Update on Husband: Sadly, I have to update here. Things seemed to be going oh, so well, until two weeks ago when Husband's blood results came back. Everything had dropped. In particular, his neutrophils had dropped so low that he was again neutropenic, which means that his immune system was pretty much non-functional. He had to go back to his low microbial diet (no raw foods) and stay away from everyone. We waited all week for his next blood test, hoping the results would be better; but, no. This week is the same.
Obviously, it's discouraging. The doctor says that it sometimes takes the particular chemotherapy he had (Cladribine) a while to work, and his blood may be up and down for a few months. Husband can work if he is on an antibiotic, and he's feeling fairly well despite his lack of hemoglobin and platelets. The problem is that he's BORED!!!
......................
On Tuesday night, which is Taxi Mom night for me, I had to go to the church several times in order to drop off kids for various activities. The church is right across the street from a very small ranch, and there are often cows or horses in the pens beside the road or walking on the circular exerciser. The smell of manure wafts through the air on a Sunday morning.
Anyway, on Tuesday, the large pen was filled with calves. The first time I drove by, all the calves were standing alertly at attention. They were all pointing in the same direction, watching some men trim the trees that grow in the grassy margin alongside the church building. When I came back a little later, all the calves were again alertly at attention and pointing in the same direction, only this time they were looking toward the horse pens. I don't know what was so fascinating about the horse pens, but by golly! it was interesting enough to stand and watch closely.
I don't know much about calves. The closest I've ever gotten to a cow was -- okay, I have milked a cow, which is pretty dang close. But I'm not familiar with cow behavior. I just thought it was funny.
And if I had my NEW DIGITAL SLR CAMERA that Husband ordered for my birthday, I would have taken pictures of calves standing alertly at attention and posted them here for you to see. That's right! My battery-eating Kodak Easyshare is being relegated to becoming a toy for children once I have my new Canon in my hot little fists. I will also have a polarizing lens to play with. I'm so very excited!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Of Footwear and Vessles and Authenticate Increase, of Cruciferous Vegetables and Reigning Monarchs
It was my birthday on Wednesday. I turned 39. I decided to take stock of myself.
A few more wrinkles: check
Three gray hairs: check
The need to diet: check
Life satisfaction: check, check, and CHECK!
I am very happy with my life, which is a good thing to know as I speed through that last year before hitting middle age squarely in the tush. Therefore, I made some goals for me to reach before my next birthday.
Ah, that kid. I laughed until the tears came out of my eyes.
"No, Mom, it's true!" she protested. Then she was quiet for a moment while I continued to chuckle fondly. "Okay," she said, "You at least don't look any older than 30."
I think she's my favorite.
I got a wonderful birthday gift the day before my birthday. A friend I've know since my first area on my mission (who happens to be a follower of this blog) had a layover in The Big City during a business trip to an exotic South American country. Husband and I drove to the airport to pick him up and he treated us to lunch. It was fun to catch up.
Sian had a high school orchestra concert on Tuesday night. All the players wore their Halloween costumes, and my darling girl wore her Snow White costume I made for her last year because she looks just like Snow White. I did insist she put on more red lipstick for the "lips as red as a red, red rose" look, though.
Since my razzle grappling trashbiting camera doesn't work very well, my dad took her picture and emailed it to me. Ain't she purty?
Her chamber orchestra did very well, and the combined high school orchestra also sounded quite nice. My favorite piece was "Concerto for Three Kazoos and an Orchestra." Especially when the kazoos tuned up.
Today I have been working on editing a number of websites that were written by people whose first language is not English. That would be fine and all, since many people both speak and write English very well as a second language, but these particular writers are only shyly acquainted with our national language. They also use a thesaurus like many people use humor: indiscriminately and with blunt force. The results are often unintentionally hilarious. Who wouldn't want to read something entitled "A Favorite Pastime: Passion Ideas You Will Like"? Sadly, it was only about hobbies, however. Still, among the surprising ideas contained within was this one: "Individuals who live in a nation sometimes turn into fascinated with elevating decorative chickens, pigeons, or pheasants." Further encouraging the reader to take up raising birds as a hobby, the author noted, "...you can even increase some prize winners!"
See if you can spot the misuse of a thesaurus in this sentence: "Pastime bicyclists have gotten more and more widespread to see cycling alongside lesser traveled highways seeing the countryside up shut and personal."
I laugh at these, but I would never attempt to write an article in another language. I don't know enough of another language to be even a little dangerous, much less only slightly comprehensible. At least they get paid for their unintentional hilarity.
A few more wrinkles: check
Three gray hairs: check
The need to diet: check
Life satisfaction: check, check, and CHECK!
I am very happy with my life, which is a good thing to know as I speed through that last year before hitting middle age squarely in the tush. Therefore, I made some goals for me to reach before my next birthday.
- Reach my ideal weight for health reasons (and telling myself it isn't in any way connected to my vanity, which I know to be a complete falsehood, but at least I know I'm lying to myself)
- Play my cello much more often
- Hang out with my kids as much as possible
- Take a vacation with Husband
Ah, that kid. I laughed until the tears came out of my eyes.
"No, Mom, it's true!" she protested. Then she was quiet for a moment while I continued to chuckle fondly. "Okay," she said, "You at least don't look any older than 30."
I think she's my favorite.
I got a wonderful birthday gift the day before my birthday. A friend I've know since my first area on my mission (who happens to be a follower of this blog) had a layover in The Big City during a business trip to an exotic South American country. Husband and I drove to the airport to pick him up and he treated us to lunch. It was fun to catch up.
Sian had a high school orchestra concert on Tuesday night. All the players wore their Halloween costumes, and my darling girl wore her Snow White costume I made for her last year because she looks just like Snow White. I did insist she put on more red lipstick for the "lips as red as a red, red rose" look, though.
Since my razzle grappling trashbiting camera doesn't work very well, my dad took her picture and emailed it to me. Ain't she purty?
Her chamber orchestra did very well, and the combined high school orchestra also sounded quite nice. My favorite piece was "Concerto for Three Kazoos and an Orchestra." Especially when the kazoos tuned up.
Today I have been working on editing a number of websites that were written by people whose first language is not English. That would be fine and all, since many people both speak and write English very well as a second language, but these particular writers are only shyly acquainted with our national language. They also use a thesaurus like many people use humor: indiscriminately and with blunt force. The results are often unintentionally hilarious. Who wouldn't want to read something entitled "A Favorite Pastime: Passion Ideas You Will Like"? Sadly, it was only about hobbies, however. Still, among the surprising ideas contained within was this one: "Individuals who live in a nation sometimes turn into fascinated with elevating decorative chickens, pigeons, or pheasants." Further encouraging the reader to take up raising birds as a hobby, the author noted, "...you can even increase some prize winners!"
See if you can spot the misuse of a thesaurus in this sentence: "Pastime bicyclists have gotten more and more widespread to see cycling alongside lesser traveled highways seeing the countryside up shut and personal."
I laugh at these, but I would never attempt to write an article in another language. I don't know enough of another language to be even a little dangerous, much less only slightly comprehensible. At least they get paid for their unintentional hilarity.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Those Salty Vacuum Manufacturers!
Yesterday, I was helping to clean up after a particularly enjoyable Super Saturday at the chapel and I went to the janitor's closet for a vacuum. I noticed an old carpet sweeper shoved into a corner, and printed on top of it in fancy factory letters was the name, "The Shagger." You can bet I did not in any way make any comments or juvenile jokes about it. At all. To anyone who might have laughed until her face turned red and I had to quit talking just to let her breathe. No. That would have been completely inappropriate.
Ahem.
In non-naughty vacuum news: A few weeks back, Husband went right ahead and published his own book. He wasn't getting anything but rejection notes from the various publishers and agents he's sent it to, but so many people have asked to read it that he figured it was easier to pass it around in book form than as a massive 3-ring binder. He designed a cover and had three softcover books printed by a reputable printing company he found online. It only cost about $12 per book, which is very reasonable, considering he couldn't in any way claim a mass production discount. He's using one to edit again (still finding a few mistakes!) and he got permission to read the book to his class because it isn't published and he can't be accused of promoting sales to the children in his classroom. The people who have read it so far have loved it, and not all of them are close family members! (Ha ha ha. I hope you found the humor in that last sentence.) But, seriously, most people who are reading it find that they can't put it down. One reader (a colleague of Husband's) reported reading it all day and staying up into the wee hours to finish because he just had to know what happened next. He's begging for the sequel. I'd say that's a good sign.
Ahem.
In non-naughty vacuum news: A few weeks back, Husband went right ahead and published his own book. He wasn't getting anything but rejection notes from the various publishers and agents he's sent it to, but so many people have asked to read it that he figured it was easier to pass it around in book form than as a massive 3-ring binder. He designed a cover and had three softcover books printed by a reputable printing company he found online. It only cost about $12 per book, which is very reasonable, considering he couldn't in any way claim a mass production discount. He's using one to edit again (still finding a few mistakes!) and he got permission to read the book to his class because it isn't published and he can't be accused of promoting sales to the children in his classroom. The people who have read it so far have loved it, and not all of them are close family members! (Ha ha ha. I hope you found the humor in that last sentence.) But, seriously, most people who are reading it find that they can't put it down. One reader (a colleague of Husband's) reported reading it all day and staying up into the wee hours to finish because he just had to know what happened next. He's begging for the sequel. I'd say that's a good sign.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Slammin' Farzle Rabbit Cramulation on a STICK!
When I went, last Saturday, to Sophia's play in which she had the part of Sleeping Beauty (the younger), I found two new batteries for our crappy, battery-eating camera. I handed the camera and brand new batteries to Gabrielle as we were climbing into the car on our way to the performance and told her to carefully insert them for the purpose of taking blurry, unsatisfying pictures in a show of solidarity for Sophia. Gabrielle did insert the new batteries, but forgot to turn off the camera; by the time I went to take pictures, the batteries had been completely drained.
The only reason I refrained from saying really awful words is my sense of decorum, the fact that there were many, many children surrounding me, and my friend, M, who was sitting next to me in order to watch her daughter, who played a fairy.
I was thinking I need some good "swear" words. Sian used to say "bucket!" quite a lot, until I pointed out that it's just a little too close to another obscenity for comfort. Now she says "pickles." I don't think that can be misunderstood.
The point of uttering an obscenity is to be able to say something harsh and release emotion without having to think too much. Thinking too much about what you're saying distracts you from feeling properly angry, which is why the tried-but-true obscenities will always be popular; they're shocking, they have become unthinking habit, and they convey the desired attitude of disgust or anger or surprise. For the very practiced, they also substitute for other words of more descriptive substance, which is when a person starts to sound very ignorant. It's a short and slippery slope from an occasional utterance to lethargic reliance.
I've often used the word "expletive," but I've always loved the grace and elegance of Booth Tarkington's put-upon father, Mr. Little, in Tarkington's book, The Fighting Littles. Mr. Little was expert in swearing without actually saying anything offensive. "Job jab the dob dab bastinadoed Hellespont!" Husband and I frequently shout "Black enameled bath plug!," but that's only when we want to make each other laugh by using a phrase Husband grew up hearing from his father. More often, I say "crap," which is a truly awful thing to hear echoed from the mouth of your cherub three year old. I gotta quit that.
What word(s) do you use, if you don't desire to truly offend with the normal list of obscenities? I am very interested to know. Please comment on that.
And, by the way, M took many pictures of Sophia for me on her camera, which she said she will email to me. When she does, I'll post them here so you can see my sweet Sleeping Beauty (the younger).
The only reason I refrained from saying really awful words is my sense of decorum, the fact that there were many, many children surrounding me, and my friend, M, who was sitting next to me in order to watch her daughter, who played a fairy.
I was thinking I need some good "swear" words. Sian used to say "bucket!" quite a lot, until I pointed out that it's just a little too close to another obscenity for comfort. Now she says "pickles." I don't think that can be misunderstood.
The point of uttering an obscenity is to be able to say something harsh and release emotion without having to think too much. Thinking too much about what you're saying distracts you from feeling properly angry, which is why the tried-but-true obscenities will always be popular; they're shocking, they have become unthinking habit, and they convey the desired attitude of disgust or anger or surprise. For the very practiced, they also substitute for other words of more descriptive substance, which is when a person starts to sound very ignorant. It's a short and slippery slope from an occasional utterance to lethargic reliance.
I've often used the word "expletive," but I've always loved the grace and elegance of Booth Tarkington's put-upon father, Mr. Little, in Tarkington's book, The Fighting Littles. Mr. Little was expert in swearing without actually saying anything offensive. "Job jab the dob dab bastinadoed Hellespont!" Husband and I frequently shout "Black enameled bath plug!," but that's only when we want to make each other laugh by using a phrase Husband grew up hearing from his father. More often, I say "crap," which is a truly awful thing to hear echoed from the mouth of your cherub three year old. I gotta quit that.
What word(s) do you use, if you don't desire to truly offend with the normal list of obscenities? I am very interested to know. Please comment on that.
And, by the way, M took many pictures of Sophia for me on her camera, which she said she will email to me. When she does, I'll post them here so you can see my sweet Sleeping Beauty (the younger).
What's That Smell? Oh, it's Just My Blog Post.
I've been plowing through Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. All 1066 pages of it. I'm down to the last few pages, and all I can say is wow! that woman had a brilliant mind!
You thought you were going to get a book review, didn't you? Not this time. You're welcome. I like to keep my readers pleasantly surprised, at least once in a while. I won't review that book unless someone really wants me to.
Anyone?
(Cricket chirps. Wolf howls in the distance.)
Right.
So here is where I share some random thoughts that have been floating through my head.
Random thoughts (in no particular order):
I have to compose a version of Silent Night involving two violins, a cello, a piano, and possibly a flute. It has to be done soon so we can practice for a Christmas performance. No stress. Nope, no stress whatsoever.
Pure science and pure religion are one and the same.
I never, ever will get over pie. I love pie. I must accept this and quit fighting it.
Why is it that the smells of autumn remind me so much of new beginnings? Sure, I know it's all about the start of a new school year that's so ingrained in me, but just the wafting scent of old leaves makes me want to jump with excitement.
Go to bed already, you idiot! (that wasn't random at all.)
Y'all know I write this blog for myself, don't you? It's the only way I can explain why I write what I do. I've always written my journals as if I was writing to someone -- some fuzzy idea of a future descendant who would be reading about me from a dusty, faded notebook. This isn't exactly as revealing as my journal, of course, but I like knowing you're out there, whether I know you or not.
I'm going to bed before I really stink up this post even worse than I have.
You thought you were going to get a book review, didn't you? Not this time. You're welcome. I like to keep my readers pleasantly surprised, at least once in a while. I won't review that book unless someone really wants me to.
Anyone?
(Cricket chirps. Wolf howls in the distance.)
Right.
So here is where I share some random thoughts that have been floating through my head.
Random thoughts (in no particular order):
I have to compose a version of Silent Night involving two violins, a cello, a piano, and possibly a flute. It has to be done soon so we can practice for a Christmas performance. No stress. Nope, no stress whatsoever.
Pure science and pure religion are one and the same.
I never, ever will get over pie. I love pie. I must accept this and quit fighting it.
Why is it that the smells of autumn remind me so much of new beginnings? Sure, I know it's all about the start of a new school year that's so ingrained in me, but just the wafting scent of old leaves makes me want to jump with excitement.
Go to bed already, you idiot! (that wasn't random at all.)
Y'all know I write this blog for myself, don't you? It's the only way I can explain why I write what I do. I've always written my journals as if I was writing to someone -- some fuzzy idea of a future descendant who would be reading about me from a dusty, faded notebook. This isn't exactly as revealing as my journal, of course, but I like knowing you're out there, whether I know you or not.
I'm going to bed before I really stink up this post even worse than I have.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Pipes
I tried out for a one of those very rare alto solo parts in the choir (alto solos are rare in any choir, really). I told myself to do it because it's not one of those things I want to regret for the rest of my life. I've become a lot more bold in my "old" age, realizing that life should be lived and not feared.
I didn't get the part, but when I found out the results, I was pleased that the only pang of disappointment I felt was the selfish disappointment that I don't have a wonderful natural singing voice without having to put in any effort. I wasn't jealous of the two who did get the parts because, frankly, I would have made the same choices, were I director. My voice was inferior to both of theirs.
My kids, thinking I would feel badly, kept telling me I have a wonderful voice. I wonder if all this "everyone is equally great" crap they teach in schools makes them worried that I will think less of myself for not getting a solo. I told them that I know that I didn't have the best audition and I didn't have the pipes for it, but at least I tried. I know I have a good voice for a choir. I blend well, I have pretty good pitch, I am good at sight-reading, and I love the challenge of the music our director chooses. I love singing in that choir. When I have made it a priority to spend the time and money on getting voice lessons and improving the sound and quality of my voice, I'll try again for a solo. Until then, I still enjoy singing in the choir, at home, in the car, in the shower, and even in my head.
In other news, Husband is itchy. He had a terrific drug reaction to one of the three antibiotics he was taking, so the other day we spent hours at the Huntsman clinic making sure the rash he developed all over wasn't dangerous. His doctor gave him the Best Rash of the Day award and sent us to the dermatologist, who validated the award and told us it wasn't anything to be worried about since the blood results indicated the liver hasn't been damaged. The rash is disappearing, but the itching is driving him crazy.
I didn't get the part, but when I found out the results, I was pleased that the only pang of disappointment I felt was the selfish disappointment that I don't have a wonderful natural singing voice without having to put in any effort. I wasn't jealous of the two who did get the parts because, frankly, I would have made the same choices, were I director. My voice was inferior to both of theirs.
My kids, thinking I would feel badly, kept telling me I have a wonderful voice. I wonder if all this "everyone is equally great" crap they teach in schools makes them worried that I will think less of myself for not getting a solo. I told them that I know that I didn't have the best audition and I didn't have the pipes for it, but at least I tried. I know I have a good voice for a choir. I blend well, I have pretty good pitch, I am good at sight-reading, and I love the challenge of the music our director chooses. I love singing in that choir. When I have made it a priority to spend the time and money on getting voice lessons and improving the sound and quality of my voice, I'll try again for a solo. Until then, I still enjoy singing in the choir, at home, in the car, in the shower, and even in my head.
In other news, Husband is itchy. He had a terrific drug reaction to one of the three antibiotics he was taking, so the other day we spent hours at the Huntsman clinic making sure the rash he developed all over wasn't dangerous. His doctor gave him the Best Rash of the Day award and sent us to the dermatologist, who validated the award and told us it wasn't anything to be worried about since the blood results indicated the liver hasn't been damaged. The rash is disappearing, but the itching is driving him crazy.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Stink Bugs Make for Excellent Distractions
A note: Today's Blog of Note on Blogger is this one: http://johnfinnemore.blogspot.com
I suggest you take a look. I laughed particularly heartily at the post entitled "Just the one, Mrs. Wembley?," but I'm not going to give you the link to it just so you have to read a bit. This is how I wish I sounded, but since I'm not a British comedian, I have totally missed the mark.
Yesterday, during Relief Society, I was sitting at the front with M, S, and A (the other members of the presidency), when S spotted a crawly thing on the floor and pointed excitedly. I narrowed my eyes and saw it was a huge black stink bug, so I turned around, grabbed a tissue, and whisked the offensive insect from the floor. Not about to crush it (ew!), I took it quietly outside and set it loose in the grass. When I got back in the room and sat down, some horrible juvenile impulse caused me to catch M's eye and make a gesture like I was eating the stink bug out of the tissue, which was still in my hand. I even made a little crunching sound, tiny enough to only be heard by her. She nearly snorted out loud and then spent about five minutes trying to control the kind of helpless laughter you only suffer from when you should be grown up and sitting quietly and attentively listening to a very solemn and spiritual lesson about repentance. It made things worse that we were in full view of all the rest of the women and I couldn't help but laugh at her laughing.
I suggest you take a look. I laughed particularly heartily at the post entitled "Just the one, Mrs. Wembley?," but I'm not going to give you the link to it just so you have to read a bit. This is how I wish I sounded, but since I'm not a British comedian, I have totally missed the mark.
Yesterday, during Relief Society, I was sitting at the front with M, S, and A (the other members of the presidency), when S spotted a crawly thing on the floor and pointed excitedly. I narrowed my eyes and saw it was a huge black stink bug, so I turned around, grabbed a tissue, and whisked the offensive insect from the floor. Not about to crush it (ew!), I took it quietly outside and set it loose in the grass. When I got back in the room and sat down, some horrible juvenile impulse caused me to catch M's eye and make a gesture like I was eating the stink bug out of the tissue, which was still in my hand. I even made a little crunching sound, tiny enough to only be heard by her. She nearly snorted out loud and then spent about five minutes trying to control the kind of helpless laughter you only suffer from when you should be grown up and sitting quietly and attentively listening to a very solemn and spiritual lesson about repentance. It made things worse that we were in full view of all the rest of the women and I couldn't help but laugh at her laughing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)