TAKING A SICK DAY

This week I have a stake assignment pressing upon me like an anvil, a new manuscript that is barely developed enough to deserve the title, and eleven family members are arriving shortly for the blessing of little Brady. And then I got sick with teeth-chattering chills, a pounding headache and the Mike Tyson effect--muscles and joints that ached as if they had gone seven rounds in a very small ring with ole Smiley.

But it was luscious. Well, let me put it this way . . . it became luscious after I surrendered to my situation and accepted the fact that I was unable to sit at the computer, which also meant that some of my grand and glorious plans would now have to be less grand and more adequate. I fought it for a hour or two, accomplishing little other than raising the bar on self-pity. And then, accepting that the axis of the earth would not shift if I took a sick day--I did just that! And that's when the luscious part began.

I made some noodle soup, grabbed a water bottle and a great book, and snuggled under ALL the covers, even the heavy one that ladies in my stage of life can NEVER tolerate. Yes, I needed them all. I raised the head and feet of my adjustable bed,(bless Tom for recommending this indulgence), propped a few pillows on either side of me, and settled in to read my book.

My choice was Counting the Cost by Liz Adair, a bittersweet love story exquisitely crafted with characters you come to love so much that you find yourself crying out, "No, no! Don't do it!" before setting the book aside to avoid the inevitable. It was sweet torture to spend the day with these characters . . . guilt-free because, after all . . I was sick!

I love my body. Well, not really of course . . . but speaking metaphorically, bodies are sometimes like good mommies who know when you've pushed too hard, even when you won't admit it. Sometimes they simply say, "Now turn that computer off and take yourself straight to bed, young lady!" Ain't it grand?

I was much better the very next day, the work was still waiting for me and I'll manage. But how grateful I am for my sick day. I begged off all unwanted calls, let the dishes go for day, disregarded the laundry and the earth's axis did stay put.

Maybe I'll just start pencilling one in every now and then. Just for fun. In fact, maybe we all should.

LET'S REALLY THINK ABOUT THIS. . .

Okay, so maybe you're like me in that you can't quite get a good grip on all this bail-out stuff because CNN says Armageddon will happen if it doesn't pass, and Glenn Beck says we're doomed if it does. And maybe the whole nuclear proliferation question also boggles your mind. Should we sit down and have pumpkin pie and a chat with Iran or should we put the economic squeeze on them?

Yes, I have trust issues with the media, and the candidates aren't exactly clearing up the muddle, if you know what I mean. So while we're digging through all that stuff, here are some other pressing questions that also weigh on me. Gladly, the answers may prove foolhardy, but not fatal to any person, bank account or government.

So here's what I want to know. . .

1. I was recently at a Bridal Shower and a cute, chubby six-month old was wriggling around on the floor. Everyone was ooohing and ahhhing over him and these words came out of my mouth. "Look how chubby he's getting! Isn't he cute!" In the next breath, this thought occurred to me. "No one ever says that about me." Well, the first part, yes, though maybe not out loud. But the second part? The redeeming, validating line about chubby being cute? Nope. Nada on that. What gives with THAT double standard? Let's form a focus group and slam that around for a while!

2. You know those squiggly letters you need to decode before you can sign in to anything in the electronic universe? Those alien-looking figures that run together like undercooked lemon pie filling? You know what I'm talking about. What's the deal with them? Oh, sure. They say it's all about preventing electronic whatevers from invading the site. But, what about the humans that want to order a Ped-Egg and can't? Or what about the myopic, tri-focalled generation who can't send replies to their kids' blogs because the Internet is keeping everything safe from robotic cyber-invaders?

One day I tried five . . . count them . . . FIVE times to decode those little "alphabetical selections on LSD" and I could not crack the secret code. And each time I failed, the little screen would change and provide another squiggle-set until I finally thought I heard some byte of nano-technology mocking me from inside my own PC!

Scan my retina! Fingerprint me! Man alive, my entire life savings is only protected by a six digit code I punch into a key pad, but the "Keepers of the Blogs" want me to pass a visual decoder test before I can post "Happy Birthday?"

These little frustrations actually help me understand why the issues of the day become so tedious and bogged down. I think the world was much simpler when we just dialed the phone and made out a check and wrote letters, but then again, we needed all this progress, didn't we?

Political Wisdom from Fairytales

It's hard to deny the brilliance of the fairytale writers and their clever wordsmithing. Much like parables, great thought provoking truths are subtly disguised in story format, leaving the listener to ponder the intended message long after the tale is told.

One of my favorites is The Emperor's New Clothes, the tale of the prideful clothes-horse of a king who contracts with some tailors for the sewing of a fine suit of clothes. Playing on the King's arrogance, the swindling tailors convince the emperor that they are sewing an ensemble made of fabric so exquisite it cannot be seen by those too inferior to appreciate and recognize its value. The tailors bet that the pride of the king, his court, and his constituency, will prevent all of them from admitting that the only finery the emperor is wearing is his own sorry birthday suit.

And the tailors' ruse would have proven successful had a small child, untouched by the pressure to conform, not hollered out the truth that, though unuttered, was always obvious to all.

That pressure to conform, and the consequent tide of silent tongues, is not limited to fairytales. Ask the average Joe on the street what he thinks about the hot bed topics of our day and most likely his opinions are fairly traditional. If that's the case, why don't the polls on differing networks reflect this?

Has our fear of being labelled "unenlightened" or "unprogessive", caused us to keep our opposing points of view to ourselves, confessing them only in secret or anonymously? Or worse yet, have the "enlightened" and their glitterati spokepersons marketed their point of view so seductively that we too are beginning to see the fine tailoring of an invisible suit?

When did this happen?

Naked is naked no matter the political or intellectual spin. But right is right, and eternal princples like marriage retain their meaning only if we seemingly small voices holler collectively and call the world's bluff.

A LITTLE HUFFY TODAY

I woke up and, as I usually do, I turned on CNN, even though I generally am ready to toss a sock at the screen five minutes into the first "unbiased" report. Today was no exception.

The topic was, of course, the economy, and the reporters were sharing comments one candidate made on revising the economy, Social Security, the banking industry, etc. over the course of his twenty-odd years in the Senate. Of course, the opposition was poised with sarcastic jabs and comical quips, pulling comments from another economic era and making snide humor about their wisdom in consideration of today's market.

Well you see, that's the thing about having a long political record where every interview, every speech, every stand before your colleagues is on the official record. People can pull things from one era and use them ten years later, whether they're still relevant or not.

Perhaps having the shorter political record may be an advantage. If there's not much on the record, then there's really not much recorded for anyone to refer to, criticize or question.

Hmmmm. . .

"THE OLD GRAY MARE" and other disturbing truths

I can color the gray, take Tylenol for the joint aches and I can arm myself with some pretty cool songs, stories and games, but the truth is, after a few hours of serious play time with the grand kids, it's apparent. . . the old gray mare really ain't what she used to be many long years ago. . .

I remember the games I played with my kids when they were young. Especially my oldest son, Tom who, having no siblings old enough to provide any suitable entertainment, turned to Mom to be Wonder Woman to his Super Man. We'd tie receiving blankets around our necks and "fly" around the house, vanquishing evil and devouring all manner of healthy treats to maintain our super powers. Sometimes I'd try to pull a spiritual sneaky--inviting him to be Moses with a magic staff that would turn into a snake and scare the bad guys away! That worked great for a while until he discovered that no one else thought being Moses was "cool".

Tom and I are in Utah visiting that son's family right now, and to celebrate our grandson's fifth birthday, Tommy IV wanted a "Spy Party". My daughter-in-law, Krista, and I went searching the stores for spy-type items for the gift bags. Following the party, after enduring the noise created by thirty-four whistle-blowers, we realized a great truth--whistles are of the devil.

Two days after the party, Tommy wanted to actually BE a spy. So we went downstairs to play and I discovered another truth--I can no longer be his horsey, or wrestle or crawl around like GI Jo--without the aid of analgesics.

My son stayed home from work today, inviting us all to go and play at the Splash Park. (Can you hear the sound of my tentative swallow?) "Can I go like this?" I ask as I display my Lane Bryant ensemble. "Go put your suit on. It's a great day outside!" he replies with typical boyish enthusiasm. My smile saddens as I try to explain to him that for the good of all humanity, I'll pass on donning the swim suit.

While he and the kids were out, I tried climbing upon the platform bed attached to their two-level playhouse (my daughter-in-law created all this amazing stuff), so I could straighten the covers. I rolled flat out onto the floor. I'll probably be in traction by evening, but I have to say I should have earned at least a 6.9 on the Olympic Diving Scale. More analgesics.

Enough said?

I am a great story teller and I can sing about 59 silly songs. I'm still pretty good at make believe and I now actually look forward to the next installment of Dora or Franklin, so I've still got some tricks up my sleeve, but I'm not that same flying mommy of days past.

Luckily, my grand children's mommy is. She plays like a teenager with them, but she's expecting right now so she can't wrestle like she usually does. But once that baby is born she'll be back in full form and grandma will be able to return to her rocker and wait with my book and my remote for the quiet shift to begin.

My daughter Amanda and her husband Nick are expecting their first baby in a few months. I know they, and my unmarried sons, look at my husband and me and wonder if we'll still have any steam left when their children are ready to play horsey and super heroes with us.

We think about it a lot too. In truth, each of our kids grew up in a slightly modified family. Tommy enjoyed the world of childhood magic and pretend the longest and probably had the best and greatest percentage of my undivided attention, while our youngest child, Josh, grew up the fastest, leaving mom's side earliest to chase after his siblings. Amanda and Adam, the middle children, probably each had a successively shorter childhood as they too followed Tom's lead.

Likewise, I'm sure each grandchild will know us differently. I hope we'll be able to play hard with all our grandchildren. We might be easier to catch in a game of tag by then, and we might have to modify our entertainment somewhat. And of course, we'll be keeping our bottle of Tylenol a little closer each year.

Suiting up for Middle-Age

JUNE 17, 2008
Okay, clearly I'm not good at blogging, and having had that pointed out to me by my daughter, I am now going to try and make an attempt at blogging more conscientiously.

I'm feeling a lot of pressure here, like when my sons were on missions and I felt the desire and need to crank out several spiritual tomes per week when nothing particularly grand or mind-bending had happened in my life in the passing three days. I did know that they would probably appreciate a line or two about the cats, and maybe an update on the siblings' goings ons, but would they care about the exciting change in my laundry detergent choice, or the fact that I had given soy milk a try? I didn't think so, and I approach this blog thing with equal trepidation, but here we go with my observation of the day.

I am discovering that I am approaching that stage in life where the kids look at me funny. No longer seeing me on a daily basis, I feel a bit scrutinized when we get together, as if they are counting every wrinkle and checking to see what kind of groans I make when I rise from the sofa. I realize they don't want us to age. I think every child wants their parents to be able to pull on the old Super-Hero costume for another day and pretend they will last forever as grand and brave and indestructible as they remember feeling their parents were when they were seven, but Maybelline can only do so much!

I spent much of the day with my mom yesterday. At almost 75, she is as strong as a little ox, still managing a small farm by herself, treating each of the animals there like her children. But she wore a short-sleeved top and her arms sagged--a thing I had never before noticed, and it made me a little sad that she too, was showing her age. I get it now . . . I get it!

So I'm going to go suit up today. My tights will be a little snugger than ever before and my cape is a tad ragged at the edges, but I still have a little razzle-dazzle left in me, and I'm going to give each day as much sparkle as I can muster.

Anyone out there dusting off their super hero costume too?