I'm Back!

ahhhh love...

If it weren't leap year it would already be March, so my hiatus from the blogging world is officially ended, and I have to say it...I MISSED YOU! It was literally torture to know that just a click or two away were nearly a hundred posts written by my peeps! And I couldn't read them. Oh the agony.

But tonight my blogging fast ended, and as I plowed my way through the many posts, I read this on a friend's blog and thought that for the final post of February, the month of love, I'd do this little meme.

I'm going to be working for the next week, but may be able to write again while away. I can't believe my 12 month hiatus from flying is over...it's back into the wild blue yonder for me. Hope I haven't forgotten everything!

What is your Hubby's name?: Doc. Not really, but for this blog it is.

How long have you been together? We're well into our 21st year of couplehood.

Who said I love you first?: I did. He made me. He practically begged me. I told him that it wasn't right for the girl to say it first, that it was probably even against The Law! But he got me to say it first anyway, (and amazingly he didn't even have to spring me out of the clink!)

Who is smarter?: Hmmm. Without question Doc is a FAR better student, which is what most people gauge intelligence by. But I have my own special, different kind of smarts and they come in handy from time to time. Mostly in the realm of people skillz.

Who does the housework?: Primarily Me. But he does most of the studying for medical school, so it all evens out I guess :-)

Who sleeps on the right?: If you are facing the bed, me. If you are in the bed, then it's him.

Who pays the bills?: Generally speaking we have them all set up on auto pay. But for the few that aren't, I try to stay up on them. As of July '08 it's all me, all the time (yay for 3rd year hospital rotations!)

Who cooks dinner?: hmmm. "cooks" might be a stretch most days. We're pretty unsophisticated about food round these parts. I generally make food a couple days a week, and we work through the leftovers the rest of the nights. It's been tricky to figure out how to cook for two adults and one great eater, one "selective" eater...nothing pleases the selective one. BunchNGator's favorite food is macNcheese of course, but they love grilled cheese, quesadillas or hot cereal (and on rare occasions, cold cereal). It's nights like those that I give myself the "mother of the year" award.

Who drives when you are together?: Me. It's a thing.

Who is more stubborn?: It's a toss-up. We are both pretty darn stubborn. But thankfully we only disagree on the big stuff ;-)

Who kissed who first?: I'm pleased to report that at least in this matter, he took the reigns and did the kissing. No way would I have done that!

Who asked who out first?: He mustered all the courage possible and asked me out. We went to "Christmas Around The World" which is a folk-dance performance. Our second date was to see "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" in a theater. That was the night I started to fall for him...but he fell for me the moment he spied my slick table-wiping skillz at our cafeteria where I worked. I've always been able to wipe tables well...it's one of my special knacks.

Who proposed?: He did. He got me up in the pitch black of night before the sun had even considered rising for the day, drove me to the beach on the shore of Lake Michigan, and made small talk till the sun finally peaked through a hole in the clouds. As soon as Mr. Sun showed it's shiny face, he popped the big one. He'd been home from his mission for 72 hours, and we were married 35 days later. Insane!

Who has more siblings?: Same. He's the oldest of five and I'm the second of five. We both have two brothers and two sisters, and both have a David and a Kimberly. It's really random.

Who wears the pants?: Well, we like to pretend that neither one of us is the boss, but really, I am. Except on the big stuff...when he gets his way and no manner of persuasion has ever made him budge. No exercise of my considerable feminine wiles has had any impact on him. I feel like Scarlett trying to persuade Rhett to give into one of her wishes at these times, but to no avail. So maybe that means he's more stubborn and he's the boss. Maybe all this time I've just deluded myself that I'm the boss! I'm going to have to give this some thought! ;-)

I tag: k-slimb, angela, betsy and kirst...4 of my faithful readers

Giving up

Tonight Doc issued me a challenge. See, Doc knows me well. Probably better than anyone else...including The Jonnie and K-splimb, even. And he knows that when I need to discipline myself, the best way is to go cold-turkey. I'm kind of an all-or-nothing girl. And with blogging, it's typically "all". I love reading blogs. I'm a blog stalker. I read them and I write in this one and I even leave comments on the blogs I read (what a concept!)

But I have a hard time balancing blogging and writing my book. And the fact is, my goal is to finish the first draft in the next 3 weeks because my one-year sabbatical from flying ends March 2nd and then I'm back at it.

So Doc challenged me to give up blogging in all it's forms through the end of the month. His idea has merit...and after consideration I have decided to accept his challenge. So starting now until I finish the first draft, I am not going to read others (sob!), comment (sigh) nor write in my own blog (waaaah!)

This is going to be painful. But like Doc said, it's like I'm giving birth...this is labor. It should hurt a little. But there's a reward at the end too.

So, even though I'm running the risk of losing all three of my readers, I just wanted to let you all know that I'll be back as soon as I've completed round one, and I hope you're still here cheering for me when I cross the finish line. And to those of you who have blogs...I'm gonna miss ya!

Happy February and especially have a great Valentines Day this week! I'll be thinking about ya!

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

~Blue

My Plan

So in light of my previous post, I thought it would be a useful activity to brainstorm on how I will cope with the challenges ahead. Off the top of my head the things that come instantly to mind include:

• Music. YMMV, but for me, not much reaches and consoles me the way music can. Whether I'm listening to my favorites, or just getting lost on the piano, it connects me and sustains me.
  
• Writing. Whether my next book or this blog, I'm sure writing will be a very therapeutic tool. I'm really glad to have finally discovered this outlet in my life. You just never know what's around the bend for you.
  
• BunchN'Gator. What better motivation? Plus, they keep me busy and that always helps. As the saying goes, "Idle hands are the devil's workshop"
  
• My amazing posse of friends. My peeps. You know who you are (even if you never comment on here, I know some of you read this!), and you are flat-out inspiring. I wish I could just clone myself and spend every day with each of you. How rich that would be!
  
• Chocolate ♥
• Meaningful activities and service. It's something you have to consciously incorporate into your life, but it's a great balm for the soul.
• Truth be told, my monthly "get away" when I fly. Even though it's work, it's a distraction. So as long as I can keep that in my life, it'll be a boost. If it stops being feasible and I have to quit, I'll deal with it then. But for now, it's definitely a sanity-restorer, 'cause I love it!
• I'm sure I'll be leaning on God a lot. Of course that is a great thing to do no matter what. But hard times sure do help a body stay connected. Maybe we'd all have fewer trials if we were better at this one in the first place. Nah...I think we'd have the hard times regardless. I liked this story that my long-lost-sister posted on her blog. I think it about sums it up.
• Whatever crumbs of attention Doc is able to toss my way. I'll collect them all, and then concoct some kind of casserole out of them. I'll then put it in the freezer, and cut off little pieces as needed during times of famine to feast upon and savor.
  

That's my quick little brainstorm. I noticed that I haven't included any kind of physical exertion on my list. Maybe I'll get to the point where that's a regular part of my life. It could be a big sanity booster in times of stress. I have gone for a walk two days in a row...that's better than nothing, eh?

What do you do to get through hard times?

What the heck were we thinking?

So Friday night Doc and I went to a dinner at the medical school. It was called "Medical Marriages", and the event was specifically aimed at married couples who are in medicine. They had a panel of doctors and their wives (yes, all the doctors were male...which was unfortunate since there are plenty of female doctors who are married. But at least the panelists were sensitive to that, and regularly acknowledged it in their comments), and these panelists talked about how to manage marriage and family while going to school, through residency and life beyond. They fielded questions that people submitted, and really did a fair job of painting a picture about what we're in for.

Then today I chatted with a friend whose husband is a mere five months away from completing his fellowship. This summer, they'll at last be done with the school/residency phase, and move into the "real doctor" stage of life. (Technically you're a doctor once you graduate from medical school. But don't try to tell some patients that!) My friend and her Dr. husband have four children nine and under. I stand in complete awe of what she's managed to do for her family through the past ten years.

So today I asked her "how did you guys do it?"

Her advice was, "Have a quiet room that you can just go to and cry".

Some of the panelists had similar advice. You just have to make peace with the fact that they're not going to be there. They're going to miss holidays and birthdays and special events. And when they are home, the majority of the time they just need to sleep. The panel doctors said that they tried to spend 20 minutes a day with their families. A lot of their comments centered on staying connected to the kids, with less focus on the marriage (which was ironic, since that was the topic!)

Any way, it was useful to hear what we're about to head into. To get a sense of some of the rigors we'll face in the next 8 years. The focus seemed to be primarily on prepping the wives to "fly solo" for the duration. It seemed comparable to saying, "There's a massive tsunami headed your way, and you're going to have to handle it essentially alone. Your student spouse may float by or blow through your lives for fleeting moments here and there, but the wind and flooding and deprivation are going to be mostly yours to weather. Oh, and if you're successful, you'll be able to shield your kids from the worst of it."

The keys, the wives on the panel advocated, were to keep our perspective, cultivate a sense of humor and a good attitude about the process, to not get bitter about the field of medicine, and to be grateful our spouse was the one standing and not the one lying on the gurney or table. "Many have gone before", they said, "and you'll get through too".

All useful suggestions regardless of what you're going through in life. And I really appreciated that there wasn't a single word mentioned about the failure rate...it primarily focused on how to succeed and cope.

Still, what were we thinking? I'm half joking, of course. Because if anyone was ever destined to go into medicine, it is Doc. Even if he's doing it mid-way through life. He's amazing. It's the right thing for him, and so we'll get through it. And I intend to do so without putting life on hold for the rest of us too! ♥

Pest Pets

I'm half joking on the title there. Really, it's not that I don't like animals. As previously mentioned, I've had some pets in the past, and I really loved them. I never minded caring for Uno, The Most Perfect Cat Who Has Ever Lived. I didn't even totally hate cleaning up cat poop, as nasty as poop is.

We were still in the "road trip" phase of life when Uno came along, and we'd regularly toss him in the car, which he positively loved. Okay, he didn't love it. He didn't like it either. Unless he was just doing that cat thing where they pretend to not like something but they actually don't mind it one bit. He'd yowl and freak for a bit, then finally settle down between Doc's neck and the headrest on his seat. Doc secretly loved this. Uno felt secure. We'd traveled the long road to Doc's parents house on a regular basis in such fashion.

But as previously mentioned, I discovered after I was in love with the stinkin' cutehead that I had a cat allergy. So when he died, a little something in me died too. My willingness to put myself in that position again seemed to disappear. Perhaps that was just a normal part of grieving...something I haven't really ever had to do yet. Perhaps with time, I would have gotten to the point where I was willing to take on another furry friend. Uno died about six weeks before we moved from Chicago to Vermont. Perhaps that's the only small blessing...that he didn't have to make a long road trip with his little brother and sister (Bunch N' Gator) in the back seat. That would have been trickier.

No sooner had we gotten settled in Vermont, than this crazy harebrained mom up and became a flight attendant. Suddenly, I had to leave town for work. Making provisions for the kids was enough of a stress on me. The thought of adding a pet to the mix never even crossed my mind as a possibility. Not only would I leave town for work a few days every month, but now that I was a flight attendant, when I wasn't working, I made good use of the fact that Bunch N' Gator were tiny tots still. Since there wasn't any school schedule in our lives yet, we'd up and go whenever the notion hit us. And it hit us all the time. Ahh, the good old days of stand-by flying on JetBlue It was a young company still, so we almost always had empty seats. And I could fly on off days so we never got stuck. There wasn't any stress about stand-by travel back then.

One morning when we were eating breakfast, Bunch said to me, "Mommy, can we go play at JFK today?"

I thought I'd heard her just ask if we could go play at JFK. We lived in Burlington. JFK was in New York City. As in, the airport in New York City.

"Honey, what do you mean?"

"I want us to go play at the airport play area."

She had asked if we could just "go play" in NYC for the day. My five year old. Wants to just jet down to JFK and spend a few hours in the play area in the terminal.

"Honey, we can't just fly down to play at JFK. That's in New York City", I told her, wondering if it was even ethical to use company resources like that. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should.

"Well it doesn't cost anything, and we could eat snacks on the plane and then fly home this afternoon", she replied.

She's always been a savvy little Bunchkin. Now I realized how our jetsetting life had impacted my kids. They thought nothing of hopping on a plane and going wherever their whims took them. Their attitude about going on planes mirrored how a city kid feels about getting on a bus. In fact, my kids were WAY more excited about going on a bus, which was a novelty, than they were about getting on a big jet.

We didn't go that day, because I had some plans. But we did do it a while later, because, I'm a fun mom, and realized it would be a fun memory. And because I could pick up some papers while we were there. We went despite the fact that the JFK play area was nowhere near as cool as many of the local play areas and parks available to us in our home town. It wasn't anything special. But it was in an airport, and perhaps that fact alone made it exciting. I can't say I don't agree with her.

It was spontaneous moments like these that made me not really interested in having another pet. Eventually I caved in and we got a couple fish, which we named Clementine and Mango. Goldfish are pretty low-maintenance pets. I didn't feel too bad asking friends (who also had fish) to sprinkle in a pinch of food for us when we were out of town on longer trips. It was a little bit of a hassle to get the 2-gallon tank to them, but once it was set up, it wasn't much of an inconvenience.

But I never got to the point where I had it in me to have a dog or cat. Till now. With Doc, Bunch N' Gator all in school every day, and with living in SLC where it's harder to fly stand-by than it is to find someone whose never been in an MLM, we just don't get away that often. I've been on sabbatical for the past 11 months, and so I haven't been going anywhere either. And now the kids are old enough to be the ones responsible for care and feeding.

Nea did the skedaddle right after she got here two nights ago. Though we found lots of kitty prints in the snow and her food was gone in the morning, we hadn't seen her. But last night Doc found her curled up in her little heated box that Mountain Man made for her, so we rewarded her with a nice can of tuna fish, which she dove into with zealous kitty abandon. Doc commented that it sure would be interesting to see where she went. "It'd be cool to strap a little camera on her back. We could set up a website called "Cat Cam" and follow her around."

That would be funny. My kids wish they were allowed to go exploring the way Nea gets to. Between the warm reception she gets from the kids and Doc (and I smile at her and try to let her know it's not personal!), and especially that can of tuna fish, I think it's safe to say she'll return again. And again.

Nea

Anyone who knows my kids knows that they've long wished for a pet.

Unfortunately they got a pet-averse woman for a mother.

It's probably somewhat cultural and possibly genetic. My parents were not big pet fans. Oh, to be sure we had the goldfish tank where we'd annually throw in the motley assortment of fish won at the ping pong toss booth during our school carnival. If they didn't die within the first week, they seemed to live forever. And there were the few strays we dragged home and begged to keep.

Oh, and the rabbits. Yeah, we had some of those too. My brother started with just one, but we mated her, and once her first round of babies started emerging, there was an explosion of inbred rabbits living under the wood pile next to our house. A lot of incest and debauchery was happening out there.

Those strays I mentioned, well, it was mostly just one stray. Good ole' Pooch! She gave birth to a pile of puppies a few days after we rescued her matted, dread-locked fur bum from a life on the streets. We kids couldn't have been more thrilled. Well, maybe w could have if the Ice Cream Truck had decided to park at our house every day. But it was awesome to finally have a pet of our own.

We actually watched the birth of Pooch's puppies, live and in person. It happened one afternoon in our shed. The experience wasn't nearly as traumatic as it might have been, had we not been first-hand witnesses to the birth of our younger brother not long before. I know birth is wonderful, natural, holy and all. I personally experienced it twice, and those moments are hands down the most intense, memorable, profound moments of my life. They're also the most painful, but that's beside the point. The actual point is, that when I was seven, with no preparation or warning, I was trotted off to a birthing center instead of church one morning. I'd already gotten dressed for church, and was ready to go to, but then we were subjected to this surreal moment as we watched in fascinated, uncomfortable shock our mother blithely squeezed a baby out from between her legs. The baby is fine...he's all grown up now and we've liked him from the start. But that memory isn't one that I've ever appreciated having.

So anyway. Back to pets. We got to keep Pooch till The Day Of The Great Deception. Said Deception involved our parents suddenly giving our beloved dogs away to a woman who showed up at our house to collect them. This was done with little advanced warning. Supposedly she was from some great big farm, where the dogs would go and have a fantastic life with lots of room to run and play and have fun. It was gonna be better than heaven! And we would get to go visit them and we'd all still be best friends forever and ever...

We never saw them again. And fact is, there really aren't a lot of big farms in The OC (if I put it like that, does everyone know I'm referring to Orange County, CA? Cause I'm aware that there's a show called The OC. I haven't personally watched it, but hear it's pretty popular.) I've never known for sure what became of our beloved stray mutt Pooch and her pups.

That was the last pet I had. Till the year 1994, when I got The Most Perfect Cat Who Has Ever Lived for Doc's birthday gift. I hadn't ever had a cat...and this one was as cute as a dandelion puff. We picked him out from a litter the day he was "old enough" to wean. I fell in love. Doc fell completely head-over-heels crazy for the little guy. If he'd been a female I'd have had cause for jealousy! We named him Uno (I came up with the name, and I've never felt more proud! Isn't that the perfect name for a dandelion puff kitten?) and our S.I.N.K. couple status suddenly included outside influences which I just knew (in that women's intuition kind of way) would help prepare us for parenthood...at least a little more than my houseplant was preparing us. I also knew that this kitten would be special.

I was right. For seven happy years Uno was an important part of our lives. But alas, he died prematurely from a metabolic problem. This was a great loss for all of us...but especially Uno's best friend ever, Doc. Doc pined for him. But we never replaced him, because as he matured, it became apparent that I had a cat allergy. My eyes water and itch terribly, congestion builds up, I sneeze and feel draggy and lousy. As this allergic reaction manifested itself only after Uno was firmly established in our family, I dealt with it. I took some drugs to minimize the impact of my allergies, but the fact is, I can't touch cats or be in a place where they are all over everything without it taking a toll.

Though I'm not allergic to them, dogs are worse than cats...in terms of maintenance. A cat can keep itself comfortable for hours days and days on end. (NOTE FROM BLUE: Apparently it's time for me to sleep, because I wrote and posted this entire entry, went to read it, and realized I'd typed the following at this point: "Get a thick skin, because you can't just and fly out of town for every offense." I don't know what that sentence means, nor do I remember typing it. I'm sleep-typing!)

So anyway. Tonight we finally got a pet. Now it's just a loaner...we'll have to give her back some day when her owner, whom I shall nickname "MOUNTAIN MAN" (how's that for a nickname Mountain Man? At least it's not "Dances with Elk" or "babbling mossy river", or "coyote watcher" or "pulls idiot sister out of snowbanks" ) ...where was I? Oh, we'll have to give her back when MM has a place she can be part of. So we have an outdoor cat for now. Her name is Nea, short for "Neapolitan" which is a lovely ice cream flavor I haven't noticed in years, come to think of it. I wonder if they still make the stuff?

The rule is the kids have to feed her and keep her water full. And they have to take turns on this with no fighting. And most importantly, Nea is strictly an outdoor cat. I know that sounds harsh, especially considering the mountains of snow piled up all round our house. We have a 9 foot long ice sickle with a 4-5 inch base, hanging off our rain gutter (all the gutters need to be replaced. Joy!) but that's the condition. She's welcome to stay as long as she likes, but she's an outdoor little feline. She's been on the street most of her life, so I'm sure she'll be okay.

Now that I've appeased the childhood pet gods, I'll be able to rest easier. Till the fairy gods start arranging for us to get a fairy at least.

Time to subMitt

Well, that's that!
Mitt just announced his withdrawal.

While in my heart of hearts I never honestly expected that he'd win the nomination, or especially the presidency, and while I don't agree with him on a few issues, I really had hoped that maybe somehow it would actually happen. It's like the 2 times in my life someone has given me a lotto ticket, and for that brief time, I had the hope that maybe it would be a winner, even against all odds. Blame it on Roald Dahl and his classic tale Charlie and the Chocolate Factory for instilling in my heart from a very young age, an optimism that prevails even when there's hardly any chance of success.

I think it was a good thing for the country to have Mitt in the race. I think it made for interesting discussions, and it's been a more exciting campain time than any other election in my memory. I just hope that the next big decision, (who wins the Dem nomination) has better luck. Because I still desperately hope it's anyone but Hilary. And that's coming from me as a feminist!

Big, Fat, Super Tuesday

So today is Fat Tuesday. I know this because Gator wanted to bring a costume to school for when his class (2nd grade) parades around and hand out candy to the "little kids". He's dressing as a Kangaroo.

It's also Super Tuesday. Go Mitt! Alas, for the past 8 years I've lived in states where my vote doesn't really make a difference. Fortunately this time my state will actually elect the candidate that I feel will do the best job. Pretty sure at least!

I threw in the "Big" just for fun. It's not really any bigger than last Tuesday, or next Tuesday. But in honor of Fat Tuesday, I'm making big, fat pancakes for dinner! You're welcome to join us.

♥

Photo story

Just thought I'd post a picture of our nearly six-hour experience going to the viewing.

The Radio

For background, read The Garage.

Since no one else seemed interested in what was in the garage, and since I was a naturally nosey curious kid, I began snooping and sorting through the mounds of stuff I had joined up with. One day while digging through a box of odds and ends, I found a small, obviously very old, battery operated AM radio, housed in a cracked, torn blue leather case. 

I’d never owned anything electronic before, (notice how quickly it became "mine"?) and wasn’t sure if it still worked, but after swiping the batteries from a flashlight in the house, I was thrilled to discover that it indeed gave off sound!

At this point in my life, I had managed to acquire the misguided notion from my parents somehow, that with few exceptions (eg: opera, classical music, or the hymns at church), music with words was evil. And I also understood that by listening to such music, you would slowly be lead step-by-step down to hell. So for this reason, I hadn't been exposed to much in the way of music.

As I fiddled with the new little radio, I discovered that most stations were filled with static or had grown ups jabbering on about who knows what. But there was one station with a really strong signal, and it was playing music. Not classical music. Not opera or religious music either. In fact, I was instantly attracted to the song it was playing. The tune was melodic, but it was the words that caught me off-guard. It was as though someone had surreptitiously lifted my deepest, most secret desires straight from the confines of my heart and put them to music:

“Girl you’re every woman in the world, to me. You’re my fantasy. You’re my reality…”

How could those singers know that all I wanted more than anything else in the world was to be loved by someone? To know that I was “every woman in the world” to some wonderful guy. Of course even at twelve I’d had enough feedback from boys to know that there was little hope of ever mattering like that to anyone. They didn’t call me Kibbles N’ Bits for nothing, did they? But even though it wasn’t really an option for me, I could still dream. And dream I did, as I quietly assimilated the music into my snooping and sorting whenever it was safe.

But my listening wasn’t devoid of reservation. Maybe this was the kind of music I’d been warned of. Maybe if I could play it backwards I’d discover hidden messages in the music that were clandestinely leading me to purgatory in a hurry. It was, after all, clearly addictive, because upon hearing that first note I was hooked. I simply couldn’t stop listening.

I began to live in constant fear that my parents would discover the radio and confiscate it. Whenever I wasn't listening to it, I would change the station to classical before hiding it, in case someone found it. I couldn’t’ risk dad’s temper…who knew where it might lead. 

Listening to music became my nightly ritual. Before I turned it on, I was careful to make sure the volume was all the way down. Then slowly I’d turn it up just a little and hide it under the pillow on my cot. If I could hear any sound emanating from it, it was too risky and I’d turn it down. Once it was inaudible, I’d climb under the covers, stuff my head under the pillow, press my ear right up against the speaker, and silently sing along.

“Even the nights are better, now that we’re here together…” their voices sang out. I couldn’t agree more. Things were definitely looking up for me.

I fell in love with the songs. Of course the station played a variety of artists, and though I did like a few others quite a bit, I was particularly loved that first group’s music. Lost in Love, All Out Of Love, Every Woman In The World, Even The Nights Are Better, Here I Am…each seemed to be the verbalization of my deepest yearnings. I discovered the name of the group was Air Supply. I had no idea what the name meant…it could be part of The Devil’s Secret Plan to Destroy My Soul for all I knew. But the music began to instill in me a glimmer hope, a craving for more than I'd settled for in my mind at that point.

Worth it all

Today when the kids got home from school, instead of our usual Friday afternoon ski trip, we decided to head over to the viewing for Gordon B. Hinckley. There were many reasons for doing so, but mainly because we happen to live here right now, and he happens to have been a man who has greatly impacted my life and the lives of my children. Both Bunch and Gator were deeply saddened by his passing, and neither has ever been to a funeral before.

So we went. I'd had what I thought was a generous idea of how much time this would take. Fifteen minute drive each way, probably an hour there, maybe an hour and a half tops.

They hadn't eaten since lunch at school. We were dressed fairly warm but not really bundled up. We didn't bring anything to keep us occupied except for Bunch, who had a book with her.

Finding a parking spot took over an hour. The line was more than a city block long just to get out of the shade into the sun. The sun set and then it really cooled down quickly. Sometimes we'd move only a few inches an hour.

When we finally got into the building, it had been almost 3 hours since we left our house. It would be over two more hours before we finally shuffled along to where dear President Hinckley was laying in state. The kids had never seen a dead body before, and we hesitated slightly when it was our moment to file past the casket. The sweetest feeling came over us all. A few happy sad tears filled our eyes, and we cast a glance back for one last look as we moved along.

They'd spent five and a half hours being patient, cold, tired, bored, and very hungry to experience a moment that would last about ten seconds. But as we turned the corner, my eight year old boy melted my heart when he said, "it was worth it all."

The Garage

 When I was about twelve years old, I was only dimly aware that things weren’t quite normal at our house, but like most kids, I just muddled my way aimlessly through each day, dealing with things as they happened. Things at home were sometimes okay, but often bad. School was generally worse, but it was an escape from home, plus school was always changing, which gave me a kind of perpetual hope that it might improve. I didn't know that I was sad...I had just felt how I felt as long as I could remember.

I'd attempted to run away once. I packed up my stuff and hid in our neighbor’s bushes for about an hour, watching my house to see what would happen, and then felt super hurt that no one had noticed my departure.  In reality I knew I couldn’t make it on my own. I had nowhere to go. My nearest relatives were strangers to me, and they all lived on the other side of the continent. But I desperately needed to escape somehow. 

One day I was nosing around in our garage. In my entire life I’ve never seen any garage that was as loaded with junk as ours was. There was a slim pathway through it, but if you shopped in the plus size section, you wouldn't be able to navigate through the heaps. There wasn’t space enough to park a bicycle, let alone a car. There were just piles and piles of stuff.
When my dad’s parents had died, as their only child he’d inherited everything they owned. This was problem number one. Problem number two is that my parents were both total pack rats, and surveying our garage it was clear they hadn’t attempted any kind of sorting before transplanting the entire contents of my grandparent’s home to ours. The totality of their lives' acquisitions were out there, slowly moldering away.

In a sense, the garage was the equivalent of an attic. No one I knew had an attic, but I’d read about them and had always thought it would be fun to have one. I’m not sure what led me out there on that particular afternoon, because I’d never really poked around in it before, but I started checking it out. At first it seemed like there was just junk piled from the floor up to the rafters, but as I moved things around, I noticed in one corner of the garage stuff was stacked on something. I shoved and shuffled things aside until I’d cleared enough away to see what it was.

It’s a cot! I thought excitedly as I continued digging my way down through the mound. Wow. An actual cot! A body could sleep on that.
And just like that, without even really thinking about it, my decision was made.

I never asked for permission. It didn’t even occur to me to clear it with anyone. I simply spent the rest of the afternoon clearing off the cot, relocating stuff to clear a narrow path from it to the door, and carved out just enough space for a twelve year old to occupy. Then, I collected my few personal belongings from the room I’d shared all my life with my siblings, transported my clothes from my drawer in our room to a small box, and took up residence in my new digs.

That first night will be burned in my memory forever. I snuggled under my blanket on my new cot, excited and pleased with myself. It felt somewhat like a coup. I’d found a way out! I’d escaped the family and the house I’d lived in as far back as I could remember. Sure, it wasn’t complete emancipation, but suddenly it seemed as though I’d taken a little bit of charge over my life, and that felt great. I reached up, pulled the chain over my head to turn out the light, and closed my eyes.

It was dark in the garage, and being away from the family, it was also quiet. I had never slept alone in my life…having shared a room with my siblings from the start. But within a few moments as I lay there basking in the silence, I heard something. It sounded like something small scurrying around. Too small to be a mouse, I thought. It also seemed like it was behind the walls. At first this was a comforting thought. But then it started getting louder. Then louder still. Pretty soon it became unmistakable. Something was scurrying, and by the sound of it, there were a lot of these somethings. It sounded like a billion little feet going tap tap tap tap. Times a zillion.

Within a short time it became clear they were no longer just behind the wall. I couldn’t fathom what it might be, but my overactive imagination jumped immediately to spiders, which was quite worrisome. I hated spiders. Maybe if I hide under the covers they’ll leave me alone and I can just ignore them. But finally the fear of not knowing what it was superseded the fear of finding out, and I carefully stuck my arm out of the covers, reached up above my head, and pulled the chain on the ceiling light.

Did you ever see the movie Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom? There's a scene in it that I am convinced was based on the sight that met my eyes when I turned that light on. Because on every visible surface from the ceiling to the floor, there was a veritable carpet of giant, disgusting, tentacle-waving, thumb-sized, horrific black cockroaches. Only I didn’t know what they were in that moment, because I had never seen a roach in my life.

I shot up, standing on tiptoe on my cot and started screaming at the top of my lungs. The roaches didn’t like that, or the light, and they started scattering back to their hidey holes behind the walls. One of them had managed to get under my nightgown somehow, and for over a year, I swear I could still feel the exact spot in my thigh where it had touched me.  

But despite how traumatic this experience was, I stayed put. The fact that I’d rather live with a bazillion roaches amidst piles of junk than be in the house with the family is probably enough to give you some idea of how my life was going.

Even though the battle against the roaches never ended, from that night til I left home for college, I never slept in the house again.