Sing...for MEEEEE!

Dear Diary [July],
Sigh. I feel like I could really go somewhere – really be somebody – in this church if I could just get out of the ward chorister calling. Sure, I just got in it a couple weeks ago, but I clearly see that this is the bottom rung. The chorister has the least consequential job in the entire congregation. I do nothing but stand in front of everyone waving my arm. For what?

Cons:
1. Singing. Singing hymns. In front of everyone.
2. Everyone stares at you—you singing—hence, the need to shower and find something cute to wear every week (ok, so this MAY be a pro…still a challenge)
3. People think YOU are responsible for the music selections and universally slow tempo at which they are sung. Not so. The chorister is a victim—like everyone else in the congregation. But unlike everyone else, she is their scapegoat too…
4. You have to be on time to church every week.

Pros:
1. There is absolutely NO WORK required. Zero prep time.
2. There are no additional activities/meetings/planning to attend.
3. I get to enjoy (or rather, attend while wrangling one or both kids) my regular Sunday meetings.
4. I get thanked -- PUBLICLY EVEN -- every time I do my calling.
5. I have to be on time to church every week.

B thinks I’m so lucky. He is constantly telling me I should really “own” this and get into it. He demonstrates, flicking his wrist and bobbing his head. He’s all talk.

[Update: September I received an ADDITIONAL calling: Primary secretary. So much for the “I get to enjoy my regular Sunday meetings” pro.]

[Update: B is not all talk. I had him fill in for me one week and he immediately asked for a “wand.” When I determined that he was serious, I suggested a white wire hanger or a [too large] plain wooden dowel rod. He chose the dowel rod and, get this, PRACTICED the songs the night before AND the morning of. I don’t even know what the songs are till I show up. I’ve received compliments for him all week.]

New Plan

We're headed back to Colorado. Denver this time.

Denver vs. Hville? The positives:
Close to an airport.
Close to a temple.
Close to a good friend.
Less likely to be blown away by a twister.

Denver vs. San-D?




Help..me...





In other indirectly related news, I have recently become very minorly involved with a fantastic non-profit organization. I feel very strongly about its mission. And, I have decided that if we go to Denver and if we decide to stay in Denver and if no one does it first by the time I have time, then I will do whatever I can to get this charity started there. So, that's something. Something that makes me excited at the very prospect!--even though the ifs above are numerous, the timetable is distant, and my own abilities likely lacking.

L Versus the Tornado

You know the dream where you are trying to escape an approaching tornado? I’ve had this dream about a hundred times. More often than not it is a terrifying dream. But, most recently (several months ago) I dreamed that I was totally calm as I stared down the advancing twister. I was at the lone hotel in my grandparent’s town. I looked at the tornado in the distance; I checked that the bathtub was in the bathroom (it’s a dream, so you never know); then I checked on the tornado again—which was so close that I could see nothing but the gray spinning cloud out the window, yes, mere feet away from the glass. Go time. Calmly run to the bathroom, get in the tub, and wait to see what happens. I guess you could say the dream practice finally paid off in this most recent subconscious battle with a twister.

I have always believed that these tornado dreams are universal for all who saw The Wizard of Oz as children. So I was shocked when I asked B about some of his being-chased-by-a-tornado-dream-experiences and he said he’d never had a dream about it. (He HAS seen The Wizard of Oz.) I then asked a friend. Not her either. I really had believed that generations of people experienced this. What can it mean? Is this my destiny?

here today, gone tomorrow

The answer is ALABAMA!!!! …or was.

(Incidentally, if you’ve never typed Alabama, you should do so now. Man, it’s fun!)

Last week’s storm still has power out for the homes and offices of the good people of Hville. Apparently, NG employees won’t be working at all this week. So, although technically it should be official now, there is no one to confirm that it is official (request our relocation). So, in the meantime, we have been instructed to look for another situation, in case this one doesn’t come through “in time”. To me it sort of feels like we are out of time already, but people say to give Alabama (seriously, you gotta try this!) two more weeks. Ok, that will give us a week and a half to make our moving arrangements. Plenty of time, right? So, I guess we don’t know yet where we are going. Here today, gone tomorrow.

Northern Alabama also appears to be here today, gone tomorrow (or here yesterday, gone today). Anytime I view a disaster like that I always picture what it must be like for the people experiencing it (this happens without really trying—it’s just sort of natural to think, “what if that were me?” “what if my house disappeared and I lost everything” “where would I go” etc.). This time, it’s different.

We are in a rotational program that moves us every year. Hville has always been a likely stopover for us—and a desirable one, in our estimation. We really could have been there this year. Easily. Right now. In the best case scenario we would be having a staycation with no power. Thinking about the “what ifs” for this disaster makes me feel a little sick. It really could have been us. It really could BE us. Who knows, next year Hville may take a direct hit. Or not. I have decided that the only way to deal with these possibilities is to adopt more of a the-Lord-gives-the-Lord-takes-away-blessed-be-the-name-of-the-Lord sort of attitude—which I should have regardless of where I live, but I forget.

The Magical Mystery Tour Continues

Yes, we will be moving in approximately five weeks. It is heartbreaking to leave San Diego. This place is HEAVEN. But, entrance fees to heaven ain’t cheap. Still, I do believe heaven and San Diego are worth the price of admission. We, however, have always pictured a different life for ourselves (one that involves owning a home that is not a crumbling less-than-1000-ft half-million-dollar fixer-upper). That said, if we were forced to return here, we would be thrilled. How easily our old dreams fade in the sunlight of eternally gorgeous weather…and SeaWorld (I’m a HUGE fan! Blue Horizons FOREVER!!!!).

So, stay tuned for the announcement of our next venue. Technically, we don’t know where we will be moving to—like, not just no house, we don’t yet know the city or STATE. Yes, we will be living “there” in a month. I’m getting used to the not knowing. I like to know, even though knowing doesn’t really mean much, since we still will pack up and “move” there without any more than a reservation at Holiday Inn and five days to secure a more permanent situation. But I still like to KNOW where we are going, and lucky for me we will know by the end of this week! Woohoo! One whole month to know AND play every single day the way we have been for the last year. Bliss.

But, here’s a hint (although nearly every person who still looks at this blog already knows the way “negotiations” have been heading):
The place we will be moving to has been in the news all week, and not in a good way. Perhaps a last second change will happen.

[We are not moving to Westminster Abbey.]

My Superpowers and B’s Future Cause of Death

My old superpower wasn’t really one to covet. But, we don’t get to choose them, do we? They choose us…or something like that. The fact is, I used to have the ability to sleep for HOURS. No, not 8 or 10. We’re talking 12, 14, 16 hours. I could nap any day any time any where. I never didn’t need an alarm clock. Please believe that I did NOT sleep all the time. I had a busy life. But I COULD sleep, well, forever. “LAZY GIRL!” “SLOTH WOMAN!” “THE SLEEPER!” Even when said in that thundering comic book voice, it really does nothing to instill hope and awe—except maybe for those people who suffer from insomnia, or who lie awake for an hour before falling asleep or upon waking up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. Maybe I’m their hero… But not anymore. Apparently my super-weakness is infants and small children. I don’t sleep much or well, and I CANNOT nap.

But, now, for my new superpower. I am “IMMUNO-GIRL.” I pretty much never get sick. Ok, so I hardly ever get sick, and when I do I’m over it in a quarter of the time that it takes the rest of us to get over it. Sadly, B has had no fewer than 100 common colds since we got married. Yes, very common for him. I’ve caught maybe three. So, I figure one of us is unique. I like to think it’s me with a superpower. However, I’ve been picking up evidence that maybe there’s something wrong with B. And, I’ve finally figured out what it might be. B is heading towards a death caused by too good health. Sure, he gets colds, but they are brought on because his health is too GOOD. He exercises and he eats healthier than competitors on the Biggest Loser. And, look what it’s got him:

Exhibit A:
Location: Atlanta
Nurse takes pulse; exclaims, “I’ve never taken a pulse that slow.”

Exhibit B:
Location: SD
Cholesterol screening at work. Cholesterol so low he is in the “danger zone”. Must receive full blood panel to make sure he is still, in fact, alive (or doesn’t have cancer, which can cause cholesterol to go way, way down).

Maybe if he would consent to eating fats and sugars he could beef up his immune system. I think 70% of my diet is fat and sugar (too much, I know—but it’s turned out to be like a radioactive spider to me).

Quick! Marge! How many kids do we have??!?!

The taxes are filed. Hey, it's worth a post this year. We wanted to get them finished "early" this year--you know, before CA runs out of money--so I guess, technically we're about forty years late. It would have been accomplished sooner, but our February...[sigh] I'd just like to forget about February. I'm just hoping that the majority of folk really do wait till the last second to do theirs. I wish I could see the stats for date of tax filing. How many get theirs filed in February? Are we doing well to have them in by the last week of March? Have some people forgotten about them completely? How many turn them in late? As always, we used both major tax filing outfits (you know the ones) to prepare and compare. And, as always, there was a huge difference between the size of our returns. However, the outfit that gave us the bigger return this year was different from the winner of the previous two years. Both are still guaranteeing the largest return. And what will we be doing with our return? It will be swallowed up in our non-descript savings account--except for the little bit we use to fly a babysitter down here to watch our kids so we can go on the cruise I'm sure I am about to win. [Announcement of winners on April 15! Can tax day get here any faster!!!!!]

What was I thinking?

It's happened to you too. No one who has a Costco membership is spared. We have all purchased things that seemed a good idea, a good deal, or at the very least, a consumable quantity and found later (sometimes just an hour later) that we were oh so very wrong. I've done it lots of times; although recently I've been having a Costco-buyers-remorse-free streak. So, I guess it was high time for another blunder. And sadly, it may be my biggest lapse-of-judgment blunder since before I became an executive member (ok, since the days I was a "regular" white-card-holding member too).

I purchased a huge, Costco-sized bag of

French

Fried

Onions.

How did this happen? Sure, you get excited filling your cart to overflowing. Sure, the food demonstrators are pursuasive. But really? French fried onions? What was I thinking?

I only know two dishes that use them. First, the ubiquitous green bean casserole. I only see this at Thanksgiving and have NEVER made it--Thanksgiving or no. Second, my mom's shepherd pie, which I love and make frequently, but always without the french fried onions because I never have any. So now, naturally, when I make it I still omit the onions forgetting that I have them. Do I ever.

The huge resealable bag (1 1/2 pounds) has photos of French Fried Onions on omlettes, salads, burgers, twice baked potatoes, soup, and green bean casserole. I figured there wouldn't be a day in my life when I wouldn't use them--obviously! The possibilities are endless. But unloading the groceries I had to swallow hard when I reallized what I had done. The sad truth is that I might have been better off purchasing a huge glass jar of marachino cherries.

She's Got Talent

-or-

"I'm a man, but I can change, if I have to...maybe"

B is not the type to throw a bone to anyone—even his loving wife. He simply doesn’t give praise or compliments. At all. This has been tough for me, because I absolutely adore praise and compliments. I work for them, expect them, and delight in them. I still long for the day when he will change, but in the meantime, I can gage his esteem for me by the fact that he cooks me breakfast (eggs, bacon, toast) every morning that he doesn’t work. Every morning. Without me asking or him asking me. It’s been years! This is no small feat either. I only like eggs one way—and not even I know how to make them. B taught himself how to make eggs I like by trying every single morning he had, listening to me tell him how close he had come to the eggs I like, and then making adjustments. Like I said, I don’t even cook myself eggs because I can’t do it the way I like. But B persevered, mastered the trick, and makes me breakfast every day. That’s his style.

So, one time, when he was pressed to provide a list or letter detailing my strengths, talents, and general good traits, B fell a bit short of my own expectation of myself. I had listened to the several lists that others had written. The experience was often touching and enlightening. I so looked forward to hear what B would say. Imagine my shock and embarrassment to hear instead of a lengthy proclamation of love, the short statement:

“She’s a good saran-wrapper.”

Um…what else?

That was it.

“I’m a good saran wrapper?” I asked incredulously.
“You get it so tight.”

“You wrap saran better than any woman I know”

Then, a couple of years later, I got another compliment. It turns out, folks, that I “make really good guacamole”!!!! I was quite elated to hear him tell someone this. I even asked him about it later (see--these compliments don't come often). “Do you really think my guac is good.” “Yeah.” And you know what? It IS good! I feel so confident in and proud of my guac! I will be sure to include this on my own list of personal strengths from now on (a list which, don’t worry, contains many more items than those identified in an articulate manner by B).

Anyway, these talents were on my mind last night as I put saran wrap over some leftover guacamole. I still play to my strengths.

With Love, The Abbotts

We have good friends here in our ward who, until recently, were known as the Beers*. One Sunday, without warning, they announced at church that they were now the Bakers*.

What did I think of this? Well, at first I thought NOTHING of it. That’s right, nothing. If they want to be called the Bakers, fine. I don’t think it’s odd that they changed their name at all. Some have regarded their decision to change with wonder, shock, curiosity… How weird. I just don’t see the big deal. What’s in a name? Names aren’t permanent, personality-forming, or soul-housing mechanisms—first or last. If you want to change your name, by all means do it. I wholly support name changes, because I am, as I’ve since been labeled, completely unsentimental. Folks, names are arbitrary.

But, as the weeks have passed, I have come to be convinced that we could benefit from a name change. Tuley, is simply, way, way, way, too far back. It bugs me. I thought “T” was somewhere in the middle. I’m fine with that, I think. Turns out though that “T” is actually at the END of the alphabet, and “Tu” is at the very end. I discovered this on church lists. When a roll was passed through Sunday School, I would flip to a middle page, about where my maiden name would be. Isn’t “T” close? Not this page. Turn to the next. What? The next? You’ve got to be kidding. It’s on the last page, with maybe 10 others (out of a couple hundred—maybe more). And in a church setting, one of those 10 is guaranteed to be “Young.” Not so, in the regular world. “Tu” is even further back for the typical class list, elementary school “line up”, will-call ticket booth, etc. It bugs. And I feel it’s a disadvantage. So, what’s holding us back from changing it, I ask!!! Nothing except my ubersentamental husband, B.

I am completely serious that we should move up in the line. You really CAN choose your name, so why not change it to “Abbott.” (You see, I don’t mess around.) B thought I was joking around and put forth his suggestion to add a “silent ‘A’ to Tuley”—Atuley. Then he realized I was serious about the Abbott thing. Suffice it to say that we will not be signing our 2011 Christmas cards “With Love, The Abbotts.”

I’ve since come up with a name that he says is a million times better and that he is a million times more likely to switch to, but he still says no. I’m wishing I hadn’t changed my name when I got married. Our kids would have had my name in the hospital (Baby N instead of Baby Tuley) and filling out a birth certificate would have necessitated a compromise resulting in a fabulous last name that would have met all our needs and wants! Plus it would have been a name change for the both of us, rather than just me, which would be much more fair and make far more sense. If the Lord sees fit to bless us with daughters, I will counsel them to be more shrewd than I was when I got married. I guess I now know that names are less arbitrary than I thought they were back when I couldn’t care less what mine changed to.

*Names have been changed…again.