Grandma A

2009-12-28T16:11:00.004-07:00

Just thought some of you might find this interesting--especially when you check the documentation.

Willis Manson West, a professor of History at the University of Minnesota askes in his chapter "America Faces New Tasks," "are we proud of our past record as a nation?" He goes on, "We are responsible for keeping a record, one of which our children need not be ashamed." Then he questions again, "are our Democrat and Republican leaders making this massive health care bill into something our children will live to be ashamed of? Will the wars we get ourselves into going to come back to haunt our children and grandchildren?" Then responding to his own questions he claims, "If each of us managed our financial and personal lives the way Congress is managing out nation, we would be bankrupt and belong to our creditors just as they are now" (525).

Work Cited

West, Ruth and Willis Manson West. The Story of Our Country. "America Faces New Tasks." New York: Allyn and Bacon, 1935.

Curious--how many times must we allow the same mistakes before the catastrophe is greater than we can survive?

2009-12-02T20:18:00.003-07:00

Tried to post this on FaceBook, but I couldn't make it work.

I know the war is terrible and I know some really crumby things have happened this year and I know that it is cold and the inversion sucks and I know that the recession has made all of us broke and I know that the government is stealing us blind and I know that many of have a head ache or a back ache or a leg ache; BUT what I really know is that life is good, I have a wonderful man who loves me, a mother who loves me (most of the time), children and grandchildren who love me (I hope). I have good friends, good neighbors, a good job, a nice house and plenty of food on the table. I know that I have had a blast getting ready for Christmas, laughing at K.C at WiseGuys, teaching a bunch of crazy 11th graders. I love that the sun comes up in the morning and the stars and moon shine at night. (And I'm really glad to get rid of that stupid camel blog.) I guess I don't get Facebook. It seems that no one is happy. Smile, it could be worse, the world could be out of chocolate.

Now, I am a Really Cool Grandma

2009-06-02T09:03:00.020-06:00

HOW WELL DO YOU KNOW YOUR CAMELS?

The camel has played such an important role in Arab culture there are how many words for it in the Arab language?
a) 95
b) 200
c) 3
d) 160

You can easily identify a dromedary camel if you remember that their single hump forms the letter "D" on its side. Can you remember what the two hump camel is called?
a) Ramonian
b) Collian
c) Bactrian
d) Cameleon

The camel's eye is protected from sand by two rows of extra long eyelashes, one on the upper eyelid, and one on the lower eyelid. In addition to this, each eye also has a very thin third eyelid that moves in which direction?
a) side to side
b) up and down
c) diagonally
d) it doesn't move

Although camels will normally select the freshest vegetation available, when food is scarce they will eat anything--salty plants, dried plants, bones, fish, meat, leather and even on occasion, their owner's tent. What is the scientific term for an animal that will eat anything?
a) Teenager
b) Hungry
c) Omnivore
d) Eatae-anitae

In the wintertime, camels can gather enough moisture from the plants they eat to go as much as 50 days without water. In the summertime, how many days can a camel go without water?
a) 5 days
b) 10 days
c) 15 days
d) 20 days

Camels are capable of losing safely how much of their body's water weight?
a) 10%
b) 25%
c) 30 %
d) 50 %

The term hydrophilicity, which describes the hemoglobins in a camel's red blood cells, means what?
a) Repels water
b) Attracts water
c) Will drink anything
d) Replaces water

Camels are capable of drinking how many gallons of water in 10 minutes?
a) 15 gallons
b) 30 gallons
c) 50 gallons
d) 100 gallons

A camel keeps as cool as it can by resting when the weather is extrememly hot. It will lay down in a shady place, if it can find one. What will a camel do it it cannot find a shady place to rest on a hot day?
a) Face the sun to minimize how much of its body is exposed to the rays.
b) Stick it s head in the sand.
c) Dig a hole.
d) Move around until it finds shade.

A camel can walk efficiently on sand because:
a) The camel's legs are very long and strong.
b) The camel's feet web out to give it a larger stepping surface.
c) The sand in Arab countries is not soft but has a crusted surface making it easy to walk on.

I'm the one hanging on for dear life on the butt of this dromedary. Did you know that the hump actually stores fat not water? This most ugly (I guess not to other camels) of all creation is actually quite interesting.

The ride was short (about 50 feet), and I smelled like camel for the rest of the day, but it is moments like these that I could never experience if I had chosen a different profession.

We drew quite a crowd and surprisingly, the two young men who used the camels for their class presentation know a quite a bit about these strange creatures as well.

Colors and Memories

2009-05-23T08:40:00.006-06:00

I would rather blog than read papers for school, clean the kitchen or bathroom, wash clothes, wash dishes, or wash the car (which, BTW, has a big scratch now) or anything domestic. I shouldn't have started because this process of recording and communicating if very addicting. I just finished re-reading everyone's blogs (including my own) and comments. Brian asked me to not get too "gushy" which I interpret to mean "mushy" or "emotional." I will try, but I have one more thing I would like to share about Blaine. The year after his death, I ran away to Mexico on the anniversary of that death. I had experienced all (or at least I thought I had) the "firsts"--first camping trip, first Thanksgiving and Christmas, first Super Bowl, first tax season and all of the other little things that were so difficult to do alone; so I wanted to go away from everything familiar for the first anniversary of the aloneness. I didn't want to spend it with family or at our home. I just wanted to do something totally not related to the memory of Blaine. I called a travel agent, told her how much money I wanted to spend, and asked her where I could go. Porta Viarta--somewhere in Mexico. I spent five days on the beach, read eight young adult novels, and do not remember being so glad to return home. The following is the result of reclaiming myself in Mexico.

The Colors We Leave Behind
by Carol Jewkes Austin

May 2004

It had been four days of crowded isolation – the perfect romantic getaway with surf and sand, palm trees and exotic birds. I had my own private lanais complete with my own private lime-colored lizard and serenading bullfrog. Beautiful brown skinned men, women and children played on the beach soaking sun, sand, and weightless burdens while I watched and envied their rich black hair and bronze skin.

I spent most of my visit outside, either on the beach or in the garden reading novels about teenage struggles with drugs, racial bias, and the dustbowl phenomenon while I struggled with being old and alone. The novels took me away to inner city Detroit, the deep South, and Oklahoma and away from the stale mildew of old age that invaded the rich tile and wood of my bungalow.

Saturday had been my 57th birthday, a day I thought I didn’t want to celebrate. As the hours crept by with no cheerful “happy birthday, Grandma” or “so how old are you really Mom?” on the other end of my cell phone line I wondered if I would ever know what I thought again. I had told my children I didn’t even want to recognize that May 22nd or May 23rd existed on a calendar. But now I hoped they would do as they usually did and ignore my wishes. Tucking my phone into the front pocket of my cropped khaki pants, I waited for the ring that didn’t come.

Then there was Sunday – May 23rd. It was a year from the day I had stayed much too long (as usual) at school reading papers, recording grades, completing the textbook inventory. It was a year from the day we had sat together on the front porch and he listened while I complained about the social studies teacher who had imposed her influence and forced me to make adjustments to “my” graduation preparations. It was a year from the day I was preparing for a visit from our son and his family, but for some reason had gone into the bathroom to visit with him while he showered. It was a year from the day I made a sarcastic remark about the moan I couldn’t understand and accused him of whining because we were having company. It was a year from the day that I was so self-absorbed that I hadn’t asked him how he was.

It wasn’t only the 23rd of May but the last day in Mexico. I had spent the day with “what ifs” and “whys” and was closing the day with one last sunset somewhere on the coastline of Mexico. As dusk encroached on the swimmers and sand builders, I sat in a beach chair with one last young adult novel in my hand. It couldn’t take me away this time. All I could do was hold it in my left hand with my ring finger marking my place as I helplessly watched the sun sink away – large and golden as Blaine had been to me. He was always there to warm and protect me from cold realities – the accidental death of our two-year-old son, the illegitimate birth of our firstborn grandchild, the cancer that took my only brother. Like the sun balancing on the horizon, Blaine created balance in my life – questioning my obsessive commitment to my students, my overindulgence of our children, my unreasonable anger with things that didn’t really matter.

Blaine expected me to be the best I could be. He listened to my whine then asked me what I was going to do to solve the problem. He knew I could write before I knew. He lit my way to success.

Now in my crowded isolation, like the rising tide, questions raged. The questions pushed me deeper and deeper into my despair and the sun sank deeper and deeper into the horizon. How could I survive without my mentor and my best friend? Who would lead me to balanced decisions and reasonable compromises? Who would help me to laugh at my foibles and face life with thoughtful perspectives? Who would hold me on sweet summer nights and warm me on bright winter days? It was like trying to survive without the sun.

The funnel of reflecting gold off the water widened and stretched as it met the air broken only by a slivered arc. Then, like Blaine the sun slipped away. But the rich azure blue did not fade to grey. It deepened to royal and lavender as the sun slid gently into the ocean. Then it was completely gone. In that moment, I realized the golden funnel had grown wider and longer lighting the water like nature’s own flood light. Life-sustaining breaths of pink, red, orange, yellow, and even green hung suspended in clouds supported in royal lavender skies. I was engulfed in a breathtaking panorama of water and air and color. A sweet memory of love and wisdom protected me from the loom of dark and menacing shadows.

I’d like to believe what came next was a whisper from God or, better yet, a “kick in the butt” from Blaine on that anniversary of his death. Some might conclude that is was just the breeze coming off the salt water or maybe even the celebratory music opening the reverie of the night. Others might call it epiphany or believe it to be a spiritual moment. I want to think Blaine, my mentor, the love of my life, my best friend, was leading me one more time and whispering, “Remember and celebrate all the color I left behind.”

Blaine Lester Austin--April 13, 1943-May 23, 2003

2009-05-22T08:23:00.016-06:00

Some anniversaries are more difficult that others. These pics aren't that great as far as photographic technology and talent goes, and he was usually on the other side of the camera. But add your own rememberances and enjoy the memories.

Grandpa Tickler changes to Sprinkler Man. He didn't just put in one of the best sprinkling systems, he fixed plumbing, replaced lights and switches, fixed automobiles, mowers, vacuums, just about anything that was broken. He fixed, he cooked, he cleaned, he parented, and so much more. He wasn't that great with laundry, though.

Green

Dad used to do laundry

Every Tuesday night

while Mom grilled cheese

sandwiches on sourdough

bread and opened

red and white,

family-sized cans

of chicken noodle soup,

he separated her

white silk camisoles

with lace trim,

one for each day of the week,

into a small pile
along with sheer,
sandal-toed white hose.

He carefully selected each

article to wash separately

in cold water

with mild detergent

from the heavier white

athletic socks

and 100% cotton briefs.

Piles of terry towels

and dark colored socks,

pocket tee-tops

and Brian's 8-button Henley

all waited in line

in front of blue jeans

and last Saturday's bed linen

for the wash and

spin cycles of the Maytag,

double-load, automatic

washing machine.

He started with light-weight,

quick-to-dry batches

and moved methodically

from whites

to colors

to sheets--

leaving heavy towels

to roll and tumble in

the clothes dryer while

he and Mom slept

into the next day.

One solitary green
trouser sock
tumbled unnoticed onto
the stack of lacy personals,
and lay hidden under a pair
of vanilla colored hose.

Dad mixes tuna fish

with Miracle Whip and

sweet pickle relish

to spread on cracked

wheat bread while

bean and bacon soup

simmers in the

blue saucepan.

Mom separates lovely

sea-green camisoles

with lace trim

from heavy white

athletic socks

and 100% cotton briefs.

This poem was dedicated to Blaine, an extraordinary husband and father and grandfather. Without his help and never-ending encouragement, I would have never tried.

This is Kali with her Grandpa, but all the grandchildren got hugs loves and tickles.

How much $ can we burn up on the 4th of July? He had his bucket and his old tin chair and made sure we all had the best seats in the house.

I remember and love the smile. He claimed to hate Christmas, but I am sure we all have memories of him being the first one up on Christmas morning, making mad dashes to Fred Meyers on Chrismas Eve to fill out someone's Santa stuff, slipping surprise presents under the tree, making Christmas dinner delish.

"Don't look up!" How many times did you have water poured on your head? Water fight the day of the funeral--very appropriate.

His most favorite thing to do--be with family. Malone is sure to get a couple of hotcakes and several slices of bacon.

A Story of Lose

2009-04-24T08:27:00.010-06:00

I lost my cell phone charger (the one I use in the house) right after Rita left to go back to Green River. Rita is my sister-in-law who lives in Green River. She took care of my mother for a long time and became my very close friend when my brother lost his battle with prostrate cancer. She had been here to visit with Tim and me and my mom. I was sure she had picked up my charger by mistake and left hers. A few months ago, I lost my Utah State sweatshirt--the pullover one with the short zipper and stand-up collar. I like to wear it with my jeans because it is long enough to cover the fat rolls around my waist. I have lost all of my house keys so I have to rely on the garage door opener. It is funny though, I have a multitude of house keys but none of them fit any of the doors in my house.

I just lost half of this blog (the best half, of course) because the network here at school had a hiccup. I guess that's what I get for blogging on school time. I never can re-create a piece of writing once it has been written so I'll just jump to the next part.

I've lost my favorite blue sock, my gift certificate to the spa, telephone numbers, and even my cell phone. Once I lost Jazz tickets that Barbara and I bought for Blaine and Kent for Christmas. I lost a whole set of squares that I had cut for Christmas quilts and the pattern to use to cut some more. I no longer have a full set of earrings because I have lost either one or both of each of those. I've lost money. When I was in NY, I left over $300.00 in the rental car. When I called to see if they had found it, they searched the car (????), but could not find it. After very little grief, I decided that none of these things were that important or they could be replaced. (I did eventually find the Jazz tickets and the spa certificate.)

When I heard from Douglas that Stephen Max was gone, at first I wasn't too upset. Not having touched the top of his feet or stroked the soft top of his head or smelled his fresh baby smell, he wasn't really real to me yet so he wasn't really lost. I worried for Stephanie and sorrowed for Douglas but I was too involved with things unimportant--those things that always seem to get in the way of life. Sunday morning I started to weep. Grandson 11 was not to be. Another some (not thing) one was lost. Stephen joins Cody John Austin (2-year old child of Blaine and Carol), Thora Barbara Rasmussen (mother to Blaine), Blaine Lester Austin (husband to me and father of my children), Leonard Dean Jewkes (brother to Carol), Lester Austin (father to Blaine), Leonard Kay Jewkes (father to Carol), Lynn Langer-Meeks (best friend and mentor to Carol). I know that losing is part of living, but it doesn't get any easier. But life does go on. We all continue to take in air, the weather changes, the grass grows and William Cole and Bevan John still know how to laugh and have fun when everyone around them are indulging grief. Katie Marie's voice rings beautiful and clear on a rainy Saturday morning. I don't think I will even admit that losing someone is a blessing but I will claim that my loses have helped me appreciate what is not lost and discover what is truly important--home, family, friends, and love.

(I have tried to write this for a long time--before we lost Stephen, but it just isn't working. I'm going to post it anyway then go on to something new.)

Where am I, or better yet, where are you?

2009-04-13T10:13:00.022-06:00

Family, the most important reason to continue to breathe. For the last forty-one years, I have truly believed, no known, that family is the purpose for my existence. At twenty, I married the love of my life and we began our family in the Manti Temple. Over the next thirty-five years our family of two grew to six. That family grew to seventeen--two parents, four children, three children-in-law, and eight of the most beautiful of all grandchildren. Six years ago, on May 23, our family shrunk to sixteen with the death of one of the parents. Then three years later we grew again with two more beautiful grandchildren. We are now at eighteen. A family, a unit, a group of people bonded together by blood and by experience. We have fun together, are sad together, work together, remember together, and sometimes fight together.

(DIGRESSION)

Change

Lying on my back,
sucking the
juice out of
sweet
fall harvests
of pink
and orange, I
watched as

The point goose tucked
tightly into a
triangle
and
broke
through autumn blue,
creating smooth laminated
space
for companions
nestled closely
to left and right--

wings like
sleek bicycle racers
avoiding the noise and drag
of echelon space.

With juice dripping
off my chin
and elbows,
I wondered as

The point goose moved with
fatigue gently to
the left,
then dropped to the
end of the
strand of the
migrating flock
to rest,

as the
next goose in line
took the
lead.

Tim and I went to the desert this weekend. A wonderful trip filled with laughs, new experiences (I got to ride a 4-wheeler for the first time, Tim got to sleep in a tent for the first time), a beautiful night ski, red rock, wind, rain and sand. But one of the most memorable experiences of the whole trip was when we were traveling back to the main highway. Just beyond what is called Dry Lake, out on the middle of an alkaline flat was a lone goose. Walking back and forth across the barren crusty desert floor, it looked lost and very much alone. Now, I had learned that geese are family birds--they live and move in units, work together, and take care each other. But this goose was alone. We stopped the truck and watched for several moments to see where its companions might be, but there were none. Just this one lonely bird out on the desert in the storm.

When I wrote Change, my writing group didn't like it because I was trying to assign human characteristics to birds. (The beauty of being the writer, one can like what he or she writes whether anyone else likes it or not.) I still liked the poem so I didn't throw it away. I argued that I wasn't assigning human characteristics to the geese, but wondered at how wonderful it would be if we as a unit in the human race provided a protection from the echelon spaces of life for those of our family units as do the geese.

If I may go on with my metaphor, I question if the family of this one lone goose may have assumed human characteristics (instead of the other way around) and cut this one member of their unit out of their flock for some reason--left it to wander alone in the echelon space.

(My picture taking talent is generally poor, but it is exceptionally bad when I am walking on uneven ground trying to get close to a wild bird. Sorry for the very blurry pictures.) As I got closer to this one lonely goose, it watched me carefully moving slowly and staying just ahead of me. (Probably afraid of my amazing camera skills.) Just as I was ready to shoot a second picture, I was startled by a rhythmic whir as the lone goose took flight--hopefully off to rejoin its flock.

Family is the most important thing in my life and I hope that my family will continue to protect each other from the echelons spaces in life and never leave one of us alone in a hard alkaline place. Happy Birthday, Blaine--we miss you--have a good flight.

A Couple of Days in the Life of the Silly Old Woman who Loves Her Children Anyway

2009-04-04T13:54:00.016-06:00

I don't really think anyone reads my blog, but it is a good way for me to kind of keep a journal so I am going to write it anyway. As I mentioned before, we sold Mom's house and we found notes she had written on calendars, in checkbooks, on the backs of grocery receipts, and actually in journals. Much of what she wrote is records of phone calls from her daughters and rememberings of Dean coming to watch a ballgame with Dad. Some are reminders of birthdays and anniversaries, bills to pay or appointments to keep. But some of her entries are revealing secrets that I didn't know about my mother. I am saving these for another time, though. But finding them has made me think that maybe recording the goings-on of everyday life is important. I love reminicing with my mother's writing so here goes with some of my daily happenings for anyone who may be interested.

I have four children--3 boys and 1 girl. My fourth child was born almost ten years after his closest brother so he is kind of the second family. Nonetheless, he and his brother are very close. They fight the best, laugh the best and hangout on the desert or in the mountains the best. K.C and Brian (except for their sweethearts) are best friends. They also abuse their mother the best. The whole thing started early 2 April 2009. I teach school at Mountain Crest High School in Hyrum, Utah. My contract time begins at 7:10 a.m. and I make it to school on or before then (most mornings) and begin my day by turning on my computer and checking my email. As usual, I arrived in my classroom (218), took off my coat, turned on my computer then delivered my lunch to the refrigerator in the faculty room while my computer booted for the tasks of the day--reading and answering my email, taking roll, entering grades, and shopping for an affordable airline fare to Kitty Hawk, North Carolina in June (again another story.) When I got back to my classroom and opened my email, first to catch my eye was a mail from Brian--my third child who lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado and whom I do not see very often. I'm always thrilled when I get something from one of my kids, but I exercised much discipline and saved it for last. After a mail from the vice-principal about what a terrible job we did with our practice disaster drill, one from Dover Books trying to sell me cheap paperbacks, one from CEA updating me on the pay cut I will have to take for next year, and one telling me I could earn up to $20,000 a day if only I would send just $29.95 for my free CD, I took a deep breath and opened my letter (I use this term loosely because no one really writes letters anymore) from Brian--my third child who has a warped sense of humor. It read something like

Everyone;

Congratulations, Doug on the new baby. (Doug is my first child who lives in Smithfield which is very close to Hyrum, but I don't really see him anymore than I do Brian who lives in Colorado Springs.) Then he went on to write--I don't know what to do! I just talked to K.C. He is thinks that Andrea (his sweetheart who is one of the most kind, beautiful, sensitive, thoughtful, young women I have ever met [and I have met a lot of them because, as you remember, I am a school teacher]) is pregnant and they don't think it is his (K.C's). (Another digression--now K.C hasn't always had the best of luck with women in his life, but we all thought that Andrea was the one for him. Like I said before, she is one of the sweetest, kindest, most sensitive and beautiful young woman I know, and I know a lot of them.) First I got so ticked off at K.C for losing her that I wanted to disown him, but Brian--my third son who believes himself to be the great comedian of the universe (he is also an amazing father of three more amazing children) went on to write that he was afraid that K.C--my youngest child whose sweetheart is one of the sweetest, kindest, smartest, most beautiful young women that I know--would run off and do something stupid like join the Peace Corp (which I don't believe is a stupid thing--that's just what Brian--my third child who has no conscience about abusing his mother--said) or get a job out of state (Huh? this comes from Brian--my third son who thinks he has an amazing sense of humor, is an amazing comedian, abuses his mother and, by the way, lives out of state, as I mentioned before.)

I paniced. My 1st hour students began taking their places at various postions around my classroom (218). What was I going to do? I had to teach, but I had to recuse my youngest child, (K.C who hasn't always had the best experiences with the women in his life but has Andrea--one of the most --well you know) from himself. I decided that I would go get him right after lunch and insist that he come and live with Tim and me. He could have his old room back (Tim just refinished it) and I would leave him alone--no nagging about chores, no nagging about school, no nagging about the fact that he hasn't had the best luck with the women in his life (except the sweet, sensitive, smart and amazing Andrea [who I now believed is carrying another man's child.]) (Sorry, Andy, I don't have any pictures of you on my computer and I don't know how to get one off my cool picture thing that you gave me for Christmas.)

At Cache Count School District, when a teacher needs a substitute, even if she has no more leave because she used it all being a wonderful daughter who never abuses her mother decided to take the rest of the day off anyway. She started using the computer to get a substitute for her remaining classes of the day so she can rescue her youngest son from himself. But one last email must be written to Brian--her third child whom she loves dearly anyway--to find out why K.C--her youngest child whom she also loves dearly thinks that the baby is not his. By the way, her daughter Leslie had no part is the whole thing because she rarely abuses her mother except the time she failed to tell her she was going to NYC for the weekend (maybe.) (This is a picture of Leslie's legs and feet--actually it is a picture of William--her youngest son who will never abuse his mother.)

A reply!?! It went something like this:

APRIL FOOL, MOM!

Memories are important when you are old

2009-03-23T08:18:00.007-06:00

My mother has moved to an assisted living center in Logan. It is very apparent that she cannot go back to her home in Green River for age and health reasons. I have been very surprised at the responses of the good people of GR as they discover she will not return to her home of fifty-five plus years. (Many of these will be put away for another time or to be forgotten as a bitter memory.) One such response is that a surprising number of people are anxious to move into her home. We have sold it to Elias and Sara who are living with Elias' brother in a small single wide trailer home so we are each doing a great service for the other. This means that all of Mother's stuff from the last fifty five years must be moved. Lots of memories--trinkets, dishes, pictures, rugs and blankets. Memories of school successes and school failures. Memories of Dean and his dog, Dean and his horse, Dean and his Jeeps. Memories of riding my bike, performing in the school musical, playing in the school band. Copies of every ticket my dad issued as on officer of the Utah Highway Patrol--his hat, his boots, his badges. All this and so much more are stowed away in closets, cupboards, corners and the basement of this rickety old double-wide trailer home.

One thing found among the memories is pictures of the old house I grew up in (not the one we are cleaning out and selling now.) Mother hated living in this house. It was owned by the state of Utah who, in turn, allowed Dad and us to live there for free if he were willing to move to GR and be a state trooper in that part of the state. Dad thought it was a great deal, but Mother thought it was awful. Not only did she have to move from SLC where there were stores and movies and green grass to a part of the Utah desert where little if anything grew and there wasn't a clothing store within 100 miles or a movie theatre within 60, but she was asked to live in a house with two front doors, no carpet, only one bedroom and a kitchen too small to even hold the refrigerator. I don't remember these and other things being a problem. I loved the big, claw-footed bathtub even though the bathroom was a walk-way from one side of the house to the other. I loved my backporch bedroom. I loved the round spot on the livingroom floor that was just above the coal furnace. Sitting on that spot when it was cold outside kept me nice and warm with my favorite gothic romance novel. I loved sitting on the screened frontporch watching the world go by on Highway 50 and 6. Funny, but I didn't know we were poor white trash when I was a kid.

Merry Christmas

2009-03-17T17:06:00.006-06:00

It was just a week ago yesterday--not December or January or even February--2 feet--24 inches--a whole bunch of snow. We got home from Green River on Sunday night and saw stars in the sky as we walked out to the mail box--a beautiful almost spring night. Upon rising at 6:00 a.m. we found 8 inches in the driveway. Tim shoveled a path for me to use to get to school. By the time I was ready to face the 11th graders just a little later there was 2 more inches. At 3:00 when I was ready to come home there was snow above the wheelwells of my Mazda. It is so nice to have a comfy warm home to come home to on days like that. It has warmed up nicely since last week and much of that white stuff is melted, but we could still build a snow fort on the north side of the house.

My seven things

2009-01-24T10:14:00.008-07:00

I didn't get tagged either, but I thought this might be fun so here goes.

Seven Things I Can Do Well

Bake rolls (dinner rolls and sweet rolls). I'll bake sweet rolls if someone will come and visit.
Spending money. I had a great time getting things to put into Mom's new apartment. It looks really cute.
Playing games with the grandkids. Monopoly anyone?
Sharing stoies about the grandkids. "We had so much fun camping with Caleb last summer. He had to go potty so I . . ."
The 12 Days of Christmas. I already have plans for next year.
Listening (most of the time.)
Nagging K.C--mostly about not losing Andrea.

Seven Things I Can't Do

Save money.
Keep the house, garage, yard house or my school room tidy.
Stay out of trouble with my kids.
Let something go.
Say "no" to any of the grandkids.
Tolerate biases.
Quit missing those I have lost.

Seven Things I Always Say

"I'm sorry."
"Really?"
"Blah, blah, blah."
"Holy Moly!"
"I can't do this."
"How much do you need?"
"I love you."

Seven Things I Love to Eat

Chocolate ice cream
Sugar cookies
Southwest egg rolls from Chili's
Roasted chicken salad from Firehouse
Popcorn
Turkey dinner
Diet Cherry Coke

To kill or not to kill, it's not really an option

2009-01-24T09:12:00.006-07:00

Mom (Grandma Jewkes) can be a real pain. Maybe in awhile I will look back on these times with fondness, but right now remembering my lack of remorse while I strangle her seems more likely.

She spiral-broke her fibula just above the ankle. For those of us who are physiologically challenged, that means that she twisted her foot (she stepped on a 6 inch square of frozen snow), the bone broke diagonally, she fell down on her knee (bruised now but not broken), rolled over in the ice-crusted snow (that patch was maybe 18 inches) in a great deal of pain, went to the medical center (the only medical facility within 60 miles of Green River, Utah), had an x-ray (3 actually), now wears a boot (that she claims weighs at least 100 pounds) and can't remember why her leg hurts, why she isn't in her house, why she can't see Rita every day and why she has to use a wheelchair.

She did well the three days she spent with me at my house. She did amazingly well getting to my house. Tim helped me get her to here from Green River (a 41/2 hour drive if there are no stops for food, gas, potty or visits with grandchildren) and she was a trooper. She didn't complain about the ride, the traffic, and that she had to leave her house. She didn't ask for food, drink or even a potty stop. It was easy to have a conversation with Mom while confined to the cramped space of the cab in Tim's truck because I only had to talk about one, two or three subjects. For this trip they were how beautiful Kim (my niece) is, how Rita (my sister-in-law) cried when we left Green River, and how cute Tim is ("but we can't let him hear because he will get a big head," she whispered each time.) He couldn't hear anyway because he conveniently left his hearing aides in his briefcase which was buried under all of Mom's stuff in the bed of the truck.

While she was here at the house she sat in her recliner and watched out my front window. Gary (the neighbor across the street) worked on his diesel truck for those three day and she found that very interesting. She worried about the fact that he wasn't at work and that it is very cold in Hyrum; she asked several times what his last name is and how he was ever going to get his truck out of the snow; but worried about Rita and whether or not she would ever get to see her again only occassionally. (If you are getting way too bored go ahead and jump to the end and find out why I want to strangle her.)

We giggled a lot getting her into bed. My bed is very tall so she had to lean against it, gingerly put her feet into the seat of the wheelchair and push herself up onto the bed using her good leg and elbow. We laughed as she sat up to my kitchen table in her wheelchair (my table is very tall also) and ate her dinner with her chin barely level with the top of the table. She was good company until . . .

Her third night here she forgot about her non-weight bearing bone break. Actually, she forgot about the break at all got herself out of bed and into the bathroom. She finally called for me after she had been sitting in there for I do not know how long. I jumped off the couch where I had been "heavily" sleeping and hurried into the bedroom but she wasn't there. Sitting in the dark on the commode, she called to me again, "Why does my foot hurt?" She had exhausted herself and it took us over a half of an hour to get her back into bed.

Yesterday, she fell trying to get herself from her beautiful new sofa (the one I bought for her new apartment at Legacy House) into her wheelchair. Then last night when I went back to Legacy after dinner, I found her in the bathroom, sitting on the commode taking the boot off her leg. "It is too heavy," she whined to me in her best 5 year old voice when I asked her in my very patient, adult scream, "What the h--l are you doing?! Why the @%$&* didn't you use your call button?!!" She had walked from her living room into the bathroom by herself and had decided that she would take the boot holding her broken bone in place off and go to bed. She refuses to use her call button. . .

I love her and am so grateful for these last couple of years. We have finally gotten close and I know she loves me. She is going to be 85 next Friday. We are going to have cake and ice cream at the Legacy House in Logan, room 226.

Brian, this story is about Grandma Jewkes, not me. But it may give you something to look forward to.

Can you relate?

2009-01-23T08:25:00.004-07:00

Brian cautioned me, "just don't be too gushy. In order for us to get home health care for Mom, she had to be evaluated by a nurse (two actually) and a physical therapist. As a result of these evaluations, it was determined that she needed around the clock medical help available to her. We have moved her to Legacy House, an assisted living center with help for Alzheimer victims. We have been trying very hard to help her to not feel abandoned. Kim brought this Jeff Foxworthy piece to her yesterday and I wanted to share it. Hope it isn't too "gushy" becauseI found it desturbingly entertaining.

REDNECKS; THIS IS WHAT JEFF FOXWORTHY HAD TO SAY ABOUT UTAHNS!

If your local Dairy Queen is closed from September to May, you live in Utah.

If someone in a Home Depot store offers you assistance and they don't work there, you live in Utah. (I love this one--it says good stuff about us.)

If you've worn shorts and a parka at the same time, you live in Utah.

If you've had a lengthy telephone conversation with someone who dialed the wrong number, you live in Utah.

If 'vacation' means going anywhere south of Salt Lake City for the weekend, you live in Utah.

If you measure distance in hours, you live in Utah.> > If you know> several people who have hit a deer more than once, you live in Utah.

If you have switched from 'heat' to 'A/C' and back again in the same day, you livein Utah.

If you install security lights on your house and garage but leave both doors unlocked, you live
in Utah.

If you can drive 75 mph through 2 feet of snow during a raging blizzard without flinching, you live in Utah.

If you design your kid's Halloween costume to fit over a snowsuit, you live in Utah.

If the speed limit on the highway is 75 mph -- you're going 80, and everyone is still passing you, you live in Utah.

If driving is better in the winter because the potholes are filled with snow, you live in Utah.

If you know all 4 seasons: almost winter, winter, still winter, and road construction, you live in Utah.

If you find 10 degrees 'a little chilly' you live in Utah.

If you actually understand these jokes and forward them to all your friends, you live in Utah.

You may have already read or heard these, but the cool thing about giving them to Mom is she can read them several times a day, an hour, even a minute and she will enjoy them as if she were reading them for the first time. I took her to the doctor yesterday afternoon to establish primary care. She is quite healthy except for the broken leg and a desperate need to go to the podiatrist. We have an appointment for the latter and the former is healing nicely.

Just checking to see if I can do it

2009-01-22T10:22:00.002-07:00

One of the things I do most often when I am trying to learn a new computer skill is to begin something, exit the program and not be able to get back in. I need Kali Sarah here to help me learn what I am doing. Anyway, I am just checking to see if I can post twice in a row.

Like my children, I have been touched by our new president--not just because he is the first African American to hold this important position, but because he promises change and hope. Like Brian, I understand that he is a politician, but maybe we can trust him to be an honest one. It is good to be an American, to live in a country where we can count on our hopes for change.

I really don't know what I'm doing

2009-01-22T09:22:00.000-07:00

I spent an hour catching up on Brian's and Leslie's blogs when I was supposed to be getting Mom ready for bed the other night. I got to know a K.C that I didn't know today instead of preparing for my next class. I'm not sure this is the healthy thing for me to do. I already have vices that keep me from doing what I am supposed to do--watching The Bachelor, The Biggest Loser and Survivor when it is on; reading and rereading the Harry Potter series; sleeping; eating black licorice and sugar cookies, drinking Diet Coke and planning next year's 12 Days of Christmas. I would rather play solitaire on my phone than read my students' papers. But I do so enjoy your blogs and think I would like to get into the mix so here goes.