Impassioned Irritation

My sister Gay once described one of our family traits as "impassioned irritation," a description we are not ashamed of but unanimously own. Grandma Hattie is the one we blame. She could go off on any number of topics, was proud of her "heritage of high intelligence," and had opinions ranging from world and national politics to onions and licorice (abominations, both--or should I say all four?--). Grandma wasn't narrow-minded. She was just opinionated, and probably got more so as she got older.

I remember being embarrassed one time when she was visiting us in the Philippines. We were standing in line for something or other and a fellow near us asked if anyone minded if he smoked. "I should say so!" Grandma spoke up. "I am highly allergic to cigarettes!" This was news to me, and at that time smokers generally had the upper hand, never expecting their habit to be objectionable to anyone. She was actually far ahead of her time, but I rather think she enjoyed saying, "Not near me, buster!"

Some sources of my own impassioned irritation:

• Air travel. The security personnel who, despite being told I have an artificial hip insist on giving me the entire pat-down with metal detector wand and exclaiming, "There's something there!!" as they scan my right hip. Yeah, I told you already. Do you think I placed a gun inside my undies, or what? The extreme amount of time wasted going through the conveyor belt lines, the tiny seats, the inadequate carry-on luggage compartments, the inability to assume any position but straight and upright, the way they pour your soda into a cup and keep the rest of the liquid in the can and don't give it to you... It's just a horrible way to travel. I would love to see the world but only if I could do it as a road trip. 
• The Utah Legislature. C'mon, folks! Can we elect anyone who is not a real-estate developer or of their ilk? Do ya' think they are going to do anything that curtails their own profits? Is it even possible for them to consider that more money for education would translate in more people buying their homes and storefronts and shopping malls--not to mention, of course, the real point of education--? Every January that rolls around makes educators cringe because the Utah senators and representatives with some notable exceptions begin their teacher and administrator bashing. Good old Howard Stephenson always has a boatload (I believe they are actually railroad cars) of bills "helping" teachers do a better job and increasing their workload, lowering their status and maximizing their frustration. He's not the only one. When will the voters come to their senses and elect people who are not just interested in their own special interests? Utah is probably the only state required to include public education in the State Constitution. It would have been horrible for those Mormons out west to have religious schools for the upcoming generation at the time of statehood. Well, now we have a state government intent on destroying public education. How can we keep on letting this happen?
• Walmart. Do I need to expound? All those sweet little mom and pop stores, hardware stores where you could buy 3 screws with no plastic and cardboard packaging, fabric stores with quality stuff, corner groceries like Skanchy's in Logan where you could buy a bag of marshmallows on the way up the canyon--am I dating myself?--five and dimes, shoe stores, book stores, small town department stores......gone. And that's not even mentioning the cut-throat pricing, the awful working conditions, the imports from sweatshops overseas, the acres of land they consume with their huge parking lots and lights and big box presence. Yuk. I pride myself on how few trips to Walmart I have made in the past decade. Maybe eight and I'm embarrassed about all eight of them. Yeah, they are cheap. But we all are paying the price.
• Light pollution. Our cabin is in one of the darkest corners of Utah and the United States. When we go there, I insist on a no night-time light policy. Because I am married to Mr. Technology, this means that we have to cover up the obnoxious light from the computer, the clock, the oven and microwave (all right, I really only cover up the lights in the bedroom), and turn off the security lights outside! At home, the HDMI cable has a blue light. Why? The stereo tuner (I don't even know what these things are called) has a green display. Why? The computer monitor, the various surge protectors. Honestly! I actually recognize the reason: so we will know whether the device is on or not. Isn't there a better way? I love the wilderness, partly because it is dark at night. There is a reason for both daytime and night and I want to honor those differences. I also keep my blinds open at night. When it's light in the morning I want to know it, to see it and to live by it. We are blurring the two--making it light all night and then having to darken our rooms so we shut out the light to sleep. But then I also believe we should abide by the solstices. Sleep when it's dark (longer in the winter) and get up when it's light. But that's a topic for another day.
• Governmental bureaucracy. Only one thing worse than one government is two governments, as we discover, waiting on both Chile and the USA to do their parts to give us a visa. We received a nice cross-stitched mission scripture, with our names and the years 2013-2015 several months ago. It's still accurate. I'm counting this time as "mission time," and trying not to be irritated. 

Happy New Year, everyone, and turn down your lights ; )

Who says, "Ho, ho, ho" anyway?

Now that the holiday season is starting its denouement, dare I complain about a fixture of holiday literature and tradition: the ho ho ho?

Jolly ol' Santa can't be anywhere without that ridiculous verbal tic, and the reformed Scrooge seems like a lunatic with his hearty jolliness, "Fabulous boy, marvelous boy...." as he sends a perfect stranger-- a young boy-- off to buy the biggest goose in town. It's a miracle he wasn't arrested and locked up.

Have you ever heard anyone actually laugh with the words, "Ho, ho, ho?" Squirting milk out of noses, yes. Squeaks and squeals, yes. Snorts, wheezes, even tears streaming down cheeks (sorry, that's me), gasps: all authentic. "Ho, ho, ho," no, no, no. It's fake. Give it up. And it scares the children.

To much jolliness always alerts me to possible depression. (Have you noticed that depressed people can be really good at overacting happiness?) It's my quick diagnosis. Uber-animated? Depression.

I also have a very fast and foolproof way of diagnosing autism. I could make a fortune on this one.
After spending years standing with dozens and dozens of classes of elementary school children getting their pictures taken, and then getting my very own bound booklets of all the class pictures to peruse over the course of a school year, I discovered something I call "The Bell Test." Bell is the name of the school picture company we used. Children with autism almost always do something weird with their faces in school pictures. The other kids happily grin when the photographer says, "Say stinky feet." Not the ones on "the spectrum" who self-consciously stare or cross their eyes or make a face. They flunk the Bell Test. It's uncanny how often this occurs. (Of course you don't want to look at the huge number of horrible candid pictures that have been taken of me! These are school class pictures where the subject knows the camera shutter is about to click I'm talking about.) If you are worried about autism, just check out the particular child's class pictures for several  years. Crazy faces every year? Bingo!

So, there you have it: you can diagnose lunacy, depression and autism without ever having to study the disorders or attend medical school, all by just reading my little blog.

Despite my Santa Rant, Jay plays a wonderful Santa for the grandchildren. The more obvious the fake beard, the better. "Is that Grandpa?" "I know it's you, Grandpa!" It's a good time this way--even if he does "ho, ho, ho" far too much to suit me. It IS Grandpa, and they know it and aren't being forced, crying, to sit on some strange man's lap.

Merry Christmas, and a happy new year lower case (not necessarily all 365 days). I'm allowing you some days that are not so jolly! Don't want anyone thinking you're insane or depressed.

Aaarruugghh!

Not only do we NOT have visas as yet, but we are being asked to resubmit the application, medical approvals from doctors and an updated cover letter signed by the two of us. There is also a requirement that AgReserves write a letter explaining why we are being "invited" on this mission. Sort of hilarious, if you think about it. Tourist visa, anyone? Easy-peasy to get and the only requirement seems to be that we leave the country every three months. Let's see: Argentina, Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador--there's a year's worth, right there.

I'm losing interest. Short attention span, ADHD; I feel depression coming on.

So----break out the Christmas tree and nativities, we'll be home for Christmas fo' sho. White Christmas and all that. I may actually get the knitting done that I want to AND we can probably help Philip and Veronica move to California. May as well get that Mediterranean climate in any way we can.

Is there a lesson here that I'm missing? I mean, other than patience. I flunked that the first million tries. I don't want it.

Phantom Ranch Thanksgiving

Yep, we had Thanksgiving dinner #3 at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. It was awesome!

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