Memorial Day (Green Edition)

(Grandma and Grandpa Royce in 1986)

For me, St. Patrick's Day is not so much a holiday as it is a day of remembrance. It's the day I always think of and remember my paternal grandfather. He was as Irish as they come.

As a kid I remember thinking he looked like a jolly ol' leprechaun - only much taller. Because this sweet man adopted my dad I suppose I can't claim any real Irish blood. However, I choose to believe that once a child is adopted into a family and loved like a natural-born child the family's history seeps into their blood as if it were always there. (So Ireland, I claim you as part of me. I'll try to make you proud.)

I remember speaking to my grandpa on the phone one year on St. Patrick's Day when I was fairly young. He sang me a little song that still brings memories flooding back when I hear it - When Irish Eyes Are Smiling.

The summer I graduated from high school my friend Suzanne and I went on a road trip to Northern California. I stopped in for a day to visit Grandma and Grandpa Royce in their little apartment in Sacramento. They served me boxty and smoked sausage. Along with the smell of sweet pipe smoke, smoked sausage still makes me think of my Grandpa to this day.

Later, when my kids were old enough to care, I decided to make a proper St. Patrick's Day feast to celebrate March 17th. I got a book from the library on Irish cuisine and was surprised to find there were no recipes for corned beef and cabbage. However, I did find a recipe for boxty - along with this poem that made me smile:

Boxty on the griddle,
boxty in the pan,
if you can't make boxty,
you'll never get a man.

I had forgotten about boxty! And although I already got myself a man I figured it would be a fitting tribute to Grandpa Royce to prepare these little potato pancakes along with some smoked sausage. And the kids loved it. (By the way, if you serve homemade applesauce on boxty your tastebuds will thank you. And you'll thank me. You're welcome.)

Happy St. Patrick's Day everyone!


And Grandpa, I'll never forget your smiling Irish eyes.

20 Years Was A Long Time Ago

Photo of Wayfarer's Chapel from panoramio.com

I have always loved to write. From the time I was 8 years old until I got married in 1992 I was a dedicated journal writer, recording all sorts of mundane life events. This post is taken from the journal I kept for the year 1989, when I was 17 years old.

Today I bought my prom ticket for $85.00. I asked Mike to go with me but he hasn't given me an answer yet. I feel kind of stupid being the one doing the asking but it's better than waiting around for someone to ask me and feeling sorry for myself. The funny thing is, I guess I'm waiting around waiting for his answer and feeling sorry for myself that he might say no anyway. If he can't go I'll just take Chip and probably have a better time anyway.
(Oh, how I wish I had followed my gut feelings on this one! That was about the worst date of my life and I had no one to blame but myself.)

I drove to Wayfarer's Chapel today. It was so peaceful there, tucked back in the hills. I thought about how stoked I would be if I was ever inside this building during a rain storm. I sat on the stone steps and started to write a song and then I walked over to the cliffs and just looked at the waves crashing on the rocks below for awhile. The sky was a burst of oranges and reds with a tinge of pink on the underbelly of the clouds and the tide was high. So I'm moving on. Thank you, Blondie.
(I hope that at least some of you can appreciate the awesome wit of 17-year-old me.)

School today. I hated every minute of it. Trish and I were laying out on her roof in our bikinis yesterday and we got burnt. I would never wear my bikini in public, in case any of my kids in the future read this. Even though my dad says I should wear one now while I can still get away with it. He cracks me up.
(I'm not sure which is funnier - the disclaimer to my future kids or my dad's approval of my bikini.)

I can't imagine ever not having music in my life. Today I am listening to my favorite tape filled with songs that I got off the radio. I hate when the DJ has to talk right until the singing starts because then I don't get the whole intro. Why do they do that? Anyway, "Just Like Heaven" from The Cure just finished and now the Cowboy Junkies are singing "Sweet Jane". The next song is REM's "You Are The Everything" which is probably my favorite song in the world right now. It is one of those songs that puts me in a mood. I don't know how else to describe it. Music is such a powerful force.
(Some things never change - except maybe my favorite songs. Those change daily.)

Someone burned down the Ivy House. I wonder who it was? I also wonder if the lady who lived in there was really a witch with somewhere close to 50 cats. That's what everyone says. You know what I think? If I lived in a house with 50 cats I would burn it down, too, straight to the ground. I would never tell anyone this because they would think I was a mean witch for hating cats so much.
(The funniest thing about this snippet is that I am completely serious.)

Here I am again, sitting on the bus stop bench in front of our apartment building. Somehow the sound of the occasional passing car clears my head and helps me to think. And here's what I'm thinking tonight: I am an idiot.
(No use trying to lie to myself, I suppose.)

That's all you get. The remaining pages are a jumbled mess of my obsession with various persons of the male species which honestly serves no purpose and should be burned.

Kind of like the Ivy House.

Little Bites of Happiness

(photo stolen from Jason's blog)

Have you ever had a treat that was like putting a little piece of heaven in your mouth? One that could transform a lousy day into a day worth smiling over? I have. They are called Chunk-a-Poo cookies.

Don't let the name fool you. As deceivingly disgusting as they may sound, they are pure cookie bliss surrounding a chocolatey-caramel surprise center.

Did you click on that picture up there and take a look at all the goodness up close?

Yeah, that's what I'm talking about.

It's always a great day when I have myself a nice, warm Chunk-a-Poo with a glass of cold milk.

What? You want some too?

Good luck.

Taking A Deep Breath...

I'm sure you've all heard of this book. It's one of those classics that every woman reads and LOVES. Well, almost every woman.

(Ahem.)

First let me apologize in advance to all of the intelligent, funny, wonderful women I know who love this book.

I have a confession to make. I have a really hard time with Pride and Prejudice. I read it because I wanted to know what the big hoopla over it was but I have never had a more difficult time following a story in my life. I had to go back and read some parts a second and third time to try to get what was going on. And I get it (the story) but I don't get it (the hoopla).

Let's just get it all out there...

I am COMPLETELY okay with never reading it again.

I know, I am a disgrace to the female gender. I'm sorry... really, I am. I wanted so badly to finish this book and have some understanding of why everyone loves it and why women everywhere swoon over Mr. Darcy but you know what? He's not real. There is NO Mr. Darcy. He's a fictional character and he does not exist. Kind of like Edward in the Twilight books. (Put down your pitchfork! I'm just saying!!)

Well, I've come clean.

(exhale)

I hope we can still be friends.

Reunited

...and it feels so good!

This one's a long story (longer than a blog post should be) so I'll just sum it up:

• I gave up playing the guitar and gave it away.

• I missed it a little. (Maybe a lot.)
  

• I got it back today.
  

• We're happy to be together again.

The End.

(Don't you love happy endings?)

My Heroes: The Typo Eradication Advancement League

I may have mentioned previously that I have some issues with bad grammar, spelling mistakes and misuse of punctuation.

When I say 'issues' I mean I will print out an email with mistakes and fix the errors with a red pen because it makes me happy inside.

I take pictures of spelling errors that I find in public places in order to torture myself over them in the privacy of my own home. For example:
While waiting at the dentist's office last week I read an article in the May 2008 Reader's Digest about a man after my own heart. His name is Jeff Deck, and his partner in truth, justice and typo eradication is Benjamin Herson. (Go ahead, click on that blue link and read the article. I'll wait here for you.)

I was excited to come home and look up T.E.A.L. on the internet.

I found this mission statement and wanted to join their cause:

...we, sworn members of TEAL, will be taking a road trip around the country to stamp out as many typos as we can find, in public signage and other venues where innocent eyes may be befouled by vile stains on the delicate fabric of our language. We do not blame, nor chastise, the authors of these typos. It is natural for mistakes to occur; everybody will slip now and again. But slowly the once-unassailable foundations of spelling are crumbling, and the time has come for the crisis to be addressed. We believe that only through working together with vigilance and a love of correctness can we achieve the beauty of a typo-free society.

However, as is the case with many superheroes, their valiant plan was thwarted and the blog which chronicled their journey across America was closed. All that remains is A Statement on the Signs of our National Parks and Public Lands.

I felt slighted. I had finally discovered a worthwhile cause that I could really get motivated about only to discover that they had gone underground. Like many superheroes, they had been silenced.

I eagerly await the return of the Typo Eradication Advancement League.

I don't know about you, but I have been inspired. Rather than looking the other way when I notice the typos around me, I am going to make a difference! I will create a typo-correction kit and carry it with me at all times to preserve the language that I hold dear. Those of you who know me well know I will do this.

We CAN have a typo-free society, and I can help make it happen!

I can make a difference!

(cue superhero exit music)

Careful What You Ask For...

...because you just might GET IT!!

Pam, you will now and forever be my most favoritest cousin.

I mean, you already were.

But now your #1 position on my "Favorite Cousins" list is guar-an-teed.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

You are so very kind and generous and thoughtful and all those other really nice words that describe an awesome person.

I love it.

Not For The Squeamish

I do not consider myself a picky eater.

However, I can not understand one food: cream of celery soup.

I will never use it when preparing a meal. Why would I? What in the world is its purpose? (I submit that it has none except to disgust people the whole world over.)

Who came up with this stuff? Does anyone really use it? I mean, seriously - when we have cream of mushroom and cream of chicken available - why use something called cream of celery?

Don't get me wrong here. I have nothing against celery itself. Top it with peanut butter or cream cheese and it makes a great snack. Dip it in ranch and it tastes like crunchy, stringy water dipped in ranch. Which is not all bad.

And celery in soup? I do that all the time. I buy the fresh stuff and chop it up and it makes my potato or chicken noodle soup mighty tasty.

But cream of celery soup? The words cream and celery and soup were just not meant to be together.

Period.

Can we still be friends?

Onion, Where Art Thou?

Today my fridge has a distinct onion smell
Yet nary an onion is there.
What could be causing this lingering scent?
Is there a ghost onion somewhere?

I searched and I sniffed and I shifted some bowls
Not a scallion came into sight!
Perhaps I'll bake cookies, put them in the fridge
And hope it smells better tonight.

There Is Beauty All Around

As I was waiting for the kids after school one day this week I looked outside my window and noticed how beautifully blue the sky was. But even better than that were the white cotton candy clouds stretched across the endless expanse of azure. There was a gentle breeze pushing the billowy clouds along like a roller-box story, constantly shifting and changing.

I could get lost in that sky, I thought, finding new pictures in each cloud as they blew past.

Today as I dropped Princess off at kindergarten I noticed again how stunning the skies were. I went straight home and got my camera so the magic of this day would not be lost - the heavens were filled to capacity with brilliant white clouds set against the infinite blue.

I live in one of the most breathtakingly beautiful places on God's green earth!

Just had to say that, for the record.

It's a Beautiful Day.

Everything I Need To Know...

...I learn from my class of 4 and 5-year-olds on Sundays.

Take last week for instance, when I learned 3 valuable lessons.

The teachers of the other 4-5 class didn't show up so I had some extra little students on Sunday. I asked a question and one of these new kids immediately raised his hand. "Great! What do you think, N--?" I asked, excited that he was so willing to participate.

"I need to use the BATH-room!" he responded.

"OK", I said, buying time, "we'll all go to the bathroom as soon as we figure out the answer."

N--'s hand shot up again. "Did you KNOW that if you don't go to the TOI-let right away when you need to go to the BATH-room you can get a INFEC-tion?"

Lesson #1.

After the bathroom break was completed, hands washed and the water fountain visited, we made our way back to the classroom. Once everyone was seated I began again.

"Do you guys know that Heavenly Father can speak to us today? How do you think he does that?"

Again, N--'s hand. "HERE's what I know! If you are STANDing by a VOLCANO and it starts a-RUPTing you better run FAST or the LAVA will melt your SKIN off and you'll DIE!"

Lesson #2.

"That's awesome, N--!" I begin to whisper, another tactic in keeping their attention. "But can I tell you guys something else? It's a really important thing about prophets. Can you all hear me?"

SuperC jumps out of his seat, stands beside me and whispers in my ear, "Can you hea-o me? Becawse guess what? You aw amazing!"

Lesson #3.


I can't wait to see what they teach me next week.

Ready To Fly

A couple years back Allen and I went to a Richard Marx concert with some family. We saw it advertised and thought it would be fun to relive the memories of those classic 80's songs! It was also fairly inexpensive as it was held at a smaller outdoor venue that was just one city over.

We went with almost no expectation except for the hope that he would play a good number of the old songs we had all known as teenagers. We were not disappointed - his rapport with the crowd was amazing and he played every song we could remember as well as a few of his more recent compositions.

One of his newer songs, Ready To Fly, struck a chord with me. It speaks of the power we each have inside - one that often goes untapped. I loved the message in the lyrics as well as the music that accompanied it.

Ready To Fly by Richard Marx
I've been trying to open the door To the secret of my destiny
And every new road I think is the one Seems to lead right back to me

I've looked for a way to be wiser A way to be strong
Now I see the answer was hiding In me all along

Chorus:
And I'm ready to fly Over the sun
Like a rocket to heaven And I'm ready to soar
Right through the sky Never dreamed I'd find something to lift me so high
I've always had wings But I wasn't ready to fly

Restless, hopeless, and misunderstood
Like so many others I know
So busy tryin' to keep holdin' on When I should've been letting go

I was given the gift to find it The spirit inside me
But I never really imagined All I could be

Chorus:
And I'm ready to fly Over the sun
Like a rocket to heaven And I'm ready to soar
Right through the sky Never dreamed I'd find something to lift me so high
I've always had wings But I wasn't ready to fly

The answer to all of my wonder Was right in my hands
Now it's time for me to discover All that I am

Chorus:
And I'm ready to fly Over the sun
Like a rocket to heaven And I'm ready to soar
Right through the sky Never dreamed I'd find something to lift me so high
I've always had wings But I wasn't ready to fly

I've always had wings Now I'm finally ready to fly

CSI: Buddy Edition - The Final Conclusion

If you're not sure what this is all about, read HERE (my last post) first.

The story continues...

I searched every inch of the basement for our fine feathered friend, to no avail. I searched every corner and possible spot upstairs and still couldn't find Buddy anywhere. I decided to face the inevitable: Buddy was no longer with us.

As I washed the breakfast dishes I thought about how to break the news to Cowgirl. Perhaps a note from Buddy? Maybe we could just get another blue parakeet and she'd never know the difference? Or there was always telling her the truth. I wasn't sure what to do... and then I heard it.

Little parakeet noises. Chirping that sounded like it was coming from inside somewhere. I searched the cabinets. I looked inside the dishwasher and stove. I investigated the kids' cubby beneath the counter. Nothing. But I kept hearing him sing.

Was it a ghost-Buddy?

Was I going crazy? (Don't answer that.)

I called Allen at work and told him what I was hearing. He offered suggestions as to where I might look and then decided to come home to help in the search.

I pulled the dishwasher out from its space in the cabinets just as Allen arrived. The chirping grew louder.

"He's in there, I know it!" I said, pointing to a cavity between the sink cupboard and the dishwasher. And then, as if on cue, out he jumped.

Mystery solved. He was playing hide-and-seek.

How did he get in there? Here's Allen's guess (from his comment on my first entry about this whole adventure) :

I think he landed on the kitchen floor and was drawn to the warmth of the heater vent under the sink. Upon closer inspection, he found that he could hop up into the overhang of the cabinet and hang out in the cavity between the dishwasher and the compartment under the sink. Once there, he couldn't get out because he didn't know how.

So, as much as I hate pets and threaten to get rid of him, welcome back to the cage Buddy.

And P.S... You better not do anything stupid like that again.

CSI: Buddy Edition

THE FACTS:

• I woke up this morning, as usual, and began to fix lunches for the kids to bring to school.

• I made tortilla roll-ups, which are a welcome change from the usual PB & J.

• As I began to layer spinach atop the ham I thought of Buddy, our bird, who loves spinach.

• I looked to his cage. It was open, as usual. But no Buddy.

• I was nervous that he may have died in the night and was now resting (forever) at the bottom of his cage. I checked. No Buddy.

• I listened for his happy chirping. Nothing.

• Buddy rarely leaves his cage. Strange.

• The older kids helped Allen and I scour the house - under couches, over cupboards... no Buddy.

• Everyone left for school or work and now I remain in the house with the 4 smallish members of our family.

• Cowgirl is not yet aware that he is missing. (He is kind of HER bird.)
  

• Where, oh where, could our little bird have gone?

POSSIBLE CONCLUSION(S):

• He is playing hide-and-seek.

• Alien abduction.

• Spontaneous combustion.

• Birdnapped!

• A planned escape (in the same manner of the fish residing in the tank in Finding Nemo)?
  

Stay tuned for new developments...


(What do YOU think happened?)