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!

And It's All In The Music!

May you have joy and peace

now and throughout the coming new year.

Bob and Judy

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.