It's a no-no

Never weigh the morning after a vacation!  Why, why, why did I do it?  Why did I step onto the scales?  But more to the point, why did I eat all of those M&M's and corn nuts, wheat thins and ginger snaps, gummy bears and nuts?  Woe is me!

David and I have been traveling in Rachel's little Honda for the past week.  When we started a week ago saturday we were looking at a messy drive over Donner's pass and freezing rain over Nevada to Utah.  We made it in fine shape and enjoyed a nice couple of days visiting.

  Grandpa Olsen had his 82nd birthday.  We ate with David's siblings, ate with Grpa and Grma Packard, ate with Katie and Dave, Diana and Dan, and ate and ate.  On the sly, I finished up all of our left over junk from the crossing and then went to Walmart and stocked up again.  What was I thinking?

We drove down through the corner of Arizona and across New Mexico.  And I thought Nevada was desolate!  The highlight of New Mexico was a Burger King that was on the cutting edge of fast food.  They had apple fries and SUPER-SIZED shakes with straws that had to be 1/2 inch across.  And yes, we ate.

In Texas, the land of deep-fried everything, we ate.  Of course, we saw Rachel and Lane and Jane and had a nice visit with Lael and her cute family.  I have to say that one of the most delicious things on the trip were the hugs of her sweet children.  The hardest thing were the goodbye hugs from Rachel and Lane and Jane's little wave.

Now, we are back.  I have to be hard core and make amends for my eating transgressions.  I went on a walk this morning but found myself singing "On the Good Ship Lollipop". (That was a song that Shirley Temple sang 75 years ago.)  For heaven's sake, even my subconscious is conspiring against me.

I am the captain of my own ship.  Right?  I can make good choices.  Right?  Someone out there who loves me, please compose a mantra for me.  I can't seem to phrase one.  My brain is full of sugar. 

Hot Water

Main man discovered rather quickly this morning that our hot water heater had gone out.  Fortunately for him, we have two water heaters and he traipsed, towel and shampoo in hand, to the other end of the house.  As it was raining torrents outside, I began thinking (I was under the warm blankets at the time) how would I be living in if I had to build my own house.

First off, it wouldn't be a house, it would be a lean-to.  It wouldn't have a bed with warm blankets in it.  It wouldn't have a hot water.  In short, I would be in dire striates.  

What would I have to eat for breakfast?  What would I HAVE to do today.  Kill and pluck a chicken?  Only if I had raised a chicken!

I know how to split wood.  I have washed my hair in a freezing cold stream.  I have balanced myself over a foreboding black hole in an out house.  I even know how to grind wheat to make bread.  But I haven't chopped down a tree to get the wood, made the soap to wash my hair, dug a hole for the latrine, or grown and harvested the wheat.  

Today I will move around in a warm, weather-tight house, put dirty dishes into a dishwasher, get ice from the fridge, vacuum the floor, and use my computer to learn about anything I want to learn.  

Usually I would go about the day without thinking about what I really have.  But today I resolve to look around me and be grateful.

(Maybe I ought to look up how to pluck a chicken!)

One season following another

The changing of the seasons comforts me somehow.  There are some things that never change.  Spring always follows winter.  It is a rhythm of life that touches the deepest part of me.  I guess I could say that a part of me harkens back to ancient beginnings.

  

 We marvel at Stonehenge.  The people who built it to celebrate the coming spring.  They knew and were thankful that the winter darkness was waning and light and life would start again.

  

I grew up in Utah.  When I was really little and had permission to cross the street, I found a special spot that I visited religiously when the snow started to thaw.  I guess I watched it like the ancients watched their stone monolith.  

In that spot was a pussy willow bush.   When the soft little kitten toes started to sneak out from under the bud, I knew that I could rejoice.  Then a few blossoms of the apricot tree would pop open and the green spears of the crocus' and daffodils would push up.

Now I live in Northern California.  The winter here is mild and I don't have a pussy willow bush to watch but spring is coming.  But, this morning on my walk I saw a daffodil bud with a little tiny bit of yellow peeking out and I am rejoicing.

Thank goodness some things never change.

  

 

Time

I hate clocks!  They have never been my friends.  Call me maladjusted.

Anyone who knows me would say, "Yup, she is always late."  My mom says that I was born on my due date and that is the last time I was punctual.  In kindergarten the most coveted spot to begin the day was the sand pile.  I only got to play in the sand ONCE that year because all of the play stations were first come, first serve.  I spent my mornings in the yucky playhouse.

  I remember when I was 8-years-old walking down the sunny street thinking everything is perfect today except I have overdue library books.  

I was the one who funded all of the parties for the student counsel in high school because there was a hefty fine for being late.  

For a while, when my husband was bishop, I was the church organist.  You know, that person who is there early to play prelude music.  I was always dragging in -- 5 kids in tow -- only 'pretty much' on time for the opening song.  My oldest, Greg, told everyone that the only thing scarier than driving with mom to church was driving with mom to church in the rain.

  This year, our stake president is really emphasizing reverence and the first rule is to be on time for church.  Last week, as I slunked into sacrament meeting the customary 12 minutes late the Relief Society president looked me straight in the eyes and shook her head. Who do you think the stake president is.  You guessed it! 

So, maybe I am maladjusted.  But I have a question ...  

To all those time driven, intense people who are dedicated to their watches: Are there clocks in heaven?  There can't be.  Time is finite and eternity is infinite.  When we get to the other side and everyone is looking at their wrist out of habit, who will be maladjusted then?  Not me! 

Fourteen stitches later

A couple of days ago, I fell and split my forehead on the corner of the wall.  

I only mention this graceful move because it inspired the title of my blog.  Not that I had seriously entertained the thought of having a blog but when the phrase 'Gail's travails' popped into my head, I said to myself "why not".  

I have to say that I approach this blank page with fear and trepidation.  For some of you a blank page would be seen as an opportunity but for me it is intimidating.  Add to that my next to nothing understanding of my computer . . . I am sounding like an old lady.

In the future I plan on addressing what we could call the Sunrise Sunset phenomenom, my Mah Jong theory, hobophobia, the many ways to lose/bust boobs (or experiences with breast cancer), robins, roses, and lots of other fragments that cross my mind.

Until then. . .