A Good Day

In the Mormon church, congregations, called wards, are decided by geographical location. Basically, what time you go to church depends on your address. Outside of Utah, a ward can cover a huge area. But right here in Utah you can live across the street from someone and belong to a different ward.

We moved about a 1/2 mile away from our old place, thus we are now in a new ward. Today was our first day. Do you know what I found? I found some really nice people who weren't afraid to introduce themselves to us. I found a bishop who already knew our names and had been expecting us. I heard talks on procrastination, patience, love, and gratitude. I'm really good at the first thing, and working on the other three, by the way. But most of all, and perhaps most comforting, I found a lot of the same thing I've found in other wards wherever I've lived: people who love God, who want to do good, and who are willing to serve in any way they can. Within hours of church ending, a sweet couple came by, just wanting to get to know us. They are anxiously awaiting the births of their 36th and 37th grandchildren (I know!) and treated my kids like they were the only kids on the planet. He brought an atlas of the local area and showed my son where all of his favorite hiking trails are, and upon discovering Jessica's love of piano playing, invited her to come and play music on his Phantom 4000 fancy-shmancy computerized music thing-a-mabob.

So, it was a good day. And a good reminder that there are fine and decent people everywhere you go.

A Spooktacular Spectacle

Have you ever noticed how with various holidays there comes a certain amount of pressure? The turkey had better be juicy or great-aunt Edna won't touch it. You feel the need to spend X amount of dollars on a certain Christmas present or someone is going to be disappointed. Even birthdays can be stressful.

But not Halloween. Dress up, spook out, and eat candy. That's it. So that's why I have this social fantasy. It goes a little something like this:

I would love to throw the biggest, baddest Halloween GALA you've ever seen. You know, like something right out of the movies. Lots of glitter and glowing lights, a fog-covered floor; masks on everyone, music, dancing; elaborate costumes. A fog machine, ghosts in the windows, witches at the door, and bats in the bellfry. And then of course, there's the food: an ornate spread of tricky treats -- complete with a bloody fountain of strawberry punch.

All of my friends would D-R-A-G their husbands to it, because when you get down to it, Halloween is for girls. Boys do the costumes for the candy and then get over it. But do we girls ever outgrow playing dress-up? Hardly.

So if and when I ever find a spare ten grand to throw my gala, you're all invited over for some dress-up!

Ah, We Meet Again

Where, oh where, does the time go? I have got to get back to blogging. Every day, and I mean EVERY DAY, something happens that makes me think that is so going on my blog. So no more excuses, even if they ARE good ones, like having the flu and moving and parent-teacher conferences and a primary program to put on. It's just time to get all the junk out of my head and onto the computer screen.

First, some funny things I've seen:

In my new neighborhood, we're surrounded by farm land. There's a gang of chickens with befeathered heads which make them look alot like Phyllis Diller. This gang likes to strut their stuff up and down the road. Their leader: the blackest duck you've ever seen. His name should be Daffy.

On the same road, there's a statue of a big elk. For Halloween, someone stuck a big black raven in its antlers. Just thought that was funny. I find myself shouting out "Nevermore!" everytime I go past it. And I clearly realize that I am the only person in my neighborhood who gets that.

Finally, a conversation with my son:

Me: Do you know anyone at your new bus stop?

Him: Yeah. His name is Jorge. Which is weird because he spells it with a J but you say it like an H. And you say the G like an H. Spanish is really hard. I wonder how you say his name is English. And he has a little brother named Omar who always rode our bus last year and he was the most important kid on our bus.

Me: Why was he the most important kid on your bus?

Him: Because he had his own seat and it had a seatbelt and the bus driver said his name ALOT. And then when we got to school we all had to wait until he got off and the bus driver would shout okay, Omar and the preschoolers, time to go to school! And I always thought that would make a great name for a movie, you know, Omar and the Preschoolers... kind of like Alvin and the Chipmunks, only Omar and the Preschoolers.

What more can I say?