The Carver

There are some novels out there, "The Giver", "The Help", "The Road".

Well, this post is about "The Carver". I'm pretty sure you've all been one. Just admit it.
I found this:

when I was wiping the table the other day. I wonder if I can doctor it up a bit for you so you can know what I know :-)

OK, here goes:

Now, for the "Ghost of Carving Past" -- heh heh. I did a little carving on my parents' wood pillars, in their living room. The pillars are still there and I imagine my carving is still there too. I think I carved my middle name, "Marie". I wonder if my parents knew who it was. . .

 

I asked my husband about his carving past (b/c I know for sure his mom has told stories about it) and he gave me this innocent look and denied any carving. He said, "My work was not art. I was scientifically testing the different wood layers present in my parents' piano. I made a single, very deep gouge." Then, he went on to tell me all about the different layers.

What a man! He is still that curious kid . .

Freezing

Nothing belly-shaking funny has happened in the last few days, but I will record something that struck me as funny last weekend.

I got to visit my parents, who are serving a mission for our church in Palmyra NY. They are tour guide missionaries and having the best time. Seriously, I think they are like college kids: teasing the neighbors (other couple missionaries in their complex), making friends right and left, and they are learning something new practically every day. What a beautiful existence.

One of the coolest moments - when my parents told me to turn around here and look up in the trees, there's a temple, can you see it? 
 

I had a great time back there and wish I could do the exact same trip all over again.

At the top of the Hill Cumorah with my dad and my sister

One observation I made, very quickly, was that my dad makes very good use of the air conditioning in his apartment (His home in Idaho doesn't have central A/C). The problem with his agency :-) is that his neighbors downstairs share the same vents. I'm afraid he must be freezing them out. I stuffed pillows in the drafts of air I kept feeling coming up through the sofa. It was that cold. My mom is an angel and just keeps on layering more clothes.

When I was a teenager, I'd have friends come over and play ping pong in the basement or watch movies. I couldn't figure out why they always kept their jackets on or asked for a blanket. I'm beginning to get the picture.

Well, to end the story, the downstairs neighbors brought up pie one of the evenings I was there (it was SOOO delicious - in fact, she said she is known in her neighborhood as Aunt Ruth, I love Aunt Ruth). So, I guess they must just keep a ready-supply of blankets in their apartment.

Red Chili Peppers

Give it away, Give it away Now . . .

If I had just known to say that to my girls I would have.

We went to a little Produce Stand this afternoon. Since I am a city girl now, I have to qualify it like that :-). The workers there wear suspenders and have dirty hands, but they always give me a little taste of produce, which I gladly accept.

My favorite thing to splurge on is the pie towards the back.

This afternoon, we didn't go for pie :-( we went for just regular produce. Once we got there, I saw a sale and called my friend to share the news. In the meantime, my little wanderer daughter (older) led her sidekick (younger) over to the red chili peppers. I think this could have been their dialogue:

Wanderer: "Oh, look how cute and little and red."

Their Conscience: "And it is off in its own box with branches all around ...."

Clepto-Child: "Let's take one."

They each took a bite and to say they went ballistic is an understatement.

Where was their mother? 

On the phone talking about pears, of course.

I heard them screaming before I saw them, I tried to walk away to finish up my conversation quickly. (I have to qualify here that these girls are known for screaming about dogs and flies).  I could see they weren't hurt as I walked around my vehicle trying to keep the noise away from the phone. I could also see and hear that they could still breathe (which meant they hadn't eaten nuts, which they are allergic to). I got off the phone and attended to them. They were still screaming with drool just streaming down their mouths - both of them. It was like a double nightmare. I couldn't get either of them to tell me what happened. They were begging for water, for food, for chapstick, anything. I just kept grabbing whatever I could find (luckily the kids' backpacks were in the car, so we had some water bottles and leftover carrots from lunch) and trying to get them away from the general populus frequenting the produce stand. This ordeal was something like 15 minutes or maybe 15 hours long.

You know what is strange, not a single person at the produce stand (worker or shopper) seemed to acknowledge the spectacle. I can't figure that out. No one said a word to me! And, after I got the initial fire put out, I did shop around in there. Yet, they still didn't say a word or ask if my girls were OK, or "hmm, guess they learned their lesson.". Notta

I guess that goes with wearing suspenders and having a little dirt under the nails. Deal with it.

5 Boyish Girls

My little girlish girls are just fascinated about when I was a "boy".

Everyone has one of these dandies in their past don't they?

Ha ha, that sounds much different on here than it does in real life. Of course, I've never been a boy but since my girls saw this picture, they are fixated on why my hair was "like that". They've come up with the following theories:

• Grandma must've not liked doing girls' hair
• Grandma must've wanted 5 boyish girls (3 out of the five girls sported similar hairdoes - although I must say Marci really got the good end of this deal, her 'do was way better than mine)

My daughters' next questions are regarding my little sisters Jane and Jess. Why didn't they have to have their hair cut? How old were they when this happened (we've concluded Jessie was probably a bald baby about this time so she looked boyish too). We aren't sure why Janie would've been the one non-boyish girl.

Baptismal Biscuits

OK, it is nearly 11:30 pm and I must record today's "funny". I even laughed out loud during my prayer because this occurred to me as being one of the Lord's little laughable moments too.

This morning my oldest daughter and I attended a baptism for her friend. But, before that, I (sort of we -- which gives you an indication of some of the unsightly shapes), made rolls to take to a person from church who was going to be having guests over for the weekend. I had already promised this person the rolls, so it wasn't going to be anonymous or anything like that. Let's call her Friend #2.

Even before that though, I thought I might take some rolls to my friend's family (who had the daughter getting baptized - all of this non-naming is becoming very confusing). We can refer to their family as Friend #1. However, I didn't have time to get some rolls up to her before going to the church so I thought I might take some to her later.

Anyway, as we rushed out the door, pan of hot rolls in hand, we (daughter and I) headed over to the baptism. It was really special. Not to take away from the jovial nature of this blog, I really did feel something today that I will need to talk about on a different, more spiritual blog. I had lots of thoughts and emotions throughout the morning. At the end, when we went out to the car, I started putting rolls in a plastic bag so we could take them to Friend #2. The rolls were cooled off by this time and could be put in a bag. My daughter immediately asked if she could give them to her friend for being baptized. I thought, "Why not? That might be kind of fun for my little girl to give another little girl some rolls."

She ran off.

I got inside the car and thought more about the many things I had been pondering throughout the service (see, I can't seem to get away from the un-jovial).

Soon enough, Friend #1's husband comes smiling up to me holding a bag of what looked to me like the most pitiful little rolls on the planet. He put his head in my passenger window and cheerfully asked, "Are these baptismal biscuits?" I started to laugh and couldn't gather myself to even explain a thing! He then went on, just as cheerfully, "Is this what small town people do at baptisms, hand out rolls?"

He just kept twirling that bag around and my yummy rolls looked worse than ever and by this time I was laughing so hard tears were coming out of my eyes as I tried to stand up for my "small town people" - NO, we do not hand out baptismal biscuits. I am just crazy and crazy people have way too many good intentions. . .

Sleep well dear readers, all five of you :-)  Rest assured knowing that even the heavens above are smiling about this one.