Beck To Cookie!

You may have noticed that I haven't posted my reaction to the American Idol finale. Perhaps I flatter myself in thinking that you've been holding your collective breaths. In any case, here's the truth: I needed a little time to breathe myself out of panic mode. But not for reasons you might assume.

You probably know that I've been pulling for David A for a while, because once a Murray High Spartan, always a Murray High Spartan. But for the record, I also liked David C very much. I particularly loved the slight rasp in his voice that reminded me of a young Neil Diamond (and yes, I was definitely a young Neil Diamond fan).

No, my frustration comes from something else entirely. The evening of the final show, Bob and I wanted to finish up some yard work, and so we decided to Tivo the finale. When we started watching it, we were about 20 minutes behind real time.

If you take a moment to watch the YouTube clip I have posted above, you might understand what caused me to stop breathing and initiate full-blown frenzy at our house. I frantically punched the remote, trying every local news channel, then national channels, all of which were deep into more newsworthy stories. I heard some screeching coming from an Idol party in our neighborhood, but I couldn't detect what the screeching meant. If I hadn't been in my pajamas, I would have run outside and gotten the info from these youngsters. But, I have a reputation (don't ask) to protect, so I pursued another angle. The internet! Uh, nope. Nothing.

In an effort to calm me down, Bob, bless his heart, said, "Don't worry. You'll find out tomorrow." Obviously this Bob was an impostor.

Picture the season-ending football game in 2006 between hated rivals BYU and Utah. BYU's John Beck throws an impossible pass to the end-zone with no time left in the game and BYU needing a touchdown to win. The ball is in the air. It's flying downfield, a perfect spiral in slo-mo. Players of both teams are running hither and thither desperately trying to position themselves so as to catch, or bat away, that coveted pigskin. Suddenly, BYU's tight end, Johnny Harline, appears all by himself, and the ball Beck has just thrown is headed right for his numbers. But hold on! At this very moment, the TV goes black, and we don't know what happens. Does the ball make it all the way? Does a Ute player intercept? Does Harline do the impossible? Who, in heaven's name, wins the game? You think MY Bob then turns to me and calmly says, "No worries. We'll catch the score tomorrow."? Not in a million years.

But I digress. We did find out who was crowned American Idol 2008, not in the eons of time that it seemed like to me, but in a very few minutes. We used the phone. Congratulations to David Cook for an outstanding season. He is a talented singer and a gracious person. He deserved the win. I foresee both Davids having successful careers.

For Memorial Day--May We Never Forget

“You’ve probably seen the bumper sticker somewhere along the road. It depicts an American flag, accompanied by the words ‘These colors don’t run.’ I’m always glad to see this because it reminds me of an incident from my confinement in North Vietnam... Then a major in the U.S. Air Force, I had been captured and imprisoned from 1967 to 1973. Our treatment had been frequently brutal. After three years, however, the beatings and torture became less frequent. During the last year, we were allowed outside most days for a couple of minutes to bathe. We showered by drawing water from a concrete tank with a homemade bucket. One day, as we all stood by the tank, stripped of our clothes, a young naval pilot named Mike Christian found the remnants of a handkerchief in a gutter that ran under the prison wall. Mike managed to sneak the grimy rag into our cell and began fashioning it into a flag... He made red and blue from ground-up roof tiles and tiny amounts of ink and painted the colors onto the cloth with watery rice glue. Using thread from his own blanket and a homemade bamboo needle, he sewed on stars. Early in the morning a few days later, when the guards were not alert, he whispered loudly from the back of our cell, ‘Hey gang, look here!’ He proudly held up this tattered piece of cloth, waving it, as if in a breeze... When he raised that smudgy fabric, we automatically stood straight and saluted, our chests puffing out, and more than a few eyes had tears... Now, whenever I see the flag, I think of Mike and the morning he first waved that tattered emblem of a nation. It was then, thousands of miles from home in a lonely prison cell, that he showed us what it is to be truly free.”

---Medal of Honor recipient Leo K. Thorsness, quoted in The Patriot Post, May 23, 2008

Happy Feet

On Mother's Day, I received a lovely card from my daughters, telling me to reserve the following Saturday for a surprise afternoon with them. Knowing them as I do, I promptly started feeling like a child on Christmas Eve. Whatever they had planned, I knew it would be good, and I was right.

We met at Jennifer's house at noon. I soon found out that this was to be an afternoon of pampering, something I rarely do for myself, and they know it. First stop, a nail salon for a pedicure. A pedicure! Although I knew the definition of a pedicure, I had no idea what bliss was in store for me. This was a salon whose people knew not only the definition of a pedicure, but how to perform one.

I was really afraid that they'd take one look at my badly neglected feet and decline any amount of money to work on them. Apparently, they've seen worse, because they immediately got to work. About 45 minutes later, my feet had been relaxed and softened like perfectly simmered noodles in a warm, pulsing foot spa. They had also been rubbed, oiled, rubbed, pasted, rubbed, repeatedly massaged, rubbed, kneaded like bread dough, rubbed, and firmly slapped (all in good circulatory fun) by tiny little hands that could take out a professional boxer. During all of this, I lazily lounged in a chair that was disguised as an expensive leather recliner but was in truth a magic masseuse working my back. It was heaven.

Having Jenni in the chair on my left and Lisa in the one on my right polished *groan* the whole experience. No Monologuing on that day. It was Triple-loguing!

As far as I was concerned, I'd been pampered enough, but there was a second stop. A fabulous Polynesian restaurant for lunch, the address of which is definitely going to make it into my Garmin. This place was teeming with ambiance and yummy food. And actually, the best way to describe the whole afternoon is "yummy!" Yummy, and appreciated. Next time, girl chillens, my treat.

M

Imagine David Archuleta

Toying with David

Ok, first I have to admit that I don't get "hooked" on American Idol until there are about ten contestants left. Then, I become an excited, critical observer as well as a couch potato. I have to say, though, that I am nothing if not a loyal Murray High School (Utah) graduate, and so David A's my man this year. Besides, he's blessed with one of the greatest voices I've ever heard coming from a seventeen-year old young man. And he's NICE. So pardon my mush. But "SPARTANS ROCK!" Still.

My Mother's Day

Yesterday, I spent a few hours with my Mother. I lost my Dad in an accident when I was a teenager, and I’ve always considered it a sort of “payback” that my Mom has led a productive and LONG life.

She’ll be 96 years old next month. The last few years have been rough for her. She is dealing with the effects of PPS, or “Post-Polio Syndrome”, which seems to come back to haunt those who contracted polio during the epidemic of the 50’s. PPS has taken away the limited mobility she was left with when polio chose her in the first place. Little by little, she has become weaker, until today, she doesn’t walk without great effort, and she loses her balance and falls a lot.

I often find myself thinking about what my mother loved to do in her early years. As a child? Sledding down the hills of eastside Salt Lake City! Making snow paths in her front lawn and laughing with glee! As a beautiful young woman? Tennis! Swimming at Santa Monica Beach! Ice skating! Inspecting historical New Orleans on foot! Striding down South Temple Street on her way to her banking job. Running! Always moving! And moving fast!

She contracted polio when I was three years old, so I don’t remember my Mom with any of the above capabilities. But yesterday, after I had finished cutting and styling her hair at the rehabilitation facility where she is nursing a broken leg, I began the 60-mile drive home and though about what I do remember about her. Being principled and honest. Guarding her personal integrity as if it were a priceless treasure. Persevering. Remaining strong in the face of many adversities. Carrying on, no matter what.

Did I ever see her skip along a sandy beach? Or run after an errant tennis ball? No. I honestly hope to some day. But I did se, every day, and up close and personal, her example of things far more important.

Thank you, Mom. This is your day, and you are loved.

Brooke and Derek-Vienesse Waltz

No words necessary.