Things I admire about the British, based on Downton Abbey

Trying to get my fill before the mission







1. "I cannot say." Sometimes it is just better to shut your mouth. Aren't these characters incredible in their ability to refrain from speaking when it's not information others need to know? (The admirable characters, that is. The others can't be real Brits.)
2. Stoicism. Downplaying everything was a characteristic not always appreciated when displayed by my dad, but I like it in myself when I actually pull it off and detest its opposite in anyone. "For heaven's sake, buck up!"
3. Wit. Everything Maggie Smith says strikes me as hilarious, she has a sharp tongue but a good heart. I printed a poster that was in my office for a while (por un rato), "WWTDCD?" What would the Dowager Countess Do?
4. Never making excuses for themselves. Mary was taken advantage of, seduced, violated, shall I go on?.....by Kemal Pamuk but didn't stoop to playing the victim. Shame preferable to sniveling.
5. Calling it like it is. The give and take between Matthew's mother and "Granny," can be brutally honest, but it is honest. The British are not guilty of the crime of fake sweetness.
6. Low drama. Oh, it's there. You just see it in the upraised eyebrow, the suppressed smile, the meaningful glance. Quiet drama is so much more real than overwrought drama.
7. Honor.  It isn't just "looking good" to others. It's holding up the family name, keeping honorable that which was honorable from past generations.
8. A sense of history and knowing ones place in it. Though I side with Sybil in preferring a leveling of the classes to the system of "haves" and "have-nots," I do love their attachment to who they are and where they come from. Even Sybil's Tom has strong bonds to his place and family in Ireland.

On flip-flopping

We heard Malcom Gladwell in Salt Lake last week. He is an incredible thinker, and I like his hair.

As an aside, in his speech, he mentioned that if you don't "flip-flop" regularly, you have a closed mind. It made me think of the many changes-of-mind I have had in my life. (I won't count the countless instances of "buyer's remorse" and "menu envy" I am prone to. These are flip-flops with a longer shelf-life.)

1. Being a Republican. The latest iteration of this party seems downright mean-spirited, whereas the Grand Old Party of my parents' time was the party of discipline and common-sense; but also of community-spirit and looking out for the good of the whole. I'm ashamed of what Republicans have become.

2. Phonics in the reading wars. Yep. Whole-language grabbed me "hook, line and sinker," but as time went on I realized that wholistic teaching left whole groups of students without the skills to succeed. We were privileging the privileged (a nouveau-GOP idea, if there ever was one). Many, many students need the reading code taught explicitly. Hooray if you or your child or your grandchild learned to read instinctively. Other kids need more, and phonics is the answer for them. It will help your kids learn to spell. 

3. Green olives. Every Thanksgiving I would try one. Yuuck! Until about age 20, when maybe my taste-buds died, or became sophisticated or something, and now I love them. 

4. Same with cracked wheat cereal, except it was more of an every day experiment. Still hate it. Still hate it. Still hate it. I was closer to sixty when I tried Zoom in the temple with brown sugar, raisins and cream. Oh my. Dessert for breakfast.

5. Purple. I truly must be an old lady because purple makes me happy. I also love orange, but I have always liked it. Purple used to have no redeeming qualities in my eyes. How could I have been so blind to its richness and personality? My new glasses are purple and I don't care that they don't match most of my wardrobe. My wardrobe is subject to change, and I'm keeping these babies long enough to justify their price tag.

6. Paying tithing on the gross. It is making figuring out ten-percent of retirement income very complicated. Pay on what actually comes into your hands. Or follow the prophet. Either one.

7. Technology. There was a time when I sneered at even such simple gadgets as the microwave or a VCR (you remember those, right?)--when would I ever be so lazy that I couldn't take out meat to defrost in the morning, and what movie would I ever want to view more than once?!--Ha! 

8. Sensible shoes. Two pairs of Toms platform shoes bought me "coolness" to the whole sixth-grade, and are actually pretty comfortable. 

9. The ideal temperature. I truly hated heat and humidity. I guess I still do, but my range of acceptable temperatures has shrunk from both extremes. I'm like the baby bear and like not only my porridge, but the ambient temperature "just right." I used to love a good cold day, but now, as Suzanne says, "I'm too old to be cold." I love being either in front of the fireplace from October to May, or in the sunny window-seat we just put in. I'll just take seventy degrees, thank you very much. Eighty, ninety, or even a hundred are fine if I'm in the desert.

10. Might as well make this a list of ten. Hmmmm. Old ladies with long hair. Used to think it smacked of polygamy. Now, I think it smacks of never having to go get a haircut. And you can put it up as fast as that.

So, be like me and flip-flop to your heart's content. 

I just thought of another flip flop. We used to call them thongs and wore a pair out every summer. Tell that to your kids.

Looking forward, looking back

We spent some time today at BYU's Independent Study Office getting trained to be testing proctors for the expatriate children on the farm in Chile. Familiar territory: ethical testing practices. Oh joy. But the operation there is impressive, and it was neat to learn about what is available through Independent Study.

As we left BYU we decided to try some Chilean food from that capital of returned missionary's culinary smorgasbords, which is Provo. Most every food niche is represented in Happy Valley. So, we found ourselves at a little strip-mall eatery called Pantrucas imagining what we will be eating in Chile in a few days or weeks. Of course we tried the "completo," which is a hot dog on wonderful crispy bread with tomatoes, avocado, mayonnaise and I don't know what all. It was yummy! A beef empanada and fresh pineapple juice made us even more eager to get this show on the road.

11:00 a.m. The Completo

Then after a day of errands, including spending way too much on comfortable shoes for the next year and a half--little did the salesman know that comfortable shoes are all I have ever worn!--, we decided to try "The world's best corn dog," from our own little downtown Kaysville corn dog stand. Five bucks for a catsup, mustard and honey drizzled enormous dinner on a stick that has been the rave of northern Utah all summer. We felt lucky they were still open, and extremely, uh, full afterward. Hot dogs are hardly normal fare around here. Two in one day might be a record that will stand for eternity, but memorable. A way to look toward our new adventure, and to put a little endpoint punctuation to summer and our pre-mission life. 

6:00 p.m. The "World's Best" Corn Dog

The Canadians Have it Right

We had a Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday since we may be gone for the American holiday. October was perfect! The kids could play outside, the harvest was still happening, and we didn't care that the doors were swinging open and shut all day long. No mud. No snow. No dreary weather. Have I mentioned that going on this mission we get to trade two winters for two summers?! God loves me.

Working backwards: Our boys love a good project! What better project than to cut down the last of the dead poplar trees--after dark--from a ten foot ladder?! In our family, a "project" needs to have a big impact! Once started, we were afraid the big impact might be on the neighbor's house if we didn't see it through to the end. NOT a pleasant way to wake up the people over the fence.

The crash was enjoyed by the pre- and primary-school crowd, as you can see. Wondering why the stump is so tall?  Glad you asked. It's the uphill zip-line stabilizing tree.

 Earlier in the day we enjoyed pressing cider from bushels of apples, smoking "firebird" on the grill (there is no tastier turkey in the world!), and plenty of zip-lining and visiting.

What is it about Thanksgiving that makes it the best holiday of all, whether it's in October or November? I believe it is all about low expectations (low thrill-threshhold, yet again), non-commercialization and family being together. And left-overs.

Suzanne introduced the sisters to an exercise in which we select three adjectives that we want to have characterize our remaining years. One of my words is "engaged." I want to be present. I think gratitude is a large part of what I aspire to.

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.” 
― Thornton Wilder

Thanks everyone for all you contributed to make this a Thanksgiving to tide us over for the next year and a half. Believe me, I am conscious of my treasures as I remember this day!

Ahhhhhhhhhtummmmmmm

Does the title of this post give you any idea of my favorite season? There's a spiciness in the air, the leaves are brilliant, hikes are breathtakingly beautiful, soup and bread can be on the menu every night, and we can do some yard cleanup with fire, which satisfies a certain pyromania of mine. I simply can not get enough of the sights, the smells, the feel, the experience of autumn.

And, of course, s'mores.  Here's our new twist on the classic:

  1. Roast marshmallow with a freshly carved stick.

2. Fill the center with a gob of Nutella. (We don't need no stinkin' knife!)

 


3. You can handle it from here. Jay cracked walnuts and tucked them inside--You can add your own innovations. Peanut butter is good--isn't everything with Nutella?

We roasted potatoes in the coals, poked some late-season lavender into a jar of tiny sea shells and arranged crazy curly-willow sticks and mountain ash loaded with its tiny orange berries in a vase to keep autumn just a little longer.

Two hikes this week took me above town and into the maples. Everyone we met seemed overwhelmed by the loveliness, fresh-faced and happy. Truly heaven on earth.

At the end of Mary Oliver's wonderful poem, "When
Death Comes," she expresses so well the way I feel, not just in autumn, but almost always:

When it’s over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was a bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular, and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened
or full of argument.

I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

~ Mary Oliver ~

Some bargains are just not

When my glasses were donated in Kanarra Canyon to the Three Nephites, one of whom apparently needs bifocals by now, someone told me about getting glasses from China for a fraction of the cost. They had me at the words "thirty dollars."

Never mind that navigating the websites took thirty hours, nor that I had to go to my eye doctor for an additional measurement: pupil distance, which is not part of your typical prescription, nor that the real cost was more like sixty dollars. After hitting "submit," I am promised my new specs in two weeks.

I wait the required time and they arrive as promised. One pair one day; one pair the next. Oh, yes, I sprang for two pairs, from two different vendors. The better to see you with, my dear. 

Except that I couldn't see through them. Either pair. Blurry near, blurry far, blurry in the middle-distance. I pull them down on my nose and look at the mountains without them. Better.  I take them completely off and read the words in front of me. No worse. Adjusting doesn't help and "getting used to them" is out of the question.

What could have gone wrong?  China glasses worked fine for Jay, for Will and for Phil, and apparently thousands of other satisfied customers.  

I have a couple of theories:

1. My eyes are really not very bad. It's a small distance between perfect and blurry. In the case of my new glasses, naked eyes work better.

2. The combination of progressive bifocals and a crooked face make fitting difficult. Add astigmatism to the mix, and I really need a living human to figure out the ideal viewing range, or whatever it is they do.

So, DI gets a couple of pairs of unused glasses and I get to pay full price (plus $120 for the experience) to see again. I'm happy to do it. Lesson learned.

........ except I hear that there's a fabulous factory in Logan where you can get trap-door pajamas for practically nothing.........

Zion Gal

Here we are showing off some of our retirement gifts from the fifth-grade team: hiking survival gear. 

Thank you, Karen, Franki, Christine and Emma!

We spent the better part of the week with our pals, the Betts, in Zion. What was going to be an overnight backpacking trip ended being two nights because we decided not to take the chance on the government shutting down and not being allowed to hike and waiting to start on Tuesday. Instead we got the permit for Monday, put ourselves into high gear--gathered up our packs, bought new stuff (JetBoil stove: highly recommended! Cheapo fold up ThermaRest sleeping pads---pretty bumpy for princess-types who feel every lump.), arranged a shuttle to Lava Point and took off on the West Rim Trail. We saw a total of two other hikers, and because the government DID shut down, absolutely no one else was at the Angel's Landing saddle, Scout Lookout. There were no cars on the road, no shuttle: we almost had the park to ourselves.  It was heaven!

We hiked roughly five miles each day--a perfect pace for us. The first night we were pretty cold and between the shivering and the chorus of coyotes we realized this would qualify as a true adventure. A regular Karl Lagerberg "slept like a baby" night (slept for an hour, cried for an hour) that was good to see the end of with a mug of hot chocolate in the morning.

After Jay's two hour marathon to filter water, we celebrate with a cup of "Jay's Exclusive" hot chocolate. The JetBoil stove heated the water in seconds. Maybe we should have just boiled the water?

There is almost nowhere I would rather be, though, than in Zion. It is my brier patch, my imprinted landscape, my holy place. I love the air, the sandstone, the river, the cottonwoods, the sky, the clouds. If I could I would lie right down and hug the ground--and without the press of crowds, it was almost as I remembered it from childhood. Our canyon. Our wading pools with polliwogs and watercress and swinging bridges and picnic tables. Our tunnel where we could pull into every alcove and peer down at the rocks and chipmunks who were just learning to be beggars or up at the cliffs of white streaked with red and honk our car's horn the entire mile.

The West Rim is spectacular, the complete package. Forest, grassy meadow, chiseled trails (thank you CCC and the Great Depression's government for NOT shutting down but improving the country while providing jobs), springs, vistas,  cliffs, rock cairns on slick rock, canyons to shout and hear your echo, wildflower's fragrance, breeze, sunshine......ecstasy.

If I don't die at age 90 falling off a cliff in Zion, here's a good place to scatter my ashes when I do.

 Another fabulous time in Zion. May they never end for us!