Tea with Mrs. Jones

Frantic in an effort to overtake 10:30 a.m., I wanted to finish my "list" before I finalized my music curriculum and left to teach. I applied make up, wiped my bathroom sinks, then began to put away the weekend's accumulation of grooming aids. Since I have banned television on weekdays, I carry a heavier entertainment role. Sunshine stood watching, then shut herself in my closet and hid among the shoes and formal dresses in the back.

After awhile a small knock sounded on the closet door. "Oh come in! I'm glad you came to visit me, please sit down and take some tea." I sang in a sing song voice as I motioned her to a seat on the rim of the tub. I poured from an electric shaver into a tall container filled with water balloons (that was looking for a home). We shared pleasant chit chat as I continued to wipe and put away.

Sunshine began the chat in a conspiratorial tone. "My biggest pwoblem wight now is shoes. My chiwden take off their shoes evwywheo and make such a mess! They aw aways making me late because they can't find theiw shoes."

Hmmm. I think. This is one of my biggest problems with Sunshine. In fact, her father had a long discussion with her yesterday over her shoes. "Man." I exclaim. "That must be Sooo annoying. What do you do about it?"

"I give them an extwa thing to pick up. They don't want anothoe job so they pick up theo stuff."

"My, Mrs. Jones, what a clever solution that is."

I am now wondering if she thinks all women do is complain about their lot. I am duty bound to add, "You, know, Mrs. Jones, I LOVE to be a mom. It's my favorite thing to do."

"Oh, I know." She replied. "It's like you rule the house. Isn't it."

"Yes. It's kind of like that." I choke out.

"Well," Sunshine continued, putting down her water balloon tea, "This has been weally nice, BUT, when I came ovow today, I thought we'd have some tea that didn't taste like plastic. I thought we could have some special time together. My mom nevow let me have tea pawtys when I was litto, and I so hoped we could do that."

Time is running short . . . I need all the time I have to prepare for music classes . . . AND, I so love to check off those boxes next to my list.

Oh, well. I throw my hands in the air. Sometimes procrastination is a legitimate response to a trivial task. Because love is what matters most, it takes top priority. Why is now the best time to express love? Because now is when it's needed and now is when I have the opportunity. The best use of life is love. The best expression of love is time. The best time is now.


So, ten minutes later, we pull up our chairs to cream cheese and jelly hearts, apples and caramel dip, and hot cocoa for "Mrs. Jones"; rice cakes, fresh almond butter and sliced bananas for the mama with ice water with lemon oil. We daintily bite, stir, and sip.


Mrs. Jones has many questions for me. "Which of your kids is the best wookor? How do you make youw sandwiches? Did yow mothow ever do this with you?" Then finally, "Youw house looks fweaky. My kids awe scawed of it, so I nevew weally bwing my kids."


So. I learn something new.

1. My witches that I thought were so cute, festive and harmless are freaking poor Mrs. Jones kids right out.
2. Sunshine is internalizing her shoe problem.
3. Kids can be sneaky about getting information.


Well tea is over. In fact, music classes are over and as I review my day, I want to remember my tea party. I imagine that will be a bit like how I will feel as I prepare to leave this life. I won't ask Briz to bring me in my diplomas or work history so I can gaze fondly at them one last time. I doubt my checklist will mean so much to me. But I'll probably count and relive moments like these . . . each a pearl on my necklace, each moment of love a treasure.

Halloween Ghouls

Every year at the first part of October, we rush to the copy center and make tons of copies of our Halloween Ghost.

Night after night we venture out, masked for secrecy, bearing Halloween treats. My ghouls bent over and monsterlike, race silently over the grass. They hide behind trees, cars, and sneak alongside houses till we reach the houses they choose.


Ding Dong! They race back to where Briz or I are hiding. In excitement they wait for the door to creak open, then shut.

Two or three houses per night for a few days gives our neighborhood a good start on Halloween goodwill. They excitedly sneak back home and wait for the ghoul to visit us.

Crazy Love

Yesterday the doorbell rang and joy of joys, a package was on the front porch. With excitement I opened Michael Buble' Crazy in Love. I mentioned yesterday how I be bopped around the kitchen, but I thought I'd tell you a bit more about this CD that I am CRAZY IN LOVE with.


The CD opens with a bang, literally. The instrumentals in the first title, Cry me a River are amazing. I have never heard a CD quite like it. Each song comes from a different era, Elvis, 80's, WWII, yet Buble' makes each song new, current, yet timeless. I felt transported to a happy time, a nostalgic time, a love time. I felt love for my sweetie, felt like swing dancing, and crying all at the same time.

All albums have songs that are less than favorites, and this one is no exception, though in this case it is the last two on the disk. The new twist on tracks Stardust and Whatever it takes is just a bit off, almost dissonant. They are still not bad, just average. The rest are exceptional.

At our house, every task needs it's own music accompaniment. There is cleaning music, reading music, background music, party music, romantic music, silly music, listening music. This album fits the bill for cleaning, crafting, cooking, romance, listening, and party music. How versatile is that?

Anyhow, that's my review and I'm sticking to it. Anyone have a current favorite album they want to share with me? Also, what do you use it for . . . meditation, dance, what?

Home Made Tomato Sauce

So I'm saving the last of the garden tomatoes from frost. They CAN'T go to waste. That would be a sin - truly. Not enough to bottle, not enough for juice, so I thought I'd experiment. As is often the case, there is no recipe here BUT...

• Washed tomatoes
• Pureed them in food processor
• Melted about 1/4 cup butter
• 
• Added tomato puree
• Sprinkled about 1/4/ - 13 cup sugar over top
• Sprinkled with sea salt and freshly ground pepper
• Simmered until nice and thick . . . 1-2 hours
• Added just a touch of Italian Seasoning
• Placed in freezer Jars

LICKED the pan clean. . . then the measuring cups, then the spoons. Yes sir. I have rarely had anything quite so amazing. I can't wait to use the sauce in pizza or lasagna or soup or maybe I'll sit down with a bag and a spoon and eat the whole thing. Gotta try it!

After yesterday's decorating festivities, my front door looked sad and un-cheery. I used my sacred preschool time to fix the problem. Inspired by thrify decor chick, I took apart some leaf wreaths and hot glued the individual leaves to a foam wreath form spray painted black. I listened to the upcoming Michael Buble' album Crazy Love while gluing and stuffing. I tapped, grape-vined and did the chorus line across my lonely kitchen floor. It was such great therapy. I LOVE the color on my door!!! Bonus... Total $8.30 (including the ribbon)!!! When I picked up Sunshine from Tae Kwon Do, I saw a hideous wreath at Roberts with about 10 scraggly leaves on sale for $19.99. Oh, the cleverness of me! Now I feel decorated.

Fall Decorating

As I drive, I am attracted to houses decked with pumpkins, leaves or even scary things that I don't like. They seem to be sending a warm sort of message to the world . . . A beckoning invitation to join them for their celebrations.

I fear the day when the fingerprints are gone and the squeals of joy no longer accompany the fall ritual of unloading the orange boxes. Don't come too soon!!!


But, today, I have the squeals, the helpers that put things in the wrong places, the excitement, and the feeling that I am sharing happiness. Mannheim Steamroller thunders in the background. Witches fly overhead in halls, greet guests at the doorway, and sit in trees. My signature crows are placed everywhere, over doors, in trees, on the dining table . . .


The festive atmosphere makes us feel like dancing.

Those without partners ask the ghost of John, our music prop for years, to dance. Fall is here.

Garbage Surprise

The doorbell rang. I answered. This is what I found. What is it? Did someone leave me a gift? Is it hand-me-down clothes for the girls? Is it a secret Santa? Perhaps it is what it looks like, garbage. Weird. I reach down and place a hand on the tops of each bag. Hmmmm... knobby. Each hand runs over a face. One of the bags giggles. "I guess I'd better get this garbage out to the cans." I remark to myself. I try to pick up the bag but 11 year old girls are WAY too heavy. The bags giggle uncontrollably and then try to run away. I lift off the Hefty and find some of my primary girls, with another giggling in the bushes.

I hold them tight, laugh with them, kiss the tops of their little heads and send them on their way. A gift of self!

The Secret Life of Girls

What do little girls think about in the private recesses of their minds? What do their little bodies do? What is their natural state of behavior?

Researchers Briz and Midodi, caretakers of three little girls, have logged in many hours observing, feeding, stimulating and caring for this confusing species. To discover the secret lives of girls, they took their subjects to a natural habitat to observe them in their natural state with fewer man made distractions. The team picked a double hike that included Twin Lakes and Solitude Lake as the destinations.


The researchers knew just how to set up an effective blind. Upon reaching Twin Lakes, they stretched out on large granite boulders like two over sized lizards soaking in the sunshine.

1. Little girls have vivid imaginations and can make fun without a single toy.

Twin Lakes became an exotic paradise for two of the munchkins...One little girl washed up from the sea, and lay with sea weed in her hair for the villagers to find her. Pirates attacked, messages were sent in bottles, and treasures (army badges) from long lost loves were found along the shore. The sun tanned the natives till their skin became dark (the better to hide from the pirates).


Another little girl's secret life manifested itself differently. Sequestered on a rock outcropping, she arranged wood in the shallows to trap the small fish that basked in the sunshine. Patiently, patiently, then SCOOP! That small fish was going to feed the villagers! It flopped and squirmed, then fell on the sharp rocks and bled a bit. "I looked down at my CTR ring and knew I had to let it go." Dinner disappeared. Next she found a rusty tin can and used it to capture scuds found hiding under rocks or logs(fresh water shrimp that live in only the cleanest mountain water).

2. After an hour or so uninterrupted in their element, little girls become chatty.

"You know, I'm not that popular at the camp. I'd really like to be a little popular. Not really popular like the prince in Ella Enchanted. All the girls ran at him and that would scare me. I just want to be a little popular. I've thought about how I'd like to do it. A cougar or a bear would charge at you, or someone and I would have my pocket knife. I'd stab him just like this.


It would scratch him, then I'd stab him again. We'd take it home and eat it. You can eat bear you know. Everyone would come up to me and say, you did that? I'd say yah. They'd offer my brownies or a puppy. I'd say, "just the brownies . . . no puppies." You don't want any more pets huh mom. But if they insisted I take the puppy or they'd get mad, I'd take it."


3. Little girls have really sharp eyes for discovery. Little girls are curious and brave.

They discovered tons of moose tracks along the Twin Lakes.

At Lake Solitude, Little Mother found a mine shaft.

We crept on our bellies till the shaft opened up to six feet tall and followed its chiseled walls till we reached the end of the shaft and found water dripping out of the limestone.


4. Little girls are easily influenced for good and to do more than they thought they could do.

Four year old sunshine took this very strenuous steep hike, cheered on by the story of the 3 Little Pigs. We told her she was made of bricks, not straw or sticks that blew over at the smallest wind. We explained that it is hard to make a house out of bricks, but it lasts longer.

At each mention of "the brick" as she called herself, she gained new energy and cruised past the forerunner of the hike.


Conclusion: Little girls need parents to take a full day out from their busy schedules to watch them and listen to them, and discover with them. They open like little flowers with time dedicated to them.

Crazy for Aprons!

I LOVE VINTAGE APRONS!

No, I don't have a thing for old 50's shows, I just love having a cute uniform. When I put on my apron, it tells my mind "It's time to work!" It makes me take my homemaking duties more seriously. Plus, I get to dress nice underneath. I prefer the aprons with a nice bib on the top, because my shirt always gets dirty what with cooking, cleaning and all.

With a flip, I can take off my cute apron and leave the house not looking frumpy and kid stained. I also take it off for my reading breaks or other me things at home.

I'm not calling for a return to the "old days", just some of the "old ways."

I'm longing for a new apron, so I can have a change of uniform. But I'm pleased as punch about this one. Don't you just love it?

The Gift of Music

"Every year something from the Primary program makes me cry. This year it was your family." Mrs. Wilson said through teary eyes. This sentiment was echoed by each person I passed on Sunday. They couldn't possibly realize that I was far more touched by this family singing together than they ever could be.

When I was young, my sisters and I sang together. My mom dressed us in matching dresses and we sang. We sang in the car, on the mountain, around the camp fire, at family events, at church events, at talent shows . . . you name it. I loved to listen to the way our voices blended in that unique way only genetics produces.

I fell in love with Briz when I first heard him sing. His date begged and begged him to sing. He gruffly agreed but stated, "This is not a song for you. It is only for my future wife." He played his guitar and sang Want you to Know by Chicago. I knew who he was right then. I saw his soul. I knew I'd give anything to have someone sing a song like that for me someday. His date was sure a lucky girl. My date, however, was in the other room watching a violent movie that I had escaped from. Bummer.

So, it is natural that when we married, I expected to produce our own brand of Osmonds or Jackson 5.

When forced to consider adoption, I learned many things about myself. One was that I was a snob. A child with Briz and my genes would be cuter, smarter, and more talented than one with another's genes. I found that we tend to value our own gifts more than we value gifts given to others. Yes, I could get a son who was a great ballerina, but that wasn't near as cool as Briz's football prowess.

Before I would let myself adopt, I submitted to a rigorous and painful reshaping from my loving Father in Heaven. I had to learn that EVERY child of God has equal value and equally beautiful gifts before I could welcome one of his sweet children into our home.

When Ladybug arrived, one of the things I noticed as she aged, was that she had NO attraction to music. Two, three, then four passed, yet not one song crossed her lips. At the time, we were not aware of her Aspergers and learning disabilities. Two other sweeties joined our family with no noticeable musical gifts. I rejoiced in their own special talents; nature, child care, artistry, physical prowess, or animal catching, but some tiny piece of me mourned that I could not share my soul deep love of music with my buddies.

Then... this year. The stake asked us to provide the musical number for Little Mother's Baptism.


The girls did beautifully. This time, it was all of us. Each little one took a part, then Briz and I joined in soft accompaniment at the end.

I couldn't care less about microphone positioning, volume, tune or anything else. My heart was in the joy of singing with my family. I forgot to look at the congregation, I had eyes only for my babies and sweetie as we sang together.

Unexpectedly, comes a God breeze . . . long after I'd given up hope of this experience, it comes . . . and the joy after the wait gives the experience (my personal gift from my Father) even more beauty.

Elderberry Season

The neighbor called. The one who just Bic shaved his head to raise money for a co-worker with cancer. His elderberry bush was loaded this year. Would we be interested in relieving it?

Of course we would.


Briz climbed the ladder with the "cougar knife" he carries everywhere, and I stood at the base with a box. As the branches fell, I raced around and held my box at just the right spot.

Truth of the matter is that our storage room is full of Elderberry Jelly. But old habits die hard and the elderberry/chokecherry ritual is a part of our marriage, an annual ritual of our coupleness that makes us well. . . US.

Early on, when we were both in school, and both working to put a roof over our heads, I cut corners every place I could. I knocked on the door of an unknown elderly woman and asked to pick her unused crab apples for jelly. While camping, I found elderberries then chokecherries. So each weekend, our hikes had an added purpose, to find and harvest wild berries.

My grandma taught me how to make syrup and jelly. She never used juicers or food processors, so she shared the old fashioned method of boiling the berries, stems and all, then straining them through cheesecloth.



I suppose I could afford a juicer now. But, it would take away from the secret satisfaction I feel recreating a pioneer art.

I decide on syrup this year instead of jelly. For kicks, I google elderberry syrup. Shockingly, hundreds of health sites popped up touting elderberries as the "medicine cabinet for the poor." Supposedly it is one of the best natural cures for the flu, common cold, sore throat, asthma, and sinusitis. It also, they say, makes a great dye. Well, I could have told you that. My dishcloths and clothing will testify of a lovely purple color that DOES NOT FADE!

Well. Now my satisfaction is complete. I can tell myself besides stocking a fourth shelf with jelly/syrup, I am providing for my families medical needs. No. Don't tell me that it takes a strong concentrate for medicinal purposes. I also don't want to hear that the down sides of sugar counteract the elderberries purported benefits.

I briefly fantasize a terrible flu epidemic where all medications have vanished off the shelves. I wander through the neighborhood with my basket of elderberry syrup and jelly, a modern Florence Nightingale, saving lives where ever I go.

I am going to feel clever each time we eat this.


The house is filled with the heated bittersweet smell of cooked elderberries. It is such a comforting scent. It speaks to me of couple teamwork, of ancestors, service to my family. AND, it tastes FABULOUS!!!!

Silver Lake

Things I want to remember about Silver Lake:

The scenery.



The silence.


Our own pears that tasted like "heaven".


Our own conservation-liter patrol.


Achievement.


Discovery.