Stop Bugging Me

I will never quite understand all the reasons and purposes for bugs and creatures...I know, I know it is all part of the food web...but really?? The other day while dusting by the windowsill, I noticed little specks of dust that appeared to be moving. They were moving. As I looked at all the many specks that were moving, I had to wonder what their difference in this great big universe they would make.Worms, spiders, ants, mosquitos...why do they have to be so darn creepy?

I remember waking up in the middle of the night. There upon my chest was a daddy long leg crawling towards my face. What if I had not awakened? Would it have found it's spindley legs in my mouth.

Would it have crawled into my hair and layed spider eggs? Gee for that matter, I wonder how many spiders I have eaten in the night. It made going to sleep at night a little unnerving.

Some of the creepiest fluttering things were moths. Attracted to the light, summer evenings on the patio meant a company of moths. Something silvery about their wings would leave a shine behind. I can still see Michelle in our bedroom trying to get up the courage to kill a moth on the closet door. There would be no sleeping with that thing alive.

One evening, I was playing with the Beck girls. Mom was at home making carameled apples.

She promised to let us know the moment they were ready. Sure enough, mom stepped out on the front step and called, "Girls, the caramel apples are ready!" I was not going to wait. I high tailed it towards home..running down the street. I was excited and squealing with my mouth wide open. It was a summer evening and the bugs were out. I felt something hit the back of my throat with force. It gagged me, it choked me and I was forced to cough it up and out. There in my hand was the remains of a big gray moth. It sent the bijibbers down my spine. I couldn't bear the thought that part of that moth went down my throat. I was literally having butterflies in my tummy. Needless to say, I completely lost my appetite for the carameled apples.

There was the supposed to be great but innocently frightening trip to Seattle with my grandparents. My family and grandparents stayed with grandpa's sister. It was a strange home and they were strange people to me. A big group went into town. It would be the perfect time for me to shower and get cleaned up and ready for bed. I went into the bathroom and there bumping from light to light and mirrior to mirror was the biggest ugliest moth. It made my stomach curdle. I tried to keep my eyes on it at all times so as not to be taken by surprise. As soon as I went to the bathroom, I would have my dad come kill the moth for me.

I went to sit down on the toilet. I felt this awful flutter against my behind. I had trapped that doggone moth in the toilet when I sat down. Quickly, I jumped up and off the toilet. I didn't even care that my pants were not all the way up. I flew out of there faster than that moth could ever fly. That would set the tone for the rest of this creepy trip.

I wish I could say that the previous were the only disturbing, hair raising stories about bugs. They have been up my nose, in my food, smothered on windshields, crawling, creeping, biting, stinging...
Brigham Young University had a long weeked. A friend of mine had mentioned that she had never been to Jackson Hole. I do not have fingers and toes enough to count the numerous times that I had been there. I felt confident that I could be the perfect tour guide. We would leave on Friday and stay in Idaho Falls at my home.  Then arise early the following morning and make way to Jackson Hole. Azure blue skies complimented the vibrant colors of autumn leaves. The air was crisp and so it was only natural that we breathe it all in. Our windows were rolled down and the wind blew through our hair (a bit too loud for good conversation). I was in college which meant going a bit over the speed limit was the expected. With a smile on my face we continued in the direction of our destination...I pictured a glamorous self driving the coast to meet up wit a handsome gent...kind of like the movies. My vision came to an abrupt halt all of the sudden I felt this sharp piercing thud against my forehead and drop into my lap? Surely a passing vehicle had kicked up a rock? a piece of glass? My friend saw in and we both heard it. There upon my lap was a huge, black, very dead fly. Of course I freaked, but for whatever the reason, felt embarrassment. How could my forehead be the means for killing a fly? I also had to remind myself that my forehead hit that fly at 65 plus miles per hour. I peered in the mirror...not to see glamour, but fly guts.

Just a little food for thought...I was taking my dog Da Vinci out to do his duty. There on every pile of poop were flies crawling. Absolutely sinister !!!

What the Nail?

Rarely do I get complimented on things of beauty but there are two things as of recent that have drawn the attention and request of others. My nails and my curled hair. I had pretty much given up on having the glamorous nails. I had certainly struggled in the past with my attempts to maintain and wear fake nails. I had a student that came to school each day with lovely nails. Her mother had the talent and ability to do them and without cost to my student. It was nearing the Christmas Season and I envisioned the crimson red, perfectly polished nails. I found myself strolling down the cosmetic aisles looking at the numerous sets of fake nails and polishes. Something caught my eye..."imPRESS nails." I was curious about this unusual package. As I read the instructions, I discovered that superglue was not even needed. With these nails, there was a sticker that peeled off the back and then was placed upon my real nail. I couldn't get over how easy and how beautiful these nails of mine appeared. People started to comment. I immediately shared my great find with those inquiring. I also included a tip of my own...
TIP: carry the extra nails in your purse and in the event of an emergency...some nail glue to replace one that may happen to lift. This was my insurance policy. For the most part, they rarely came off until I took them off...but there were two occasions that NAIL mishap found it's way back into my life.

The first one I am quite embarrassed to share. I had a deviated septum which required surgery years ago. Since then, my sinus' have become oh so dry. My Ear Nose Throat Doctor told me to take a swab and but bacitiracin inside the nostril. I had run out of swabs so I dabbed a little on my finger and yes placed it up inside my nostril. I went about my day. Later on, I looked down to discover that one of my nails was missing. I retraced every step wanting to fix those nails and return to glamor. Still, nothing appeared. It wasn't long before I wondered at the possibility of it coming off inside my nose. Surely I would know about that. But what if I didn't know...what would happen? Would it go to my brain? Would it travel my blood veins and plunge to my heart. I began to panic. There was only one thing to do...BLOW!!! I grabbed a kleenex and with all my might blew the heck out of my nose. Sure enough, there was the missing nail as bright and pretty as ever.

Weeks had passed. The nails still looked great. I even received a few extra sets and colors from Santa Claus in my stocking. Noah was in desperate need of some winter wear. His snow pants barely covered his knees. Rick knew of a place on State street. The family piled in the car and off we went. I could not get over all the fun and unusual things that were there to keep the body warm. Handmade Sherpa Hats, Avalanche Kits, Neoprene Face Masks, Toe Warmers, Lip Care and the like. I was especially intrigued by some hats and some gloves. I must have tried on a dozen pair of the most wonderful soft, warm, cozy gloves. If I had had the need and the extra funds...I would have purchased a pair right then and there...but we were here for Noah. On the ride home, I glanced down and once again...a missing nail. It would have been all too easy with all the slipping on and off of the gloves for a nail to come off with it. PIT in my stomach...some poor soul like me is going to be intrigued and try on numerous gloves. Some poor soul is going to discover someone elses missing nail in the finger of one of those gloves. Some poor soul is going to freak out and maybe complain to the store. Oh dread...when will I learn?

Apparently not anytime soon. I am sporting a black set of shiny nails even as I type.

Lovely Tulips Never Die

There is nothing that can brighten up a room like yellow flowers. My co-teacher and friend in our room had brought back some of the most gorgeous tulips from an all too short weekend. The moment I walked into our classroom, I was cheered by the vase of yellow tulips. (My friend loves to work in her yard and garden. Her kind soul is always sharing her harvest with me...so this was not an unusual occurrence) I commented on their radiance. Her responce was simple, "I thought we could use a little color to brighten up the room." I agreed as I silently gazed...I just could not get over the perfection of the blooms. Thought: "I must bring my camera tomorrow...I hope they will last."

Sure enough, day two appeared every bit as exquisite as the day before. My friend was not in the room and so I took advantage of this photo opportunity. "Click" "Snap" "Click...Click Click" I did not dare touch them or rearrange them for fear petals would drop. I was more than pleased with the photographs I had taken. Day in and day out...the lovely tulips remained in their glory. I do not remember how many days had passed when I had walked over to see the tulips up close. As I glanced down I noticed that these flowers were not in a vase of water...but a vase of smooth stones !!! I still was not convinced. I timidly touched the petals and sure enough they were crispy, bendy, plastic flowers. I had been duped once again. 

First, it was the mockery and disbelief of my grandma watering a plant of plastic flowers so long ago. It was so obvious to me that her pot of flowers were an absolute imitation...plastic...fake. I could not get over the sheer amazement that she actually believed those flowers to be real. I did not have the heart to inform her. I knew the day of discovery was sure to come. I also knew I could never fall for something like that...plastic flowers. 

Then it was the wooden roses...I realized, no one was above trickery regardless of age and eyesight. 

It was beginning to shake my confidence. How many other imitations have I taken for real? Even as I type this, I wonder..."Were the rocks real or just fake?" I will have to check them on Tuesday.

I was beside myself in a humorous way to think that I really must be getting old. Later on during the week, the Groendyke family had gone downtown Salt Lake City. As we were passing one of the Trax Stops, I noticed the seagulls perched above. I commented to Noah..."look at all the birds waiting to ride the Trax." He replied, "Mom...those aren't real birds. Those are statues." My eyes remained fixated waiting for one of those darn birds to move. Nothing. As we passed other Trax Stops, I noticed the same arrangement of birds. "Really? Did I REALLY just believe they were real birds?" Once it had been pointed out, I was humbled with embarrassment. Now I began to question everything I saw. I was alone and driving waiting to get on the ramp to 215. I was stopped below the underpass. There above were perched several birds...none appeared to be moving. Thought: "No way...are you kidding me...they (whoever "they" are) place fake birds on the overpasses too? Just before the light turned green, I saw a few move. Now I felt silly that I thought the real birds were fake. How many times I had nonchalantly driven this route many times and never really paid that much attention to reality of the birds. I look over to the next car and wonder...do others spend there time thinking about these kind of things are do they even care?

Months later...I show up to work. The yellow plastic flowers remain in a vase of smooth rocks. I smile in part because they do brighten up the room, but mostly because of how captivated I was by what I thought was the beauty of nature. Admit it...they are lovely tulips.

One Reason Not to Do Laundry

Here is one reason

 I should probably distance myself

 from the task of laundry...

both sweater vests belong to Rick.

I washed the one on the right.

Thumbs Up

I learned a new word today:

gaffe |gaf|nounan unintentional act or remark causing embarrassment to its originator; a blunder : an unforgivable social gaffe.

Oh my word...this word I know and live so well. My life and world is full of GAFFES. I guess this blog could bear the name, "God Made Me to Laugh at My Gaffes." I have not only embarrassed myself, but others through my blunders and naiveness. There are several gaffes that have created quite a stir that I could not possibly mention in public save a few key words. For instance, the shiny round disc I held up in the aisle,  "Does this belong to anyone?" I thought that colorful package was a disc cover for someone's floppy disc. Then there is the one with the kleenex box in front of the Idaho Falls Tigerettes and their mother's before a performance...to ease the fear of performing... You know the joke is on you when no one laughs and jaws are dropped as if in utter shock. Then I ask, what could possibly be the matter?  Some kind soul would then pull me aside and whisper in my ear the crude meaning of my joke. It is enough to keep anyone quiet for a long time...but oh know...not me...I am just a one gaffe after another.

As a Flight Attendent, I had many such instances. We were in New Orleans on Mardi Gras. It was a full plane with partying and already intoxicated individuals. There were blow horns and sparkly hats and beads. This group of people needed more than the typical soda and peanuts or pretzels. Passenger A: "Can I have a Bloody Mary, a cup of water and coffee with cream... oh and do you have change for a hundred...maybe some alka seltzer too?" and on it continued passenger after passenger. Finally, we had moved beyond the first two rows. It wasn't long until I heard, Passenger B,"Mam, do you have a towel and a refill?...I had a little spill." Out of sheer frustration, I blurted out a cliche that came to my mimd..."My are we all thumbs today?" Immediately upon completing my sentence, I glanced down and saw ten stubs, not fingers, stubs. Clearly it could have easily been mistaken for "all thumbs." I wanted off that plane yesterday. First off because of my stupid remark and second, the thought that I may I have hurt some one else's feelings was more than I could bear. I do not know if he had been in an accident or if this was something from birth. I  do know I was sick inside and I am sure the look on my face reveled just how sick. With compassion and a couple of words, "it is okay," he brushed it off, but it replayed over and over in my mind.

Then there was the day that a handsome African American passed by me. Somehow we ended up visitig about diverse subjects. We were off on the topic of watches. I was collecting them at the time, especially trendy Swatches. Thet were plastic, creative watches that were Swiss. I looked him square in the eye when I spoke, "yea I have seven, but my favorite is the one with the black face." Really. Did I really just say that to a black man?

What about the man from church that was blind. Somehow his cane found me more than once. He was in need of a ride home. I was happy to do that for him. I had a sheild in my window to protect the dash of the car from the sun. As I directed him to the passenger side of the car, I saw the shield, "Just let me get the BLINDER...I mean the thinganajig out of the window so you can SEE, I mean so I can see..."  Later on, it was "let me know when you SEE the street sign I am to turn on for your home." Everyone knows that a blind man can't see and yet much of our conversation required seeing..."Have you seen any good movies lately? Do you think she is cute? Is your house that one or that one," as I point to both sides of the street.

The harder I try to avoid the blunders, the bigger they become. Now living in a world where you have to be politically correct, I overthink everything and leave people wondering if I have a speech impediment. There have been occasions when I hear the little voice in my head say, "Why do you have to be so dumb?' Then I remember, it is those very things that people find so endearing. I think I am hilarious, yet I know I am not and just want to be...so if I can get a laugh or two when the discomforting situation has ceased and time and humor have added their touch...so be it.

One day my mom was seated at the dinner table with some pretty prominent people, in fact, the children were not allowed to attend. I had been suffering with major allergies. My mother had given me an antihestimine to help with the sneezing and runny nose. It was long over due and my sneezing started up again with a vengence. I ran up the stairs to the dining table. My mother asked,"Can I help you with something?" With confidence, I said for the table to hear, "Mom I think I need a hysterectomy."

Off on the Champs Elysee in France, the taxi drive asked me in French "Quel age avez-vous?' (How old are you?) I wanted to impress him with my wonderful one semester of BYU French and responded
"sept" which would be seven years of age. I was sure he had asked me how many people were in my family. His eyes were bulging with surprise. I went back to my hotel room later, found my handy dandy French Dictionary and realized the reason for his disbelief. All the whilde my mother is practically yelling thinking that if you talk real loud, the taxi driver will understand.

The first time I say the word "GAFFE" was in connection with Vice President Joe Biden. I guess I am in good. or not company when it comes to being a "GAFFER."

 

Big Sister Bully

My Sister is one of my very best friends. We are 15 months apart and growing up, we practically shared everything from clothes to cars to friends to the boys that we dated. Some would say that there was no way we could possibly be sisters because we were too good of friends. I have to say, my sister was a very good sport. It is true...we are the greatest of friends, but sometimes I question why. I was the Big Sister Bully that dictated the type of role she would play in all our imaginary schemes.

Let me describe to you what I mean. There was this one sit com "Gilligan's Island."

This was such a delightfully fun program that we would watch after school. The characters were 7 individuals stranded on a desert isle...the big rolly polly Skipper, the gangly doofus first mate Gilligan, the smart and handsome professor, the very wealthy elderly couple Mr. and Mrs. Howell, the beautiful Marianne and gorgeous movie star Ginger.

When we played, I was Marianne AND Ginger.

Michelle was Mrs. Howell.

Then there was Edgemont Gardens Elementary School. I was the young captivating Miss Kauer and Michelle was the weathered, grouchy, wrinkly, old Mrs. Rushton.

(Mrs. Rushton on the left)

The Beauty Pageants with the Moon girls also have bully written all over it. Dawn and myself were always the Beauty Queens. Adele and Michelle were the first runner ups. They may have received flowers, but they never wore the crown.

And guess what? She always happily played along.

So I ask myself, why? Why was I such a bully... always giving her the role of undesirable women (and pretend boyfriends) Why did I not only have to be one pretty woman, but all of them? I may never know. Maybe there was some jealousy. Clearly she was the better pianist, received 4.0 was the valdictorian

(My sister is the one to phone and update everyone, take initiative for family gatherings...)

and loved to do housework...so not me. Things come full circle. My Sister married first and with each passing day becomes even more beautiful than the day before.

(She raised two absolutely gorgeous beauty queens as well...Madeline and Jennifer)

She is the Marianne, the Ginger, the Mrs. Martin, the Miss Kauer, the Beauty Queens of this and the previous year all wrapped up into one.

 I love her.

Little Girls, Pretty Hair, TERROR

Truthfully, what is it about me and darling little girls with exceptionally adorable hair?

Picture this:

Salt Lake City International Airport, many people and a great deal of Security. I have an innate desire to compliment and make others feel good about themselves. That includes children. I love to be playful and as an educator, a primary worker and an aunt, I thought I had a unique gift with children. Not today. There across the way was a charming and very captivating little girl. If I had not known better, I would have believed "Goldilocks" had just stepped out of the infamous children's book. There they were, the most perfectly formed golden locks of hair. I have always envied the loose natural curls of others. I could not resist. I walked up to the little darling and said, "You have the most beautiful hair I have ever seen. Where did you get such gorgeous curls?" There was no "Thank you." Not even an "I know." Her face became distorted. She stomped her foot and sharply pointed her finger at me and then screeched at the top of those little girl lungs..."STRANGER...STRANGER. STRANGER. STRANGER." I was totally taken off guard and as I glanced around, everyone's eyes seemed to be upon me. I tried to tell Goldilocks here that I simply wanted to tell her how cute I thought she was but the more I talked, the louder the volume...humiliation and embarrassment.

(I do not know this little girl. I found her image on google...but this is almost identical to the golden curls I saw. The girl at the airport was a little bit younger and this will at least give one an idea of why I could not resist saying something.)

On Sundays, I would lead the singing in Primary. For the most part, the children enjoyed coming to Primary. There was one little girl that appeared to be terrified of Primary. She would cry and eventually be returned to her parents in another room. One day, she had come in to the Primary Room with her father. She sat on his lap in the very back as if to ease her into the routine of Primary. The rest of the children were singing and enjoying "Pick and Choose." It just so happened that the next name that I selected from the box of names, was that of the little girl. Here was my chance to show her how  fun  how absolutely safe and fun Primary could be. With much prodding and convincing she slowly walked to the front of the room. This enchanting princess of a girl had corn rows and hundreds of dark braids all over her pretty little head.

I bent down to help her post something on the board. I stood up to send her back with dad. The button on my sweater had become caught in her hair. I could not stand up. She tried to walk away and felt the tug on her head. All I could do was hover over her. No one could quite figure out what I was doing. The little girl began screaming and crying. I began to panic feeling that I was making her Primary experience a trauma. I offered comforting words and then asked for help. Clearly, dad could not assist because of the location of the offending button. One of the women from the Presidency came up and rescued the screaming child. I felt like such an idiot! The little girl was carried back to her seat (not by me) crying hysterically. I tried to regain composure and get my group of singers singing again. All I could think was really? Did that just really happen. Yes...yes it did happen and it would not be the end of my gaffes.