The Farmer in the Dell

A few weeks ago, Bob and I attended a "function," and we were seated next to a couple we hardly knew. While getting acquainted, we had the pleasure of watching an adventure in stereotyping. Our conversation went this way:

The Husband: "So, Bob, where did you grow up?"

Bob: "In Idaho."

The Husband: "Oh! . . . . . . ."

Bob (trying to fill the void, hauled out a long-standing joke between the two of us): "Yes, Idaho. And Judy vowed she'd never marry someone from Idaho, or a farmer, for that matter."

"Me (chuckling): "I was a little . . . um . . . snooty back then."

Pause.

Me: (being the wordy person that I can be in slightly awkward situations): "Yes, a tad bit snooty. But you know, farmers are not what you might think. When we lived in Idaho, I was pleasantly surprised at the people I met and learned to love. They are really very wonderful."

Pause.

Me: "They have a great work ethic."

Pause.

Me: "That is actually one of the things that drew me to Bob in the first place."

What happened next was incredibly funny. Have you ever dug yourself a hole that you couldn't climb out of? Bob and I watched it happen. Gosh, we gleefully let it happen.

The Husband: "Well, Bob, that's interesting. I knew a farmer once. You don't look like one."

Shovel, shovel. Scoop, scoop.

Long pause. We looked at them. They looked at us.

The Wife: "I THINK there was a farmer in the outskirts of our town many years ago.

Yes, yes. I'm pretty sure."

Shovel, shovel. Scoop, scoop.

Bob and I smiled and nodded, but we were silent.

The Husband: "Well, we certainly need farmers. Why, what would happen if we didn't have those kinds of people?"

Shovel, shovel. Scoop, scoop.

Still, Bob and I stayed quiet.

The Husband: "And you really work at a bank?"

Bob: "Yes, for about 25 years."

The Wife: "But you, Judy. You don't come from farm people, right? You're musical!"

Shovel, shovel. Scoop, scoop. Fall in.

All of this only took a minute or two, and it was I who finally had mercy on them. I honestly don't know if they thought they NEEDED mercy, bless 'em. But though I was becoming uncomfortable, I do believe Bob would have let them swing in the breeze a little longer.

"No, I'm sort of a city girl," I said. And I went on to explain where I DID grow up and, my husband told me later, artfully steered the conversation in another direction.

Shovel, shovel. Scoop, scoop. Rather delightful.

And to be truthful, it was Bob's broad shoulders that made me take a second look.

He got them "working out" on a farm.

The Eyes Have It

I have a couple of pretty funny posts rattling around in my brain, but this one is just random, kinda like my day. . . .

I've been a little sickie for a while. This morning, I looked at myself in the mirror and wow, are my eyes looking tired. And my eyebrows are grey! They resemble a bit too closely those of our dear-departed dog, Bo. (There will be no photos along with this post.)

Apparently I wear my troubles in my eyes. Later, I headed over to my dentist so he could have a look-see, and when I walked in, he noticed, and he attributed it to the infection I'm fighting. My eyes were talking.

Many, many years ago, I was sitting in a vehicle with my future-husband's roommate. I forget what exactly we were talking about. It was definitely about Bob, and I was possibly a little frustrated, but the actual details escape me now. I do know he was trying to make me feel better. He finally looked at me and said, "You know, Judy, your eyes remind me of a big old Jersey cow." I was not flattered, and he could tell. He blustered about, trying to explain, trying to cover his bases.

Much later, when I was actually introduced to a Jersey cow, I looked at her eyes. Guess what? They were really beautiful. Trust me. The rest of her, well, not so much. But the eyes, stunning. Only then did I realize what a compliment I had been paid a few years before. I suppose I should look Craig up and apologize, although I'm sure he has long forgotten the episode.

Someone once said, "The eyes are the windows of the soul." Yes, they are. It's a good thing to keep in mind.

Legacy

I was a little under-the-weather yesterday and so spent some hours alone while my husband completed his tasks for Sunday. As is usually the case when it is quiet here, my thoughts take their own wandering path, and often I reflect on things that normally, in the frenetic pace we live, I don’t think about. Quietude. Reflection. Good things.

On this morning, I was able to watch a program of music and the spoken word from the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the Orchestra at Temple Square. This program has the distinction of being the longest-running live-broadcast program in America. But that’s really neither here nor there for the purposes of this post.

Listening to the Tabernacle Choir, though, and watching them sing this morning, brought on sweet thoughts of my father and the legacy he left me. I lost him when I was very young, only 17, a child really, and the pain of it at the time was almost insurmountable. Over 40 years later, my Dad still touches me, through my memories of his refinement and charm, his kindness, his empathy for others, his laughter, and his music. Sometimes, it still hurts. But mostly, I am filled with gratitude and love.

I cannot describe the program I witnessed and heard this morning. I can’t. It simply defied description. When it was finished, I sat very still and pondered how very different my life would be if I were not lifted by such exquisite beauty. One of the songs was a familiar spiritual, “He’s Got The Whole World In His Hands,” with a soloist from the Choir being backed by the entire group (360 strong). It was breathtakingly beautiful-—in a way I’ve never quite experienced with the Choir before. If you saw it, you’d understand. Believe me, it was a life-changer.

Thank you, Daddy, (and I know you’re close), for leaving me this indescribable gift.

I would not be me without you.

Out With the Old . . .

Bob and I fled the country on New Year's Eve and landed in SLC in time for "Eve" festivities at the Gallavin Center. We took these photos from our hotel room. It was noisy and colorful and delicious and wonderful, and it is the first time in a long time that I've stayed completely awake to ring in the new year. Thanks to my hubby for an absolutely perfectly planned evening!

Happy New Year, everyone!

City of Peace

On Christmas Eve this year, Bob and I found ourselves in a situation we haven't experienced since our marriage. We were without family. We twiddled our thumbs for a bit and then we grabbed the camera and drove through our town, and snapped some photos of the lake that lies right smack in the middle of it. Enjoy!

Ooooh, we love it here!