Sometime ago I learned about NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month). Patterned after the intimidating “Novel in a Month,” this site challenges and supports bloggers in posting EVERY day for a month. I know this is a difficult undertaking – not as daunting as penning a novel in 30 days – but it has to be hard because I have problems posting ONE entry a month! If you notice the date of my last posting, it was AUGUST 29th! And yet, I love to reflect, write, revise, reflect some more, revise again, edit, AND and finally push that little “publish” button. Whether or not anyone reads my words of wit and wisdom is not as important as pushing them out of my head and onto the screen.

For the past couple of months hundreds of writing ideas have rumbled through my brain’s maze, but none found the exit that zips thoughts into coherent words, sentences, and paragraphs on their way to RBS: The 7th Season! Granted, a score of creations escaped the confines of gray matter to land in work-related products, but personal meanderings are still wandering around my noggin. At least I hope they are. Good ideas disappear as quickly as a choc-o-holic’s Halloween candy, and yes, I am speaking from experience.

This lengthy introduction is my way of saying that I have committed myself to NaBloPoMo in order to PUBLISH those jumbled up thoughts, ideas, reflections before they are gone forever. There is also another motivating factor, and it’s NOT the fact that PRIZES for bloggers are awarded in November. No, I’m not a winner when it comes to those types of activities unless the prize is so infinitesimal that I’m embarrassed to claim it. The reason I decided to launch into this month’s challenge is because it is the Thanksgiving Season! My favorite holiday! Situated like half-time between two celebrations that tend to encourage avarice, Thanksgiving reminds us to pause and offer up appreciation for blessings, big and small. To demonstrate my love of this occasion, I plan to record my gratitude for something different each day.

There will be NO prioritizing my thanks, so I don’t want Mom or Hubby to think I love coconut cream pie more than I love them, as I will quick-write the first thing that comes to mind each morning. (NoBloPoMo recommend writing first thing in the morning when most people are fresh – that’s not always the case for a “night person” like me. But for a procrastinator, I dare say it’s best that I find “joy in the morning” and type up a posting before the shortened days disappear with the 5:00 P.M. sunset.)

So, what am I thankful for today? I am thankful for DREAMS! Not the dream of being a best-selling author of books about boy wizards or teen vampires, but rather the entertaining dreams that make me laugh in the dark and practice French in my sleep. (NOT the French people ask to be pardoned when they use a four-letter word. I’m talking about the French I learned in college so that I could avoid suffering through and probably failing math classes!)

Some people don’t think they dream, or they say they don’t remember their dreams. I KNOW I dream because I nearly always remember them, and they are dang funny – most of the time. I realize few people like to hear about people’s dreams, but Mom and Hubby are good sports and often listen to my latest escapades in la la land. They usually get a good chuckle out of them, too. But don’t worry, I’m not going to fill the remaining lines with a litany of my favorite bedtime tales. I just want to share what fun and laughter I derive from waking up morning after morning with crazy antics on my mind. It helps me face a Monday with a grin.

Once in a while, however, the dream is sweet – like last night’s. In the early hours of dreamland, I made a trip to Pocatello, Idaho and dropped by my grandparents home on South 13th Avenue. The little white cottage with bright blue shutters looked charming. I didn’t want to barge in on the people who now owned the house, so I walked around the side towards the backyard, hoping to see if hollyhocks, lilac bushes, and pyracantha shrubs still grew there. Suddenly, I bumped into Grandpa wearing his royal blue swim trunks, just as he always did when he mowed the lawn in summer. I spent the rest of the dream chatting with him and worrying about him.

As I tidied up the house, I enjoyed observing a few familiar idiosyncrasies that used to make the family chuckle – sitting in his favorite chair while listening to the radio or watching TV still clad in his swim trunks, for example. But Grandpa’s mood was somber. He and the house were filled with melancholy, and I knew why.

“She’s still here,” he repeated every few minutes. “You can feel her.” I knew he was talking of Grandma. Even in my dream, however, I wondered what was going on because in reality, Grandma passed away 4 years AFTER Grandpa. Maybe I was in a little patch of heaven, and I wasn’t visiting mortal Grandpa, but rather with his spirit. That wasn’t the sweetest part of the experience though. Besides being with Grandpa again, I loved witnessing his longing for Grandma. While the two weren’t exactly the romantic type when they lived here on earth, I like to think they did have a tenderness for each other that carried them into the eternities. If last night’s dream was MORE than a dream, then maybe this hope is more than a wish.

It’s been over two years since I nearly died, and I have yet to thank the individual who was responsible for saving my life: Dr. Henry J. Heimlich. Of course, there remains a dispute over whether or not Dr. H. truly deserves credit for development of the abdominal thrust procedure commonly called the Heimlich maneuver. I really don’t care who suggested the idea, I’m just grateful I had enough knowledge to administer the procedure to MYSELF!

One early spring day in ’07 I grabbed a Quizno’s Black and Blue salad to share with my mom for dinner. I hadn’t eaten all day, and so I forked a slice of the roast beef and crammed it into my mouth as I drove east on Main Street in American Fork. It’s never a good idea to eat while driving as it distracts you from watching traffic and from counting your chews. (My mother recommended chewing my food at least 20 times, but meat actually requires half again as many.)

As I pulled to a stop at the red light on the corner of Main and 100 East, I also stopped chewing and attempted to swallow the mouthful of  UN-masticated roast beef. In seconds I realized the food wasn’t going DOWN, nor would it come UP! Worse yet, I couldn’t BREATHE! Panic took over as I tried to cough up the glob of meat, but to no avail!

I regained a semblance of calm as sparks of information ignited my mind, rather like Tweets: “Thrust chest against steering wheel.” I flung myself at the large steering wheel of the Dodge Caravan, but that option also failed. I couldn’t position my upper abdomen at the right angle to properly perform an upward thrust!

Time was running out! I didn’t know how many more minutes my brain could function without oxygen, but I couldn’t waste any more precious seconds throwing myself on the steering wheel. Noticing that only one car shared the road with me, I leaped from the van and rushed to the vehicle in the neighboring lane. I grabbed my neck with both hands in the international sign for choking just as the light turned green, and the driver screeched off, leaving behind a patch of rubber and a DYING WOMAN!

I couldn’t believe it! Certainly they must have noticed something was going on with the crazy lady at the wheel of the Dodge Caravan! Plainly, I wasn’t the type to “punk” unsuspecting drivers, and my life span was growing shorter every minute! WHY DIDN’T THEY STOP????

Once again, bits and pieces of Heimlich trivia flashed by, along with scenes of my life. I clenched my right fist and clasped my left hand over the right. Next, I thrust that fist into my upper abdomen as hard as my flabby arms could muster. Once … twice … and, on the third try – VICTORY!!!!

OUT FLEW THE CHUNK OF CHUCK!!!!!

Tears of relief poured down as I panted in gratitude. I looked around the empty streets to see absolutely NO ONE – not a car nor a pedestrian was on hand to witness this MIRACLE. It was surreal. Seriously, I was standing in the middle of the intersection; the light was still green, and not a single Ford, Chevy, or Chrysler was traveling east or west. No store clerks peeked from windows; no mothers watched their children from park benches.

Just me, my mess, and ANGELS!

NOTE: As a public service, I feel it’s only right to post these Heimlich demonstrations found on YouTube. The first indicates how to help someone else, while the second is actually a “worse case scenario” QUIZ that asks the question: “How do you perform the Heimlich on yourself?” You’ll be surprised at the answer as was I! According to that video, I should be DEAD!

Video #1: How to save the life of a friend or STRANGER!

Video #2: How do you save YOUR OWN LIFE?

I’m the kind of driver other drivers like to flip off. The only reason I’m alive today is because I wouldn’t dare leave my house without praying for protection on the roads. Why the good Lord keeps answering these petitions is a mystery since I continue to make the same mistakes.

Recently, I completed an online traffic school experience for the SECOND time in about 3 years. Embarrassing. You see, I inherited my father’s lead foot. I don’t believe I have yet matched his record, but I may be inching zooming up on it. Once Dad received 2 speeding tickets 20 minutes apart between Pocatello and Boise! Unfortunately, Mom was with him, and she was livid. But her fury that day didn’t equal her anger with him years before when a policeman came to arrest Dad for failure to pay a score of parking tickets. That incident occurred early in their marriage and a few days before Christmas.

Luckily, Daddy wasn’t home, but the tearful mother and her two little girls appealed to the officer’s holiday spirit, and he agreed to accept $30 to dismiss the multitude of misdemeanors. “That’s not too much,” you’re saying to yourself. But remember this was in the early 1950s, and$30 was a lot of money. Someone went without something that Christmas, and I’ll wager it was Dad!

When I asked Mom how many speeding tickets Dad received, she couldn’t venture a guess because she knew he didn’t tell her about all of them. That’s another tendency I picked up from Daddy – I don’t always share these kinds of “adventures” with my spouse. (Upon hearing that I hadn’t  informed Hubby about this recent speeding ticket, one of my sons exclaimed, “Mom! What are you? Twelve?”) I know that I am a complete, yellow-bellied chicken when it comes to these things, but if you had my driving history and a husband who has a NEAR-PERFECT record – and who won’t let you forget it – I think there’s a little room for the “sin of omission.” (I realize that some may wonder why I would publicize this information for fear of being “found out,” but Gar happens to be blog-o-phobic, so I’m not too worried that he’ll log onto Seventh Season.)

A reasonable facsimile of the infamous Ford van.

I received my first ticket when I was 16, but I beat that one in court – I was a wannabe Perry Mason back in ’63, and that victory fueled my desire … for a couple of years. Unfortunately, that was the last time I beat a rap, although I certainly tried! The worse stint of bad driving episodes occurred between 1984 and ’86 when I racked up 11 fender-benders in less than 2 years. (That stretch of incidents certainly surpasses any my dad accumulated.) To remind myself that it’s time to slow down and think about what I’m doing, here is a rundown of the “worst of times” I endured while driving our 1977 Ford Club Wagon – a mini-freight hauler, not a mini-van. Unfortunately, this isn’t the entire list of all my driving disasters, but you’ll get the picture as you scroll through this record of recklessness.

1. I parked under a “luggage rack-eating” tree, whose hungry branch grabbed hold of the rack and nearly ripped off the entire apparatus. I drove home with the ladder, once secured to the back doors, precariously swaying to and fro. (Yes, these monsters featured ladders so drivers could access said luggage rack.)
2. A “down-hill racer” episode occurred when my van slid down a short dead-end street, in spite of every effort to turn into the church parking lot. I ended up t-boning my neighbor’s car that was stuck in a snowbank at the bottom of the hill. Luckily, her car was devoid of passengers.
3. Upon attempting to deposit a check via a bank drive-through window, I encountered a “side-mirror-eating” column that ripped the whole thing off and nicely scuffed the column.
4. Back-up problem #1 happened when I backed out of my driveway and into a car parked across the street while the occupants were visiting our neighbors. (Now come on! Who can see a midnight blue car at midnight?)
5. Back-up problem #2 was totally NOT my fault. I was progressing down a street under road construction when the water truck I was following, stopped, shifted into reverse and smashed into my van’s front end. The incident’s negative effect was compounded by the fact that I was returning from the shop where the Wagon had spent 3 days getting a side window replaced as I had …
6. broken it while trying to pry it open in order to retrieve my locked-in keys.
7. I side-swiped a low post, effectively removing a previously repaired section of the rear quarter-panel, while trying to park in a place reserved for compacts. (The quarter panel repair occurred before we bought the cursed vehicle. NOT MY FAULT!)
8. The low post and I met again when I tried to drive up and over one that I forgot was there to separate parking spots.
9. I can blame the run-away van episode on Ford Motor Company. During that era, car critics carped on the manufacturer for creating a mechanism that was difficult to shift into PARK. One day, I attempted to do just that before hustling into the home of a friend. Unfortunately, I shifted into REVERSE instead of PARK. Unfortunately, I had stopped on a hill. Unfortunately, there was ONE house on the ENTIRE block whose front yard was framed in with a decorative fence; and UNFORTUNATELY, my van sailed down the street, jumped the curb, broke through the fence and took out a tree. (The insurance company canceled our policy after this incident.)

I can’t remember the last 2 mishaps that occurred within the 2-year period, but I’ll mention a couple that happened shortly after we dumped the van for a Chevy Suburban. Because the vehicle’s size didn’t diminish much, I still suffered from depth perception problems.

While backing out of the garage one afternoon, I rammed into a young neighbor’s junker of a car parked directly behind the Suburban in out driveway. His car was already so dinged and dented that I couldn’t determine which were new injuries. Nevertheless, I ended up paying him $150 to fix one of the million scratches, which he did NOT fix. Instead, he used the windfall for prom. Oh well.

Then there was the day I was late for school/work and tore out of the garage so fast and so crooked that I ripped away a section of the garage door frame as well as my side mirror AGAIN. Gary and the boys heard the timber tearing away and dashed out to investigate.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?” Hubby yelled as I backed down the driveway.

“I’m not sure,” I hollered back. “But I don’t have time to look at it. B – Y – E!”

Now you know why I’m loathe to tell him about my driving misadventures. I don’t think his heart can take it.

I was SUPPOSED to finish up my literacy specialist work calendar on June 30th. Due to the “secession” of the Eastside of Jordan School District, however, I spent July 1-8 packing up my eastern office to sneak across enemy lines along the Jordan River – not to be confused with the Mason-Dixon Line – to safely arrive at the new JSD headquarters at Jordan Landing – not to be confused with Harper’s Ferry. (There was no firing upon Fort Herriman, as in Middle School, but the consequences have pretty much pit community against community, district against district, parents against school boards, and constituents against legislators. But that’s too depressing to go into at this hour.)

Next I headed further west to avoid the fray for 10 days to care for my 4 adorable Nevada grandchildren while their parents traveled east for an LDS Church History Tour. Upon my return, I enjoyed less than a week of doing pretty much nothing before venturing back to work to finish organizing my bunker and to work on professional development classes for the ’09-’10 school year. In other words, time has been in short supply. Money has also been scarce due to one or more of the following reasons:

1. the current depression recession
2. the reduced wages due to working fewer days
3. the Eastside secession
4. the western desert landscaping project
5. the deficit-spending habit I have yet to overcome
6. the shopping anti-depressant therapy I prescribe to
7. Check all of the above.

As a result of these circumstances, dreams of an exotic vacation long ago vacated. So why some of my friends headed to the Bahamas, Chicago, and Disneyland, I decided to find pleasure in the errands I run in and around Utah and Salt Lake counties. While this is not exactly the kind of adventure I usually long for, I was determined to make the best of Summer ’09. So here is my travel journal from about a month ago.

July 8, 2009 ~ One-hour tour of Ikea

Grateful that my new phone includes a camera and feeling every bit the tourist, I took photos of the artistic simplicity of hanging sculptures created by Swedish designers who must have been inspired by Dan Steinhilber. He is an artist who “explores the beauty and natural qualities of the mundane in a way that compels us to become more aware.” (By the way, I would know nothing of this up & comer in the art world had I not enjoyed meandering through Dan’s mundane marvels at BYU’s Museum of Fine Arts last January.)

Anyway, these Ikea displays smacked of museum-quality exhibits, and so I chose to share these selections as they are my favorites or because they are the only photos that turned out. (Now you won’t feel quite so bad about missing the Steinhilber exhibition, AND your experience will also be elevated by my thoughtful commentary.)

Light in the Forest ~

I was awed by the way in which the plastic captured the light – much like the filtering of sun rays through Wadsworth’s forest primeval ~ “The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, …” Ahh, breath-taking. I don’t know if Evangeline would have been wowed, but Martha Stewart would definitely store away this display of primeval practicality. (Compare with Steinhilber’s collection of Sprite bottles.)

The Swallows ~ Can’t you just hear the flutter of wings taking 100s of the little birds heavenward? OK, these are napkins, I know that; but they just might represent the “Scout Swallows” that “clear the way for the main flock to arrive at the ‘Old Mission’ of Capistrano.” (Who knows what Swedish artists think of when they design their exhibits?)

Upon viewing this design, I remembered visiting the Mission at San Juan Capistrano when I was 8. I wanted to buy a rosary, but my mother wouldn’t let me. I’m not Catholic, but I loved the beads. I finally convinced her to buy a bracelet that LOOKED like a rosary, and it even had a charm of the Madonna dangling from it. (Compare this creation to Steinhilber’s flying hangers.)

PiLLoWtAlK ~

What this exhibit lacks in arrangement, it makes up in warm colors and fluffy puffiness. The display actually invites viewers to forget the shopping list and head home to enjoy a siesta on the couch. I would suggest that if you start yawning before exiting the store, you should curl up on one of the sofas on display, but Ikea’s furniture only LOOKS comfortable. (Check out Steinhilber’s balloon work, and see if you don’t think it inspired Ikea’s display designers!)

A Pitcher is Worth … ?

My final encapsulation of mundane marvels pours forth from the soft pastels of plastic pitchers. You can almost see water spouting forth, fountain-like in its descent. The trickling and gurgling songs of H2O take us from the desert to mountain streams, to garden fountains, or to Steinhilber’s PVC pipes.

Ikea, like Calgon, can take you away. Soon you are no longer shopping for storage containers and dish towels in Draper, Utah; rather you are meandering down the streets of Stolkholm or wandering through museum floors, ready to embrace the ordinary and appreciate “works open to imperfection, complexity, free-association, and real life” (Steinhilber). Whatever that means.

Note: To find the Dan Steinhilber’s comparisons as exhibited at the BYU Museum of Fine Arts, follow the links I inserted and click on “Images,” and then go to “Works.” You can also view  a video of  students creating the works. Very fun!

Once upon a time, a grandma who liked to read and tell stories found that snapshots of her grandchildren contained wonderful tales needing to be told. And so the grandma decided to create “story-tales,” based upon the GranDarlings in the photos, some fictional details, and a few facts. Here is the first one!

 She heard about the  “el-fe-nat” who knew how to fly, but that wasn’t HER dream. No, la petite el-fe-nat didn’t see herself dressed in a clown’s collar and pointed hat, nor did she imagine holding a magic feather in her trunk. Instead, she pictured herself  in a tutu, and while grasping a flower, she would bend her knees to create the deepest plie’. Next she would gracefully twirl “a la fouette’,” and finally the little one would stretch out into a perfect arabesque.

Determined to dance one day, she surprised the animal kingdom and studied ballet. She learned the moves and practiced any place and any time she could, with or without music! Once, however, a melody caught her attention, and she performed an original ballet, dipping and spinning down an aisle separating surprised onlookers. Most pleased, the unplanned audience smiled at the little dancer and enjoyed her impromptu recital!

Finally, the day came when la petite el-fe-nat donned a tutu and other accoutrements, created by her proud MaMA, and gracefully danced her way into the hearts of all who witnessed her amazing recital. And she didn’t even need a magic feather.

Note: To the delight of all, this little grandaughter DID dance down the aisle at church during the closing hymn! Later she performed in a recital, dressed in the pictured tutu with adorning accoutrements. Her Mommy created the adorable costumes for her and ALL the other petite dancing elephants.