And so it begins

The end of a certain part of family history, that is . . .

Today TRQ told me and my sister-in-law Becky over lunch that the nuns' house where we have stayed for years on Capistrano Beach is being sold.  We'll never stay there with our families again.  And the truth is that whoever is buying it will tear it down and build a Kardashian-type home.

The funny thing is that the whole time we were there this summer, I had the strongest feeling that this would likely be our last time in that house together, which made me deeply sad.  Because you know that's how I like to do sad.  Deeply.

As it turned out, we didn't have enough beds, so I spent most of the week sleeping in the courtyard under the stars, listening to surf pound beneath a waxy moon.  I let the all of it--the sounds, the smells, the sights-- settle in my pores so I could remember.

All good things must.

Awkward

So last night when I was working at TKE, a mother and her fourth-grade daughter asked if I would help them find books by a local author because the daughter has been assigned to study one of my kind.  Of course I immediately started pulling out books by Shannon Hale and Jessica Day George, but Margaret (bless her) said, "Give her some of your books."

The mother was immediately interested.  An author!   Right here, right now!   The daughter, on the other hand, looked at me like I was possibly trying to scam them both.

I gave them THE CHIHUAHUA CHASE and said it was about chihuahuas being kidnapped in Salt Lake, which suddenly sounded pretty stupid to me, too.  The daughter was unimpressed.  So I gave her CHARLOTTE'S ROSE.  The mother said her daughter loves historical fiction.  I brightened.

"This is like LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE!"  I gushed.

The daughter eyed me.  "I hate LITTLE HOUSE ON THE PRAIRIE," she said.

In the end her mother made her buy CHARLOTTE.  And hopefully she'll like it better than LITTLE HOUSE.  But the whole experience was a good reminder to me that the more enthusiastic adults get when trying to sell a kid on a particular book, the less likely a kid will want to read it.

LOTR

Okay.  If you walk into a store five minutes before closing time and the employees are nice to you, you should know they're only faking it.  I know.  They should be happy for your business.  And yeah.  The Customer is King.  But in their hearts they are secretly wishing you had never been been born, because you are (in all likelihood) preventing them from getting home in time to watch the season premiere of CASTLE.

Last night at the store, Sally and I got a phone call from someone who said HE'D BE RIGHT THERE.  This was at 8:45, which did not make us happy.  What if he showed up after nine?  Would he expect us to still be there?  Should we still be there?  The answer is yeah, we probably would have waited--which is why we were relieved when he showed up minutes before closing time and headed straight for the shelves.  He was a man on a mission.  We wouldn't have to wait around for long, because he knew precisely what he wanted--which turned out to be THE TWO TOWERS by Tolkien.

I recognized the look on his face.  He had discovered LOTR, and he could not wait until morning to resume his adventures in Middle Earth.  The same thing happened to me when I was sixteen on a sunny summer afternoon in southern California.  I picked up THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING and (much to my surprise) tumbled headlong into its pages.

I envied the customer and wished I could be taking that journey for the first time all over again.

Soda: the New Smoking

I may or may not write a column about this.  But I am interested in what a lightning rod soda (i.e. "pop," if you grew up in Utah) consumption has become.   The snarkiest comments I get from readers often involve my Dr. Pepper habit.  Because I drink soda I am, in some people's eyes, an obese white trash loser of flabby moral character who abuses children and destroys rain forests whenever I get the chance.   And it seems like the more progressive a person's politics are, the more likely he or she is to feel this way.  INTERESTINGLY.

And you know what my response to this is?  Pass me another can, honey.

Checking in

I know.  I've been MIA.  I promise to be better this week.  Meanwhile!  Column!

Gone Girl

I just read a novel that has gotten a LOT of buzz--GONE GIRL by Gillian Flynn.  Co-workers at TKE have liked it, and I raced through 3/4 of the book, completely gone on it.  I was like, you know, a gone girl.  Flynn is a truly accomplished writer and a slick plotter.  But the last 1/4 of the book was so disturbing in its implications and (even) execution, that I started wishing I could rinse my brain out with mouthwash after I finished it.

Has a novel ever affected you that way?  Left you with images you wish you could get rid of?

Column, game, and other things

Well, I woke up with one of those dark clouds like you see in cartoons raining over my head.  So clearly I still care about that damn game more than I thought I did.  I am always amazed at how much power the (wide, wide) world of sports has over moi.

Meanwhile.  Yesterday's column.  I like this one, I think.  I had another idea, but then something about the light this past week triggered a really intense series of memories about that time I was sick.

As I've gotten older, I think about that time from my parents' POV more often.  My dad had a brand new high-pressure job at BYU.  My mom just had a brand new baby.  They had just moved into a new home in a new neighborhood (and you have to understand TRQ often said she'd rather be trampled by wild horses than move to Provo).  And then they made my dad a bishop on campus.

I seriously do not know how they kept it all together.

Okay, I know I said this was going to be about the column, the game, and other things.  But, actually, there are no other things at the moment.  So yes, I did deceive with that title.

Have a good rest of the weekend, everyone.