Trying my luck back at compulsivewriter.com today. Fingers crossed.

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November

It's the eve before a Presidential election. How could I forget? First, I am going to congratulate myself. Not only did I not tell anyone how to vote--not even my two children who are registered voters--I still actually like almost every single one of my friends who pushed their politics on me over and over again. I kept my politics out of social media and I didn't smack any of the extremists I know from either side upside the head when they became super obnoxious. As much as they annoy me, a part of me is a bit envious, wondering what it must be like to still believe in someone, anyone. To still be able to believe anyone.

Yay me.

Second, it is indeed Guy Fawkes Night or Bonfire Night. At our house (forgive me my British friends) it is simply good reason to burn stuff and fry stuff. Or, in my case, because I am a lousy fryer, burn what was supposed to be fried stuff.

This year I tried my hand at these wonderful Apple Cider Donuts. "Were they good?" You might ask. They were SOOOOO good I would learn to be a good fryer just to not ruin them. I didn't really ruin them, I just have a difficult time finding the perfect balance between doughy and crispy. But these are totally worth practicing on. They are the best donuts ever. (Of course, you can't really go wrong with freshly ground cardamom.)

Third, because it was a rough day in some respects (many of the things that are hard in my life surfacing all at the same time, plus heartbreak and sorrow among friends and strangers alike:  note to self:  STOP READING THE NEWS FIRST THING IN THE MORNING!), Ima going to look at some good:  productive morning, cooperative puppy, beautiful day, good people I truly enjoy and kindred spirits at work, a surprise visit from a dear friend.

And hello, really, REALLY good donuts!

My older kids are still outside burning stuff. I'm calling it a night.

'Night.

Road trip randomnimity (not a real word, but it should be)

Just pulled into town from Idaho where I said goodbye to my aunt and uncle, spent some time with family for a special family occasion, met up for lunch (specifically QUESO) with one of my Internet friends, and mostly just enjoyed getting out of Dodge. (Note: I don't actually live in Dodge. In fact I do actually love where I live. But just like I still live for the weekend even though I [mostly] love my job, I also live for a road trip even though I really love my town.)

Here are a few random observations and recollections of my trip, along with a couple more pics.

I am enamored with the sky. Once we made it over the border we literally drove off into the sunset and it nearly killed me that I couldn't drive and take a gazillion pictures. So I limited myself to taking two or three shots from the car singlehandedly with the other hand on the wheel. (But still much to the chagrin and discomfort of my mother, whom I was chauffeuring.)

What you missed here was the Snake River, just to the left. I love the wide and windy ways of the Snake River. Every time we came up on it I announced its presence to all the occupants of the car. "Snake!"

In my other life, I lived and raised my kids on one of those farms you see out in the middle of nowhere, with tall trees surrounding the house and a barn off to the back somewhere amidst pastures full of cows and horses. There is a pond on the premises. And both ducks and chickens. As well as a dog smart enough not to chase and/or eat either. And my children work from sunup to sundown and say "Yes ma'am." "No ma'am." "Thank you ma'am." And walk two miles every day to school and back in the snow uphill both ways. You know, so they can grow up and be responsible citizens.

There were two towns for which I saw signs that intrigued me. Bliss. And Hells Canyon.

I want to live in Bliss just so I can write my return address on everything and have my home address indicate over and over and over again that I live in Bliss.

Hells Canyon intrigued me because of the lack of apostrophe, which indicated that it is not possessive (the canyon belonging to Hell), but plural. The thought of plural hells which one could possible visit or in which one could possible live or even of several hells all rolled into one gives me pause. Like many places I saw, such a place might be interesting to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

(Note: You will notice I certainly have more to say about Hell than I do about Bliss.)

In all we traveled over 1000 miles. I am once again reminded that we (as in my family and friends) are all good people living imperfect lives and just trying to be good, do good and make the world a better place for our time here. I am sometimes sad for the next generation (sad for how our inadequacies and for the many ways what the world sucks out of us in turn affects them), but mostly hopeful that they are better and in many ways more prepared than we are and that somehow that will make them equal to the task of what lies ahead. Above all (and in spite of its state of chaos and imperfection) it is good to be home again.

Giant bull seen on the Utah side of the road home. Because why not? Nothing says welcome to Utah like a giant bull.

Labor and delivery

Several years ago I was home alone on the day before Thanksgiving when my mother called and asked if she could drop by. Two of my brothers and there families were in coming in from Oregon and Thanksgiving--for some reason or another--was going to be held at my house. Almost all of us were going to be together for Thanksgiving, which is quite unusual. There were still pies to be baked and potatoes to be scrubbed. I told my mother I would be home and she was welcome to drop by.

As I waited for my mother, I happened to be sitting on the sofa in my living room, with a good view of the front door, but not of the street. I glanced out the window just as my brother from Las Vega walked up to the door and began to knock. This particular brother, my baby brother, was not expected for Thanksgiving, so I was surprised and quite excited to see him. Thinking he had just decided to surprise us for Thanksgiving, I jumped up off the sofa and ran down the stairs to throw open the door before I realized what he was carrying.

It was a brand new carseat/baby carrier. Covered in a soft green/brown blanket with hints of pink.

***********

Several months previously, I had gathered family photos and filled out a short profile on our family and written a recommendation for my brother and sister-in-law, who, after years waiting for another child, had decided to adopt. It was from them I had first heard tell of the awful effects of Clomid. It was them with whom I cried over the phone when they explained to me how they went to pick up a much anticipated newborn only to have the birth mother change her mind.

***********

I screamed.

I cried.

I had to hold that sweet baby girl.

Finally, I invited them in from the cold of winter and asked to hear the story of how their little girl--for this one was truly theirs--had finally come to to them. They are very private people, particularly online, and it is not my story to tell, particularly here. But miracle it was and yet another witness to me of something I already knew: families are forever and children find their respective families one way or another; it is never by accident.

I pulled my brand new niece (one of only three and also, thus far, the last) close to me and snuggled my nose into the crook of her soft neck, inhaling deeply that sweet scent of newborn as my brother told me how this child had finally found them. I was sworn to secrecy. We plotted with my mother how best to pull off a grand surprise for the rest of my siblings at Thanksgiving dinner the next day.

They snuck in through the back door the next day as most of the rest of my family gathered around my table to feast and give thanks. More screams. More tears. Love. Absolute joy. An abundance of gratitude.

It was the best Thanksgiving ever.

journeys

Some of my favorite childhood memories involve our annual summer trek from our home in the Willamette Valley of Oregon to my grandparents' cattle ranch in Rich County, Utah. In those days the speed limit was 55mph and the roads were not what they are today and the trip took a good 15-16 hours. Whether in our old Chevy Impala station wagon or, later, a great big blue Ford Econoline van (there was no mini in that van), the trip would consist of six sprawling--sometimes singing, sometimes fighting, sometimes sleeping--kids of various ages, few stops, carrot sticks and homemade sandwiches. One of the best parts of the drive was the halfway point, where we would stop for the night at my mom's sister's family farm in Weiser, Idaho. Weiser visits bring to mind sleeping bags strewn family style on the family room floor, homemade cinnamon bread, full on farm-style breakfasts, floating down the lazy Weiser River, chasing cats and chickens, picking raspberries, lots of hard work, love and hugs.

Today I drove my mom up from the Boise area where we are staying to say goodbye to her sister, who is learning not one but two new languages and leaving in a few weeks to serve among expat domestic workers in Hong Kong. She made us some delicious pumpkin muffins. We sat on her floor and played marble games, drove up to the fields to watch the harvest, and went into town for sandwiches, chocolates and a waffle cone.

It's a long, long way from a sugar beet farm in Weiser, Idaho, to the city of Hong Kong. I acknowledge and appreciate both the courage and the sacrifice required to embark upon such a journey.

Take that, conspiring fates!

(Post edit: That was my first post via my iPhone. It truly was 3 minutes to midnight. My battery was dying. And Blogger wouldn't accept any posting from my various browsers. It's easier to finish something you actually start, so I'm happy I didn't give up before I began.)


For the past several years I have participated in something I like to call NoBloPoBlahBlahBlah. This year my blog is dead, it's 3 minutes to Nov 2, and Blogger hates all my browsers, but I am determined. It's not much, but it's all I got.

Thanks for reading.

As several distinct worrisome circumstances collide around me at the same time right now, I find a stronger need to note and relish the simple blessings that help me get through the day. It's time to pick this one back up again and let it carry me through. Tuesday: rain, cool grey clouds against the fresh green of spring and the ever present comforting shoulders of the mountains of the wasatch front. followed by the deep warmth of blue sky and sun out on the ball park. it was the perfect day. Wednesday: an out-of-the-blue text: i love you mum. and a dear and constant friend who texted me out of the blue "Do you need a hug?" on the very day when i most definitely realized that while the many virtual hugs i've received do lift, cheer and carry, what i needed most was the infusion of physical love, affection and support that can only be found in an actual, literal hug. thank you, dear b. Thursday: the cool of the morning. a few moments home alone to put at least a few things back in order. discovering that the thawing food in our garage freezer was due to a door being left open and that, at least today, i don't have to add "shop for a new freezer" to my list of things to do today. a gentle reminder that six weeks from today i will be able to wrap my arms around my zack once again and that for the first time in nearly four years we will all be together again.