Change Is Good

Alyce, you know, Alyce my daughter, has changed my life. She and Saxby. Saxby her son. Because of them I now buy chunky--the label says crunchy--peanut butter. It's what they eat.

All my life I have preferred plain--the label says creamy--peanut butter, with its plainness. But now I prefer chunky. It's not plain but it's good.

Shows to go you, people can change.

I have liked peanut butter all my life. As a very young child I made my own peanut butter sandwiches, peanut butter and mustard or, and this was the exception, peanut butter and Miracle Whip. I said I was a child. Where was my mother at these times? Obviously, we had no jam or, and more likely, I didn't like jam. Too sweet. I also don't like Miracle Whip now. I did, but I don't.

Peanut butter and honey was also rare. Not any more. And if anyone had told me a few years ago that I would have a peanut butter and honey sandwich every day, I would have said, "No way." (I was tempted there to say, I would have said, "You're nuts." Too obvious.)

But the truth is I do have such a sandwich every day. Happily. And now I have it with chunks of peanut in the peanut butter. It seems only right.

And always these sandwiches are with my homemade whole wheat bread. I can't help it if that sounds righteous. It's just the truth.

Maybe this is not important enough to write about. Tough.

A Few Matters of Importance. To Me.

Matt and his dad Jeff have gone now. They are this year's mowers. While they were out there mowing, I made three mistakes: 1. I went out to talk to Matt. 2. I went out again to talk to Matt and water my flowers and wash my front door/window. 3. I went out when Jeff rang my doorbell and wanted to show me stuff.

Going out is bad for me this season. I'm not happy about it. I'm supposed to be cured of allergies.

The mowers: This is their first time here. Matt is handsome and tall. Jeff tries not to say things, like, my lawn was just too long. Instead, when I said it looks good, now that it's mowed, he said something like it could have been baled. Cute. So. Grass grows, and I think letting it grow an extra week helped it. And it wasn't all that long.

I don't like to pay them the $30 a week, but I will. I certainly can't do it myself.

*     *     *

Our concert last Friday night was good, but my feet still hurt. I bet I'm not the only one. I have volunteered to take on the job of scheduling, calling about, sending signups, and providing driving directions for our Christmas season sing-outs.

I don't know why. I just thought I should.

*     *     *

Tomorrow night Andrew and I will go to Aaron's senior award concert. You know, Andrew, my son, Aaron, his son. Senior concert should tell you that Aaron is graduating. So is his cousin Davis down there in Austin, Texas.

Aaron plays trombone. He is first chair of the trombone section in his Borah High School band. He is in the marching band, too, and he plays in the jazz band. And Lola has heard him in the jazz band and says he is good. You know, Lola, my daughter, and you can trust her.

Aaron tried out for Boise State's prestigious Blue Thunder Marching Band, and he got in. HE GOT IN! And that's a big deal. He's happy, and we're proud of him.

Under the Darkening Moon

This was a while ago.

We went out to Eisenman Road at 5:45 a.m. to watch the lunar eclipse. That's where Janice said we would see it best. We did see it, and we did freeze our little selves, too. But there is much more life and many more lights out there than either of us knew about. Bright lights. Trucking places, Shopko's distribution center, Brasher's Auto Auction, WES--whatever that is--not to mention the Outlet Mall.

We went down the road a couple of times, then out Gowen. Lots of lights out there, too. Back to Eisenman, where we went a long way, found a spot, backed up a short sloping driveway and parked. "Great!" said Janice, as she got out all of her scopes and cameras and settled in.

I thought it was private property; I had walked up the driveway, seen the address by the door and the mailbox by the door. When the dogs began barking, I told Janice I was pretty sure we were on private property. She said, "No. It's the storage office."

"Well," said I, quoting, "then, Who let the dogs out?"

"Don't worry," she said. "They're fenced in." Apparently Janice doesn't know the song.

I got back in the car. I don't like intruding upon private property. I was freezing anyway.

Janice is hard of hearing and did not put her hearing aids in that morning, so she did not hear the woman at first. And, because she was bending over with her face in her scope, she didn't see her either. I both saw and heard. That woman was not happy and not nice, especially when she had to repeat everything she said. No hearing aids, remember.

I am a grown-up, but I will say the woman was scary. She scared me. She made clear we were on private property and she needed us to leave. And there were those dogs still barking. When Janice finally knew what was going on, she apologized, but her apology fell on, as they say, deaf ears. Sorry, Janice.

"I need you to pack up all your equipment and get the . . . out of here. Now," said the woman in those familiar no uncertain terms.  And that was the nice part.

We left.

Next time, whenever that might be, I hope Janice will put the hearing aids in. I'm not even sure she heard the worst of it, the sharp edge on that woman's voice. I heard it.

About the eclipsed moon, which was our reason for going out there, remember. It isn't just a disc. You can see its roundness better than at any other time. It looked like a big black ball and like it might drop out of the sky at any second. Fascinated me. I took many pictures. They're pretty good, but they can't capture the look of the darkened moon. They can only remind me. 

And then there's remembering that woman. Oh well. I am glad I went.  I loved the moon. And I always like an adventure, especially if I'm safe inside a car.

Sunday Morning

My voice. I had one. I could say I still have a voice, that I sing. But it's not the way it used to be. 

Well, what is.

Let me get this in here before I forget. I directed a large group of young men and women, preparing them to go down to Salt Lake to sing in the Church's final June Conference. Among the music we learned and sang very well, thanks to me, Lucille Wilson, and those kids, was the Beethoven Hallelujah. Thrilling. 

I also directed that piece with a large stake choir in Nampa Stake. Again, Lucille Wilson accompanying. This morning I heard the Tabernacle Choir sing it, and I wept through the whole thing.

Why? you ask. I can think of a few reasons. Only one is that it is exciting and beautiful. The rest have to do with me.

That's the news

I went to have my hair done today. Yes, I have become one of those women. But that's not what this is about.

It's about Gwen and Blake, whose pictures were on the cover of the People magazine I picked up. The bold teaser/headline/whatever said:

Gwen and Blake
Their Untold
Love Story

I said, "How's that possible?" You know, the untold part.

My hair looks good; it's raining. Gwen and Blake are getting married; she's pregnant; oh joy! Different magazine, same stuff.

Spring Cleaning

It's something the sparrows do. 

They go into that birdhouse Paul built and pull out all the stuff from last year's nest. It sits for awhile on the deck railing, in front of their house, then is blown off or pushed off by the birds. I never see which. 

Just this week, the sparrows have completed the cleaning. Now one of them--pretty sure it's the woman of the house--sits on the railing, and I don't know why. Waiting for what? Perhaps her husband is off gathering materials for a new nest.

I can watch them from my bedroom window. I have not sat there long enough to see more than I have reported here. But I need to. I will.

When I was young I thought people who watched birds were . . .  old, maybe, or stupid, should "get a life." Now I'm fascinated by what these birds and the finches do. Of course, I'm also old.

Making Me . . . Either Sick or Nervous . . . or Both

Just went out to get the mail.

Saw a dead mouse on the garage floor.

How could this be?

How did it get there? And what killed it?

I swept it out to the gutter.

I do not like this.