Gimme a B-E-D!

Gimme an H!

H

Gimme an I!

I

Gimme a K!

K

Gimme an E!

E

Whuzzit spell?

No! Try again!

Whuzzit spell?

Nooooooooo! Keep at it; third time's the charm.

Whuzzit spell?

Y-E-O-W!

O-U-C-H!

W-A-A-A-H-FOR-THE-LOVE-OF-PETE!

The Jellystone Park forest ranger types recommended that hikers allow about an hour to make it up to the entrance of Timpanogos Cave. Christian and I BOOKED IT and made it up in 37 minutes. We didn't stay for the main event of actually going through the cave, we just hiked the trail for the sake of hiking it. Pretty darn fun. My boy and me. Out in nature. A fabulous time. Loved it. Loved every minute of it. Except for the going down part. A bloody sock and occasional stabbing pains warning that the pinched nerve level was soon going to be elevated from yellow to orange were not fabulous. Now, if you'd be so kind,

Gimme a C!

C

Gimme an A!

A

Gimme a N!

N

Gimme an E!

E . . .

Three Movements

A lovely summer evening was in store for our gang as we settled in at the American Fork Amphitheater with a homemade pork sparerib picnic dinner, blankets, and gorgeous weather. I just adore evenings like this. No big woopty-wop, just sweet times and wonderful feelings all around.

A couple of notes about the following video:

*If you are a crossover reader from Ashley's blog, you have already seen Kimball do his thing; my camera shot is more of a rear-end view but equally adorable! Such a popular kid with multiple cameras trained on him at all times :D

*The featured violinist, Jenny Oaks Baker, is a Juilliard grad and a hot ticket among the LDS crowd. She is the teal blob you see next to the conductor. (My apologies for the more-than-just-slightly-horrendous video quality--I only recently learned that it is not due to my lame-o camera as I so smugly thought, but to lame-o me for having it on the wrong setting.) Moving along! Moving along! It looks like Ms. Baker is about to be taken out by the conductor's elbow at any moment, but the heavens smiled upon her, and thankfully that never happened. It would have made for some fun YouTube video though. If one's camera was on the correct setting . . .

*We were trying to be on our best concert behavior because, as luck would have it, we found ourselves seated right next to the conductor's family. And I mean, RIGHT NEXT TO! AND ALMOST ATOP OF! In fact, I think the conductor's adult son ended up licking dollops of BBQ sauce from our spareribs off of his pants at one point during a Ralph Vaughan Williams piece. That's how close we were. I think Dave and the conductor's son are now officially engaged.

Glad That Got Cleared Up!

Let's all belt out a great big "hallelujah" for those caption/cutline writers! Without the clarification offered in the caption for this photo, I'm sure I would be scratching my noggin' til my dying day wondering just who is who.

Click on image to enlarge

They don't call those long-time Floridian sun-worshippers "alligator skinned" for nothin'!

Spicey!

You all have seen the Old Spice commercials, right? "I'm on a horse." Hilarious. You haven't? If not, you are outing yourself as a non-reader of my blog because I featured an Old Spice commercial in a post not too long ago here! Tsk, tsk, and tut, tut, and shame on you if you missed that one. And don't tell me about it because I don't wanna know that you haven't been reading my blog. I'll just remain in a state of ignorance about my non-readers because, dagnabit, I'm quite fragile. And besides, if you are a non-reader, well, then, you are non-reading this right now, right? And now I feel like I'm in Back to the Future or something wacked out because none of this makes sense anymore.

So, back to the point. Yeah, I know--FINALLY! Well, there's a new Old Spice kid in town:

Coincidence or Crafty Crafting Caper?

Before we begin today's proceedings, please view Exhibit "A"

commencing at the 2:30 mark:

Me: "Yes, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I posted this very idea on my blog earlier this week, and yesterday it showed up on their television show! I WANT JUSTICE, AND I WANT IT NOW!"

Attorney for KSL Studio 5: "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Better Homes and Garden Magazine sells over 7.6 million copies of its magazine a month. This crafty idea was featured therein. Don't you think it might be a remote possibility that the producers of this show saw the idea in the magazine as opposed to haphazardly stumbling across it on this crazy person's sorry little blob?"

Me: "Well, yeah, but . . . but . . . but . . . I have lots and lots of (at least two and sometimes three!) readers who could have nicked the idea from my blog and sent it viral or even (gasp!) tweeted about it!"

Attorney for KSL Studio 5: "7.6 million copies a month, ladies and gentlemen. 7.6 million. I don't even make that much in a month! Well, not in a slow month, anyway. Anywho! 7.6 million magazines are a lot! She doesn't have a prayer of proving this accusation."

Me: "Well, maybe not. Tell you what. I won't raise anymore ruckus about the show filching my idea (never-you-mind about me copying it, that's beside the point and not important right now). Where was I? Oh, yeah. So I'll let KSL off the hook if you'll get me a photo op for my blog with some sort of famous person from around here like David Archuleta or Jazz Bear or Robert Redford, cuz I hear you entertainment attorney types know people who know people. Yeah? Really? You will? Great! Oh-kay! That's more like it! Ready? Johnny Depp. Give me Johnny Depp, then I'll drop the lawsuit. It's Johnny Depp or nothing. Hey! Where are you going? You can't just walk away like that! And, stop calling me 'that crazy blob person'! For your information, it's a BLOG not a BLOB! Hey! Come back here you, you, you . . . (gulp) lawyer!"

Attempting Failing to Craft!

The photo below shows the goal I was shooting for, straight from the glossy pages of BH&G Magazine. Looky here. So cute.

In very short order, "the goal" morphed and became one of merely restraining myself from hucking my pitiful little efforts out the back door to our local herd of deer who insist on having a coffee klatch in our backyard on a nightly basis. So, as you will see, my version turned out okaaaaay; just not quite fit for an 8X10 glossy close-up, unfortunately.

Here's how the madness went down: After having absolutely zero luck finding meringue cookies at any bakery (am I asking too much here, people?), I did what the Little Red Hen would have done in the same situation, and I made them myself! (Kind of a royal pain, if you want to know the truth. But Little Red would have been so very proud!)

After a healthy dunking in the Chocolat Vat de Love, the cones were filled with more chocolate in the form of delish M&Ms, as well as a little note from me, then topped with a sandwich made of two kissing meringue cookies with additional oozing chocolatey chocolateness from the Chocolat Vat de Love between them.

Then came the part where I was really using my noggin', as in, using my noggin' for something besides banging it against my kitchen counter as I rued starting this fiasco in the first place. Since the cones had pointy bottoms and not flat bottoms, it was an exercise of cunning and desperation to figure out where to let these doodahs set up. Take a look below at raw ingenuity at work. My kitchen basically ran amok with ice cream cones for the better part of an entire afternoon.

And now. Here they sit. I have begged, pleaded, and/or surreptitiously slipped them in visitors' pockets, purses, babies' diapers (ooh! that's a little uncomfortable!), all in an effort to get these out of the house. I guess I shall be hucking them out the back door after all.

Editor's Postscript: They are gone. With the exception of the few cones which I was able to foist on much-too-gracious-to-say-no-straight-to-my-face friends and family, they. are. gone. Duly hucked. "That's it! Out you two pixies go--through the door or out the window." Name the movie, smarty-pants.

Separated at Birth, Part Two

While we're on the subject of greatness imitating greatness (yes, we were talking about that {sorta} {in a roundabout way} {kinda} {maybe} {maybe not}), I give you a perfect example of mankind's innate desire to be just like a beloved and revered mentor.

Here we see that Kimball just can't keep himself from imitating greatness; he loves his mama with all of his heart and soul and wants to be just like her when he grows up.

Ashley's Touchdown Pose

Kimball's Touchdown Pose

(Kimball has practiced and practiced mimicking his mama so

much that he can even do it in his sleep!)

Separated at Birth

You all have your favorite TOP THREE right? Your top three favorite movies; your top three favorite television shows; your top three songs; your top three favorite ways to irritate mimes; your top three brands of hemorrhoid cream; your top three uses for Grandpa's toupee; etcetera, etcetera. So among my top three favorite books is "To Kill a Mockingbird." And among my top three favorite movies is "To Kill a Mockingbird." Huh. Go figure.

Anyway, from the moment one of the main characters, Scout, and I were introduced, I have always felt a distinct kinship with her. Soul mates without the actual soul patch. She was a tomboy. Same here! She had a brother who was slightly older and wiser. Same here! She liked to tag along with her brother and be a pest. Same here! (So sorry about that, J.) She wore her big brother's hand-me-downs. Same here! Same here!!! Me! Me! Me! Even to the point that I was sometimes mistaken for a little boy.

Phil Merrill's mother, upon first eyeing me up and down: "Now, who is this cute little boy?

Phil Merrill, my brother J and me: Dead silence. Shuffle, shuffle. Eyes on the ground. Toe tap, toe tap. Crickets chirping. AWKWARD.

Sidebar: I have finally concluded that it was in the very instant of that decidedly humiliating meet-n-greet that my quest for obscene amounts of high heels was born.

SO!

Very recently, another big brother of mine somehow dug up a photograph of me, the likes of which I have never seen. No joke. Being the sixth kid in a family didn't make me the target of the camera lens very often.

Sigh.

Sigh.

Okay. Enough pouting. So, consider the picture my big brother G pulled out of his hat, and then check out Scout. I rest my case, Your Honor.

Don't mean to make a big deal out of it, but what's up with my brother J being all buttoned-down and fancy and well groomed and presentable in this photo while I, on the other hand . . . .

Do We Ever Really Know?

I'm going to go and get all serious on you. And sappy. Quite sappy. Embarrassingly sappy. Just forewarning ya. You know the risk, so now you're on your own.

I would like you to ponder a thought: Do we ever really know how our actions can touch the lives of others? Do we ever fully realize to what extent our influence has on those around us? Yup, we know that what we say and do to and for others leaves our mark. But we probably conclude that our impact leaves even less of an imprint on those who stand on the periphery of our personal world only catching a mere whiff of us and our doings. Not necessarily so.

I was given an absolute gift by a couple of complete strangers a few months ago. It was a gift that was not necessarily intended for me personally. A gift that makes me a little teary even now. What was that gift? I received a beautiful glimpse into the very same world my adorable Sean is a part of this very moment while he is living and serving in Honduras. Such a gift. Very maudlin, I know, but also very true.

A local film festival screened a documentary called "Rise," the story about an old, broken man in Honduras who was struck with polio as a child but whose dream for the last 50 years has been to build a working helicopter using only junk culled from the junkyard. Oh, and he's doing it inside his home. It is an incredible story. A story told very well with the backdrop being the very country and culture that Sean has grown to love so much. The film was shot in Sean's mission, and after I viewed the film, I asked Sean if he knew the area. Yes, indeed. Sean wrote that he has been in that little town often and knows exactly where and to what I was referring. Such a gift. Such a gift to me! I acknowledge that I am crazy sentimental--I do love that boy to pieces! So, a gift to me!!! A gift of seeing the exact same streets, markets, hovels, poverty, and humanity that Sean has experienced during his time of service and sacrifice.

You just never know whose life you will touch by living yours. So, I say thank you to those filmmakers for my precious gift. Gracias, hombres. Gracias tonto.

(The actual documentary shows much more of the landscape and day-to-day living of Honduras, but the following trailer will give you a taste.)

"Rise" a documentary by Tyler Bastian and Trevor Hill

(You can click on the four-arrow icon for full-screen viewing.)

XXI

Yesterday was a big milestone for this little guy! I can't believe my little Seanie-Boy is 21 years old!!!

And even more amazing is that I get the unbelievable privilege of being his mom! Insane! Crazy insane! How, in the name of all that is good and holy, did that happen? This is a boy who possesses the biggest heart, the sincerest spirit, the kindest soul, the most genuine sense of empathy, the strongest desire to be obedient, the complete absence of judgment or guile, and the coolest laugh EVER!!!

Just in case you're wonderin',

I LOVE THIS ELDER OF ISRAEL!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SEAN!!!

Do You Scream? (For Ice Cream?)

Just for the fun of it, I threw down the gauntlet to my little band of 90 half-pints, challenging them to correctly answer a question from the LDS Church magazine, the Friend, in exchange for a delicious ice cream cone. They accepted my challenge with gusto! And their parents too! People do like their ice cream, I must say.

I really had no idea how many kids and/or parents to expect, maybe a dozen? In the end, I counted 83 people in my backyard itching for a lick of goodness, and found myself holding my breath in hopes that my ice cream supply didn't run out right then and there, just in time for some unlucky little Sunbeam to throw a hissy fit and declare Sister Sagers "mean." I'm glad to say that we made it with literally two soupy scoops of Cookies 'N Cream to spare. Luckily, our very foul weather of late cooperated perfectly for that hour (and for that hour only), and we had a fabulous time in my backyard with ice cream, friends, big band music, and even a jumbo-size thank you note for our bishop.

See if you can come up with the answer to the question posed. I'd be happy to ship off an ice cream cone to you if you come up with the goods!

PLEASE READ! Limited Liability Clause: I do not, in any way, guarantee that your ice cream cone will arrive at your home in any sort of edible condition. In fact, I absolve myself of any and all claims for reimbursement made upon you from your mailperson for official USPS uniform dry cleaning for the removal of rocky road stains.

So, are you game? Cuz here we go:

QUESTION:

In which temple was Isaac sealed

to his mother and father?

Click on image below to find the answer. Either that, or get out your humungous magnifying glass so you can read these teensy tiny teeny words.

Orders will be accepted in the "leave a comment" section.

Can you see the storm starting to brew in this last picture? The rain had already begun to sprinkle a bit making this ginorm thank you note a bit ruffly, but BLOW ME DOWN! The subsequent hour or so about knocked my shoes off with all of that howling, blowing, blustering. And that was just Dave. You should have seen the actual storm!

Vote Early, Vote Often!

Tomorrow is voting day in my state--and none too soon! So many robo phone calls! So many "political celeb" endorsements! So much desperation! Since the powers that be didn't see fit to include me on this year's slate for Queen, I decided to create my very own ballot. So, get ready to pull that lever (or click your mouse as the case may be). No need to panic, you won't be called upon to vote me in as Queen; that honor is left to some chick named Elizabeth or Victoria. "Deon" just doesn't cut it, apparently. Jeepers. That name will continue to haunt me until the day I die, so it seems.

Ready? Here we go! There have been a handful of television commercials shown this year that have seriously tickled my funny bone, and I have uploaded them for your viewing and voting.

You're welcome.

Which commercial is your fave?

Be sure to vote in the poll at the right of my blog! See it? Right over there. Imagine me pointing to the right. Right over there. Right there! Now do you see it? If you vote, you can slap on an imaginary "I Voted Today!" sticker. Now, let's get out the vote!

(So sad for you if you don't know Aretha or Liza, cuz if you don't, you're missing out on some pretty hilarious stuff. FYI.)

VOTE!

Yummy!

I very nearly whipped out the streamers and tooters in celebration on Monday because a brand spankin' new photo from Sean arrived in my inbox! Now we do The Dawnce of Joy!!!

We shall also play a game.

In this photo, can you spy:

*One extremely handsome, rip-your-heart out, tender, gentle, kind, devoted, awesome boy

*Three red pencils (not necessarily together)

*A wallet

*2:47

*France

*Some sort of a doodah that looks like an underwater camera, but I think I've seen it in one of Sean's previous photos being utilized as a funky Honduran hair brush

*What I suspect might be--but hope with all of my heart that they aren't--pills for the proper care and annihilation of intestinal p-p-p-parasites. There. I said it. Yes. I think Sean might have a parasite. Okay dokey, then.

You may want to enlarge the photo

to increase your odds of winning

My. Isn't he the cutest thing?

Because I have a a ginormo generous and giving heart, and because I have this desperate inner drive to make you like me, here is a cheat sheet. Hopefully, this will help you all feel really good about reading my ramshackle little blog now and then. Thanks for comin'!

Answers circled in blue. Well, it's really more of a cerulean blue, but

I didn't want to sound too out-of-touch with the common folk.

So, I guess I'll just stick with blue.

The Main Event

As promised, I am more than just a tad proud to present to you:

Master Suave N. Debonair

PROM 2010

After dining with six other couples and before heading out to the actual dance, the gang had about an hour to kill. What to do, what to do. This foursome came back to our house, and Christian stared at me with a bit of desperation in his eyes and pleading in his smile. (Help!) WHAT TO DO? WE HAVE AN HOUR OF AWKWARD NOTHINGNESS TO DO! Hey! Go jump on the trampoline in the backyard! Nooooooo. Those hairdos cost good money. Um, play Wii? So unoriginal. Ride our motorcycles? Heck, yeah!!! Oh. Nope.

I was wracking my brain for an idea when a little voice in the back of my noggin kept saying that this is the perfect opportunity for a bit of service to be rendered--we have the time, we have the willing hands, we have the dire situation of doing something, ANYTHING! Wham! I had it! Make cookies and deliver them to someone! But who? As it turns out, all of these kids live in the same stake. So it was decided. Three plates of cookies were made and delivered; one for President Richards, one for President Goodsell, and one for President Cooper. Christian reported back that all three were home and that all three were duly impressed at being served a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies by the local maitre d' and his waitstaff. Tuxes and all. The dance seemed all the more fun after that.

Veering off topic only slightly: Every time I buy a new picture frame and start removing the manufacturer's fake photo of the fake happy couple wearing their fake tans in front of the fake beach, I think, are there really such darling couples in the world that aren't fake? In a word, yes:

Can't you just imagine the little UPC bar code and the words,

"5X7 Photo Frame" stamped across the bottom of this pic?

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

I'm putting together a birthday package for Sean. [NEWS FLASH! Sean will be 21 on June 29!!! My little Seanie-boy will soon be able to go nightclub hopping legally! jk! JK!!! Sean is the best missionary e-v-e-r! And I digress.]

Anywho, problems arise when I try to figure just what, exactly, I should send to Sean for his birthday. He doesn't want more junk gifts to lug around from transfer to transfer; cookies or brownies would be as rock-hard as my head after they sit in no-man's land for three to six weeks before they reach him; I don't think he would appreciate a new guitar amplifier at this juncture; and, sending pricey stuff is just asking for nothin' but trouble with a capital "T" and that rhymes with "P" and that stands for pickpocketer. That leaves me with very few options, including another MoTab CD (which Sean loves, so he's getting one), tons of American chocolate candy bars (which Sean really loves, so he's getting lots and lots), and something green (which Sean really, really loves, so he's getting that too):

I got this idea from my sister-in-law who, when asked what she gave to her missionary son for his birthday, told me that she transferred his favorite scripture onto a new pillowcase with an iron-on doodah thingy. Brilliant! Apparently, receiving a nice, clean, unstained pillowcase was the best thing in the world for my nephew serving in Japan, and the scripture on it was simply icing on the cake. My humble attempts here are sort of an embarrassment (understatement!), but next go-round, I'll understand that the ENTIRE page gets transferred, not just the black words. Ya live 'n learn, I guess. Either that, or you just have to be smarter than an iron-on transfer doodah thingy. I'm trying here, people!

One of Sean's very best buddies is serving in Brazil, and he happens to share Sean's birthday, so I made one for him too. And before you ask, the answer is yes, with his own favorite scripture, not Sean's. I'm not that impaired, you guys. Oi to you, Elder Boyd!

Epilogue: Uh, I guess you get the last laugh because I really am that impaired. Today at church I glanced at Sean's missionary plaque in the windowcase, and just now, right now, this exact instant, this very moment, after posting the picture of the awesome (not) pillowcase, I realize that it bears (take a big breath) the. wrong. scripture. Instead of Helaman 8:5, it should be Helaman 5:12. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. (That's me hitting my head against the wall ala Charlie Brown.) Rats.

Would You Do It?

Would receiving $9 an hour to organize, file, and alphabetize bile be enough to keep you on the job? I'll be straight up--I'd really have to give that opportunity serious second thoughts.

Where Oh Where Has My Little Dog Gone?

Well, I'll tell you where he's gone. He's gone and gotten himself caught under the tire of the Fiat with no hopes of escaping. That's where he's gone!

I drove up my driveway and into my garage after I had been out . . . wait for it . . . shopping(!!!), and I noticed our neighbor's little mouse dog frolicking around the Fiat. (Sometimes this doggy is allowed to run willynilly around the neighborhood spreading good cheer and all that.) This itty bitty little tuft of a thing has taken command of my garage before, and I didn't want to risk shutting the big garage door on him yet again. JUST JOKING!!!! I didn't really shut the garage door on him before. I have, however, worked up a sweat trying to coax and lure him back outside.

So, it turns out that it was a good thing that I decided not to close the garage door or that little doggie might never have made it home. I hopped out of my car expecting to see little Puffball--my name for him, not his--yippity yipping with joy at my feet. But, huh. Where was he? Gaaaack!!! I didn't accidentally run him over did I? Holy mackerel! But, nope. He had curiously managed to tether himself under the wheel of the Fiat. I suppose it was his way of ensuring that my big SUV's tires didn't gobble him up and spit him out. Smart. Despite the size of his head and hence his brain, that little doggie is very, very smart. Self-preservation is his middle name.

Now, Puffball's roommates, THE BUNNIES, on the other hand, . . . well, that's a story for another day. I'll just tease you with this: Farmer Dave adores his beloved marigolds. And, what do you know, so do THE BUNNIES. That's all I'm going to say about that. I don't want to incriminate any BUNNY without a fair trial before a jury of his peers.

Now That's Class

Remember this Q&A? Except for the fact that Christian never found the needle in the haystack, he and Haylie had a great Prom weekend.

'Round these parts it is very much expected that couples go on "day dates" the morning or afternoon before Prom. Yep. It can get to be a rather long day if the couple doesn't exactly thrill at the sight of one another, a very, very long day, if you catch my drift. Happily, that wasn't the case here. Anyway, "day dates" range from paintballing to picnicking, to the lame-o watching a movie in someone's theater room in the basement of their parents' home. Yeah. Well, Christian has a lot of class, that's all I've got to say. No afternoon matinee of sappy "A Walk in the Clouds" for him and his gal. He rounded up Haylie and five other couples the night before Prom and drove to Salt Lake City to see the Utah Symphony perform my absolute favorite, beloved, break-your-heart-because-it-is-such-a-beautiful-piece-of-musical-magic: Rimsky-Korsakov's Scheherazade. Now, that's what I call charming with a capital "C-L-A-S-S".

Coming soon: Pics of the darling couple as they head out to the main event!

Ladies Who Lunch & Kimball

What does one give to the mother who basically has everything she wants and/or needs? Not counting that speedy black Aston Martin that Mom's been hinting at, I mean? I just couldn't swing the Aston Martin, so as an alternative Mother's Day gift to my mom, I offered to take her out to lunch on the first Wednesday of every month. Ashley and Kimball treated me to lunch, I treated Mom and Ashley to lunch, and Kimball treated himself to a big heaping helping of adorableness, making the afternoon one big, jolly affair. Dining alfresco was tops.