from the mixed-up files of a middle-aged mind

Despite the measurable snow and the freezing temperatures within the past week, that quintessential symbol of hope "Spring" has finally sprung. Here's what I love about spring: Those early days as the sun starts to return when, if you breathe deeply and slowly and hold really still, you can actually watch the grass grow greener by the minute. Shirt sleeves. One more example of how everything is relative. In September 60 feels chilly and moves one to grab a jacket. In March, as soon as it gets above 45 it's time for short shirt sleeves to welcome back the sun. Crocus. Daffodils. Tulips. Forsythia. Just for starters. Soon, flowering plum. I love the tangible evidence that something so apparently dead can show new life and in a big, beautiful, colorful way. I especially love how the blossoms don't shrink or bow under the fallen snow, but burst their bright shows of color up through snow with a hint of wanton rebelliousness. Tossing out the alarm clock and waking up t...

Why Rosie? Here's the story behind Rosie. It's a long story, but completely appropriate in a blog about a real identity crisis. I thrive on keeping very busy. I also like to take care of people. But a couple of years ago I tore my ACL and because they did the graft from my patellar tendon, I lost my entire quad muscle and couldn't walk at all. The rehab on a patellar graft is pretty long. And I had never experienced anything so physically debilitating--not even after spending a week in the hospital with serious double pneumonia and coming home on oxygen for 3 weeks. I felt completely useless. I couldn't do anything. And because people were so kind to take in my youngest child while the rest were at school, I was home alone much of the time. As a result, I got really absorbed by what I felt I'd lost--all the things I couldn't do--and became really depressed. I do try to be one of those people who are more tied into being than into what they do , but part of who ...

I love a good holiday. And St. Patrick's Day is one of my favorites. Partly because it's a great occasion to do indulge in two of my favorite pasttimes: Playing with my food and playing dress up. But mostly because it's not one of those holidays that one is required to celebrate. I could ignore it if I wanted, but why not take advantage of another chance to live a day less ordinary. Not to mention the fact that it's a great excuse to partake of one of my favorites, Lucky Charms. Here are a few traditions at my house. Some dye their beer green. Since we don't drink beer, we dye our milk green. Breakfast at our house consists of green milk, green eggs (sans the ham--green meat is never a good thing), and green muffins. Lucky Charms taste very good in green milk. In the tradition of a good Utahn, whip up a big batch of green jello, topped with green whipped cream. Come up with one more reason to eat sugar cookie dough. And if some of it ends up as cute green shamrocks...

During my latest adventure at quilt camp (another blog for another day) one of the speakers was showing a quilt she made for her mom on which she had stitched sayings she and her sister remember hearing from their mother. First I was amused. Then I started to wonder what my kids would contribute if asked for sayings from me. You know, those little philosophy-packed phrases I utter over and over with good intentions to teach them life's all-important lessons, but which only result in causing my kids to roll their eyes and vow to never, ever utter such nonsense to their own kids. I have a feeling a few of the following would be on their lists: "Be part of the solution, not part of the problem." "I don't care who started it, I'm more interested in who will finish it!" "Don't mess with the Queen ." A special phrase reserved for when one of my kids actually dares take on the queen eye-roller of the 20th century, namely me. They know they don...

At work the other day my co-worker was describing the type of books by a certain publisher as "tree-hugger conservative." He quickly corrected himself, then said, "Tree-hugger conservative, now that's an oxymoron." At first I laughed, then I thought, "Wait a minute. I think I might be a tree-hugger conservative." And it got me thinking about the difficulties inherent in jumping back and forth over the political fence. I 'm no fence-sitter, but, independent woman that I am, nor am I content taking up permanent residence in either compound. I don't flip-flop over issues. It's just that some issues find me camped firmly on conservative soil, and other issues find me lobbying alongside the liberals. Go figure. I wasn't raised that way. I have deep "red" conservative blood coursing patriotically through my veins. In fact I come from an extended family made up of many who would (I'm only partly joking) as soon disown you if they...