The Bare News

 I just counted, and I have seven drafts that I have started and abandoned since my last entry--mostly because I re-read the drafts and found them utterly boring. 

There's been lots of news, though I obviously feel I haven't conveyed it very well, so I'll just list some things that have been happening:

Full House

Siân, Nathan, and their boys successfully moved in at the end of October, and we've all been getting used to living in the same space. I love having my grandsons here. I love getting a warm and excited "Good morning, Nanna!" from Tyler every morning when I head downstairs. I love Nicholas's huge personality in his little body and how we've become good friends now that he's comfortable with me. 

Jealous Canine

The dog is really jealous. Every time I talk to or hold Nicholas, Marmite is right there stuffing his nose into my hands to get me to pet him and pay attention to him. I've had Tyler give Marmite treats and throw his toy for him, and Marmite is slowly warming up to his competition, though he is still unsure of his new position in the pack and has been extra clingy. Marmite has always been convinced he's just another person, so this has been confusing for him. He's so much like a fuzzy, jealous toddler that it makes me laugh. 

Dave, the parakeet, remains unfazed and has, instead, welcomed the addition to our flock.

New Grandchild on the Way

Siân is pregnant! After three miscarriages, she's now into her second trimester with this baby, which is exciting and hopeful. She's nauseated most of the time, and it's nice that I can help her out with the little boys when I'm at home, though she doesn't complain much about how icky she feels. Husband and I try not to insert ourselves into their family dynamic in a way that steps on Nathan's duties and privileges as a father, but we help where we can. Nathan is a great husband and father, and it's so wonderful to see our oldest daughter so happy with her little family.  

Siân in due towards the end of May, which will fit in nicely with the ending of the school year, as I will be around more to help with the two older boys. At this point, we do not know the sex of the new baby, but I know he or she will be both whip smart and exceedingly cute (not that I am biased or anything).

Mutated Cancer

We just had some very bad news about my mother-in-law's ongoing battle with ovarian cancer: a new, fast-growing, chemo-resistant tumor has emerged around her intestine, which began pressing on her left kidney, facilitating a trip to the ER as the pain from a restricted ureter became excruciating. That's when MIL's oncologist found the tumor, which they originally thought was scar tissue from her recent surgery; scar tissue does not, however, triple in size over the course of a few months. 

MIL now has a stent, which has relieved the pain from her kidney, but her prognosis is not good. The tumor is terminal, but MIL delivered the news in an admirably calm manner on a recent emergency family Zoom call. She will start a new, exceedingly caustic chemo drug on Monday and will have to repeat it every 28 days until either she is emotionally done with the treatments or the tumor overwhelms the treatment. It is highly unlikely that the chemo will shrink or remove the tumor, and surgery is not an option. The best they are hoping for is to slow or stop the growth at this point, and to say she has even a year left is very ambitious. 

Her children were all very sad at this news, of course, but they are also supportive of whatever decision she chooses to make in order to maintain the quality of life she desires. After nearly losing her last Christmas, they have appreciated every moment of the time they've had with her over the past year. I think my SIL expressed what we all were thinking: "Mum, you need to do what's best for you. We will be okay. Don't try to be brave and strong by enduring a treatment that may be worse than the disease itself. You get to choose your quality of life, whatever that means." 

Trip to England

This new prognosis led to a plan for MIL and FIL and all their children to meet up in England one last time. To this end, Husband and I just bought tickets to England for a week in January. One of my brothers-in-law booked a 15-person AirBnB somewhere in Wiltshire called Mews Cottage (so British!), and that's where we will be staying. MIL and FIL are very excited about it, though I am worried about how MIL will be feeling on such a long and arduous journey for someone in her condition. Still, she is looking forward to being able to see all of her children together for possibly the last time (even Husband's older brother will be there, the one who estranged himself from the family for a couple decades and is now talking to us again) as well as to be able to visit her sister and some close friends in England. Tomorrow, I will need to start the process of getting a new passport.

That's the bare news with a little of my commentary. It's dry, but I'm only occasionally funny in print, as you might well know, gentle reader.

What Is Science?

I've probably said this before, and I may bore you by repeating myself, gentle reader, but I am again struck by the memory of my introduction to fifth grade after I moved to Northern Minnesota.

In Idaho, my young, female teachers were idealistic and inventive: they allowed me to explore my passions as long as I completed my regular work. When I wrote plays in fourth grade (when I was about nine years old), my teacher allowed me to cast my plays and rehearse them during school time in order to perform them for the class. Because I was an avid reader (thanks, Mom!), I was allowed into the "big kids'" section of the library in third grade because that was where the books were shelved that were at my reading level. I wrote stories and invented games and had a wonderful time at school -- so much so that I was very upset if my mother ever made me stay home if I got sick. And I loved learning. I loved school because I could fill up my brain with new information that was taught in a creative, dynamic way that was perfect for my age. I wasn't any smarter than most of my classmates, I just loved to learn and was encouraged to express the things I learned in creative ways, and that made school enjoyable and fulfilling for me.

When we moved to Northern Minnesota, I was turning ten years old and going into the fifth grade. I had spent the summer making friends with the kids in my neighborhood, so at least I wasn't entirely alone when I started a new school, but it turned out that my friends were the only thing that was interesting about school. My grumpy fifth grade teacher, a man who seemed impossibly old to me at the time because he had gray whiskers, immediately squelched any creative aspirations I had. I was no longer allowed to explore beyond the curriculum. All would be done in order and lockstep. No one could stick their head above the crowd. This continued through sixth grade and into junior high. 

School became a prison, and with only a few exceptions, my teachers became my guards. I did the school work, but I went home from school and gave myself an exceptional education in English and American literature, for instance, by reading and pondering the great works on my own, writers like Charles Dickens and George Elliot, whose portrayals of the human condition far outshone much of the stuff on my class reading lists.

My Minnesota public education taught me was that I was not allowed to think for myself. Where my Idaho teachers encouraged me to take what I learned and explore it in my own personal idiom, my Minnesota education told me that I would be taught what to think and would be chastised for thinking beyond that. 

Fortunately, I rebelled. I was lucky. I knew what true freedom tasted like, so even the oppressive "progressive" education of the more liberal school district in Minnesota didn't entirely crush my spirit. The problem is that progressive education like that has crushed many, many peoples' spirits, and I have also found myself more likely to stay silent than argue against obvious fallacies that are taught as gospel truth (more shame be upon me for my cowardice). The appeal to authority these days has people so cowed and unsure of what their own eyes are telling them or the validity of their own experiences that they cannot -- or will not -- have the courage to think for themselves and question the narrative. I do not believe I'm any sort of genius -- far from! -- but I do think that I, and all others, should be taught to have more faith in (and the importance of) our abilities to observe, ponder, hypothesize, and come up with answers about many things in life and try them out to see if they are right. Instead, the popular method of "education" has become to force all people into the correct thought prisons, helpless to step outside of the prison walls for fear of ridicule and gaslighting. We are even taught to ridicule and gaslight our own selves, which is a most heinous crime, for then we can never even desire to be truly free.

The reason I'm on this soapbox today is because of this video, below. 

Those questions haunt me...

Blood Draw

 When I started getting the bills for the blood test and the hormone pellets that have done nothing for me, I had myself a little rant, pacing back and forth and waving medical bills in my fist. Even after the insurance paid their portion, the blood test, the pellets, and the doctor visit together cost us nearly $1000. We have a health savings account, but still! The pellets are not covered by insurance, and they cost a pretty penny all by themselves.

Husband patiently waited for me to calm down (for the record, he wisely never told me to calm down) before stating that he thought that one dose of pellets was not enough to determine if they would work and that he felt it was worth the money to do a second dose. "I just want to find out if it can help this fatigue you've felt for so long," he said.

"That makes me fall in love with him even more!" exclaimed Denise when I told her later, which is a very Denise thing to say and made me laugh. "Me, too!" I agreed.

Today, I had to get my blood drawn in anticipation of my next appointment. I chatted with the phlebotomist as he got my arm ready. 

"Last time, having my blood drawn knocked me out for two days straight," I said. "I forgot to eat all day before coming here, and, afterwards, I was so tired for two days I could barely move. This time I made sure I ate something, and I see you're not filling nearly as many vials."

The phlebotomist was skeptical.

"Even when you donate a pint of blood, it's only 500 mils, which should not be enough to bring on any sort of anemia." He held up one of the tubes and looked condescendingly down his nose. "This is only 80 mils." 

Shut up, Phil. I know how I felt. I have never before had a problem after having blood drawn, so I was not expecting such debilitating fatigue. It was surprising and unpleasant, and it was not all in my head.

"Yeah, well, I have never been able to donate blood," I said lamely. "I was in England at the wrong time."

Phil remained unimpressed. At least I'm not afraid of needles, so I had the satisfaction of not wincing or looking away as 160 mils of my blood swirled into two test tubes. And, as an update, I'm not feeling unusually fatigued five hours later, which is a good sign.

My second appointment with this gynecologist is next week. I am eager for more answers. Hopefully, they will be more forthcoming, given the cost. 

British Roast Dinner: the Key to My Husband's Heart

 I can make an entire British roast dinner for six people in 90 minutes, but that is as short a time as I can go, given that the roasted potatoes take at least an hour and fifteen minutes to complete. I have a double oven, which helps, and I also use the Instant Pot to cook the meat. 

Want to know how to do it? 

1. Preheat both of your ovens to 450 deg. F and start preparing the roasted potatoes: bring a large pot of salted water to the boil. While it's heating, peel your yellow roasting potatoes (I use 5 lbs of Yukon Gold potatoes) and chop them into large chunks. Rinse and set aside to wait for the water to boil.

2. Get the meat going in your Instant Pot (IP): pat a dry rub of your choice on a 3-lb beef roast after setting the IP to Sauté mode. When the IP is hot, sear each face of the roast for a few minutes before adding two cups beef broth and scraping up the fond. Set the IP to Meat or Manual for 60-70 minutes, depending on the cut of beef you are using (tougher cuts get longer times).

3. When the potato water is boiling, add 1-2 tsp baking soda to the water before carefully ladeling in the chopped yellow potatoes. Give them a stir and let the water come back to the boil before turning the stove down to medium heat.

4. Get your other roasting vegetables ready. For convenience, I usually use two pounds of bagged baby carrots and six or seven young parsnips that I have peeled and cut into pieces of similar size to the baby carrots (if you are using larger parsnips, make sure you cut out the core, as cores in large parsnips are tough and stringy). Toss the veggies with oil as well as salt and pepper, to taste. Set aside.

5. Make Yorkshire pudding batter: season the flour (about 1 1/2 cups or so) with salt and pepper to taste, along with any other herbs and seasonings you like. Mix in two beaten eggs and then add enough milk mixed with water to make a thick but pourable batter, like pancake batter. Beat the batter to remove lumps. Cover and set aside.

6. Check the potatoes to see if they are fork tender. When they are, drain them in a colander and then shake them around to rough up the surfaces. Let them release some steam and dry a bit while you rub some oil on a large backing sheet. Mix the potatoes with more oil and some salt and pepper, to taste. Spread them out on the baking sheet so that pieces are not touching each other. Put them in one of the ovens for 25 minutes.

7. When the IP is done cooking the meat, let it do a natural release for 15 minutes. Check the tenderness of the roast. When it is done to your liking, slice the meat and return to the broth to keep warm.

8. When the roasted potatoes have cooked for 25 minutes, pull them out and turn each piece over. Put them back in the oven for another 25-30 minutes.

9. When the roasted potatoes go into the oven the second time, get your carrots and parsnips onto another backing sheet and into the second oven (or onto the second rack of the oven if you only have one oven). Check their tenderness when the timer goes off for the roasted potatoes.

10. Prepare mashed potatoes: peel and chop mashing potatoes (I usually use 5 pounds of russets). Rinse and put into a big pot, covering them with water, adding salt, and setting on the stove to boil.

11. You can use this time to prepare boxed stuffing and frozen peas. I also make gravy by making a roux with butter and flour and then mixing in the broth from the meat, seasoning to taste, and bringing to a boil to thicken. Keep all of this warm on the stovetop while everything else finishes up.

12. When the roasted potatoes come out of the oven, put them into a bowl to keep warm. Check the carrots and parsnips for tenderness and adjust cooking times as needed. Turn the heat of the empty oven down to 425 deg. F.

13. Pour a little oil into the cups of a six- or twelve-cup muffin tin. Set the tin into the empty oven to heat--about three minutes (you want the oil sizzling hot). When the oil in the muffin tin is hot, pull out the tin, give the Yorkshire pudding batter a stir, and then carefully fill each cup 2/3 of the way full with batter. Put the tin back in the oven for 15 minutes, or until the puddings are puffy and golden brown. 

14. Drain the boiled potatoes, add butter, garlic powder or chopped garlic, cream or sour cream, and salt and pepper. Mash with a potato masher--not an electric mixer!--tasting and adjusting seasonings to your liking. 

15. When the roasted carrots and parsnips are ready, dinner is ready to be served. 

16. Assign someone else to clean up the mess.You did your part.

Boomerang Kids

Yesterday, a job opening became available with a major Institute of Religion that I am fully qualified for and is full-time with benefits. If I was hired, it would also be a major jumping-off point in my career if I wanted it to be. I mentioned it to my boss, Griff, and he said he would make calls right away to get my name in the right ears if I decided to apply. The rest of the faculty, bless them, tried to be supportive, but each of them told me either publicly or privately that they really don't want me to go. That warmed the cockles of my heart, to say the least.

After talking about it with Husband last evening and praying about it, I decided I will not apply. It doesn't make practical sense to try and get a job in The Big City (on the farthest side of the city, no less) with gas prices going up, winter coming on, and family moving back in (see below). Besides, I absolutely love my job, and I would miss the students terribly. Next year, the first batch of kids I've known since they were freshmen will be seniors, and I'll have to say good-bye to them as they head out to serve missions, attend college, or go to work in the real world. I already told the kids who show up at my office every day to say hello and have a chat that the only way I would disappear from this job was if I was dead. I would hate to worry them.

I had to take a couple of sneaky pics of my boss for a recognition that his boss is conducting and asked me to participate in. This is the faculty during in-service meeting, where they discuss the upcoming block of scripture and share their thoughts and insights on how to teach it effectively to the students. From left to right: Josh (new to our faculty this year), Ryan, Griff (my boss), Denise (new to our faculty this year), and Kim.

From left to right: Josh, Ryan, and Griff. I love these meetings. I get to listen to scriptorians discuss scripture at work and get paid for it!

Meanwhile, Sian's and Gabrielle's landlord sold the block of townhomes where they are each renting with their husbands, and now their rents are doubling. It was inevitable, I guess. The landlord was in his 80s and did all of his own maintenance, and his wife was bugging him to sell the rentals and finally retire. The real estate corporation that bought the townhomes immediately informed the tenants that their low-rent days of bliss were over and that they would have to pay twice the amount (the current market price) or get out by the end of October.

Sian's husband, Nathan, makes good money working for a major financial corporation, but they haven't yet saved up enough for a down payment on a house, so they called and asked us if our offer was still good to let them live with us should the need ever arise. They are happy to pay us rent, but they wanted to still be able to sock away as much in savings for a house payment as they can. Fortunately, we have the room. A bonus is that Nathan's commute into The Big City will actually be shorter than it was before.

Gabrielle works for a major software company in the area where they are currently living, so she and her husband are still deciding what to do. A modular house on Raine's parents' large nearby property is an option. They are also welcome to live with us, but I'm afraid they would have to be satisfied with a mere bedroom rather than a suite of rooms; also, the daily commute for Gabrielle to work and Raine to school would be arduous.

With only a month to prepare, we've been scrambling to get the basement ready for Sian, Nathan, and their two darling little boys. Fortunately, the basement is already finished with a bedroom, bathroom, and large family room--all of which will become their space--but some maintenance needs to be done before we're satisfied. That includes new flooring (Husband has been laying vinyl plank in the bathroom and bedroom, and we'll have the family room re-carpeted), new paint (Behr's Cottage White, which is a lovely candle-lit off-white that is bright but very cozy for a darker basement room), and drywalling the bedroom closet. Also, all the stuff we've stored in the family room has to go somewhere else.

I'm excited to have my grandsons in the same house. (I'm also excited that they will be sleeping two stories below us, as my days of being up half the night with babies are far behind me.) We lived with my parents when our kids were little, and the bonds they developed with my parents and my younger siblings (who were in their teens and early 20s at the time) are strong and precious. I very much look forward to having that kind of bond with my grandchildren. Staying put at my current job, which is about a five minute's drive from home, will allow me to see them so much more than if I was trekking back and forth the The Big City every day. For me, that's well worth staying here.

He's 7 months already! It's about time he learned to read!

Tyler is almost always happy. He's a sweet and contented little boy.

Deep Thought Fail

 Elannah texted me at work yesterday: "Do you want to make a Costco run just for funsies?"

Absolutely. 

Husband was not interested in taking a long drive into The Big City after an exhausting day of work just to shop at Costco for no particular reason (hello! snagging a carton of Darigold heavy cream is always a reason!), but Joseph wanted to come along, so the three of us hopped into Elannah's car (which has air conditioning; mine doesn't), and I drove us to Costco in the rain (yay! we need rain!). Elannah prefers it when I drive on long trips, and I also prefer to drive on long trips, so that works out pretty well.

While we were there, we found some Kirkland brand baby formula, which my oldest daughter can never get at her Costco, which is in an area of Utah where the babies are exceptionally numerous and hungry. After grabbing two packages of the formula (to her great delight after I called to check with her), we proceeded to add a lot of other items to the cart, not all of which were necessary (the story of a Costco run, amiright?). Well, thirty rolls of toilet paper isn't useless, but a big box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates is a bit unnecessary. But, yum. Ditto the bulgogi-flavored roasted seaweed snacks. And the eggnog (as Joseph assured me, it's never too early in the season for eggnog).

We arrived home a while later, after having waited a very long time for a pepperoni pizza in the Costco cafe, and it wasn't until the dog looked up at me with such a hopeful twinkle in his eye that I remembered we had forgotten to buy dog food. I was done shopping by that point, so Husband did get a chance to make a quick store run after all, bless him, but he only had to go a few blocks.

The Point of the Above Story

If you haven't already noticed, the above is just a little vignette of what happened to me yesterday evening. Nothing stands out about the event except that it was enjoyable because I was with two of my favorite people. There is no moral or lesson there. It's just trivial information. I hadn't really thought it out before I started typing, and the above was the end result. Usually, I would delete it all and start over, though whether I would have made it more meaningful is debatable.

I use this to illustrate what happens to my brain when someone asks me my opinion on deep subjects. No one asks me my opinion on deep subjects anymore, so I'm terribly out of practice with expressing myself when my thoughts on a subject have, until the point of vocal expression, lived in my brain solely as nebulous fragments strung together by visual images that make sense only to me. To cement them into defining words is frustrating and fraught with danger. 

I mentioned in my last post that one of the junior boys visits me daily at the seminary. I've known him since he was a freshman, and he started coming to me for long chats last year. He is a deep thinker, and he is chock full of insightful questions about the gospel, the scriptures, and life in general; and while our conversations are very interesting, they leave me mentally drained because I have to both recall every scripture, book, and talk by prophets and apostles I've ever read and then cement my formerly nebulous thoughts into concrete words. What makes it worse is that he genuinely listens to me and values my insights, which is rare for even the most non-self-absorbed of teenagers. It puts the pressure on.

His habit is to come in right before his seminary class, sneak quietly into my office, and then suddenly say my name so that I yelp in surprise (I never hear him coming. I've begged him to at least cough or something). Then he tosses his backpack on the floor and folds his lanky six-foot frame into one of my office chairs. I say, "Well, hello! How is your day going, and what have you been thinking about?" and he ponders for a minute and then blurts out something both fascinating and tricky, frequently something that I also pondered at length when I was a kid his age. Seeing the danger of getting too involved in a long conversation, I then say, "You've got two minutes, and then I'm kicking you out so you can go to your class," to which he makes a face of disagreement, but starts talking. After two minutes, I say, "Okay, now go to class and come say hi before you leave," but I also have to stand up and pretty much push him out of my office and into his class while he protests, "But I learn so much more when we talk than in class!" to which I say, "But you need to study the scriptures your teacher is talking about today. It's important! The Spirit will teach you something if you go with an open heart," and he finally, reluctantly, goes to class, which is a bit noisy and chaotic for his tastes. He's a classic introvert. 

After school, he shows up again, and this time I have twenty minutes to dedicate to a conversation before it's time to kick all the students out of the building, lock up, and go home to take Gary to work. I've fortified that boundary because, otherwise, he would stay for hours. Even if I know Joseph will take Gary to work, I still claim the need to leave to take Gary to work. I really enjoy our discussions, and I enjoy seeing him gain confidence in his ability to hear the Spirit and the fact the God loves him, but, obviously, there are professional boundaries that need to be maintained. The fact that I won't have much time at work for three months will help maintain that boundary. Today I suggested two other students he should seek out who also like to come talk to me about their thoughts.

The Point of the Above Story(?)

I'm just going to state the obvious: I thought I had a point to make, but it took a left turn somewhere and became just another vignette. At this juncture, I either roll my eyes and delete it all or just go with it. 

I'm just going with it. 

Actually, I think I did make my point that I have a very difficult time cementing my deeper thoughts into words. You'll notice I expressed no clearly delineated deep thoughts, though I'm pretty sure I thought I had some. You, gentle reader, will have to infer what it was I was trying to say (and then let me know).

Math Is Not My Forte

 I made a math mistake. That is not shocking in itself as I am no genius--and certainly not a math genius--but my mistake does have long-term repercussions.

For work, I get a certain number of hours per calendar year, and I cannot go over. For the last two+ years, I haven't had an issue, but yesterday I checked my hours and realized I was in danger of going well over my limit if I didn't do something. Rather than run out of hours and be forced to take off the entire month of December with no pay, I've had to cut down my daily hours to half. With all the no-school days and holidays between now and the end of the year, I should be ok.

I was confused about how I'd managed to get through the last few years with no hours issues when I remembered that for two of those years, Covid played a large part. I was quarantined three times: once because Husband was sick, and twice because I was sick. Quarantines were at least ten days each, and missing those days, plus the fact that I take most of the summer off, got me through the years without going over my hours. This year, I haven't missed a day since summer ended, and for various reasons I won't further bore you with, the craziness of this year has had me working some longer hours. 

The good news is that I get to sleep in starting Monday. Griff decided he would prefer me to be at the building for the last part of the school day rather than first thing in the morning, and I will leave a few minutes before the last bell so I can beat the mad rush from the parking lots. 

The bad news is that I won't have as much time to talk with the students, and I will miss those chats. On the other hand, one of the students, a junior boy, is probably too attached to me, so putting some distance between us will be the best thing for him. He'll be forced to go and seek out some of his peers instead of showing up in my office every day after school and when he has his seminary class. He's a great kid with a lot of brains in his head, and he does just fine socially, so I'm not worried about him. This could be a silver lining for him. 

Meanwhile, my youngest, Gary, ended up with not one but two dates to the other high school's Homecoming dance. 

Gary and Molly, the cutie in the black dress, have been besties since they were seven, and even though Molly has since moved to a nearby town, they still get together frequently to hang out. Molly informed Gary that if she was not asked to her high school's Homecoming dance, he would be taking her. Molly also invited her friend, the girl in the red dress (whom Gary found very attractive); and Molly's older sister, the girl in the back, accompanied them and drove them all to the dance.

Poor Gary with his trousers that aren't quite long enough for his long legs! Those are the suit trousers we bought for him to wear to Sophia's wedding last year, and Gary has grown so much since then that I had to let the hem down as far as it could possibly go, and they were still too short. He's long and lanky, with no fat or muscle on him, poor kid. He is growing so fast that his pants are perpetually too short for him, but he gets longer without getting wider, so finding pants with long enough legs but a narrow enough waist is very difficult.

The next time we buy him a suit, however, it will be much more fashionable.

Gary bought them all dinner (pizza, breadsticks, and hot wings because he has a job but he can't afford four fancy dinners at a restaurant), and they had a good time. I bet he was one of very few boys who showed up with two dates instead of one.