There she is--Miss A-Swiney Flu

Our family planned to tailgate last Saturday at the BYU-TCU game, but when we arrived three hours ahead of time, the heavens opened, and the rains came down and the floods came up. So, the Explorer was chosen to house all of us. We began dishing up and eating stew (I know, I know. But we weren't grilling because of the weather), and drinking sodas and trying not to spill all over each other. In the front seat, Lisa agreed to honey-butter the biscuits and pass them around (and this is an important point) to everyone who wanted them (she developed bursitis in her shoulder shortly after, evidence of her Hurculean efforts.)

Now, we all know and love Lisa for her willingness to help out. But what we didn't know, during our get-to-know-your-family-closer-than-you'd-really-like-to festivities, was that she had swine flu. She was diagnosed the next day. And one by one, to demonstrate the closeness of our relationship, some of us have followed suit. Jenni, Brandon, Luke, and Trevor are all crazy sick. Along with Lisa, they are quarantined. The last pillars to fall will be Scott and Bob, if those strong conquering heroes allow it (y'know how guys are). I've had a headache but no fever, so I will designate myself as the crazy but non-sick one until proven otherwise (proof of the sickness, that is). Proof of my craziness is to be found in copious amounts anywhere you care to look.

Isn't Miss Piggy adorable? I have a great idea for her platform: "Stamping out the paranoia surrounding H1N1, thus insuring that we will at last have world peace."

The little swine.

I Find A Funny

Last night I was sitting on our bed playing “Tetris” on my old useless cell phone that I keep around so T can have his own phone when he visits, or when I need something completely mindless to occupy my thinking. Even playing “Tetris,” though, occasionally the thoughts creep in, and suddenly I was thinking about an entry our daughter had made in a recent blog post wherein she mentioned that she was having trouble finding her “funny.” I remember thinking at the time, “Us, too, honey. Us, too.”

I looked over at Bob, sitting on the other side of the bed, examining his recently surgicized right foot. When he examines a wound, he examines it. He's a wannabe veterinarian, and I'm a wannabe dictionarian. (I like to make up words like surgicized and dictionarian.) Anyway, that foot has been one of the few things that continues to give him grief from his motorcycle accident a couple of years ago. I thoughtfully observed him unwrapping the bandage in preparation for the foot's nightly soaking in a bucket of Epsom Salts, followed by the re-dressing and the re-wrap. "Kinda hurts," he mumbled.

Suddenly, the whole process, the intensity of his face while performing this ritual, inexplicably awakened my funny. "I’ll raise your foot by two knees,” I suddenly blurted out rather loudly. He looked at me a bit oddly, but, quick on the trigger like he is, he replied, “Well, I’ll swap your two knees straight across for five broken ribs!”

“Ribs? Hah!” I replied. “I’ll raise you by two herniated discs!” And finally, tentatively, came the “Bob smile” I haven’t seen often in the last year. Grinning, he yelled, “ I’ll see your dang double discs and raise you an entire left leg!”

After a momentary pause, while I marveled at the great alliterative catch he had just made, I started calculating, and I realized that there wasn’t any way at all that I was going to win this game. Especially if he pulled out the three litres of pure . . . um . . . pus incident. And I knew he would. I knew it. And that would be a royal flush. So as tough as it was, I finally said, “Oh, nuts. I fold.” And we were off--for a brief spot of laughter.

But, darn it, I don’t fold. I won’t. There have been a few times in the last year that I felt it coming, but double-disc-three-litre-dang it, I refuse to fold.
And, sweet daughter, you won’t fold either. You will find your “funny” again. That’s a promise.

Thankful Thursday

I have writer's block. Being a college grad with an emphasis on creative writing, I know writer's block when I see/feel/smell/have it. But it's Thankful Thursday, and I've been remiss in my Thursday public musings for many weeks. So, here goes.

A few days ago, our daughter Jennifer sent a text out which said, "MAYDAY! Calling in all available troops. Back out. I repeat. My back has declared mutiny. Need help with offspring. Will offer dinner to those providing assistance. Although, you may have to pick it up yourself . . ."
Then, she hit the "family" send key.

What happened in the next hour was funny and sweet. Scott had called earlier to reserve the home laundromat for a couple of hours. We told him it was ok. Shortly, we left for Jennifer's home. About halfway there, we noticed a familiar looking vehicle about two cars ahead of us. And the driver of the vehicle was extremely familiar. As we pulled up to Jennifer's home, said vehicle had just arrived and said driver was carrying his laundry basket inside. Lisa, our second daughter, was mowing the lawn. Jennifer's boys, of course, were delightedly playing around Lisa, and then they saw Scott arrive and Grandpa and Grandma behind him.

They were popping out of their sweet little skins at the sight of it all.

Inside, I found their mother, lying on the floor in pain, and I began the ice regimen that I am extremely familiar with. She became MY self-proclaimed responsibility. While I was tending to her, pizza arrived (or someone brought it, I'm not sure). Despite the reason for the get-together, we had a great evening, playing, talking, icing, with Lisa planning out the next morning in detail so that Trev would be able to get in and out of bed without being lifted by his mother. I was again reminded of her organizational skills and the "let's get this in order" way in which she lives her life. Gosh, I wish I could inherit things from my children.

A couple of days later, I noticed a tweet on Jennifer's twitter. It said, "One little "mayday" and the whole fam comes a-runnin'. My lawn is mowed.

Kids are bathed and bedded."

As I thought about Jennifer's tweet, I was suddenly very thankful for family, particularly my husband, who is the best father/grandfather ever, and my children, who have an incredible relationship with each other. How lucky they are. How fervently I hope and yes, expect it will grow stronger and stronger with the passing of years.

There is a song from the Broadway play "Sweeney Todd" (of all things), that I heard years ago, sung by Barbra Streisand. The lyrics sum up nicely my feelings when I think of my precious husband, children, and grandchildren. Permit me to share.

Nothing’s gonna harm you,
Not while I’m around.
Nothing’s gonna harm you, no sir,
Not while I’m around.
Demons are prowling ev’rywhere, now-a-days.
I’ll send ‘em howling, I don’t care, I’ve got ways.

No one’s gonna hurt you,
No one’s gonna dare.
No one’s gonna dare to hurt you.
Others can desert you, not to worry.
Whistle, I’ll be there.
Just whistle, I’ll be there.

Demons’ll charm you with a smile,
For a while, but in time
Nothing can harm you,
Not while I’m around.

Being close and being clever is
Not like being true.
I don’t need to, I would never
Hide a thing from you, like some.

No one’s gonna hurt you,
No one’s gonna dare,
No one’s gonna dare to hurt you,
Others can desert you, not to worry,
Whistle, I’ll be there.

Demons’ll charm you with a smile
For a while, but in time
No one’s gonna harm you, not this time;
I’m gonna guard you ev’ry time.
Nothing can harm you,
Not while I’m around.

Though I stipulate that we can't prevent those we love being hurt by others, the sentiment in these words express perfectly the protective love I have for my family. And the response to the "Mayday" alert of one member seems to rest my case. For that, I feel immense gratitude.

America

Ok, folks. I admit I'm a little pensive these days. I'm trying to find joy wherever I can, but it usually manifests itself in introspection. Not really fun for my followers (all three of them) to read, perhaps, but trust me. I'm making an effort to find my silly side--it's in there somewhere and will rise again!

This week marks the eighth year since the very sad events of September 11, 2001. Almost everyone I know remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing when this devastating event took place on America's soil--the first attack since Pearl Harbor that has that distinction.

I am grateful that there hasn't been another such attack since. I'm grateful for the men and women of our military who risk their lives to attempt to insure there isn't another one. I'm grateful for my country--a place that for me has been peaceful and afforded me the opportunity of living as I choose with safety and freedom. Today, I honor all of those who expend tremendous effort for me. In my opinion, we cannot ever honor them enough.

A note: If you do not have the movies "Not Without My Daughter" and "Night Crossing", I would suggest that you try to find them. Try E-bay or Amazon or some other similar site. Each of these movies is a must-see and would be a wonderful addition to your DVD library. Both tell a story that grabs attention immediately and when they end, the gratitude for living in America is overwhelming. I'd heavily recommend these for your children.

Dedication

The Grand Staircase

Scott, Jenni, Lisa

Brandon

Jenni and Brandon discussing the day's events.

A little over a week ago, we here in Utah had the unique experience of participating in the dedication of the Oquirrh Mountain LDS Temple. It was something I'll never forget. Bob and I viewed it by satellite in a local meeting house, but our three children (and one sweet grandchild) were privileged to actually be in the temple during the final session on Sunday, the 23rd. I think we experienced a glimpse of Heaven that day, and I realized that what made it heavenly was that our children were "with us" on so many levels. A very, very lovely day.

Oh-ho, the Wells Fargo Wagon is a-Comin . . .

Are you old enough to remember Ronny Howard

before he became "Ron Howard" and a very successful Hollywood director/producer? If so, the title of this post might just suggest the possibility that I am

*drumroll, please*

Taking Up Blogging Again.

It's a good sign for me. A very good sign.

So hang tight and check back soon.

I know you've all been waiting . . . .

Bye for Now

I'm discontinuing my blog for a while. Sometime soon, if the bug bites, I'll write again publicly. For now, my personal journal is flourishing, and that's where most of my thoughts should remain.

We can smell newness here. It is positively lovely. I can't wait for more green and those beautiful colors that are ready to pop when the weather turns just a bit kinder. Happy Spring!

Hi!

Yesterday, I took the long walk from our bedroom to our office and sat down at the computer. It's been a month since I have even looked at my computer. During that month, I had my second total knee replacement. When I opened my mailbox, I was deluged with messages of encouragement and love that honestly brought on the tears. To say that I've been overwhelmed by the love so freely expressed to me is an understatement. I will never be able to properly express my gratitude, but perhaps the sentiment from timeless Tweety Bird will serve as an attempt. Thank you, friends, family, and neighbors, for your thoughts and your prayers. It has been a rough ride, but I do believe that it was possible, in large part, because of the love and support that follows me.

Things are looking up. Tomorrow I begin the post-reconstruction phase, out-patient rehabilitation. I'll think of your sweet emails, visits, comfort food, phone calls, flowers, and cards, and texts, and perhaps blow some innocent Tweety-bubbles, as I attempt to refrain from, um, raising my voice in objection to my physical therapists and their implements of torture. Bless my PT's. They are wonderful experts who kindly administer tough love and have only my best interests at heart.

So, again, Thank You. You are loved!

Under Construction, Again

This time, it is I, and not my blog, that is under construction.

I'll be back soon.

Thankful Thursday is a Friday for me this week. But it's better late than never, right?

The past couple of months I've been talking on the phone with a former roommate of mine more regularly than usual. It has made me, once again, grateful to have such a person in my life. Never mind that we met "randomly" in an off-campus apartment at BYU over 35 years ago. Never mind that she lives far away from me now. I love her like I did then. It seems such a long time ago that we would lie on our backs on the lawn on campus, staring at the sky and contemplating the universe, and talk about what we planned for our lives. Thirty-five years later, some of what we dreamed has come true, but much of it has been wildly different from what we thought would happen.

Ah, the hubris of youth.

When I hear her voice on the phone, it is as if no time has passed at all. We share joys. We share sorrows. Just as we always did. So today, I count myself blessed to have had a "happenstance" meeting with her so many years ago, which has become a life-long, true friendship.

Fabulous and FREE!

Hey, gang! Bob's talented and lovely cousin, Suzanne, is starting the year off with a giveaway of her newest tote. Many of you have commented on the ones I have, and this one, I CAN PROMISE, is as pretty and perfectly crafted as those. Hop over to http://www.justanotherhangup.blogspot.com/

and put your name in the hat for this baby. You might be the lucky one!

All Dogs Go To Heaven

1991

2008

If you've been following our blog, you know about our Beagle named Bo, who we bought for our son, Scott, when he was just 4 years old. I was not keen on the idea of all the responsibilities of having a dog. But Scott's pleas (check out the smile) won me over. And so, Bo became a part of the W clan. When Scott left for his mission two years ago, he said his goodbyes to Bo, which he believed to be his last. After all, Bo had at that time been with us for 15 years, was becoming a bit old and feeble, and to take for granted that he would be here when Scott came home wasn't a good idea.

Toward the end of Scott's mission, however, it became evident that there may be a chance of Bo's waiting it out. It became a sort of countdown for the family. Would Bo make it?

Scott returned home on December 23, two days before Christmas, and Bo died on December 31, New Year's Eve. I don't pretend to know the workings of a dog's brain, or what they think if, indeed, they do think. But I DO know that Bo had a keen sense of what this family, or any individual within it, needed at any given time. He knew when the kids wanted to run and have him chase after them. He would play and chase until the kids got tired.

Then there was his bark--it said many different things, depending on the pitch and dynamic he chose. One bark could say, "Hey, have you forgotten about me? Where's the frisbee?" Another would mean, "Oh, goody. The guy who lets me run around in the garage is home." Another bark could remind us, "I'm a person, too, y'know. Gimme some of that barbecue!" And my personal favorite came out in a quiet, soft little squeal. "You seem to need some lovin'. Can I sit with you?" Only near the end did we not communicate with him very well. His age impeded him a lot.

Bo was a great dog for a little boy. And it didn't take long before he found his way into the hearts of the rest of us.

G' nite, Boey. Doggy Heaven is a little sweeter

with you there.

Homecoming

Scott arrived home, to a White Christmas, on December 23. Click on our house, and you should be able to see the sign on the garage a little beter.

I had planned to be the essence of decorum, but it all fell apart when Lisa identified his legs and said, "That's him, Mom." As you can see, another mother was running, too, as she got to her son a second or two ahead of me and is right behind us in this photo. We couldn't help it--that Mom Automatic Response System just took over.

A BIG hug for Scott's best bud. Though it has been a rough

couple of years for his Dad, he's here and in one piece.

Scott's face says it all.

And the overall hands-down best shot of the day,
9-year-old Brandon and Uncle Scott.
Priceless.

"For unto us a child is born, unto us a Son is given.

And the government shall be upon His shoulders,

and His name shall be called Wonderful, Counselor,

the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father,

The Prince of Peace."

--Isaiah

Merry Christmas, Everyone.

It's Official!

Be still, our collective hearts. Last week, we received a letter from Scott's mission president and Scott's flight plans. He will be home on December 23. Merry Christmas to Us!