In the midst of aftermath...

There is this great scene in one of my favorite movies, "Twister" in which, in the midst of tornado aftermath, the protagonist, Jo, finally confronts her "issues" with tornados.

"You've never seen it miss this house, and miss that house, and come after you!" (Hint: it's not about the house, it's really all about her father).


I feel that way about Cancer. (Hint: it all started with my father, too).


Jo devoted her entire life to chasing and, essentially, fighting tornados.


In truth, I, myself, am much better at running away, getting distracted--avoiding real problems and issues. But in my other life--the imaginary one in which I, too, am a protagonist, and I spend my days being really, really good at something significant--I am a storm chaser. At least I like to think I would be.


I watched Cancer take my Dad before we even knew he had it. Before I ever got to say goodbye. And a woman who was at that time the same age I am now found herself wondering how in the world she was going to raise and support six kids--four of them boys--all by herself.


I watched it take this friend and that friend. Or that friend's baby.


Tayson. His family had just moved into our neighborhood only months before. I remember meeting Alice and thinking what great friends we could be. I really, really liked her. I remember seeing her walking Tayson down the road in his stroller. She told me he wasn't feeling too well. I noticed he had a bad bruise on his face. We talked about the usual things one discusses over childhood illness. Maybe he had an ear infection. Who was her pediatrician. I hoped he felt better soon.

Later that day another woman from the neighborhood me asked how everything was. "Fine," I said. "You haven't heard?" she asked. Turned out Tayson didn't have an ear infection. He had leukemia. L-E-U-K-E-M-I-A. My world stopped still. And I couldn't even begin to imagine.

They had hardly even moved in, didn't really know a lot of people. And now they were practically living at Primary Children's Hospital. I remember one night we drove up to Salt Lake to see them. I had the hardest time walking through the halls at PCMC. I still can hardly make myself walk through those halls (don't get me wrong--PCMC is a wonderful place and we are so blessed to have it. I just can't handle thinking about the anguish of those kids--their mothers, their fathers, their entire families--must go through with whatever it is that brings them there. I know miracles happen there. But I also know there is a great deal of pain). Somehow at the end of the visit, we ended up with tickets to the ball game. Alice and Barry were glad someone could use them. We had a great time; but somehow it seemed wrong to be having a good time while they were left behind to witness the constant suffering of their son.

I remember the day Tayson died. I tried to imagine my friend rocking her baby in her arms while the people in the mortuary were waiting for her to release him. How does one ever let go?

I remember the night of the viewing. I had to make myself go. I didn't think I could go in. But I made myself go in. I was blessed to understand that the too-small body lying in the casket wasn't Tayson anymore and that Tayson was OK now.

I remember serving in the kitchen on the day of Tayson's funeral. Alice came in to say goodbye. She hugged me long and hard. I didn't want to let her go. I wanted her to know she wasn't alone. But mothers with empty arms are alone.


Another Alice. When I was just starting out, I used to call her and seek her advice for a number of homemaking and cooking and baking issues. She helped me sew something for one of my kids once. She had the best laugh and was so much fun at girls' camp. I will never forget the night at some Stake RS dinner when we sat together and she was telling us about her back pain and how frustrated she was that no one could seem to help her. She wasn't complaining. She was explaining.

Within about a month she was dead from bone cancer.

She had two girls still home.

Who do they talk to about their hopes, their fears, their broken hearts? Who will help them with their hair and their dresses on their wedding days?


Meridith. You may have read about her. She was diagnosed with leukemia on Valentine's Day. The gift of marrow from the bones of her twin sister saved her eventually, but did Cancer really spare her? No. The radiation used to beat it back broke her body and her mind. She suffers still. "I'll just turn it over to God," she says as she wears herself out serving her husband, her family and her every neighbor.


Sue. I don't even know how to describe Sue. My favorite picture of her is one in which she is wearing sunglasses and holding some great big novel in her hands. I think she has a beach hat on, too, maybe. She was likely wearing a bathing suit and sitting lakeside or poolside somewhere or on a boat. Sue had a hard life. But she was frank and real. I liked that about her. She helped me refine my pie-baking skills and gave me the recipe for the best sour cherry pie ever. When life gives you sour cherries by all means make a dessert out of them.

Breast Cancer. I remember her stopping her car to talk to me as I walked down her street and she was returning from yet another round of chemo. She looked great, but she felt like hell. I will never forget how her co-workers at NuSkin worked her shifts for her so she could keep her medical insurance.

Sue finally found peace at the end. Her funeral--mere days before Christmas--remains one of the best I ever attended.


Adrienne. It always seemed to me as if Adrienne and her three beautiful girls had stepped right out of a Jane Austin novel and right into our little old neighborhood.

No one kept Christmas like Adrienne. She kept it the whole year through. Her house was decorated for it for months before and after. But it wasn't mere decoration. She emodied the Spirit of Christmas. It was said of her at her funeral something to the effect that she and her equally amazing husband must've had input into the creation of the Garden of Eden for it to have truly been as lovely as it was. Adrienne made the world a more beautiful place.

Ovarian Cancer. I remember trying to help her during her last months. I never had any trouble finding women willing to come to clean her lovely home. The problem was more Adrienne wearing herself out trying to clean it before we came to clean.

I remember sitting by her bedside sometime during her last couple of weeks. I hugged her and held her hand. She was in so much pain. But so gracious and loving. My memory of these moments is kind of blurry. I think it's both too beautiful and too painful to recall in sharp focus.

I have never known--nor will I ever--anyone quite like her.


The list goes on: My Aunt Pat: She survived breast Cancer some 20 years ago, but another one eventually took her. She'd been widowed from my uncle since I was a baby. Now my cousins have no parents.

My Grandma Jacobs: Breast Cancer. My Aunt Darlene: Breast Cancer. My friend Laurie: Thyroid Cancer. Just to name a few. They are survivors. Cancer didn't miss them entirely, but it didn't take them away, either.


And now I just learned that Cancer has chosen to go after my neighbor through the back fence: Stage three testicular cancer.

A good man. A husband and father. With kids the age I remember being when it went after my dad.

I am trying to imagine being this family. Being the wife who must be sore afraid. Being the four kids who probably have no idea what this all really means for them. Being the provider of a family and wondering not only what lies ahead for you, but what will happen to your family? Feeling alone because although we may offer prayers and sympathy, no one really knows what it's like to be them right now.

I want to help. But what can I do? What can I say?

There are no words for this.

I know.





update: Cory has finished chemo and has tested clear of cancer. We hope and pray his remission continues.

Just like at the end of the movie, sometimes the twister will pass by your house and leave you all still standing.

In the news...

Random highlights

Apparently even in the animal kingdom having a "well-developed rack" will get you some attention. (My favorite line: "It's got no male utilities!")


I know, the "thrill on the hill" is so last week. But it bears reliving over and over and over. Wahoo!


I'm with his mom. Gross! But I'll support you honey if that's really what you want to do with your life... (Said the "witnesses," "We're not always saving lives and protecting property. We also do other things.")



Commentary on what a weird world in which we live:

From public urination, which, apparently is now illegal, but shouldn't be considered to be offensive...


...to public breastfeeding, which, although perfectly legal, is still, by some, considered to be offensive...


...to that all-time great offender, Christmas.

*groan*


And finally: Here are just a couple dedicated to my favorite Pottymouth Sister:

Innovation has taken a nasty turn. Can you say "Panda poo paper production" five times really fast?


When in the city...

On Being Wise...

Yesterday we had a lesson on finding wisdom. One of the concepts discussed that really resonated with me was a comment on how we are torn by competing demands and priorities--which, as you know, is something I've been thinking about a lot lately. I'm doing a little better. Cutting back my work hours a bit, getting better at saying "No," and trying to put my house and my life in some semblance of order. I've still got a ways to go. But I'm learning...


Because we needed to drive out an extra car and I had to work on Wednesday, my family left before I did to go over the river and through the woods to Grandma's house for Thanksgiving. I had lots to do and was looking forward to the empty house so I could get down to business. Only I discovered a couple of things.

One, I don't really like being alone in the house at night. (I have a new appreciation for my widowed mother who has done this for well over 20 years--I would scare myself silly and end up totally crazy). I can do it when the kids are home, but I would be hopeless completely alone. There is no logic in this; it is what it is.

Two, those chores I thought were so important to get done suddenly seemed meaningless. I missed my family and realized I wanted to have been with them for the entire holiday--not just the next day when I meant to drive out. (Suddenly I feel less badly about dropping everything--including the dirty dishes and the laundry--the other night when my 15-year-old really wanted me to take him to DI and then to Shopko to buy a new belt.) This is something I usually get right, but I often feel guilty over what get's left undone in order for me to get it right. So now, knowing how I really feel about getting it wrong this time, I'm hoping I can let go of the conflicted feelings and commit myself to getting it right more often. Does that make sense to anyone but me?

Someday I may have a clean house and the work might all be done. But I have a feeling when that day comes I might also be a little lonely.


During my time of solitude I drove over to the Jamestown to visit my grandparents. (My mom usually goes to my sister's house in Idaho for Thanksgiving, which leaves just me and my brother to look after them.) My grandmother, upon learning I had stayed behind to get the baking and cleaning done, told me twice during the conversation, "Just go buy some rolls at the store then go to join your family." Now this was really something from the woman who in my mind set the standard for the care and keeping of households in a home where, according to my mother, the children were expected to be seen but not heard. I was surprised and touched to recognize how the wisdom of her age had shifted her priorities a bit.

I can't wait till I'm 88 to get this part right.


The truth is I am becoming keenly aware of how short life is and how quickly we lose chances to spend time and build relationships with the people we love. I am reminded of it when someone I love dies and I regret not having known them better or spent more time with them. I am also mindful of it as I observe my children growing up much too fast and as I watch my oldest preparing to leave the nest.


So, as the holidays set upon me and my calendar fills up with something every night, here's what I'm trying to remember:

Life is short.

Each moment is a gift.

Enjoy the ride.

I am thankful for...

...BYU 33-Utah 31. What a game! What a last-second thrill! What a win! Wahoo!!!

...all the people linked at the left (and others) who occasionally drop in to read my musings and often add their two cents. I appreciate that your blogs can make me both laugh and cry. I am sobered, amused, entertained, educated and enlightened by reading your posts. Thank you!

...new friends--and the looks I get when I tell people I'm going to go hang out with a bunch of people I met on the Internet.

...lianne for discovering my inner purple. And for creating a fresh new look that addresses another favorite obsession of mine.

...a husband who taught me to notice and appreciate the simple things, who is an involved father and who treats me as an equal and lets me be who I am even if it's not exactly what he expected.

...kids who don't try to pretend I'm not their mom or hide and pretend they're not actually with me when we go out in public.

...hugs.

...that I overcame a number of my biggest fears and flew to Finland this fall for the trip of a lifetime.

...a roof over my head--even if the part over the garage leaks a bit.

...good food to eat. An abundance I often take for granted, but do realize is not similarly enjoyed by a good part of the world's population.

...warm clothes in the winter. Central air and a good furnace. Shoes on my feet. Quilts throughout the house. All the comforts of home. Even if it is a bit lived in.

...a good job working with good people. They make it worth it to show up for another day's labor.

...bek, whom I want to be just like whenever I grow up because she inspired me to become a kinder, gentler blogger with this (sorry Ashton).

...great neighbors, most excellent friends, amazing sister-friends.

...the arts of reading a well-written book or engaging a well-turned phrase.

...the presence and beauty of the mountains.

...a sense of belonging and of connectedness to family and to friends--whom I consider family.

...that I am capable of making a passably delicious Thanksgiving dinner. Thanks, of course, to recipes handed down by family and friends.

...all those summers of my youth during which an entire week was devoted to baking pies for the annual Scandinavian Festival. I used to think I didn't have any talents, but now I think if it were written on my tombstone, "She baked a mighty fine pie," I could possibly rest in peace under that.

...each new day that allows me another chance to grow up a little bit, at least try to be a better person, and hope for a simple opportunity to brighten someone's day or make the world a little better place.

...a national holiday that reminds us to be mindful of blessings we should be thankful for year 'round.

...the simple way having a heart full of gratitude serves a dual purpose of both wrapping up the fall harvest and ushering in the Christmas season.

Of course there's much, much more, but I need to go start the pies.

So what's on your list?

My Monday ABCs: Ashton, don't Buy tupperware, and Call me CRAZY!

Understatement of the century: In an article attempting to explain the latest stupid move by O.J. Simpson, "Instead, the experts said, the book may amount to narcissism." May? Ya think? Puh-lease.

Dear Media people:

Don't buy the book. Don't interview O.J. on the air. Can we please just ignore the crazy and demented guy wearing the bloody too-small-gloves and stop the insanity enough already?



[This just in-- (The eternal optimist in me rejoiceth.) Apparently there is at least one strand of moral fiber and maybe even one iota of good taste left in America: The ill-conceived O.J. project has been canceled!]



Also to the dear media people: I DON'T GIVE A GNAT'S EYELASH ABOUT THE TOMKAT WEDDING OR THE NEVER-ENDING KISS (which is an ironic way to begin a just-can't-possibly-last marriage anyhow)!



*Mean Girl Alert* I think Ashton Kutcher is just stupid. I used to think Demi was an intelligent woman, but now that I've seen Ashton in an interview, I think she was just dumb enough to get distracted by substance-less eye candy. And at her age she should've known better. Thank you. I just needed to say that out loud.



Dear Sony PlayStation people:

Please explain to me the logic behind providing a HUGE shortage of whatever-your-latest-overpriced-addictive-to-the-male-species-entertainment-system-is so that only the few people who don't really want them anyway are able to purchase them, only to resell them for a HUGE and ridiculous profit on e-Bay. What-the-heck kinda business model is that, anyway? Wouldn't you make a little more money if you made more than four or five of them and then you actually scored the profit from the 50-gabazillion or so boys who want them instead of letting all the people crazy enough to wait in line outside in the middle of winter for three days make all the big bucks?

Oh, and speaking of playing the supply-and-demand game with entertainment systems. Isn't it wonderful how all the ads in the Sunday morning paper so beautifully featured Nintendo's more reasonably priced Wii on their front pages as if one could just meander out that very day (assuming one shopped on Sunday) and purchase one for one's children for Christmas. As if the ad makers had no idea that all 26 of them would've already been sold hours before the paper ever rolled off the presses?

(Do I sound bitter? I'm not really--this is something we swore we would never buy for our children--but still!)



I am tired of Tupperware. Now I'm sure this will bring down the wrath of the people paid to search the Internet for people dishing (ha ha) Tupperware, but really. I've now got a pile of "virtually unbreakable" Tupperware (supposedly using technology from NASA or something) and guess what? It's all broken! It's more broken than my non "virtually unbreakable" Tupperware, which cost less anyway. I think it's even more broken than any of my 20-year-old Pfaltzgraff stoneware. How sad is that?



Call me crazy! Help? I've created a monster tradition at my house and I don't know how to get out of it. Ever since I was first married I always cook an entire Thanksgiving dinner--complete with all the trimmings at my house again on Sunday. It started because I am picky about my stuffing (Just Say No to Stove Top) and I missed the leftovers. But now it's out of control. That's a lot of chopping and stirring and pie baking for these ever-aging hands to be doing all by themselves. Think about it, the first Thanksgiving was potluck and that's how they were all meant to be, don't you think? You might think I could just stop, but now after all these years there are certain expectations (some of them still mine) that this is the way it's got to be? What's a girl to do?



And best if not last, HAPPY *upcoming* BIRTHDAY to me! If this won't be just the BEST birthday present EVER...

(Frankly that last one leaves me speechless, but I can't wait to read what you have to say about it!)

p.s. Does any one else "not love" the new name of the Delta Center as much I do? Let's all Just Say No to "Energy--I've got more money than Delta/I used to be Envirocare--Solutions" too!

Looking for a few good women...

Don't know if you're familiar with The Festival of Trees, but it's a local charity event from which 100% of the profits benefit children who have been patients at Primary Children's Medical Center and their families. The money goes directly to pay for their charity care. The reason I'm involved is because there are many good causes out there, but this is the only one I know of where 100% of the money goes to the kids.

The Festival is great fun to attend and is a wonderful way to kick off the Christmas season. If you've never been, I suggest taking your family and spending a couple of hours walking through the aisles of trees, wreaths, gingerbread houses and such.

If you are so inclined, however, the Festival is also in serious need of more volunteers. Here's what's needed:

What: Hosts and Hostesses. The job entails wearing a skirt for a few hours (only if you're female), driving up to the South Towne Expo Center, standing in a huge room filled with Christmas everything and occasionally smiling at complete strangers. You may have to answer a few questions (the answers which should be explained to you as you arrive), you might have to give someone directions to the restroom. You do get to enjoy the beautiful surroundings, watch the faces of the children who pretty much eat this up, and feel pretty good about your time being well spent helping out a good cause.

When: The shifts are 9am-1pm, 1-4pm, 4-7pm, or 7-10pm. The event runs from Wednesday, November 29 through Saturday, December 2.
                          
Where: See above.

How: Contact me via e-mail, henfeatherz@gmail.com
I'm going up from 1 to 4 on Thursday, November 30 and would enjoy your company if you're available. If that time doesn't work for you, grab some friends and make it a girls morning, afternoon or night out. I usually go up with a bunch of friends and we work our shift then have lunch together and spend an hour or so walking through the displays ourselves. The donation of your time is your ticket in.
(disclaimer: Despite my title, we could also use men or any youth over age 16. If you work with the older youth, this would be a great service activity. Or grab your spouse and make it a date night.)

How I sold my soul for a handful of Target gift cards

Alternate Title: The Mommy Wars: Reeking in my own ambivalence

heard rumor of a great and terrible battle. never expected to fight it with myself. in my own head.

I have been wrestling with my ambivalence as a paid working mom and how easily I find myself sucked into the workaholic mindset demanded in the workplace when, just a little over a year ago, my heart was planted along with my feet so firmly on the terra firma of my own home and I doubted I could ever commit myself to the rigorous schedule of serious employment.


Part of me knows the most important work I do is raising good kids and teaching them to be productive citizens.
Part of me gets a kick out of fixing an account for some big-named client from New York or Paris.


Part of me would rather be home using my discretionary time to volunteer at school or for some charity, to complete a quilt project I'm especially fond of, or go to lunch with the girls.
Part of me likes to watch the hours add up on the timeclock and calculate what overtime could be.

Or course I try to the do the rest of those things anyway. Just not as much as I used to or would like to.


Part of me has a hard time leaving the unfinished business at home behind and dragging myself to work.
Part of me has a hard time leaving the unfinished business at work behind and dragging myself back home.


Part of me would love to spend an entire rainy day now and then prone on the sofa, accompanied by a good book.
Part of me can and would put in an 11- or 12-hour day now and then and feel like I've really accomplished something.


Part of me would rather be home curled up with my sick kid than calling every hour and running home every couple of hours to see what was needed.
Part of me feels the pull of perfect attendance at work and rationalizes too readily that if I were home I'd be upstairs working on some other chore anyway and that my absence is not even noted.

But most of me knows that is a lie.


Part of me knows that despite the fact that what I do at home is 99.5% thankless, the .5% of the time I see gratitude in the eyes of the child is of greater worth than barrels full of accolades from strangers.
Part of me thrives on being recognized, acknowledged, appreciated, needed and even loved at work.

I think I almost despise that part of me.


Part of me felt judged because I did not take the entire day off work when my son was sick.
Part of me felt judged because I did not spend the entire day at work when my son was sick.

Truth is I felt I had little choice in the matter; yet truly, if he wouldn't have said it was OK when I asked him if I could go for a couple of hours, I wouldn't have gone.


Part of me likes being the hug that heals a skinned knee or settles a wounded heart, knowing I can't really fix anything, but at least I can be there to catch someone when he or she falls.
Part of me compensates for the fact that I can't really fix any of the real problems in my life by staying at work and fixing things I can fix there.

Truthfully I know the things I fix at work are really irrelevant to the general well-being of the world and the things I feel powerless over at home are infinitely more important.


Part of me likes to remind my workaholic co-workers that no one ever died and said they wish they would've spend more time at work and to encourage them to go home and spend some time with their families.
Part of me wonders if something bad happened tomorrow, would I regret not having spent more of these past 14 months at home?


Part of me feels intensely how wrong it is that work gets the best part of me early in the day. My family gets what's left over.

Part of me is still trying to volunteer at school in as many ways as I can, spend some times with friends once in a while, remain active in some meaningful charitable organizations and participate at least a little from time to time in one of my favorite hobbies.

That part of me is exhausted because the truth is, I really can't do it all.


I wonder, do I really want to?

Too much time on my hands...

So Saturday my second child and his friends were bored. And look what they found to do to amuse themselves. I went to pick them all up to take them to Macey's and I actually had a moment in which I watched some stranger slide audaciously into the passenger seat next to me and I wondered, who was this kid sitting by me and why was he wearing my son's clothes?A mullet? Willingly and of his own volition?

Don't laugh, it only encourages him.


So after a few "I-love-you-honey-but-you-look-like-a-dork" comments on my part, we headed for Macey's.

Under solemn vow, he agreed not to shop on the same aisles I shopped.

He and I were waiting at the customer service desk for some change when some college student had the nerve to stop and ask him if he could take his picture. "Sure," Z~ said, and the guy whipped out his cell phone, took a picture, and continued to go on and on about how cool it was that my kid's got a mullet.

He asked Z~ why he did it. "Because I was bored," Z~ replied.

I looked at the guy and said, "Yeah, some people's kids do drugs when they're bored. But me, I get a kid that goes and gets himself a mullet.


Best part was after church today when--AFTER SPENDING HALF THE MEETING WONDERING WHO WAS THIS KID I WAS LETTING REST HIS HEAD ON MY SHOULDER AND MY LAP--everyone figured out that it was indeed my own kid, Z~.

EWWWWW!

Sanity thy name is chocolate

Saturday night I chose to forgo the sink full of dirty dishes and the pile of washed and dried but not folded laundry in the middle of my laundry room floor and chose instead to curl up with this
The magazine is--like the pile of her sisters (including one which I have not even had the time to open)--most likely just wishful thinking. "Window shopping" as it were. Like my life will ever be real simple.


and this...Sanity thy name is chocolate.

Stuck in the middle with whom?

What does it mean that most of my friends are either having babies (or courageously trying to make them) or having grandchildren right now? I'm sort of this misfit in the middle--not too old nor too young for either--but somehow still stuck in the no-woman's land in between.

Oddly enough, I am content. If not for feeling alone.

Over with one. Not ready for the other. But truly excited for everyone else. That's all OK. (But for not quite feeling like I really fit in with either crowd.)

Just a wondering how I got here and what I do with myself until I get to the next stage...

From the latest headlines...

Now this is a movement I could really get behind.

This one not so much I think. Of course I support the idea of alternative fuels, but I just don't think I could bring myself to go into Lowes and say, "Could you tell me on which aisle I might find the manure furnaces?" or to start shopping on the Internet for good deals on manure.

Jo March would be rolling in her grave:
Dear mother,
Your six-month old probably doesn't yet feel the need to sport $300 dresses and $200 shoes and parade his or herself before audiences and the flashing lights of cameras.
Dear Lanina's mother,
Lanina probably didn't smile as much or win Miss Personality because you didn't make the time to feed her breakfast. Three-year olds- need to start their days--particularly high-pressure "smile-pretty-for-the-people" kinds of days--with a good breakfast.

Some people's parents...

I LOVE LOVE LOVE Mr. Snowbank. Who else do you know who gets so dang enthused over weather? (Of course, in my other life I am a meteorologist and a part-time storm chaser.) I used to get actual chills up my spine when he broke out the white coat (pardon the pun).

Just wish I would've written this headline (which is, I'll admit, better than the actual story. I would've made something up--some secret romance, ghosts from beyond, etc.)

From K-Fed to Fed-X. I'm going to keep going all the way through until I'm 30," he says. (Because 30 is so old.) "Then I'm really going to sit back and take some time off." (Honey, hasn't your entire life been sitting back and taking "some time off?")

One more reason you shouldn't be caught dead without your scriptures.

For ~j, who said "I just want more of that chicken pot pie in my mouth."

Chicken Pot Pie

1 small package of frozen peas (about 1 cup+)
2 cups cubed potatoes and carrots
1/3 cup butter
1/3 cup flour
1/3 cup chopped onion
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. pepper
1 3/4 cup chicken broth
2/3 cup milk
2-3 cups cooked chicken, cubed
Pastry for a 10-inch pie
(for a crowd, you can double the recipe and bake in a 9x13 pan. I usually double anyway and freeze one for another day)

Steam carrots and potatoes in remaining 1/4 cup or so of chicken broth till just tender. Toss over peas; drain. Set aside.

In a saucepan or skillet, saute the chopped onion with the butter till tender. Stir in flour, salt and pepper. Cook, stirring constantly, till bubbly. Remove from heat. Add chicken broth and milk, stir till smooth. Return to heat, Stir constantly while bringing it to a boil. Boil and stir one minute. Stir in chicken and vegetables. Pour into pie shell; cover with top crust. Bake at 425 for 35-40 minutes till crust is barely browned and filling is bubbly.

What I love about living in Utah!

(It's pretty sad when at five a.m. I notice the moon shining shadows on my bed through the trees outside my window and get taken away by how much I love it when that happens and then I get caught up in how if I lived in other, more densely populated areas, I would really miss that and then mere words compel me to jump out of bed and write because they can no longer stay still in my head.)


What I love about living in Utah:

(yes, I'll admit, this post is, just in some itty bitty teeny tiny way, a bit inspired by my desire to get beyond my initial gut response to certain comments made during this lively little conversation.)

I am completely qualified to write this because one, I actually live in Utah and two, I grew up elsewhere, so I have a frame of reference from which to make a comparison.

This post and its comments are intended to be positive. We could all write the post about what's not to love (but hasn't that been done to death already?). It's not perfect. There are, shall I say, certain oddities and just plain obvious annoyances (not to mention sometimes flat-out horrible and hurtful behaviors as well) that can occur when you have an extremely high concentration of anything clustered all together. But I maintain (and this is supported by a lovely book called "The Ladies Auxiliary") that those are, perhaps, natural to the situation and not so much specific to the individuals themselves and they can occur just about anywhere. So, for the moment we will overlook things we may all have experienced such as judgment and perhaps even some narrowmindedness which, apparently aren't exclusive to our lovely little state--and the fact that there is no Trader Joe's nearby--and we shall focus on the positive.

Because, why not?


1. All four seasons! Some of them in any given day or one little road trip.

Yes, we have a splendid fall. Anyone notice the celestial shade of gold on the trees by that doctor's park on the corner of 5th West and 8th North? Every time I drove by this fall I just had to say a simple prayer of thanks out loud and just tell God, "Brilliant!"

Winter will soon arrive (anyone notice it's coming later and later of late?) and cover us in a quiet and peaceful blanket of snow. The swiftly tilting planet seems to slow a bit when this occurs--in spite of the madness of the holidays--and we can just walk outside or glance out the window and experience moments of tranquility.

Spring in Utah can last for months. It will begin in St. George, of course, and then just creep on up and over the state slowly--like the shadow of a meandering cloud--until you can walk through entire meadows of wildflowers during July and August up in our highest mountains.

And then there is summer. I must admit that when I succumbed to living here it was during the flood years and I had no idea I had left the lush green climate of the Pacific northwest to live in a desert. But oh what a desert! I've only been to Lake Powell once, but it--and other places such as Monument Valley, Bryce Canyon, Capitol Reef, etc.--actually define the color red. And granted our mountains make look a little plain during the dry month of August, but that's only from afar. The beauty of living here is if you don't like where you're at you have only to hop in the car and in a few minutes you can be in someplace entirely different. South Fork Park anyone?


2. The mountains. Like a mother's encircling arms, they exude protection, comfort and peace. They are an actual palpable presence, even from afar. When I returned home from a year and a half in Europe I was startled by both how much I had missed them and how much I could tangibly feel them now I had returned. Living right next to the Wasatch Front mountains is beyond compare.


3. The people. These are generally good people. This isn't by any means exclusive to Utah, but that fact doesn't undermine how great it is to live in a place where the standard people are generally trying pretty hard to "conform" to is to be a good person. I have two teenage boys and there isn't a week that goes by that I don't just sit for a minute in awe of their great friends (I'm hoping my two younger kids are as lucky). I know it takes all kinds of people and you can find whatever kind of friends you are looking for wherever you go, but I am amazed at how simple it is to find a good crowd in high school and just do great things together. As a mother, I am utterly and completely thankful for that.


4. The arts. Living so close to a number of universities and with a number of talented people make it easy to experience just about any kind of great entertainment you desire. (Well, truthfully, we are a little shy on showgirls, but I'm not particularly missing that, are you?) The local theater scene is amazing. I went to see Hale Center Theater's "Jekyll and Hyde" awhile back and had to keep pinching myself to remember this was community theater. Broadway frequently comes to visit. I saw "Les Mis" and "Phantom" both here. The best Shakespeare ever! We also get some fabulous jazz and the usual suspects as far as big-named rock bands and indie bands are concerned. We've got some great art galleries not just at the universities, but also locally. I once even saw a wonderful exhibit of poetry and paintings in a Salt Lake Winery.


5. The general state of affairs. Pretty safe state to live in. We can still go trick-or-treating and play outside with our friends in our neighborhood. Again, not exclusive to Utah, but not at all the case in many other areas as well. The economy is good. Our state balances its budget. Not an extremely high crime area. Moderate cost of living. Great employment opportunities for techies, entrepreneurs and whomever. Great educational choices. Good work ethic. A decent amount of integrity (because I prefaced this with a preference for the positive I will refrain from making any snide comments about a certain location which has been through something like 14 mayors in the last 18 months). Not perfect by any means, but generally decent and good.


6. Diversity. You may laugh and ask, what diversity? But it's here. You just have to look for it. And because you have to actually look for it and make an effort to appreciate it, I maintain it's harder to take it for granted. We are not "all the same" here and Hooray! for that!


I have been here so long now I sometimes start to take it all for granted. But some time ago we went up to Sundance for dinner (oh! I failed to mention the food! Slowly, but surely we are getting some great places to eat, as well. Market Street Grill, The Melting Pot, Sundance, and a number of little divey-but-delicious ethnic-food restaurants, too) with some friends. She is a former runway model; he is a producer for huge shows--rock concerts, car shows, etc. They left behind an entirely different lifestyle as well as location when they moved here from LA. They've lived in NYC and visited all over the world--Milan, Paris, etc. How they ended up in a tiny house on the corner of my hood is another story entirely, but they have been around and have a lot with which to compare. And for most of the fabulous meal (I love the food at Sundance) he went on and on about how Provo of all places was the best place to live ever (of course this theory is also supported by other illustrious experts) and we have no idea how good we've got it!

I was at first surprised--you know, given he had lived in so many other wonderful places--and then pleased as I started remembering what I love best about living here and I concur!


So let's hear it from the experts, you who actually live (or have lived) here. What do you love about living in Utah?

What I did in my spare time this past year...

Because I believe...(To all my immaculate and more-together-than-I am friends, you know this is less a statement about you and your successes and more a pathetic attempt to feel better about my own life choices [read: failures])


Well, it's not quite finished, but almost. I'm telling you, if you like to quilt you need to check out American Quilting's block of the month!


And just so ~j knows it's still coming:
It would probably come along a little faster if I didn't find myself wanting to quilt every tiny little shape and design...

May I recommend, for your reading pleasure...

For those of you who, like me, crave like an addiction a good bit of writing, let me throw this juicy gem your way. I am still rereading it just to absorb both the eloquence and the romance.

Well played, Geo. Simply fabulous!