Algie and Erika

I read this Trib story with a great deal of interest.  Erika and I have been acquaintances since childhood, and I used to see her during the summer when she would visit her grandmother Algie Ballif, one of Provo's grandest grande dames.


Algie was a natural born crusader, a tireless fighter for social justice, the very epitome of a happy warrior. I can't help but think she's cheering her granddaughter on.

Random Photo Day Three (and also a meditation on why it's so hard to write in the 21st Century)

Behold!  The new peony Heather put aside for me at Trellis Garden Center!  Holy cow, folks, it's a yellow!  peony!  It's a new beast--part tree peony and part herbaceous peony.  I am thrilled with the
huge-y dahlia-esque flowers.  (If only peonies lasted longer.)

As for the meditation part--it's hard to write in the 21st-century and here's why:  you dutifully open up your computer to write.  But instead you get online and notice that a story called "Miami Cannibal Attack" is currently trending.  Which do you choose?  The pain of writing?   Or the perversity of reading about possible cannibals in Miami?

Yup.  Me, too.

Random Photo Day Two

Since it's Memorial Day, I think this column is particularly appropriate.  I love the picture of my dad here. He looks so young and natty in his uniform, don't you think?  Meanwhile, another gnome . . .

Random Photo Day One

I am going to be uploading photos that have nothing to do with my blog posts, mostly because I want to practice using my camera and then posting them.  AND THEN I WILL BE AS AWESOME AS ALL YOU GUYS.

As you can see I bought another gnome.  I think maybe this is a form of mental illness?

My calendar says . . .

. . . that I have "knitting" tomorrow.  At 11:00.  That's what it says--"Knitting!  11:00!"  But what does that mean?  Did I really commit to knitting tomorrow at 11:00?  But why?  And where am I knitting?  And what am I knitting?  And with whom am I knitting?  PLEASE HELP ME!

Yes!  It's another Cryptic Calendar Message!

(I feel crazy.)

The way some mothers say things

I think I've mentioned here before that TRQ, one of the brightest women I know, sometimes processes things sideways.  Like, words go in her ears and then ride the twilt-a-whirl in her brain for awhile, after which they stagger out of her mouth feeling not quite like themselves.  Example.  Once my dad handed her a map and told her to look for a street named "Owensmouth."  And eventually she smacked him on the side of the head with said map and told him there was no street in America, let alone Southern California, named "Oscarsjaw."

Anyway.  I mentioned this to a friend over breakfast yesterday, and she burst out laughing.  "My mom does the exact same thing.  She always refers to the arches in her feet as crotches."

Your assignment today?  Have fun thinking about THAT.  And you're welcome.

All my worlds are disappearing

Because I love vintage toys,  I have enjoyed the doll shows that come through Salt Lake twice a year.  But there are fewer and fewer exhibitors now, and the show this past Saturday was the grimmest affair yet.  I complained to Ken bitterly.  "All my worlds--books, newspapers, magazines--are shrinking."  So you can imagine my DESPAIR!!!!! when I read a report this morning stating that soda sales are going down.

You know what this means, of course.  Eventually I won't be able to find my necessary cans of Dr. Pepper, except out of some speciality crackpot catalog like the Vermont Country Store (from which we bought an awesome aluminum Christmas tree last December).  Already I feel sort of like a smoker who's forced to smoke 25 feet away from public buildings just because I like soda!  with sugar!  Seriously, America, just strap some bells around my neck and shout "unclean" whenever I walk out of 7-11 with a can in hand.   Go ahead.  Heap shame on my head.

 I don't care.  (She says defiantly.  Between sips.)