Mary, Mary

First, thanks for the help with the animal idioms.  You guys rock.

Second, I feel compelled to start today's post by mentioning a recent conversation I had at TKE.  My friend and co-worker said she'd just begun to understand something fundamental about me:  "You have a higher opinion of men than you should."

Here's the deal.  I've been unusually blessed to be surrounded by good and decent men, which has made it easy for me to think well of the species in general.  You should keep this in mind given what I'm going to say next.  This weekend I packed up a box for our missionary and as per instructions, I stuck Virgin Mary stickers all over it, because supposedly this protects the package from your would-be thieves, although if I were a thief in Chile I would go YAY!  VIRGIN MARY STICKERS!  THAT MEANS THIS IS A BOX WORTH STEALING!

But whatever.  That's not the point.

The point is this.  As I put those lovely stickers on the box I thought about how much I always like images of Mary and how I wish we'd had a few more of them while I was growing up.  Okay.  I am VERY happy being a Mormon.  It's a good fit for me, and I think much of the good stuff about me comes from my Mormon upbringing, not in spite of it.

Still, when I was a girl I was always a little dismayed that there wasn't more female-ness in the public arena going on.  Even though I never felt oppressed in any way by the patriarchy on a personal level--and honestly I think Mormon culture can grow truly admirable men--I always wanted there to be more institutional images of women.  You know.  Like Mary.

Maybe things are better now?  But growing up in the 60's and 70's, not so much.

Sunday is a special day--it's the day when I link to my column!

The good thing about writing a column involving dogs is that you're pretty much guaranteed to get a response.  Even when responders tell you to feel guilty for making your dog fat.

And speaking of animals--can you help me think of phrases and idioms featuring animals--curiosity killed the cat, when pigs fly, etc.

Thank you!

Cat watching snow

I snapped this yesterday.  What you can't see is the snow falling, although that's what Enzo was watching.  I like to think he was as taken by the magic of it all as I was.  Because you know how cats are.  They just sit there in the window thinking, "I am taken by the magic of it all."

It was a satisfying day, all in all.  I never left the house, except to shovel sidewalks occasionally.  I knit, read (Mr. Penumbra's 24-hour Bookstore which is sort of a 21st century Name of the Rose) and worked on a novel which I somehow seem loathe to finish.   And all around me was the quiet, quiet, quiet of snow.

Differences

TRQ and the Coach are crazy about each other.  They also drive each other crazy.  So yeah.  We've always got a little bit of The Crazy going on.

The Current Crazy involves germs.  TRQ tends to see germs everywhere--lurking in the jungle like Sandinista rebels, waiting to take you (and also the Nicaraguan government) DOWN.  The Coach, on the other hand, barely believes in germs.

Anyway, last Saturday when I went to my aunt's funeral, I apparently infected my mother with The Sick that laid me low for most of the week.  She took to her bed yesterday, but not until she gave my father a surgeon's mask to wear so he wouldn't get sick next.  (She is--and rightly so--anxious to keep him well as he recovers from the open heart thing.)  Apparently he even wore the mask.  Except that instead of wearing it over his mouth, he wore it around his neck.

You know.   To prevent the spread of neck germs.



 

Lists!

I like to keep track of "worsts."  Worst haircuts I ever had.  Worst dates I ever went on.  Worst novels I ever read.  Worst jobs I ever had.  Worst motel rooms I ever stayed in.  Stuff like that.

One of my Worst Lists is called "Worst Drive Home" and it looks like this.
1.  That drive Ken and I made over Soldier Summit in January.
2.  That trip Phil and I made from Provo to Salt Lake after I taught a night class at BYU.
3.  That time I had a blow out on a snow-packed 1-15 at the point of the mountain (thankfully Marvin the Tow Truck Guy showed up and offered to "satisfy me").
4.  That evening the kids and I drove down to St. George for the Presidents' Day holiday.

AND NOW I HAVE A NEW NUMBER FIVE!

Tonight.  Coming home from Lisa B.'s house.  Things were fine at first.  Briefly.  And then POW!  The snow hit, and you know what I thought?  Thank goodness I have a coat, because if I die tonight, at least Ken can't say I died because I didn't have a coat.

I am glad to be home.

Catastrophizing

I know therapists tell people not to "catatstrophize," but where's the fun in that?   I ask you!  Immediately  turning to a worst-case scenario makes your life feel so much more interesting, like you're Secret Agent Man.  Remember the old Johnny Rivers lyrics?

There's a man who leads a life of danger
To everyone he meets he stays a stranger
With every move he makes another chance he takes
Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow.

I come from a long line of catastrophizers on TRQ's side, and Ken is no slouch on the Lurking Dangers front either.  The other night when our 27 year-old son left the house without a coat on, he did this pretty great riff on how Finns think Americans are so stupid because they don't wear coats when it's cold and don't we know we could be in cars that break down and that if we don't have coats on in freezing cars WE COULD DIE?

So please, people, for the love of all that is sacred and holy, wear your coats when you leave the house.  Otherwise you may die.

You're welcome.

A thing to cherish

One of the coach's seven sisters died last week, and I spent Saturday at her funeral.  TRQ and I sat by Uncle Lew and behind Aunt Ruby who, at 90-plus, still sports fiery red hair and great makeup.  The funeral was a funeral--equal parts tender and sad and funny.  I watched with great pleasure as Lew would periodically nudge Ruby during the proceedings to share some private joke.  He'd whisper something, and she'd laugh.

Here's the deal about my dad and his brothers.  I never ever met people who enjoyed their little jokes, their small asides like they do.  I remember watching them at family reunions, standing in a semi-circle like they were getting ready to bless a baby in church.  Except that instead of praying they were listening to each other tell stories.  And when whichever brother got to the punchline, the others would squint, grin, and finally roar out a laugh.

Half of those siblings have died now.  But their love of the gently absurd lives on.