Special delivery to Spokane

from Thursday, December 24, 2009 at 3:47pm

I wanted to make my sister a table top water fountain for Christmas. After some fits and starts getting a design, I figured out that the rocks I got and the amount of rocks were heavier than I originally planned. And upon further pondering, I realized I had qualms about boxing up rocks and paying to send them through the mail. After all, Trina has rocks in her yard. Really, paying for a heavy box of rocks made no sense to me. I considered sending a gift card to Home Depot to get her own (or wash the ones from the yard.) Ben suggested I personally deliver them. The "seats available" looked good so off I went.

I put the pot in with my clothes, wrapped with the t-shirt and socks. I double bagged the rocks and put them in the same duffel. I wondered if TSA would consider them dangerous. I mean, Goliath died.

Sure enough. I watched my duffel go through the x-ray. I saw what she saw on that screen. I saw the look on her face. And was not surprised when she pulled my duffel off the belt and informed me that she was taking a look inside. I told her to look under the jeans. The look on her face was wonderful. Yes, there really were rocks in there. She said it did look a little funny on the screen. I knew that.

I put the fountain together for Trina last night. Brooke has lived in dorms and apartments for 1 1/2 years at college. I'm not sure if that experience lead to her reaction to the gurgling and trickling that came from the fountain as it sat on the counter and we watched BYU basketball, interspersed with Utah football. Brooke observed that it sounded like someone taking care of business in the bathroom. Then she got up and went to the bathroom herself. (I think she was getting ready to work out, but the timing was more than coincidental?)

Rachel came in from a day on the slopes with friends.

I felt so lucky to sit with that "boring" family. Stephan came home; Trina, the girls and I had just finished eating. The something bowl was on and Utah was playing. So everyone was just sitting together. Boring is nice. Even peaceful.

Trina had called back after I asked if I could come. She was remembering events from the previous visit (not her fault). I told her I really just wanted to sit quietly in a warm safe place. The Ford home is that.

1st Night in Philly

from Friday, January 1, 2010 at 10:31am

I did not jump up on the #10 trolley in time. Taylor srung aboard. I didn't know to knock or pound or stick my foot in to keep the door open. And off it went, Taylor was just shrugging his shoulders with a smirk.
I didn't even remember what trolley had just left Market & 30th St station. I was just going to follow Taylor. He also knew the stop, as close to 37th Ave as possible. I wondered if I should get scared for my safety. Another trolley came in and out. I asked a group of teenage boys what trolley had left. They knew it was 10 which sounded familiar. Then I waited for the next #10, which was a while in coming.

I hoped Taylor would get off on the next stop and wait for me. Nope. And not the next one.

There was no phone service being several layers underground. And my phone was on yellow bars at that.

So when I heard 36th street stop, it sounded good and I got off. It was dark. I have no idea if this is a good neighborhood or not. But no one is on the street anyways. I can see a few lights in windows of street level stores.

I called Taylor; he was at 38th street and we wanted 37th street so we walked toward each other.

I had made reservation at a B&B in University City, it turned out, near Drexel Univ. I checked in and we walked back to a Thai restaurant that I had passed and was recommended by Janet, the innkeeper. She also said that I could call for a free escort service (not the kind that 1st comes to mind), but a real one where someone will come out and walk you or follow on a bike.

My son is a good sport. I didn't get out the door in time to go to Independence Hall before I met him after work. I drug him along as I went to see for real what I used to go see at Knott's Berry Farm. It's pretty much that last place he would visit in Philadelphia.

I had a nice visit with Taylor. And I am secure that he has warm outerwear now.

Reason #103 I love to teach!

From April 22, 2010
I gave the students the materials to play with inertia. One of the activities involved a pint-sized plastic milk bottle, a 10" embroidery hoop and 4 hex nuts. They stand the hoop at the opening of the bottle and balance a hex nut at the top and try to grab the hoop away and let the hex nut fall into the bottle. Notice how I continually call these "hex nuts". The record today was 8 hex nuts dropped in at once; second place was 5 at a time.

My first two classes are small, and I had enough plastic bottles for 6 groups. But the next class needed materials for 7 groups. The 7th hoop was on the table so the 7th group got it. They asked me for the other supplies, and I got out a graduated cylinder and gave it to them. I returned to the front of the room, continued to monitor the progress, and grade notebooks.

From the back of the room over the din and the clamor of activity, I hear, "Miss, I have no nuts!" I looked up. Not a soul was reacting. Except the kid in the back with the red shirt and redder face. His head was cradled in his arms. I quietly walked back and asked him if I heard what I thought I heard. He repeated it. So I have him some HEX nuts.

I snorted and chuckled for the rest of the day.

When I told the story to my last class, only 2 kids laughed. Apparently the rest of them have not learned enough English. So, being a class I trust, I taught them some more English. I did warn them that if they used it in front of me, I would write a referral. When I used the word "testicles" I got more reaction. Apparently some of them know anatomy and physiology terms. And a few more got how funny the situation was.

I love my students!!

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Who's to Blame? My kid is a Punk.

I thought it started about 14 years ago. Miles was about 13 when he discovered the Ramones. I saw the patches and heard the music. Taylor and Serena became acquainted with them. Serena and Miles have identified themselves at various times in their lives as punks. The look, the attitude, the music of the punk rock genre permeated their existence. I used to think it went downhill after that.

I knew Miles would like music. In February 1984, Leticia held a beach party in her Provo apartment. It was a long cold winter that year, and we needed a break (us California girls). I was 7+ months pregnant. The Beach Boys dominated the stereo cassette player. Mr. P was probably there, pre-fiance status, so there may have been other music as well. But it would have been cool stuff, cuz we were. Cool. Miles, in utero, reacted. With enthusiasm. I finally had to lay down on Leticia's king-sized water bed and just let the baby rock out.

At some point early on of this saturation of punk music, maybe Miles was still in high school even, I had a memory from Wausau, Wisconsin. Jeff and I were living there for the summer. It was 1983. We were newlyweds. Idealistic, hopeful, romantic. Jeff came home from work one day and said we were going to a show. It was in a bar. I had never done that before. But he said was important we go because the band was important in the punk rock scene.


Jeff loved music. Mick Jagger and the Rolling Stones were favorites. We were heavy into the New Wave scene. I have a picture of him looking like Sting. Still one of my favs(can't find it just now), the picture that is-well Sting is OK too. Music was part of our relationship. We won a dance contest dancing to...?

So we went to the show. It was a dive. It was loud. I had no clue who the band was. My only memory of that night is "it was loud". I don't think I got it. And it was probably late and I am NOT a night owl.

As I considered that night and the band, whose name I didn't know then and couldn't quite remember, I wondered if it was the Ramones. And began telling the kids that I thought I had seen them.

Never got around to looking it up. Finally remembered to ask the ex-husband who had taken me there.
Here is the message from Facebook yesterday:

• 

  14 hours ago

  Edonna L Flake

  • what punk band did we see that summer in WI at some dive bar. All I remember is LOUD. But you said it was someone important in the punk scene of 1983.
• 

  9 hours ago

  Jeff Berrett

  • it was either the Ramones or the Romantics. I like to think it was the Ramomes. I can not find if they were touring where that summer
  • Oh my the Ramones were in Wausau, Wisconsin on June 3rd 1983. We were there. Wow. Take that punk rock children
     
     
     
     

BAM!!!!!!!!!
Ditto Jeff-Take that punk rock children!!

And I wasn't pregnant yet, so Miles was NOT there.

In my Spare Time, I Like to ... or What are your Hobbies?

First of all, for many years, there was no spare time. Up, eat, kids (& hubby), drive, work with more kids, drive, kids (& hubby), eat, sleep, repeat. Over and over. I was exhausted, and I don't remember summer.

So I always responded what I would do if I had any. Spare time.

The first hobby I remember is reading. What an escape!!! I ran the prairies with Laura and Caddie. I snooped with Nancy. There were various historic novels. I liked the west, history and mystery. I didn't just read; I was there..."Edonna, it's time to..." "Just a minute, Mother, I'm almost to the end of a page/chapter." And I could never stop when I was supposed to. In junior high, I discovered "Gone with the Wind" and "The Great Brain" series. High school, I "endured" the assigned books. College, I was more distracted, but I know I read some Shakespeare, but not enough, I earned a 'D' in that course. Like I said, distracted. Then I was a mother. With small children. But I still remember going back to Tara for three days as I read cover to cover. The kids survived. I don't do well breaking up my reading. Louis LaMour was introduced and was an icebreaker in talking to Ben. I finally gave Ben the time of day when we discovered the common interest.

I learned to sew, crochet and knit as a child. I took a semester course in floral design. As a young mother, I made clothes for us and decorations for the house. I liked the homemaking meetings when crafts were demonstrated. I decorated with country blue and poultry. Not that I especially liked them but those colors and patterns fell into my lap. I like crafts.
Crafts has expanded to playing with beads, scrap booking, and creating greeting cards. I love to put colors together. I crochet again.
And I don't have time for all of this. So I am putting off knitting and tatting, drawing and painting for some day. Retirement?
I like to garden. And yoga. And cooking and baking. And preserving the produce from the garden or good deals in season.

Peaches put to jam and jars. Joint project with Leticia.

25 # of corn, frozen

Sun-drying tomatoes mostly from the garden

Prom florals

more prom flowers

usually have homemade bread on hand

Birthday greetings with embossing

I'd wanted to make a log cabin quilt since I was 20. This one was completed more than 20 years later.

And I like to go places with Ben.

I find that if I want balance in my life, I do have to spend time creating occasionally.

And there are so many other interesting things to consider. When I have more time.

Reflecting on a Golden Childhood

I woke up laughing this morning. And when I was done snickering, I was nostalgic and reflective. I couldn't go back to sleep and got up early to get it out. Ben roused a minute and I told him the story from the dream. He laughed and went back to sleep. I must have slept well enough because I had random, vivid dreams.

I ate a corn tortilla, mini taco-looking thing. Angelia served some at a family party Sunday. I didn't eat one then because I don't eat corn. But in my dream, I ate it. And the tortilla was a good one, the sweetness and flavor came out like a well-made tortilla ought to. MMmmmmm. The intensity of taste and correct texture was in the dream. Still can almost taste it.

There was another one, political for some reason and one other about friends I would do service with at the church building.

But the one that has me dwelling in the golden nostalgia for childhood included women I have known the very longest (outside my family) that I still have contact with. They were the girls of Lakewood III ward.

When we moved into Lakewood and lived on Woodruff Ave, the ward was the 4th ward. My very first memory of that ward is Halloween. Mother took us to somebody's house where the kids had built a "haunted house" tour in their backyard. And the guide had the most interesting voice I'd heard in my short six years. I didn't know the family although I had been in Primary and Sunday School with them for about 2 months by then.

It was the Cope family. At the time, there were 5 kids. And they were fun-loving (still are), involved in everything, and seemed to include everyone. They were loud (not a bad thing I thought) and together. I always admired the family. Their mom was cool, and their dad became my bishop.

There were other homes I spent time in, I can picture the McAffe's, Bennett's, Harmon's and Larsen's. There were alot of us girls in that class. I went through school with these girls because I went to both Thomas Jefferson and Ester Lindstrom. We were at Roosevelt and Mayfair together. We weren't all part of the same groups at school, but we shared Primary and Sunday School lessons, MIA and girls' camp, roadshows and Seminary.

I dreamt there was some kind of reunion, so we were all women. We were at a community pool. In dreams, at least mine, juxtaposition is not a question, however bizarre it may be in reality. So it was no problem that when the life guards cleared the pool for 5 minutes and we stepped into the changing area, there was the Cope's home-which, as I now consider the layout, really wasn't so (remember juxtaposition in dreams) but we were comfortable thinking it was. As we waited, Stephanie, Bonnie, and Jody (with the fascinating voice) had just arrived. Karie and I were already changed, but I was having wardrobe issues and was glad for time to adjust an elastic band on top. Jodi doing a wardrobe check in the mirror and made a comment (in Spanish?!?! love my dreams!) which I caught and smiled at. But it triggered a memory from teaching. I told the story to the women who were the girls I grew up with.

9 years ago, I taught ESL Biology. I had a lab activity out, set up on the counters around the room. In those years, the style was that the hem of the shirt didn't quite make it to the waistline of the pants/skirt. Because of dress code, the girls overlapped as little as possible, we teachers reminded as much as possible, and the girls tugged down as pretentiously as possible. One girl in a short skirt leaned over at a station to complete the activity there. I was somewhat concerned about the skirt length and kept an eye out because the boys needed to finish their worksheet as well. She shifted and exposed the edge of her thong waistband, not the part of the skirt I had been worried about. I rolled my eyes and cast them about the classroom. Everyone else was engrossed in the work. Presently she must have felt the exposure of her back and made an adjustment. Instead of tugging her shirt down, like I expected, she reached for the waistband of her skirt. And got the thong, and gave it a tug. I still laugh as I imagine her face as she realized her error. I'm pretty sure I didn't laugh, but I'm pretty sure I smirked. When she turned around, she knew I had seen her gaffe. And apologized. I think I said something like I wasn't the one who was uncomfortable.

As I finished telling the story to my friends, I was laughing hard enough to bring tears to my eyes, remembering, and woke myself up. Smiling at my funny students, warm in the glow of childhood and nostalgia. Because as awkward and shy as I felt around the other girls, I could be amused and uninhibited around them as well. I always thought that was a liability. Today, I'm not so sure.

Laura, Caddie and I

I was a reader. Voracious. I don't read so much now because I sit and read. All at once. I don't do well stopping at chapters. And my life doesn't have those great blocks of time.
In my elementary school years, Laura Ingalls and Caddie Woodlawn were my heroines. Kinda still are. But I was a tomboy, and I understood their desire to get outside and play. Still do. And I was pretty sure I'd been born in the wrong time. I wanted to be a pioneer girl. My Easter dress in 5th or 6th grade included a pinafore. Mother had made this dress and pinafore, and I could pretend I was a pioneer girl. I still remember the image I had of myself standing confidently in the school yard.
But I didn't have the right shoes. Well, yes, one of those Christmases, I received lace up go go boots, but they were too high up my leg and didn't count. And sneakers just weren't pioneerish.

Many years later, I saw my shoes, practically exactly the ones I imaged so long ago.
I spent the money even though they were a half size too big. I don't remember how much they were. But I was divorced with three children and relying on child support and alimony. I didn't spend much on myself. But I favored myself that day.
They were my dancing shoes. I danced with many men in those. At dances in Utah and Arizona. Dancing was my escape those few years. For 3 hours a night, I danced my cares away. I wore them as a substitute teacher-"They look like witch shoes." "They look like Mary Poppins shoes." I didn't care. I had my pioneer shoes, the kind I'd always wanted.

The heels wore down. I had the tap replaced. I polished them and cared for them.
Then age set in and the pain I nearly always felt began to wear on me. I have to wear good shoes being on my feet all day. I balance comfort and cute so that my back and feet can get me through the day.
My beautiful black hook-and-lace shoes sit in the closet. Sometimes I dust them off to wear to church. If it's a good day, I've laced them up for school. I don't dance so much anymore, and only with my beloved. But I couldn't get rid of my shoes. They meant a childhood memory and self image. They carried me through the dark days of divorce and the aliveness of dancing. Should shoes mean so much? Really?

Then I saw these Saturday evening.
I couldn't walk away; I ordered another pair in olive green online because they were not in the store in my size. They zip (not pioneerish) and the buttons are decorations, but you should feel the leather! I paid enough for very soft, beautiful leather. And comfortable fit. My means have changed, but there is still a little pioneer girl, enough of a tomboy in me, who would really just rather be outside in the sunshine.