar and water. 

I grabbed  'tomato head' by the front legs this time and walked her into the shower.  Poor Bridget was dowsed with warm water, water and vinegar, shampooed, and dowsed again.  Somewhere in the process, I found myself in the shower with her, my clothes soaked.  We both came out smelling like vinegar and Panteen.

Bridget spent the night in the laundry room and made a trip to the groomer this morning.  They managed to get the skunk smell out but they couldn't shampoo out the tomato color.  I  can't call her a white poodle for a while.  If anyone asks our dog is a 'red head'.

 

(I was tempted to get out the lime jello and color up the rest of her for Christmas but, since we know that animals will be resurrected .  .  .  . I don't want her to be pointing a paw at me!)

Is that the doorbell?

Some of you out there will not identify with, what I will call 'doorbell panic'.  But because most of you reading this share my DNA, I am guessing that you also share my general panic upon hearing the doorbell ring.  I'm not talking about social anxiety here.  I am talking about that 'Oh no, I'm not ready for company' feeling.

I don't get so nervous when the front doorbell rings because most of the time it is a package delivery, sometimes a magazine salesman, and once-in-a-while the obligatory Jehovah's Witness.  But when the side doorbell rings it sends shivers down my spine.  A visitor stepping through that door walks right into the very heart of our house and directly into whatever mess is currently happening.

Of course, raising kids is a messy proposition any way you look at it.  Everyone has heard the little rhyme "Cleaning the house while kids are growing is like shoveling the walk while it's still snowing."  If we are comparing a messy house with a snow storm we might as well say that in the Olsen house we were usually under blizzard conditions.  Whenever there was a 'doorbell threat' this mama would start yelling "Quick clean!" at the top her lungs.

Our children have grown up, left home, and now have their own storm systems raging around them in their own homes.  (I won't comment on the poetic justice of life but just know that I have a little smile on my face as I write this.)

So now, here David and I are, just the two of us, with nary an excuse for messes of any kind.   At least that's the way it should be.  But . . . things are always drifting out of control.

  

David and I just returned from Hawaii which means piles of laundry, piles of mail.  We were greeted by Julia and Steve's family who had arrived from Boise for a short visit.  We were so happy to see them as Max says "in real life not just icat."  After they left there were remnants of the Smith flurries. . . legos here, dress-ups there, bits of Play Doh and sticky waffles on the kitchen counter.  The stuff of happy Grandmama's life but more mess to clean up, none the less.

Yesterday I left the house at 9:50 and returned at 4:40.  I walked in, took one look at the whole mess and promptly turned on the TV.  "I'm too tired" I thought but instead of settling in to the program I drifted around picking up this and that.  I got out a frozen Marie Callenders lasagna, the culinary effort of the day and stuck it in the oven.  I swept and wiped and went back to the TV.

  

    Sometime later the doorbell rang!

That old surge of adrenaline rushed over me.  There was a tall man in a white shirt standing at the back door.  Apparently, David had made arrangements for a bishop to meet him at our house.  (Why didn't I know this and where was David?)  I was so startled that as I let him in, I heard the words "Have you had anything to eat?" pop out of my mouth.  (If there is a technical name for this type of self-destructive behavior I need to know it.  Anyone?)

   

He followed me in to the kitchen and sat down on the chair that, just minutes before, had been spread with waffles and syrup.  He leaned on the counter in the very spot where dribbles of spaghetti sauce had just been wiped away.

  

We could smell the baking lasagna, I mean really smell the lasagna because I had forgotten about it.  I opened the oven and saw that the lasagna dish had melted out of shape. (You may think that I am exaggerating but I am not.)   With one fluid motion, I slipped the lasagna out of the oven and out of sight.  I peeled back the blackened cellophane covering, cut a piece right out of the middle, turned around, and served it with a smile.  He ate it like a man even though it was a little crusty.  By now, of course, David had run in, grabbed his suit coat and they both hurriedly departed for their appointment.

  

I was left standing there, shellshocked.  What would have happened if I had settled into that cushy chair and just watched the TV program?  It could have been my worst doorbell nightmare come true.  But, happily, I was delivered from the catastrophe. (Believe me I said a really sincere thanking prayer.)

And to put the frosting on the cake I finally have something to write a blog about! 

Epilog

The machine was found, plugged in, and turned on.  It stitched and stitched until 6 bridesmaid dresses were complete and the flower girl sashes were done.  Then my dear machine started to turn itself off and on, off and on.  I sat in horror as it went through prolonged spasms.  Then it went dark and still.  

Poor little girl!  Tomorrow we will take a trip to the sewing machine hospital and see if they can patch her up.  I hope she isn't terminal!       

It's gone missing!

Anyone who knows me knows that I am very attached to my sewing machine. Really, I am chummy with any sewing machine that I am in close proximity to.

  

My mom's Singer was my first love.  I sewed my school dresses beginning in my 5th grade year.  One of my first projects was a plain V-neck shift.  I must have sewn those seams over and over because one day when I jumped down from a swing , the side of the dress caught and I found myself hanging sideways high above the ground.  That dress didn't rip, and I had to beg someone to get me down.  Most of my friends thought it was pretty funny and just let me hang there.

Every summer of my childhood, when we would go on our customary 2-week vacation to the cabin in the mountains, mom brought the Singer and I would sew my school dresses for the coming year.  Good times, good times.

I sewed dresses for dates, school dances.  I remember finishing a hem when the my date was sitting in the front room waiting for me.  (He didn't have to wait very long, really he didn't.)  I even sewed my wedding dress on that machine.  I remember finishing it about 3 hours before we had to leave for the temple.  (For heavens sake, have I always been like that?  Mom?)

My high school graduation gift was a sewing machine.  I used that thing until it just wore right out.  I sewed most of the things my kids wore on it.  School outfits, t-shirts and jeans.  Lion and clown, flower and butterfly costumes for Halloween.  Pajamas and nightgowns for Christmas.

  

Greg remembers the muti-colored underwear that I sewed him from scraps I bought for $2.00 per pound.  He was in the second grade and was embarrassed because all of the other kids had white underwear.  He didn't know that he was really stylin', just 5 years earlier than everyone else.

Easter dresses, blessing dresses, quilts and more quilts, curtains for every window and everyone else's windows.  Cushions, pillows, purses, prom dresses, you name it, I have tried to sew it.

The last time I saw my machine was on our trip to Utah this summer.  I am sure it was in the car when I came back, I think.  The car was heaped to the ceiling with jars of candy for Diana's reception, 85 organza chair sashes, a wedding dress, clothes, and 300 lbes of frozen beef.

  

Today, there was an emergency call on my message machine.  "Our seamstress is sick.  If you have time. . ."  So with a wedding dress to alter and several bridesmaid dresses to sash and make modest,  I will just have to muster up my courage and launch into the frightening space that is my sewing room and look for my dear friend to help me.

If you don't hear from me for another three weeks, send in a rescue party.

Aftermath

The Fat Lady Sings

Do, ra, me, fa, so, la, ti, do! ! !

The open house to celebrate Diana and Dan's wedding was last night. What a wonderful time it was! Our friends Vern and Barbara Jo Taylor let us use their beautiful backyard. Colleen and Calli Chamberlain made a bridal bouquet, centerpieces, and various other arrangements from about 22 doz roses from Costco. . . gorgeous! Kaye Allen, Camille Ramey, Heidi VanWorkam, Dia Wunderli, and Kris Wilkes ran errands and cut fruit galore. What dear friends they are to run to my aid. Thank you all.

Dan's parents Jeff and Nancy Lowder came to our house about 4:30 and jumped into the frey of rose petals, melon rinds, and jars and jars of candy.

So many people that have known Diana throughout the years came to celebrate the couples happiness. After most went home, a few sat around with us while Dan and Diana recounted their discovery of each other, the romance, and a honeymoon (which involved a lot of creatures of the sea off of the Oregan coast.)

All of the company left this morning for Utah after a yummy omlette breakfast cooked by Dan and Diana. I quickly ironed some shirts for David and packed my bag and 30 minutes after everyone else had left, I climbed into Camille's car and we drove to Utah. I cat napped, she snoozed. (Not at the same time, mind you.) We ate Sugar Babies and Cornuts and had a delightful trip except for being stopped by a Nevada Highway patrolman who just wanted to say howdy.

Mom had made reservations for a trip to Hawaii for the girls (my sisters Laura, Karen, Louann, and Wendy) a year ago before I knew that we were expecting two grandbabies and would have a wedding. Laura's family didn't know that they would be having a wedding in August. Karen didn't know that she would have a new granddaughter. Louann was hoping for a new grandbaby and she got one too. (And Wendy, let me say that your day is coming faster than you think!) I hope to be posting a picture of all five of these new little cousins soon. Regardless of all of that, we will climb on that airplane and fly 'somewhere over the rainbow'.

Anyway, here I sit once more at the window that I have described previously, recounting the wonderful events of this amazingly busy summer. I forgot to mention that two families had their missionaries return within a couple of weeks of each other. I tell you, those windows of heaven have shed buckets of blessings onto all of our heads.

My very favorite moment was when I looked around the sealing room and could see all five of our children, four spouses (Lane we missed seeing you), all of my brothers and sisters and spouses and my own mom and dad to see Diana and Dan be sealed. That's as close to heaven on earth that I will ever experience!

I will now drag myself and the extra pounds I gained eating every marred, misshapen peanut M&M I could find (I was the only person doing any kind of quality check and of course I was taught never to throw away good [yummy] food) and sing myself a lullabye (the fat lady singing) and dream wonderful dreams. Wait a minute, all of my dreams have come true! ! !

It's crunch time

Since my last post I have watched little 15 month old Jane shyly touch her new little brother on the cheek for the first time. I have heard Lane, the proud daddy, sing to his new little boy. I have stood by as Rachel fed and changed, fed and changed and crooned to her little son. And as I have said, the visit was worth every minute and mile to get there.

I got back to the homestead where Diana arrived, Dan arrived, Katie arrived, a shower was given, and all visitors departed. Then Julia and family packed up their household during the hottest week possible (116 on one day!). We cleaned bathrooms, washed walls. I transported kids for a sleep-over at grandma's. Their mom and dad dragged in the next day and collapsed. Four short days later the Smith family drove out of grandma's driveway for Boise. Alligator tears were shed.

After their departure I gathered up remnants of their stay crying more tears and then packed the stuff for the wedding in Utah. With a car filled to the gills with glass containers (for a candy buffet), sewing machines, mother of the bride dress, and organza up the kazoo I launch for the long drive to Utah. I had a book on CD to keep me company and only after arriving in Utah realized the irony of the title of my murder mystery. It is called 'Therapy'.

The last three days has been filled with preparations. The photo session for bridals was traumatic because the wedding dress wasn't altered correctly. We just pinned the tearful bride in and braved the camera. I deliver 80 (yes eighty) yards of organza to my dear friend and sister-in-law Louann who has made 110 sashes for chairs! . . in two days, no less! Mom has made trips scouring the area for candy. . . more, and yet more candy for the buffet. My sweet sisters are on standby to jump in at a seconds notice. They will be cleaning up details which will start cropping up.

I keep wondering how I can feel so calm after all of these weeks of hubbub and a wedding coming up fast. I wake up each morning so excited. I am just just shivering with the joy of this occasion. I am trying to stop and consciously looked around to make mental snapshots. Each day I see so much love in the people around me, especially in the eyes of the bride and groom when they look at each other.

Chirp, chirp, chirp. Happy, happy, happy! Bountious blessings.

The reception with it's sashed chairs, food, tuxedos and dresses is just a big party. The celebration of my heart will begin when I am sitting in the temple with my husband, parents, brothers and sisters, and each of my children to watch Diana and Dan kneel across the alter to join hands.

At this moment I am sitting in a room where I slept as a baby, in the room where I would watch for my sweetheart to cruise by in his hot Comero. In this room, I visualized a most wonderful life for myself. Today, I sit here writing about new little grandkids, a wedding celebration for my daughter and the chance to be in the temple with each member of my family.

I could never have imagined the blessings my life today. Blessings heaped upon blessings. Blessings poured out from the windows of heaven.

Accidental Tourist

Picture this. . . .

. . . A lone traveler with, what should be, a fairly direct passage from Sacramento to Dallas. Said traveler at ticket counter, finding out that reservations are for the following day instead of this one. Traveler being booked for a flight leaving at 11:30. Said traveler with 4 hours to waste getting a breakfast sandwich and playing sudoku, reading a book, walking up and down terminal. Traveler arriving in San Diego with a layover of 2 1/2 hours. Traveler successfully getting on her flight to Phoenix.

. . . After arriving in Phoenix, the traveler's stomach saying "I am very unhappy that you ate that breakfast muffin." Traveler running through airport to ladies room, running back to gate where flight to Dallas is delayed. Traveler's stomach screaming "That breakfast muffin is coming through NOW!" Said traveler being stuck in said ladies room for the duration. Traveler's stomach being somewhat pacified and traveler arriving at her gate just as her flight is moving away.

. . . Gate attendants putting traveler on standby list for Dallas. Traveler 'standing by' and watching all subsequent flights to Dallas leaving without her. Gate attendants putting traveler on last flight out of Phoenix to Albuquerque. Traveler being officially categorized by airline as a 'distressed traveler' and receiving a discount coupon for hotel and being booked on a flight to Dallas leaving at 6:50 a.m. the following morning.

. . . Traveler hardly sleeping a wink worrying that she will miss her flight to Dallas. (She stays in bed long enough to be a feast for bed bugs.) Said traveler arriving at airport veerrryyy early and getting on the airplane without incident. Traveler sitting back to enjoy her umpteenth package of peanuts only to hear the pilot come onto loudspeaker with the announcement "Love Field in Dallas is closed due to weather so we are diverting to Lovick. Sorry for the inconvenience." Traveler becoming supremely 'distressed'.

. . . Airplane landing in Lovick to wait for permission to fly to Dallas. Traveler walking up and down terminal, reading book, playing sudoku, but not eating food of any kind. Traveler, along with fellow travelers, waiting for 4 hours for an okay to take off for Dallas.

. . . Traveler landing in Dallas 32 hours after leaving home in Sacramento, being driven directly to a hospital, to meet her 3-hour old grandson. Traveler holding the beautiful baby and looking into the faces of the proud parents.

. . .Traveler knowing that each hour and every mile was well worth it.

Abundant life!

Let me glory in grandmotherhood for just a minute.

David and I just returned from Montana where little Samuel was blessed today. What a beautiful little guy! Before we left for the airport Megan, Caleb, and Benjamin covered us with kisses. I can still feel them in my cheeks.

Tomorrow, I plan on putting Diana's wedding invitations together with Julia. I will get to see Mr. M, Miss A, little C and Honey (see Smith Funny Farm).  Honey is just getting so he recognizes me. It's taken a little while for him to want to come to me but now I can make him giggle.

Wednesday, I will get to nibble on Janie when I get to Dallas. She is just so delicious! And sometime the next day, I will meet the brand new little Elliot.

In July, we will welcome a new son into our family. Dan and Diana will be married in July. Their marriage will complete the circle of our family. David and I, our children and their spouses really do form a circle. A protective circle around the new little ones that are coming to bless our family.

Am I loved? I could never question it. I feel loved by all of these. And even more, by the Heavenly Father who gives me this rich, abundant life.

In I Corinthians 2:9 it says ". . . Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him." Isn't it the truth!

Sisters

They came, they saw, they conquered! Laura and Karen, my sisters, flew in this weekend and snatched me out of the pit of despair.

The event calendar is jam packed for this Olsen family. Samuel Olsen will be blessed this Sunday in Montana. Little Elliot will be born about 5 days later in Dallas. So, this grandma flies out to Montana, flies home and after a 2 day layover flies to Dallas, stays a week and then flies home. After that, Julia, Steve, and their family come to stay while they pack up to move to Boise. Keep in mind that meanwhile we are putting together a wedding celebration for Diana and Dan on July 15th in Utah.

Our house has had many visitors and occupants in the last year. We have loved having each one of them but the house has been arranged and rearranged until more beds were down than up. The whole upstairs was topsy-turvy. The sewing room/guest room looked like a cyclone had hit it (even worse than when Donna Maygren saw it!)

I have been bumping around in the mess like I was a ball in a pinball machine, not knowing where to start. Then my sisters appeared like magic with their willing hands and loving hearts. We worked like maniacs for three days and then they flew away into the sunset.

Tonight I am sitting in a clean, orderly house that feels like angels have visited. Thank you Laura and Karen. I love you.

On this Mother's Day . . .

On this Mother's Day as I was ironing David's white shirt, I thought of his mom and how she raised David to do great things.  She had high expectations of her children and she made sure that they measured up.  When the A- came home she would say, "What happened?"  When they were assigned talks in church, she insisted that they would be memorized.  I thought of how proud she would be if she see her son in that white shirt going about his duties as Stake President.

On this Mother's Day I stood and gave a Sunday school lesson.  I found myself saying "my mother taught me" this and "my mother taught me" that.  I hadn't planned on all of those references to my mom but there there they were, testifying of my mother's goodness. 

My mom didn't ever equivocate, she never gossiped.  I have only ever heard her say one swear word when she was describing one particularly bad day.  We weren't raised with any kind of double standard because mom lived as she expected us to live.  We, her children, have always known where we should be and what we should be doing because mom was already there showing us the way.

On this Mother's Day, I picked up the phone 5 times to hear 5 children, now adults, tell me how much they love me.  Talking to Greg, I could hear sounds of his children ooooing and aaaaing over a new 4 day old brother.  With Diana, I could hear her fiance Dan interjecting a phrase here and there.  They sound so happy.  Julia told me that her baby Henry was sleeping and that she was lying on the floor while Calvin put toys on her face.  Rachel's little Jane fell asleep after saying "I love oooo".  Katie had just gotten back from taking a cake that she had made especially for her Grandma Packard.  She uses her little kitchen to make wonderful things and shares them with everyone she loves.

On this Mother's Day a couple of my children apologized for not doing more for me.  What they don't know is that I already have what I want.  Their gift to me on this Mother's Day is to know that they are living their lives as I always hoped they would.  When Diana is married in July, I will be able to sit in that sealing room of the temple surrounded with my husband and all of my children and their spouses.

On this Mother's Day how could I ask for more?  I am blessed beyond measure.

What's up?

What's up with the weather in California, more specifically Roseville, California?  Last Tuesday it was 97 degrees (92 at 8:00 at night).  Today (Tuesday) the high will be 62 with 42 degrees at night!  Now I ask you, what's up?

I could complain about Calfornia's financial climate (dismal), or it's political environment (abysmal), but the weather?  Come on!

Everyone who knows me knows that I am a Utah girl at heart.  Go ahead, scoff, but my soul floats somewhere over Winnemucca, never knowing whether to go east or west.  I'm homesick for my mountains and I can't get over it.  

Our plan was for David to do his residency in Pathology in San Francisco and go back to Utah to set up practice but . . . .    

Years ago my dad said "Don't tell me you want to move back here to 'happy valley' because there is no 'happy valley' He knew that happiness can be wherever you are and it is true.  We have had a bountiful life here.  Our children have grown up healthy, strong in the gospel and if you ask them, they would say they are Californians at heart.  Zion is wherever you are.  But their mom feels like a salmon swimming upstream, forever trying to get back home.

My secret plan is to get a motorcycle saying that it is an important part of our emergency preparedness.  I'll say that it will be easier to get out if we are told to evacuate.  But if that time comes, I'll tell my neighbors that they are welcome to my food storage and then I'll light out over the Sierras.  Of course, David is welcome if he wants to come.

Do you think I will get away with it?  In truth, I will stay here doing what I am supposed to.

   Oh well, I can dream.

i'm undone!

There must be a name for this condition.  It's really starting to worry me.  My kids have been worried about it for a long time but I really didn't think I had a problem. . . way back then.  I had some very good reasons for doing what I did, but now, this is just a habit.  I keep undoing things.

Most of the time, I undo things that I have made myself.   It doesn't matter what kind of project I am working on, sewing, knitting, crocheting, I undo nearly half of my work.  When I am sewing and I don't like what I have done I get out my Exacto knife and let her rip.  When crocheting or knitting, I find myself pulling out whatever and rolling it all back up into a ball.  Am I a perfectionist?  I think the problem is bigger than that.

When I am clothes shopping I don't ask myself "Does this shirt fit?"  I tell myself "I can make this fit" and I take it home and promptly unpick it.  Before I know it there are pieces in my lap where a shirt used to be.  Then the pieces go into a baggie and the baggie goes onto the "needs to be put back together" shelf.  What is that?  The word counterproductive comes to mind.

Okay, so I take things apart.  The bigger problem is I don't put them back together.  I just let the pieces all languish there on the shelf.  

My poor husband!  We were in Utah last week and one night we went out with our daughter and her husband.  "What is this?" she asked her dad pointing to his sleeve.  He had packed a shirt that had been subject to my scissors and there he was in public with unfinished sleeves.  I realized then, the problem had gone too far.

Seriously, I am going to turn over a new leaf.  This self defeating behavior must stop.  My new mantra will be 'get it together' or 'leave it together' or 'leave it alone!'  Someone needs to come and take my scissors away.  Pleeeeeeeeaaaasssseee!

I can't find it

What can't I find?  Anyone who knows me, knows that I can't find anything most of the time.  This post, however, is about a tradition in our family that always has everyone saying "I can't find it!"  It is the grand Easter egg hunt at Grandma and Grandpa Packard's house.  

The Easter bunny of my childhood was really a very clever bunny.  He not only brought us a basket of goodies but he teased us by hiding our baskets too.  One time I found my basket hanging from a string down into a heating vent.  Once my sister Laura found her basket without its handle tied up underneath the piano.  One was wired to the curtain rod under the curtain.  We loved it.

When we got older instead of baskets we got a chocolate egg.  The bunny, who, of course, was our clever mom, really got devious.  We would find our egg sewed into a pillow on the couch or inside a hollowed out book slipped back into its place on the shelf.  We found one egg underneath a chair or I should say underneath and inside the chair.

Over the years my mother has hidden hundreds of eggs.  My brothers and sisters married and had children who grew up, married, and had children who all come to Grandma and Grandpa's house to search for Easter eggs. Those of us who live away alway struggle mightily to get back home at Easter to enjoy the fun that mom's tradition has created.

Visualize this, 30 to 40 people crowded into a not so large kitchen and family room all searching for their egg.  The only rule to remember is nothing is out of bounds! 

 

Let me recount some of the stellar hiding places to date.  Chocolate eggs have been found inside of a grapefruit, banana, stuffed animal, a ball of yarn, in a roll which was in a bag which was sealed at the store, in an undisturbed bag of potatoe chips, in the peanut butter, in the Miracle Whip which was in the fridge, in a can on the shelf which was opened and emptied from the bottom.  They have been found inside the base of lamps, stuffed up into the water dispenser of the fridge, in the waffle iron (we had a hard time figuring out whose egg that was), in the VHS player (the DVD slot just doesn't lent itself sizewise), in the tool chest, work boots, sweaty hat, in a potted plant just under the roots.  One egg was molded around one of the canes in dad's collection.  There was the egg zipped into a baggie and lowered into a can of paint, the egg that was put into the bottom of the Big Gulp of the very person that was looking for it, the egg that was stuffed into a canister light behind the light bulb, the egg that was taped to a ceiling fan blade that was moving around and around as the search went on and on.  One poor person looked long after everyone had finished.  Come to find out his egg had been with him the whole time just inside his pocket!

So now you know that "I can't find it" really means "I can't find it" at my mother's house on Easter.

Fast and Furious

Lately, I have been moving fast.  Not just because I flew to Montana and back on a jet.  Or because I drove fast getting Julia and Steve to the airport.  But because for about the last two weeks I have been matching wits with and trying to keep up with my grandkids.

On the 21st I went to Montana to visit Greg and his family.  I hit the ground running, literally.  The first thing that Caleb wanted to do was play freeze tag.  I was not really very willing, but Caleb has the gifts of persuasion and persistence.  Once he makes up his mind about something, everyone might as well fall in line.  So there I was, in the middle of their acre lot running not only horizontally but vertically as well.  There is a pile of dirt there that must be 1000 cubic feet (like as big as a family room and as high as the ceiling).  Those kids didn't cut me any slack either.  Old grandma didn't want disappoint so she hung in there for about an hour and then had a collapse.  That night I accidently I fell asleep at about 8:00 in my clothes with my running shoes still on my feet.

I spent 5 days there in that crystal clear Montana air, drinking luscious well water, walking to the creek, making cinnamon rolls, watching it snow, getting hugged and kissed, and of course, playing freeze tag.  Just the best!

I got home thursday night and Friday morning bright and early I was on my way to pick up Julia and Steve's kids to come and stay with us for the next 5 days.  I was off and running again.  Making waffles, grilling cheese sandwiches, going to the store, going back to the store, "did you wash your hands". . ."with soap", searching for binkies, "get back into bed", "I'm going to count to three", "don't throw the golf ball in the house", "take three more bites", "we are going to take a bath", "there isn't any more ice cream", "get your shoes on", "where are his pants!!!".  I'm sure you get the picture.

By Monday morning, I decided that busy kids would be happier kids so I took out the basket of work gloves and let them pick their pair.  We all armed ourselves with shovels and went out back to get the garden box ready to plant.  Those weed were as tall as Calvin and almost as stubborn.  The kids thought they were in for a treat but after about 20 minutes they were done.  

That's when my latent mother logic flipped into gear.  I asked them how long they had watched the TV that morning.  "About 2 hours."  "Well," I said, "the rule around here is that we work as long as we watched the TV!"  Their faces fell.  I said, "But, I'll make you a deal.  I'll let you go in and do some of the easy work.  You make your beds, pick up the clothes, and unload the dishwasher."  They were skipped off happy at their good luck.  

Am I mean or am I mean?  The beauty of it is not just that they got a lot done but that Julia owes me now because tonight those kids think that they have the nicest mom ever!

I love my grandkids and consider my life blessed to be their grandma and love being with them whenever I can.  But I have one other small blessing that I will only whisper to you about.  It is that my house is quiet tonight and I have a comfortable bed in the next room which I plan on staying in, peacefully slumbering, until at least 9:00 tomorrow morning.

The bottom line

I have a serious confession to make.  When I had by forehead stitched up by the plastic surgeon, I asked for a consult on . . . . .I can't even seem to type out the word . . . . seriously, this is difficult!  Okay, (one. . . two. . . three. . . . . ) facelift.  There I said it!  Before you judge me I must tell you a couple of traumatic experiences.

In the last couple of months I have been offered the seniors discount at different establishments.  The clerks were just trying to be nice and save me a couple of dollars but PLEASE a couple of dollars are just not worth it.  Another incident, we were at Brookfields for supper and I ordered the turkey dinner and the waitress asked me if I wanted the regular or the senior dinner.  I was just speechless.  David said, "She wants the senior dinner" without thinking about the ramifications.  

If that isn't bad enough, there have been several instances where old (not just older) men have tried to pick up on me.  One guy in the airport followed me around back and forth, up and down.  It would have really worried me but he was pushing a walker.  Another time an older gentleman who hardly had the strength to open the door for me, said as I passed "Why don't you come home with me."  I'm not making it up.  Laura was with me on that one!  

Then there are those unflattering glimpses of myself in the side mirror of the car where "things are larger than they appear" (not a comforting phrase when you are looking at your own double chin).  I realized that I have been brushing on the eyebrow color higher and higher.  Soon I will have to shave off the real eyebrow and use a stencil.  I could go on but I won't.

So, yes, I did ask for a consult.  I sat there and calmly asked "What do you recommend?"  What am I a masochist?  Of course, he recommended this and that and as he went on I realized that he was talking about the whole enchilada.  He even tried to convince me that having a little fat put in my lips would be a good idea.   So, there I sit nodding my head going "yeah, okay, do you think so?"

Then he sent me into the girl who tallies it all up.  SIXTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.  Can you believe that?!?!?  Even though I was just doing this for a lark my secret hopes were dashed to pieces.  Stupid me, I should never have asked.  Now I can't even pretend that I would maybe, perhaps, some day, consider going in for a little work.  The world is a cruel place.

So, none of my loved ones have to worry too much that I will be transformed much before the resurrection. . . . unless I can get on one of those 'plastic surgery before and after' shows.  Do they pay for those procedures?  Where can I call to find out?

Preparedness and the procrastinator

Preparedness.  Such a frightening word for the procrastinator.  It seems like there has been a lot of talk lately about being prepared.  I guess we could contribute this to the stock market or Al Gore and his documentary on the Greenhouse Effect or the giant meteor that is projected to hit the earth next week or Nostradomis and the Mayans (who, by the way, are in cahoots with each other).  Whatever the reason, that old feeling of guilt is gripping me.

I just know that I am one of those foolish virgins.  "Oil?  What oil?  I didn't hear anyone say anything about bringing extra oil!  Where is that lamp?  I had it in my hand just a minute ago."

 So, knowing this about myself and since there is still some daylight shining, what am I doing about it.  I say "Carpe diem".  I get out my lists.  What to buy for a 72 Hour Emergency kit.  I make up a shopping list that will deplete Walmart's camping isle.  

Then my mind really kicks into gear.  I wonder if I should buy backpacks while I am at it.  Where are those backpacks the girls used at girl's camp?  They even had hip straps and everything.  But David and I are getting too feeble to carry all of that water and stuff.  I should look at those bike trailer thingys that you can hook on your bike.  Someone must be selling one on Craig's list.  Before I get on the computer I'd better look at the bikes.  I'll bet the bike tires won't even hold air anymore and I know that one of the hand brakes is broken.

The next thing I know, I am in the garage moving all kinds of things so I can get the bikes off of the hooks where they are stored.  The lawn mower and tools need to be moved.  My quilting boards are in the way so I take them to the attic.  And what do I find hiding there?  The camping equipment with the missing backpacks.  Well, that's a relief!

By the end of the day, I have camping equipment burping out of the attic, a garage that looks like a cyclone hit it, and a crumpled up list for Walmart.  I guess I will seize the day TOMORROW.

I'm think I'm in!

Even though there isn't an official name for this group, I think am in.  They know my name but more importantly the name of my dog!  I am going to call them the 'Mommies of Doggies Walking in the Park' group.  They are a formidable bunch at first, about eight women with dogs of every size and description.  They look like a very pampered group, women and dogs.  The mommies wear hats and sweaters about dogs and the dogs wear sweaters or neckerchiefs.  (I have yet to see any dog with a human on their shirt.  It must be a question of taste!)  They gather every day about the same time in the middle of Maidu Park and visit the morning away.  

  

There is one dog, a HUGE blue-gray standard poodle named Bear who has, apperantly, been scoping Bridget out from afar.  He is always extra friendly when we approach.  Their first meeting really made an impression on Bridget and now, whenever she sees him, she slams on the brakes.  I really have to coax her to come along.  I think Bear has a long way to go to prove to Bridget that he really does know how to behave in a casual social setting.

Poor Bridget, too much attention at the park and sheer boredom at home.  Her true love, Cosmo, a handsome brittany spaniel, is now a resident of Texas and she is forlorn.  No more teasing and frolicking or having someone warm to lay by.  She wanders back and forth from the front window, to the side door window.  Her biggest thrill is seeing Bob Crandall pick up his mail.  I do have to say that he is regular as clockwork and she is always there ready to bark a lung up.

She is really becoming quite the TV bum.  I can understand when she wants to watch Ceasar and the dogs but now she has become interested in musicals and film Noire.  She hangs with David to see who is winning the game.  She is even into the Celtic Women concerts on PBS.  What to do?

As you can tell, things are very quiet around here.  The proof of the pudding isn't just Bridget's behavior but also in the fact that I have been sitting here for 45 min. chronicling her every move.  And then boring you all with it!

Fill my eyes

It has been raining here in Roseville for several days now.  I have had fun watching the raindrops jump and dance in our pool out in back.  We are thankful for the rain because it is raising California up out of at least one deficit.

  

Things have been pretty gray and colorless so today while I ran some errands I stopped by the fabric store to see some color.  I love walking through the aisles looking and touching the different fabrics.  I looked through the skeins yarn for something to inspire me.  I walked through the beads looking for something that sparkled to make I don't know what.  I love the way light shines through glass but I resisted buying anything because I just didn't see anything that spoke to me. 

  

As I stepped out of the store an incredible sight filled my eyes.  There across the sky was one of the brightest double rainbows I have ever seen.  Even the second rainbow's colors were vibrant enough to see the reflection of the entire color spectrum.  I tell you, my soul just shivered with joy!  People were everywhere looking up and pointing just like children.  Everyone had a smile on their face.  The beauty of that God-given moment just lifted up all of the hearts that beheld it.

  There is a scripture in Isaiah 17:7-8 that says, "At that day shall a man look to his Maker, and his eyes shall have respect to the Holy One of Israel.  And He shall not look to the altars, the work of his hands, neither shall respect that which his fingers have made. . ."  I realized that the things I had been looking at in the store were only pretending to be beautiful.  Real beauty is only found in God's creations.

So today many people saw one of those rare, glorious sights of intense color spread across the sky.  It was my rainbow sent to fill my eyes with color.