This time of the year it’s typically freezing (my idea of freezing is anything below 60 degrees) in the morning, so I lay in bed, surrounded by dog-heaters (they are actually good for something), looking though my phone until the furnace earns its keep and makes it possible for me to get out of bed. (I am finding, in my “old” age that temperature is important to me. The house has to be the right degree on the thermostat, cold or hot, for me to be content; and the pool water has to be 89 degrees for me to put a toe in the water. No matter if it’s a blistering hot summer day. Cold water is not my jam. Occasionally those who visit the pool make the mistake of saying out loud that the water is too hot. My response? “Get out and go home.” As far as I’m concerned, the gift of hot water is a direct blessing from a Higher Source.)
This morning, while I waited for a warm house, I realized I haven’t made a blog entry, religious or otherwise, in ages. And be it far from me to deprive my band of loyal blog followers—all eight of them—any longer than necessary.
(One dare not judge their popularity, by one way or the other, by the number of individuals who read their social media postings.)
Yesterday I gratefully dispatched a Stake Relief Society gospel study class lesson I had been working on for weeks. “The Gathering of Latter-day Israel” was not a subject in my current wheelhouse, so I had to hit the “books” and try and understand what I was supposed to teach. As is always, the teacher learns more than the student. And what did I learn? That there is a lot more to learn when it comes to this subject. But I did my best, and the most satisfying part of the lesson has come to pass: the end of it. Now on to fretting over the lesson I teach next month.
On a less religious note, a couple weeks ago I hosted the first Elk-Ridge-House-Spooky-Dinner. When we lived in Provo, this was a yearly event, but, since moving “down south” I have held the Halloween Carnival for the grandkids every year. The daughters thought that the children would be old enough to appreciate the Spooky Dinner, so I pulled out the stops and threw one heck of a one. We dined on Rat Butts, Monster Toes, Rotting Mummy Teeth, Ghose Orbs and Slime, Bat Poo, Lizard Legs, Blood and Tombstones, Canned Witch Spit, and Swamp Sludge. (These items might be commonly known as chicken thighs, roasted potatoes, corn, rolls and butter, olives, pickles, chips and salsa, soda, and jello.) The evening was topped off with a rousing game of Halloween Pictionary, then brownies and ice cream. I sent the kids home with eyeball gum balls and gummy body parts. (I tried to eat one of the gummy brains, but couldn’t do it and had to spit it out. It was like a grayish color and everything….gross)
The next night, actual Halloween, I became the witch (but did I really? Or did I just shed the mask of Sue and become my real self?) and did my best to scare little children. I had a measure of success. It was quite satisfying.
While I was sitting on the front step waiting for my next victim, the Husband came home. He didn’t know my plans and was caught off guard by his wife, huddled over a cauldron of candy, wearing a witch nose, covered in green skin, and wearing a full witch costume. His reaction was priceless.
Today is water the plants day. This is every Friday, more or less. I can tell when they need moisture because Hippy begins to droop and Snag and Bruce look sad. Everyone has their “crazy,” and mine is naming my plants (purses is another-but let’s not discuss that), all 30-some of my green friends. (Jim’s crazy was lightbulbs. He left Megan a closetful.) I truly think that Cain and Abel, Candy, Flash, Cash, Ike, Delilah, Francesca, Eve the Mother of All Living, Count VonPlant, Italics, Slick, Hilts, Fred and George Weasley, Burt and Ernie, Sugar, Ivy Walker, Glen and Marilyn, Spike, Janice, Plant Pualani, Chuck, Liz, LaFern, The Frat Boys, Mufasa, and Gandhi benefit from having an identity.
What is your crazy? We all have one.
Onna had a birthday. For her present, I took her shooting. Coni, my A Girl and a Gun Central Utah Chapter boss, agreed to give her some instruction. Coni was awesome and really helped Onna. By the end of the session, Onna was a certifiable danger to anyone who might attack her. I took the opportunity to work through two boxes of ammo to try and fix my aim with my pistol. I’m still pulling down and to the left a bit. Dang.
Operation MTC Pizza.
Last week I got an email from Elder Hansen (great-nephew, Briggs, who is in the Missionary Training Center in Provo getting ready to serve his two-year mission to St. George, Utah), requesting pizza. The conversation went something like this:
“Aunt Sue. Bring me a pepperoni pizza and a Utah flag to the drop off point behind the MTC on Monday at 9pm.”
“Briggs, are you serious?”
“And just where is this ‘drop off point’?”
I receive a Google Map picture of the area, with a red dot designating the “drop off.”
“I will be at the drop off at 9 with three pizzas and a full-size Utah state flag.”
So Monday evening, under cover of night, I pull up to said drop off point. Out of the darkness run two missionaries (they always come in pairs), complete with their missionary badges. We meet at the 7’ fence. I pass the flag through the slats, and the pizza boxes over the fence into the waiting hands of nephew Briggs. He says to me, “Better go before the cameras catch you.” And then he is off, disappearing into the recesses of the MTC. I speed away, feeling very much like I’m in an episode of Mission Impossible.
Whitney said in high school she used to bring Taco Bell to friends who were at the MTC and hankering for “normal food.” I have now joined the honored ranks of fast food smugglers. It’s just my way of supporting the Church’s mission efforts. We do what we can to further the work.