Ok I know I've been gone for so long. I really feel disconnected from things and I don't like it. It's been about 11 months since I worked up the courage to start this blog and I've really enjoyed the support from others and getting to know others. It's so comforting to have so many other women "get it". A man doesn't even know what "get it" means (those women talking in code again)
Anyways I don't wanna have to go away again but I'm really feelin' like I have nothing. If anyone has any ideas for something to write about or what I can do Please Please!! shout it out!!
I've decided to FINALLY finish this Day of Truth. It's good to have something to get you thinking :)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Well I KNOW I couldn't live without food but I really haven't tried and so don't want to. And I seriously wouldn't want to live without my cherubs either. :)
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Well I could definately live without some of my husband's annoying habits.....and actually mine too cause believe or not I do have them. Oh and periods! HA! (guess that's not possible though)
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
I'll be back tomorrow but in the meantime....
here's a short humorous story my husband wrote (ofcoarse I think its brilliant :))
A MADCAP TRIP THROUGH SOUND AND TIME
It was 1991. I, the oldest child in my family of 6 or 7 – depending on how you count – had just reached my eighteenth year of age. It was a good year. I was too old for childish things like high school, which had intruded upon my often solitary and deeply introspective life, and too young for adult things like a job, which, I was certain, would have had the same negative consequences as high school. My parents’ divorce had occurred a year before, as had our mad dash from Denton, Texas to Kearns, Utah. It was but one of many desperate relocations during my childhood involving state lines, unpaid creditors and, above all, a chance to “start over,” as my father would say. It was also the year my mother had relinquished custody of my two younger brothers and two younger sisters to my father. To boot, Terminator 2 had just come to the dollar theater at Valley Fair Mall, which meant that I just might be able to afford to see it in a week or two.
On this particular Sunday, early in the Fall, everyone was restless; the boredom hung low and thick in the air. Minds went in circles. My father spoke in a deep rumble, “Let’s take a drive to see nature and go in the canyons.” The house exploded in happy cries with an occasional holler. The mood rapidly shifted, as it so often does in the minds of those not well.
We all shuffled out of the house, intent on having fun, or if not having it ourselves, at the very least seeing something that could be fun. We were a group of full-hearted adventurers, would-be professionals and wasted potentials. And still so unaware in our youth that we were being led by a madman, a lunatic in civilian clothes painting traumas and neurosis onto the canvas of the minds of those he legally guarded.
After a not-so-short trip through the center of a city of fast food joints, ice cream parlors and shopping malls, of which, owing to our perpetually indigent circumstances, we would not be partakers on that day nor any day soon. When there was nothing left to question or complain about, my brother, Ben, of 10 years of age, announced firmly, “I wish I was with Mama,” adding unwanted tension to the already terse atmosphere in the car. Indeed, lots of our trips came to play out this way.
The station wagon, by its very name, suggests shame. This wagon was particularly crummy. Two hundred and fifty thousand miles and still churning and turning away; a paragon of mechanical endurance. Tan and chrome with the imitation wood side panel peeling away like dead, dried skin. The Oldsmobile forced itself across the bridge and up into the mouth of the canyon, passing a sign at the entrance which read: “ENTRANCE $5.”
“Holy crap!” Sarah, my 16-year-old sister, exclaimed. “Did y’all see that we have to pay to drive up here?”
The air was moist, not quite sultry; it was cooler than that. It smelled sweetly of leaves rotting on the ground. Towering cliffs dwarfed the old station wagon, as it clunked up the steep grade. Nature’s stoic beauty sat all around us yet we couldn’t seem to quit groveling amid the mire of our lives.
“WE ARE NOT PAYING TO DRIVE UP A MOUNTAIN CANYON!” Boomed my father, his voice serious, yet the car roared with laughter. Moments later, “A DEER!!” Henry, my other younger brother, cooed. He was always the most observant.
“No,” my father said. “That’s a baby moose!”
For a moment everyone smiled. It was too much for the old man. “I bet they [the thieves in the park ranger service] hide behind the bushes and release that same moose over and again so people will feel like they got something for their money,” he commented.
Upon reaching the small shack where one was to pay for the privilege of meandering up a mountain, my father sped up the car. His mouth was a line and his eyes intent and everyone got quiet. We knew he was going to run right through that striped horizontal abomination that tried to separate us from freely enjoying things unscathed and natural. Finally, though, the impulse subsided, and the madman conceded to stop and pay the five dollars. Nothing could save them from the inevitable embarrassment to come.
“You people should be ashamed of yourselves; charging for this!” he sneered out the window at a blank expression and slight shoulder shrug. It was over.
We went up into the thin air, away from our house and thus got to be bored somewhere else. We looked around, tried to see things, made bad jokes and laughed too hard at them. After awhile, we decided that we could probably be just as entertained at home, and at least home had a toilet that flushed and everything – at least for the moment.
Sliding down through the foothills, with the sun already melted in the salt and dissolving quickly, we were all strange and quiet. We stared out our respective windows, but weren’t really looking at anything. I’m not sure what anyone was thinking about, but it felt as if we were all thinking about the day and its humdrum events, and how those events, as small and dull as they seemed, were important and not small because we lived them. It felt like we were thinking about things we didn’t understand and things we thought we did. It felt like the old dying stallion of a station wagon, as full as it was, had enough room for just one more.
Every trip one takes, however small, leaves the trip-taker with a fresh thread of an impression of himself. “By small and simple things are great things brought to pass.” It was a scriptural declaration each one of us was familiar with, and one that gave us hope, however vaguely. Sometimes we’d take whole days and file them under “forget” or entire experiences and assign them as “nothing” – and pretend to be rid of them, to be unaffected by their triviality. But sometimes, on a rainy day, while staring out the window and letting our thoughts float through our minds like feathers on a lake, I remember the feelings: the boredom, the anxiety, the embarrassment, the resolution, the hundreds of shades of emotions that toppled through all of us in the family every day. I remember the feelings thoroughly. And if I listen, I can hear it sometimes. I can hear the echoes of sound and time, in its bitter amusement, laughing, laughing, laughing, like a madman laughs – right before he expires.
A MADCAP TRIP THROUGH SOUND AND TIME
It was 1991. I, the oldest child in my family of 6 or 7 – depending on how you count – had just reached my eighteenth year of age. It was a good year. I was too old for childish things like high school, which had intruded upon my often solitary and deeply introspective life, and too young for adult things like a job, which, I was certain, would have had the same negative consequences as high school. My parents’ divorce had occurred a year before, as had our mad dash from Denton, Texas to Kearns, Utah. It was but one of many desperate relocations during my childhood involving state lines, unpaid creditors and, above all, a chance to “start over,” as my father would say. It was also the year my mother had relinquished custody of my two younger brothers and two younger sisters to my father. To boot, Terminator 2 had just come to the dollar theater at Valley Fair Mall, which meant that I just might be able to afford to see it in a week or two.
On this particular Sunday, early in the Fall, everyone was restless; the boredom hung low and thick in the air. Minds went in circles. My father spoke in a deep rumble, “Let’s take a drive to see nature and go in the canyons.” The house exploded in happy cries with an occasional holler. The mood rapidly shifted, as it so often does in the minds of those not well.
We all shuffled out of the house, intent on having fun, or if not having it ourselves, at the very least seeing something that could be fun. We were a group of full-hearted adventurers, would-be professionals and wasted potentials. And still so unaware in our youth that we were being led by a madman, a lunatic in civilian clothes painting traumas and neurosis onto the canvas of the minds of those he legally guarded.
After a not-so-short trip through the center of a city of fast food joints, ice cream parlors and shopping malls, of which, owing to our perpetually indigent circumstances, we would not be partakers on that day nor any day soon. When there was nothing left to question or complain about, my brother, Ben, of 10 years of age, announced firmly, “I wish I was with Mama,” adding unwanted tension to the already terse atmosphere in the car. Indeed, lots of our trips came to play out this way.
The station wagon, by its very name, suggests shame. This wagon was particularly crummy. Two hundred and fifty thousand miles and still churning and turning away; a paragon of mechanical endurance. Tan and chrome with the imitation wood side panel peeling away like dead, dried skin. The Oldsmobile forced itself across the bridge and up into the mouth of the canyon, passing a sign at the entrance which read: “ENTRANCE $5.”
“Holy crap!” Sarah, my 16-year-old sister, exclaimed. “Did y’all see that we have to pay to drive up here?”
The air was moist, not quite sultry; it was cooler than that. It smelled sweetly of leaves rotting on the ground. Towering cliffs dwarfed the old station wagon, as it clunked up the steep grade. Nature’s stoic beauty sat all around us yet we couldn’t seem to quit groveling amid the mire of our lives.
“WE ARE NOT PAYING TO DRIVE UP A MOUNTAIN CANYON!” Boomed my father, his voice serious, yet the car roared with laughter. Moments later, “A DEER!!” Henry, my other younger brother, cooed. He was always the most observant.
“No,” my father said. “That’s a baby moose!”
For a moment everyone smiled. It was too much for the old man. “I bet they [the thieves in the park ranger service] hide behind the bushes and release that same moose over and again so people will feel like they got something for their money,” he commented.
Upon reaching the small shack where one was to pay for the privilege of meandering up a mountain, my father sped up the car. His mouth was a line and his eyes intent and everyone got quiet. We knew he was going to run right through that striped horizontal abomination that tried to separate us from freely enjoying things unscathed and natural. Finally, though, the impulse subsided, and the madman conceded to stop and pay the five dollars. Nothing could save them from the inevitable embarrassment to come.
“You people should be ashamed of yourselves; charging for this!” he sneered out the window at a blank expression and slight shoulder shrug. It was over.
We went up into the thin air, away from our house and thus got to be bored somewhere else. We looked around, tried to see things, made bad jokes and laughed too hard at them. After awhile, we decided that we could probably be just as entertained at home, and at least home had a toilet that flushed and everything – at least for the moment.
Sliding down through the foothills, with the sun already melted in the salt and dissolving quickly, we were all strange and quiet. We stared out our respective windows, but weren’t really looking at anything. I’m not sure what anyone was thinking about, but it felt as if we were all thinking about the day and its humdrum events, and how those events, as small and dull as they seemed, were important and not small because we lived them. It felt like we were thinking about things we didn’t understand and things we thought we did. It felt like the old dying stallion of a station wagon, as full as it was, had enough room for just one more.
Every trip one takes, however small, leaves the trip-taker with a fresh thread of an impression of himself. “By small and simple things are great things brought to pass.” It was a scriptural declaration each one of us was familiar with, and one that gave us hope, however vaguely. Sometimes we’d take whole days and file them under “forget” or entire experiences and assign them as “nothing” – and pretend to be rid of them, to be unaffected by their triviality. But sometimes, on a rainy day, while staring out the window and letting our thoughts float through our minds like feathers on a lake, I remember the feelings: the boredom, the anxiety, the embarrassment, the resolution, the hundreds of shades of emotions that toppled through all of us in the family every day. I remember the feelings thoroughly. And if I listen, I can hear it sometimes. I can hear the echoes of sound and time, in its bitter amusement, laughing, laughing, laughing, like a madman laughs – right before he expires.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Feelings
I've been debating whether I should post about this or not but it just weighs so heavy on me sometimes I feel it might help to get it out there.
I'm 33 yrs. old and I still feel an enormous amount of low self esteem that all stems from something that happened 24 yrs. ago. Well that and my more bitter than sweet school days. Why do I hang on to these things? Why can I not get past this inferiority complex?
I've gotta be honest with myself. I do have feelings sometimes when I am around others that I am truly not good enough to be there or that it would really not make a difference to anyone if I am or not.
I've talked here before about my childhood illness and how it shook me, so why can't I shake these feelings now 24 yrs. later. Well how do you know it stems from that? Oh because I was the absolute complete opposite. Seriously I could not have been a more confident, self assured, outgoing child. So why the big change? (and I'm aware it's not all bad but what I'm talking about is) So many people have had greater challenges, unspeakable things happen to them, to overcome and I am constantly amazed and inspired at how they do it. So why do I have such a problem with this? And it just makes me feel ungrateful and worse. It's a vicious cycle I tell ya!
I'm really not this down most of the time but I gotta be honest with myself. This does hang over me and I'm not sure what to do about it. How can feelings be so contradictory because don't get me wrong I'm not all about low self esteem. I do have a side that's confident that I have a lot to offer and I'm just as much worth knowing than the next person. But as for the darkside, I hate it and I need to find a way to get rid of it.
I'm still not sure if I should publish this but then again I've been saying that with my whole blog and it's always been a positive experience.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
A day late and more than a dollar short
Merry late Christmas!!! Hope that everyone had a wonderful and very blessed Christmas. Here's hoping that this New Year's will be fantastic and that God's blessing will shine upon you throughout this coming year.
Tip: In order to get a 2 yr. old to sit for a picture, bribe with candy.
Ok get this...I've been married for ten years and have never done my own turkey or made my own stuffing. With only two people and then even with little kids that eat next to nothing on Christmas because they fill up with goodies who wants to make a huge turkey. Well now that the kids are a little older and eat still next to nothing I decided this was the year. So friday I prepared my mashed potatoes and yams (you know to lighten the load a bit on Christmas) and then came the big turkey day! Oh it turned out wonderful, so moist and tasty. I look so forward to turkey leftovers. Yum! Anyways after our meal (I was too lazy to clean up right away) we had a nice fire, or so we thought. Danny started the fire, went out to the garage to get more fuel, and the ghost that hates Christmas and wants to make everyone miserable closed our flue! Oh the smoke! Oh the soot! All my wonderful cooking, all the blankets, all the sheets!! Good thing it was only 6:30 so I had time to wash all our bedding. NEVER EVER having a fire in our ancient fireplace again!!!! Hence no yummy leftovers for me :(
Tip: In order to get a 2 yr. old to sit for a picture, bribe with candy.
Ok get this...I've been married for ten years and have never done my own turkey or made my own stuffing. With only two people and then even with little kids that eat next to nothing on Christmas because they fill up with goodies who wants to make a huge turkey. Well now that the kids are a little older and eat still next to nothing I decided this was the year. So friday I prepared my mashed potatoes and yams (you know to lighten the load a bit on Christmas) and then came the big turkey day! Oh it turned out wonderful, so moist and tasty. I look so forward to turkey leftovers. Yum! Anyways after our meal (I was too lazy to clean up right away) we had a nice fire, or so we thought. Danny started the fire, went out to the garage to get more fuel, and the ghost that hates Christmas and wants to make everyone miserable closed our flue! Oh the smoke! Oh the soot! All my wonderful cooking, all the blankets, all the sheets!! Good thing it was only 6:30 so I had time to wash all our bedding. NEVER EVER having a fire in our ancient fireplace again!!!! Hence no yummy leftovers for me :(
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Would you just give up on a million dollars?
Ok I know I said I wasn't gonna post till the New Year but I was talking to my husband about this book we read and I had these thoughts and wanted to share them.
The book we were talking about is Sarah's Song by Karen Kingsbury. It is a short little easy read for Christmas. A story about an elderly woman who has a story to share through her 12 days of Christmas countdown. She prays for someone to share the story with and it turns out to be on of the aides that works at her care center who is also on the brink of divorce.
If you had a job that you could do but had to work really really hard at and were told at the end of a year you would make a million dollars....would you just give up after a week of trying because it was too hard???? I sure wouldn't and I don't think I know anyone who would either.
So why are so many people so willing to just give up on their marriage and family for worldly, superficial reasons?? Yes a marriage lasts a lot longer than a year but the reward is also much much MUCH greater than a million dollars.
Too much else to say.
--I'm verklempt--
"talk amongst youselves"
The book we were talking about is Sarah's Song by Karen Kingsbury. It is a short little easy read for Christmas. A story about an elderly woman who has a story to share through her 12 days of Christmas countdown. She prays for someone to share the story with and it turns out to be on of the aides that works at her care center who is also on the brink of divorce.
If you had a job that you could do but had to work really really hard at and were told at the end of a year you would make a million dollars....would you just give up after a week of trying because it was too hard???? I sure wouldn't and I don't think I know anyone who would either.
So why are so many people so willing to just give up on their marriage and family for worldly, superficial reasons?? Yes a marriage lasts a lot longer than a year but the reward is also much much MUCH greater than a million dollars.
Too much else to say.
--I'm verklempt--
"talk amongst youselves"
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Gratitude
To my two faithful readers,
Please do not stop reading me even though I've taken a hiatus from blogland and probably will not return until after the New year. Things are a little touch right now (can't complain too much though because I know a lot are in far worse situations with this economy). Danny still hasn't found a job and his unemployment ended about a month ago so things are really tight. He does have a couple of good looking prospects though which we're hopeful about. Anyways on to the gratitude...
This Christmas and holiday season could be a lot worse for us but we are so very blessed to have many angels among us. First of all my dear mom who has sacrificed and given us so much. Second our beloved bishop who is so kind to us and helped us so much. And thirdly to a wonderful elderly couple who gave us money for the kids Christmas. And ofcourse there are other angels who have helped us so much in the past. We are so blessed and I am so humbled by all we've received. I am so thankeful for all the wonderful, positive people in my life that help to lift me up when I am down and inspire me when I am uninspired. I am so thankeful that I have the three most beautiful, perfect, healthy kids on the earth and a husband who is a wonderful man who continues to become better all the time. I am thankeful that I live in this great country that allows me the freedom to worship my Beloved Savior without persecution. I am thankeful I can go to bed each night in a warm bed with a full stomach. The list could go on and on but I'm sure you get the point ;)
At the Christmas season I hope we can all have, as the beloved President of my church says, an "Attitude of Gratitude".
I have missed blogging and the friendships there and the closeness of other women who "get" it. I hope I can come back in the New year with some more positive feelings to reflect on my blog. Love to all!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Hunger Games??
Ok am I the only person that found the Hunger Games deeply disturbing?? With all the popularity of the book I thought...well I guess I'll give it a try.....don't think I'll be reading the other two though. Actually read is an incorrect word....I skimmed it cause I couldn't even read it all but unfortunately the morbidity of it peeked my carnal curiosity.
I mean even though there may be some interesting dialogue and interactions between characters does not erase the fact that the premise of the book is teenagers killing teenagers!! I'm sorry I don't care how interesting the characters are and other things, I can't get past the fact that basically the story emerges from this heinous ritual of teen slaughter??
---Am I overreacting?--
I mean even though there may be some interesting dialogue and interactions between characters does not erase the fact that the premise of the book is teenagers killing teenagers!! I'm sorry I don't care how interesting the characters are and other things, I can't get past the fact that basically the story emerges from this heinous ritual of teen slaughter??
---Am I overreacting?--
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