SO WHADDAYA THINK?

I have been looking for a wider sort of format, and since I have no idea (yet) how to design a template (in fact, I'm still not entirely certain what a 'widget' is other than it's not contagious), I am trying out some.

I LOVE the fact that the 'birds' above are like fuzzy pipe-cleaners - watch 'em for a second - don't they make you laugh? But I don't know how to bring the blog title UP.

Oh, well, enjoy for the moment, it may change in an hour or so.

GUTEN PUTENSCHNITZEL

A friend's blog asked about Thanksgiving memories, and while I assume she is asking about happy Thanksgiving memories, I began writing about unusual Thanksgiving memories, and then realized I had a perfectly good topic for my own blog.

Sorry, Annette - you just lost a comment but I gained a blog entry.

Thanksgiving of 1981, we were living in Dusseldorf, West Germany (in 1981 there was still a wall in dividing Berlin), I had given birth to our second child the month before (at a British military hospital, which someday will be an extremely long blog entry in its own right) in Munchengladbach (my daughter has to deal with the spelling and how to pronounce that city name for her entire life, don't you feel sorry for her?).

And, as one of few American families in Dusseldorf, and the only active LDS family (although we did have a wonderful family of RLDS that attended regularly), we had become sort of the alternate mission-home to a large amount of full-time American LDS missionaries working in Duesseldorf.

I'd like to think they flocked to our gracious home because of the naturally spiritual and uplifting atmosphere which occured there.

But in reality, it was because 1) we were already LDS , and 2) didn't have to be convinced about not drinking beer (although after drinking German public water, sometimes beer did sound good) and 3) did always have non-alcoholic beverages...

and 4)

(and here is where the drum roll comes in)... We had access to....

AMERICAN FOOD. At least after a two-hour ride to another country where there was the nearest American military commissary.

And wild and exotic things like....

KRAFT MACARONI AND CHEESE

HERSHEY / NESTLE CHOCOLATE CHIPS (German and Swiss Chocolate are entirely different organism from our sweet stuff)

MILK that needs to be refrigerated and does not sit in a carton on your shelf for two months before you use it.

RICE KRISPY TREATS - I can't really remember whether the type of cereal or the marshmallows was impossible to get in West Germany, but man, did the missionaries love 'em.

And since we had an apartment full of Americans almost every night (and afternoon and even sometimes in the morning), it was somehow assumed that we would do the entire Thanksgiving dinner deal.

Okay, right.

HOWEVER - do you know that it is possible to get LIVE turkeys in German, but not possible to get a dead one that's been de-feathered and gutted and all that.

There are no pumpkins or cans of pumpkin stuff that you can make pies from. There are a lot of squashes and things like squashes that you can cook for hours and hours and then smash and mash and add all the seasonings and THEN put it all together in a pie.

Stuffing? Are you kidding? Stove-Top was patented in 1975, but the Germans hadn't caught on to it by 1981. So... stale bread, a lot of herbs, bake that stuff, then stick it in the turkey... once you've de-feathered and gutted the bird.....

'Nuff said. It wasn't easy, it's wasn't very pretty, but it got DONE.

Now, if memory serves correctly, we invited our Scottish neighbor Maggie because she was interested in American customs and wanted to see how we celebrated Thanksgiving. And it didn't hurt the missionaries' time sheets any that she wasn't a member of the church (tick off 'time fellow shipping investigator' for five hours on November 24, 1981).

We ate, and ate, and ate, as only eight American boys aged 19-22 , a nursing mother, a two-year old, an adult who reached 30 just as he was introduced to German cooking on an expense account and a healthy Scotswoman.

And it all was happy and fun... until one of the dear, polite Mormon elders leaned back in his chair, slapped his stomach in contentment, and said, "Man! Am I stuffed!"

"WHAT?!?" cried Maggie.

"I just said that I'm full," replied the surprised elder.

Maggie turned to me and demanded, "Are you going to allow talk like that in your home?!?"

Lesson No. 1 - Different languages, especially languages that are called the SAME, such as English, have different definitions to the exact same word.

"Stuffed" in American English means... well, stuffed.

"Stuffed" in Great Britain English, which is an entirely different language, means "F*****" multiplied by a factor of 10 and somehow involves your mother and the legitimacy of your birth and wearing of army boots.

And "Full" is just as bad, if not worse.

There. That's my most memorable Thanksgiving.

So... how stuffed was your own Thanksgiving?

GOD AND MOMS

There is a saying, "There are no atheists in foxholes." I have always sorta wondered why EVERYone, when they get in a dangerous position, say (or screams) OMG (or words to that effect).

Maybe it's just covering all bases, just in case this is 'the end.' Even my dad, a life-long atheist, asked a lot of questions about my spiritual beliefs after his first big stroke and up until he died a couple of years later.

And I personally am convinced that is one of the main points of having 'opposition in all things', as Nephi so eloquently put it. If everything in our lives was always peachy-keen, why would we ever look outside of ourselves for help? If no one had any troubles, how would we learn to help another and serve each other?

So, (back to the original topic) what do God and moms have in common?

They get called on when the going gets tough.

THE AGE-OLD DILEMMA

So many expressions have lately been stretched so far beyond their original meaning that the initial implication is long dead and gone. Tonight on a commercial, they used the tag of "age-old dilemma" to talk about "where are we going to eat tonight?"

Geesch. Age-old. Yeah.

Perhaps "WHAT are we going to eat tonight?," or even "ARE we going to eat tonight?"

But I did learn something. Did you know that word dilemma actually means "a situation in which somebody must choose one of two or more unsatisfactory alternatives"? I didn't know that.

But back to an 'age-old' dilemma - I have had one. Well, maybe not 'age-old', but for the past 53 years. Okay, maybe the past 40 - I didn't wear much make-up when I was a toddler, just a little blush. And some mascara, but only on first dates.

But I have always been unhappy with lipstick. I can use chapstick, I can use Vaseline, but I get anything with a little bit of color - it's either too red, too pink, too SOMEthing that turns it into clown paint on my lips.

And this weekend, I may have found the solution.

You know that lipstick they advertise as "semi-permanent" (which in our insatiable need for instant gratification translates into "more than thirty minutes")? I, completely on a whim (and the fact that it was marked down to $1.29 on a Target end-cap), purchased some "semi-permanent" lipstick in

a mildly favorable tint, and (of course, if you know me at all) did almost the exact opposite of what the instructions read.

AND IT WORKED.

So... should I share this incredible secret? Should I hold it for ransom? See how many (okay, all four of you who read this blog regularly) will beg and plead for it?

Yeah, I agree. Who would care that much. And I am naturally a caring, giving individual who loves to share. So here it is:

Put it on the night before.

Yup, and by morning, at least on ME, it has faded slightly, and definitelyy becomes a more, how should we say, reserved tone, and although it adds color, it's incredible SUBTLE, which is what I need in my make-up and almost never experience in my life (entire other story there).

Any charitable donations in response to my generosity will be accepted, and I thank you in advance.

DEJA VU

I love little accent marks. When we had just moved from Germany, it drove me NUTS to see things like the city of Düsseldorf written as "Duesseldorf" - "Cologne" instead of Köln. And words/expression like déjà vu just look way cooler with all the umlauts and eszelts.


Well, that's what they're called in German - déjà vu is French, so I have no idea what they are called there. Anyone wanna tell me?


But this post isn't about language misuse, it's about the experience of déjà vu. I think everyone feels that fleeting "I've done this before" or "That person is going to say such-and-such" and then it comes out that way.


Sometimes I get a little bit more. Well, actually, I usually get a WHOLE lot more.

When trying to describe what happens, I've compared it to a incredibly high-speed movie inside of my head, that gets set off by a sound or word - sometimes a smell - that, once it starts, I have no control over. It's not a hallucination in the true sense of the word - I know it's just happening inside my head, and I still can perceive what's happening around me - but it's as if seeing through an extremely heavy, thick glass. 'Reality' is dimmed, it's hard to touch or feel or talk, and the movie is dominating my world.

Normally (if the word 'normal' can be applied to something that is SOO abnormal) it lasts about 30 - 45 seconds, and people around me, when asked, don't think I've done anything outside my norm (which, if you knew me, allows for a whole lot of crazy things).

For years, I tried to gain control over this - to stop it and/or lessen it. But this just seems to make it worse. So I've learned to sense when one might be coming on, and if I move quickly enough (literally - I usually dash to another room or outside) I can prevent it from beginning. But once it starts - can't do anything at all.

And the movie script, I guess you would call it, doesn't ever change. The moment that began it becomes that opening sequence - then, almost always, the movie at an impossible speed begins and covers the same material it always have. The next time it is set off, that opening moment is the next in line after whatever started it this time.

Is any of this making any sense? It's like madness occurring occasionally. I'll go months without it, and usually about 24 hours after some stressful event (fight with my husband, harsh words exchanged, overworking and/or under sleeping) it clicks in.

The feeling I am left with is like a very thin, very used washcloth, frayed on all sides, being wrung out from the bucket of dirty water with bleach' I just want to lay done someplace quiet and dark and be still for the next 46 days.

To the best of my memory, this never happened until after my head-injury in 1976. I know that I do have brain-damage on the right side, and it could be related to that.

Okay - anyone out there like to talk about their bouts of insanity? Floor is now open for comments - possible referrals and medications may be offered, but invitations to be on Oprah and The Tonight Show need to be handled on a first come, first served basis.

AS A PARENT

Please read this,but also please read it thinking as a parent:

May the Good Lord be with you down every road you roam.
And may sunshine and happiness surround you when you're far from home.
And may you grow to be proud, dignified, and true.
And do unto others as you would have done to you.

Be courageous and be brave,
And in my heart you'll always stay
Forever young

May good fortune be with you, may your guiding light be strong.
Build a stairway to heaven with a prince or vagabond.
And may you never love in vain,
And in my heart you will remain
Forever young

And when you finally fly away, I'll be hoping that I served you well.
For all the wisdom of a lifetime, no one can ever tell.
But whatever road you choose, I'm right behind you, win or lose.


If you are not a child of the 80's, you probably could read these lyrics without a melody beginning in your head. I can't - it's a Rod Stewart song released in 1988.

And I just love it.

THANKS FOR THE MEMORIES

This is just a private little moan. I watch re-runs of "Whose Line Is It Anyway" almost every night at 10 p.m., and do the dishes, take care of stuff, etc. during the commercials. I have seen each and every episode ever aired multiple times, and one of the advantages of having a poor memory is I will still laugh at almost every (good) joke.

So tonight when they were doing special recognition of T.V. stars, I knew what was coming, and still kept watching. They had Sid Caesar on as a guest star, and I, once again, just dissolved into a little puddle of tears.

He's the same age as my dad, wrote (and acted) comedy at the same time as my dad was writing comedy for television, and he LOOKS like my dad did right before his death.

It's isn't all that often that it hits, but I miss my dad. I miss talking to him. And it was always so great to know someone who really KNOWS you and still loves you (Annette and Harmony, you're the only other ones that fit that category).

As the song goes, thanks for all the memories, Dad.