The curse of Job

Well, I think maybe I should stop reading Job. I started to read it on the advice of one of the elders, the one whose name I can't pronounce so I call him Mi Hermanito Burrito. Not to his face, but in my head. So I started reading it and found that sooooo many things Job was thinking and saying, I've said. Not so Jewishly, but the essentials are the same. And I was thinking, wow, I'm so glad my animals and family weren't killed and I don't have boils. Then I woke up this morning and noticed my face was trying very hard to look like I was going through puberty again. And puberty acne is about as close to boils as I can get. Then this evening my younger sister called and said her puppy was electrocuted and killed. Praise the heavens they weren't in the house, so their lives were saved, but the poor puppy. Bad enough that he died, but his last few minutes were spent in terror. How horrible is that! I don't like having this greater appreciation of Job. I liked the bliss of ignorance. This may sound blasphemous, but after everything that has been happening in the past few months, most especially in the past week and 2 days, I better have a big old fat few months of astonishing blessings coming my way rather soon. Well, I better go check the cibatta bread I just pulled out of the oven. I added a tablespoon of honey to the recipe to see if it makes the bread sweater. With my luck, it probably caused some horrible festering creature to grow and as soon as I cut it open, it will fly out and suck my eyeballs out. Sounds like a 1960s horror movie. Tomorrow better be a good day. I have people coming over for dinner.

Squidward is such a barnacle-Spongebob Squarepants

I would like you to know I had so many deep and profound thoughts today that I was eager to share with my hoards of blogowers. (Blog+followers=blogowers) Yes, I totally just made up that word. Of course, I didn't jot any of them down and so when I finally get to the computer, I have no idea what earth shattering things I had planned on writing. Yesterday I realized I need to stop saying things like "earth shattering" or "earth shaking" to emphasize things in my speech. Considering the fact that I'm in California, that's like begging for an earthquake.
I finished reading the book of Psalms last night. You know, that book is the most often quoted by New Testament apostles and by Christ, but I think it tends to be overlooked by members of the Church today. A lot of it was rather tedious and repetitive, but there were SO many verses that are perfect for trials and tribulation. I have so many post-its on my wall with verses from Psalms written on them. If they all fell off at the same time and landed on my head while I was sleeping, I might be smothered by them. Death by post-it. The joke would no longer be a laughing matter.

Let me eat cake

The gardeners come on Fridays, usually about noon, but I was so out of it this week I forgot it was Friday. I kept hearing something that sounded like cattle bawling and thought it was rather weird to be hearing it in California. Then I realized it was a lawnmower. Then I realized it was coming from the front yard. Then I realized it was the gardeners. Then I realized it must be Friday. Then I realized it took me a long time to realize this. Hmmm. It has been a fairly...eventful week, but not the sort of events that I'd care to throw out into the internet audience, so I'm not entirely sure why I mentioned it. Cest la vie. But one thing I've really been enjoying, probably far too much and far too often than I should, is Pinky and the Brain. I enjoyed it as a young person, (who didnt?) but watching it now I've noticed so many things that are funny only for adults. And it's so quotable! I keep hearing things that I want to put on Facebook. Such is my personality. I pirate my status. Ha!
So earlier this week I made a pan of brownies. We finished it on Thursday. Friday afternoon I made a cake since I had a friend over for dinner. It is Sunday afternoon and the cake is gone. I find this a little funny considering Brad only had one small piece of cake and the rest Olive and I devoured. AN ENTIRE CAKE, ladies and gentlemen. In two days. And all I can think is, "Geez, I want some more cake."

New favorite phrase: "Poop in a group"--nice one Brad

If a picture is worth a thousand words, then this picture should speak loudly, if anyone has any doubts as to what my feelings are regarding my life right now.


Turtles I saw a while back. No reason for the picture. I just thought it was funny that one turtle was sleeping on the back of another.
My most awesome red heels that only cost $10!
My new journal-hand decorated in India. It was like $8.
The books I bought on sale. One is about the most expensive bottle of wine ever purchased at auction that apparently has a bit of a mystery attached to it. One is about Bonnie and Clyde. One is about the Russian master spy that stole secrets from the US AFTER the Cold War was over. One is about a Mafia stool pigeon that landed a bunch of mobsters in jail. The other is about an Irish woman "pirate queen" that caused countless problems for other countries and was super powerful and enemies of Queen Elizabeth. Can't wait to read these.
A ring I bought in the shape of a flower. It gets put on one finger and then rests on its neighbor.
A ring I bought. I couldn't get the camera to focus, but it's a flower of red gems and surrounding silver swirls.

I pretend the squirrels are monkeys and that I'm in the jungle.

Last night I had the most exciting dream. I don't really remember what it was about specifically, but there was a lavish palace involved, betrayal, murder, a surprise twist ending, and so many beautiful fabrics. It started with some people who had bought a run down palace and were fixing it up to make into a hotel. Then the brother of the dead man who had owned it came along with the dead man's son, who (for whatever reason) had been abused and brainwashed into his hired muscle. The uncle was trying to swindle the people out of the palace and using the nephew to scare them. Then (somehow) me and the owners pulled a My Fair Lady on the nephew and made him into a gentleman who realized that he was heir to the throne and the palace rightfully belonged to him, yadda yadda ya. But the uncle was furious at this betrayal and called in the police to arrest the nephew and me and the other people (whoever they were). Very intense part of the dream. I go screaming and rushing into the throng of policemen arresting the nephew, cursing about the injustice of it all, but can't seem to free him. Then I remembered the gargoyles on the edges of the palace have machine guns built into them so that if the house ever came under attack, it would spray bullets everywhere in defense. (Remember this is a dream, so it doesn't have to make sense.) I realize I can grab one of the cop's guns and shoot at the gargoyle and it would activate the machine gun and kill all the cops. I knew the nephew (and rightful king) would be safe because he had already been locked up in the bulletproof paddy wagon, but I also knew I'd probably be killed in the spray of bullets. I heroically fired at the gargoyle, but even in my dreams I'm a terrible shot and missed completely. The sheriff instantly arrests me and says he's taking me in personally, instead he whisks me away to some sort of hotel and puts me in hiding as a maid. (The dream never explains why he suddenly becomes good. Whatever.) So I'm in hiding as a maid to a rich American woman with big hats, and I'm miserable because I believe the nephew/king and his sister (who had somehow come into the picture for the first time) are dead. Meanwhile, the country has been whipped into a frenzy by the evil uncle and they are actively looking for anyone connected with the royal family to kill them, so I am constantly afraid I'll be found out. Then the American lady goes to an auction where they were selling off objects from the palace and she brings back a bunch of scarves, an absolutely beautiful bunch of silk cloth, and a small box. She tells me and the other maid that they had come from the palace of Ariennes. I insist the scarves are far too ugly for Ariennes and that someone had conned her. She shows me the silk cloth and says she was told it was to cover the dining room chairs. I have a hard time keeping the tears at bay because I remembered helping the nephew/king pick the fabric out. "Oh, yes," I say. "THIS is from Ariennes." Then the American lady goes home and leaves me a box for a present. Inside is the cloth with instructions to make a dress and the small box. Inside was a huge diamond ring. The woman left a note saying that she had been well aware all along that I had come from the Palace Ariennes and that I was one of the rightful owners of the cloth. She said she had found the small box wedged into the desk of the nephew/king and from what the rumors had told her, it was going to be mine when I married the king. This makes the dream me cry. The gifts inspire within me a new belief that if I made it out alive, then someone else may have as well, so I go out into the city for the first time to find news. The sheriff sees me in a cafe and slips me two envelopes before leaving wordlessly. Inside one envelope is a letter written by the sister, who states that she had been rescued by the sheriff and was in hiding in a convent and found that she is quite happy among the nuns. The other envelope holds a piece of paper stating that the king had been executed on such and such a date and his body had been shipped to such and such an address. I was determined to see his burial site and so hop a train and arrive at the stated address, only to see that it isn't a graveyard at all. Instead, it's a pawn shop in a very quiet country town. I go into the pawn shop (with it's tinkling bell on the door) and ask the clerk behind the counter if he could give me directions. The clerk, who had had his back to me, stiffens, then turns slowly to face me. It takes a while for the dream me to realize the clerk is the nephew/king, though with very short hair and a scar on his cheek. He limps around the counter, his face a mask of disbelief and suspicion and.....................the freaking dream ends. But I think with a few adjustments this might make for a good book.
So, I went online to find a cute, yet cheap, journal and was surprised to see how few there were. When you walk into Barnes and Noble there are TONS of journals for sale, but few, apparently, make it onto the website. At any rate, I found one, and stumbled upon some great history books on sale, so I bought them. The rest of today really, really sucked and I don't want to talk about it. So.....the end.

I get on a soapbox in here...

So, I don't know why, but occasionally I'll come into the kitchen and discover that Olive has put dirty dishes in completely random places. For example, one day I found that she had done a few dishes. She said something about not knowing where to put something and I thought she meant there was a clean dish that she didn't know where to put. "Okay," I said. "That's fine." I was very wrong. She had, for some unknown reason, taken the still dirty saucepan and put it under the sink. She had washed everything else, but for whatever reason, had hidden this. Then yesterday morning I open the pantry and find the dirty cookie sheet on the floor. She's getting better with putting away the clean dishes in better places, as opposed to what she was doing before: putting them in the oven. I don't think it was because she's confused, I think it's because she hasn't used the oven for years and years and so figured she'd use it to store dishes in. Economical, but now that I'm using the stove constantly, it makes it a bit dangerous. Once I preheated the oven without realizing the saucepan was in there. Boy did that thing get hot.
Then there's the juice container. It's one of those Rubbermaid pitchers with the handle and lid. When I finish all the Kool-Aid, I put the pitcher in the sink along with all the other dirty dishes. She keeps thinking it's a container that's supposed to be thrown away, so I have to keep digging it out of the trash. It's strange the things you find you can get used to.
So since I've been experiencing a constant, almost relenting onslaught from the adversary, I've tried to just drown in the scriptures. I was going to start yesterday, but Olive really wanted to go out. Unfortunately, yesterday was also the day that the adversary seemed to double his efforts. I felt as fragile as a dry leaf and it took all of my effort to drive Olive uptown and not cry. I couldn't even bring myself to try and keep up some polite conversation at lunch. I kept thinking how I don't think I can do this any more and why is everything fighting me so, so hard right now and silent, half subconscious prayers for help and strength. Consciously I kept thinking "I need a priesthood holder." I couldn't decide if I really needed a blessing, or if I just needed the extra boost of strength being around the priesthood brings, but I kept picking up the phone to call the only priesthood holder I know out here. Then, as I looked at the phone, I'd start to wonder what exactly I was going to say and realize I had no idea how to ask for help without sounding completely insane. So I'd put the phone down. Then I'd pick it up again because I felt I couldn't do it alone any more, but once again, I'd think, "He's probably busy, or enjoying the company of a girly friend and I'd just be bothering him." So I'd put the phone down. Finally, I told myself I just needed to deal and not bother other people with my problems. So after doing the things we needed to do at the store, I helped Olive get into the car and buckled and I turn around and see Elder Hessing's smiling face. It was the greatest answer to all of my unspoken prayers and EXACTLY what I needed. I could have hugged those elders. I literally burst into tears, like in the cartoons where the tears suddenly come shooting out like waterfalls. Those poor, poor boys. I tried to stop crying, but not very hard because for some reason it just felt so good. They were in a hurry because they were on their way to meet with the mission president (I think), but being around the priesthood even for that little bit was enough to get me through the day. As soon as we got home, I pulled out the scriptures and started to read. I've read all day too, though the devilish "Aunt Flow" has been causing havoc.
(Sidenote: you know how most Indian tribes would make the menstruating women live a bit separated from the rest of the village for the week? Well, along come the stupid Puritainical, male dominating Christians who looked at this and thought it was so horrible and blah blah blah. Really, it was THEM who were being horrible. Before them, the women could be away from all the stress and work of everyday life and really just rest and take care of herself, with no one to bother her! Then come the whites and everything changes. The woman has to soldier on, no rest, don't talk about it, don't let anyone know anything is happening, like they should be ashamed of it or something. Ridiculous. Let's go back to where it was considered something special, something powerful, where the women could go take care of themselves and not worry about everyone else for a change!)
But anyways, I've read almost 15 books in the Old Testament. The short books, but still. And I must say, it has lessened the onslaught I've been fighting non-stop for two months. The only down side is that I really could care less about Israel and Jerusalem and their being sacked by foreign nations. I could care less about Israel NOW, much less back then, so it makes it hard to really get into some of the books that are all about Israel getting attacked.
And where are the normal looking women in the scripture? I read the book of Ruth and of Esther, and while what Esther did was quite courageous, the only reason she was in a position to do what she did is because she was pretty enough to turn the king on. Ruth, again, pretty enough to turn a man's head. It seems like every time they mention a woman in the scriptures, she's evil, or so pretty she's causing problems. So again, I say, where's the normal women?
Last night I was reading and suddenly get to the Songs of Solomon. Oh my scariness! After all the uplifting thoughts and spiritual feasting, I get to the borderline old-school porn poetry. There were verses describing what a woman's breasts are like, bowels being moved at the man's knock on the door, a man's head lying between breasts. Awkward to read and I was alone! There were a few lines where I thought, "That would be good in a greeting card", but it was a bit of a splash of cold water after the other scriptures. The footnotes point out that it's not inspired scripture and the Bible Dictionary notes that it's only in there so you can kind of compare the man and woman to the Lord and the church. Um, no, sorry. That's stretching it too far. For some reason I kept thinking it was like an old, Jewish Baudelaire, and I haven't even read Baudelaire, but that's what I was thinking. Of course, now you are all going to go out and read it, aren't you?
Well, unfortunately, nothing of real interest or humorous has happened. I do hope that none of you have to run through the adversary's gauntlet as I have been doing for so many weeks. I've never experienced anything like it and am so exhausted. Not physically, but like the psalm says, "I am too troubled to speak." I feel crippled and broken and that a great deal of me has died and I could really use some relief, but as the scriptures say, "No my will, but Thine be done." Sigh.

I have a sparkly purple notebook

I saw a lizard chasing another up the tree and it looked as though it was nipping the rear end of the lizard in front. I thought, oh how cute, they're playing. Then I realized it's spring, aka mating season, and the thought dawned on me that they are probably starting a reptilian orgy rather than enjoying some harmless flirtation. Gross. And can I just tell you how annoying it is to find lip gloss with great color in the bottle, but when you put it on your lips there is no color whatsoever and it's all just a sticky mess? Blarg.
So a few weeks ago Olive and I went grocery shopping and afterward she was FURIOUS at me for the bill ($245). I tried to explain to her that it was for two people for the month of March and that it was actually not that bad of a bill for LA. She went off on how "before" she could only spend $50-$60 at the grocery store and have it last the whole month. I didn't reply to that, but inside I was thinking "Impossible!" Then she mentioned that "before" she ate out a lot and I said, "And eating out costs a lot more than homemade meals." "Impossible!" she replied.
Yesterday, she had the accountant out to prepare her taxes and at one point I had to go through her credit card bills and mark off all the charges to the pharmacy. Since I was looking at the details of the bills, I noticed how much she had charged to various restaurants over the months that, she had claimed, were so much cheaper than my home cooking. We shall not mention the hundreds more she's spent eating out rather than cooking, but I did have a brief moment of solitary vindication. If I can hold onto the car for a bit longer, next time I need to go grocery shopping, I'm going alone.
On an unrelated note, so many cultures have stories about "little people" that were tricksters and helpers and magical. If so many cultures, unrelated, spread far apart can have stories so similar, where do the stories come from? They have to have a beginning, a kernel of truth. Hmmmm....

I think I just saw a squirrel with a mustache

So yesterday I was supposed to give a talk in church. I'd spent quite a lot of time writing it all out, twice, getting quotes from the church website, etc. Then Saturday night I had this slight feeling that it was the wrong talk. I just brushed it aside and went along my merry way. Then Sunday morning, I got lost driving to church. How you get lost going so short a way, I don't know, but I did. I got to church just as it was starting, laughing. Then as they were singing the sacrament hymn, I was getting the VERY strong feeling that they talk was wrong. Not as in wrong principles, but wrong moment. So I'm sitting there, biting my lower lip to keep from laughing at the ridiculousness (is that a word?) and wondering what I'm going to do. I was thinking about the conference talks I'd printed out and glued in my scriptures, but that wasn't feeling right, so I start thinking about the talks I've heard in Bozeman that I remembered and the more I thought about Bozeman, the more peaceful I got. So when they said my name and made way for me to speak (I was the first speaker, of course) I get up, holding my talk, and announce that I had the strong feeling not to give it, even though it was a VERY good talk. So then I dropped it next to me, as if I was throwing it away. Nice effect, and totally unplanned. I think it made people nervous to think I was going to fly by the seat of my pants, but what were they going to do about it? Anyways, it was definitely a Moses moment, where you just open your mouth and stuff comes tumbling out and you wonder if it makes any sense or if it's just a jumble of incoherent thoughts. When I finally sat down, after getting teary eyed and saying something along the lines of the importance of ward unity and the great harm the lack of it can do, it was like I was ten pounds heavier. Weird. People said it was good, so either it was, or they're making me feel better for having to wing it all. Even the apostles have teleprompters. Lucky. After sacrament was Sunday school and I sat in between Elder Hessing and this adorable young kid named Tyler and I remember feeling more relaxed and more safe than I have since I've been in California. I wondered briefly why and then realized I was literally surrounded by the priesthood. When Sunday school ended and it was time for Relief Society, I was really bummed because I was going to be without bodyguards again. To give you a little taste of how surrounded by awfulness and creepy feelings and just all around evil I am fighting against, here's what happened last night: I was dead asleep and then it suddenly starts to feel like someone was tugging on my bed or something, so I wake up and don't see anyone or anything moving, but when I close my eyes, it feels like something is tugging the bed.And it feels like someone is standing in the room. Very scary. So I grab this pic of the Savior I've got nearby and put it right next to my head and sing hymns until I fall back asleep (well, more just humming the tune because I couldn't remember the words). So I'm dreaming about whatever, and through the dream I can feel that someone is in the room again and like they're messing with the bed. (It felt like when you're laying down and someone sits on the bed. You know how it kinda moves everything?) Anyways, I feel all this but can't wake up and all of a sudden it switches and I see my friend Seth at a table reading scriptures and all of a sudden he looks up and starts pulling my arm and urging me to wake up. So I'm wide awake, creepy feeling is back and my arm is straight out and I can still feel where my arm was pulled, as if it was actually pulled. The picture of Christ had been moved away from my head in my sleep so I pulled it close again and then the creepy feeling left. I NEVER dream about ppl in Bozeman (except for the one dream about Micah being wrongly accused of murder). So that was weird. And then literally feeling like my arm was pulled. And then the creepy presence in my room TWICE in one night. Seriously. Creepy.
But I noticed during one of the dreams last night, that I'll swear in my dream. I don't swear in real life, though Olive swears all the time and I have to hear it. But I did notice that the only word she really doesn't use is the F word, and that's the one I heard in my dream. Only twice, but still. It's all so freaky.

As I listen to Ingrid Michaelson

Olive really likes brownies, so I've discovered. She'll subtly hint when she wants me to make more, and she'll eat most of them, but while she does she'll constantly say things like, "I shouldn't eat this." "Don't put these in front of me." "No more of this now," as she grabs another piece. I've told her you only live once, so enjoy and really at her age, and considering her health, she should just live it up while she can. No one wants to get to the Pearly Gates and think, "Should've eaten those brownies."
So yesterday afternoon I went to lunch with Olive and her good friend Morse. Morse is an absolutely adorable old man, short, very quiet, drives a giant black Cadi. We went to one of those ubiquitous "family restaurants" that never seem to have families as patrons, mostly the elderly or creepy, overweight, middle-aged men talking to each other loudly in a corner booth. Discussing crimes no doubt. Our poor waitress was having one of those days, where you try your best to be on top of things, but it seems the world is conspiring against you and everything goes wrong. She took forever to get to our table. Olive ordered the fried chicken and I said, "I'll have the same." For some reason the waitress thought that meant I'll just share with Olive, rather than I'll order the same thing. So she brought out Morse's spagetti and Olive's chicken, but nothing for me. So she went back to order another chicken for me and I asked if I could get my roll to eat while I was waiting. The roll looked good, and was very hot, but as we all know looks can be decieving. It tasted like it'd been sitting out for a while and they heated it up to make it seem fresh. Consequently, it was like chewing on a piece of leather. The butter they give you in such places is very bitter, so it was like chewing on very bitter leather. Though Olive kept going on about how horrible it was that they didn't get the order right, I couldn't have cared less. I was perfectly content to wait. Besides, getting upset causes more problems than anything. When the chicken did come it was delicious! Well worth the wait. The entire rest of the meal sucked, but in places like that you expect it to. On the way out, I looked down at a table where an older man was sitting with an older woman I took to be his wife. He was reading something and upon closer inspection, I realized it was a script. The only thing I could read as I walked by was that he had crossed out something and written "Hello" instead. Hmmm. Profound editing.
Spent the rest of the day sleeping, much to my delight, and a little before eight I was taking my mess up to my room to get ready for bed. Olive had already changed into her PJs and was listening to her book on tape when there was a knock at the door. This is quite rare and since it was dark outside, more than a little creepy. So before I unlock the door, I turned on the porch light and blinded the missionaries. So I opened the door and accused them of being vampires for shrinking away from the light. They wanted to "stop by and see how things were going". Olive didn't want to come out because she wasn't dressed and because "they want to lecture" her. Or so she said. So it was just me and them. They're so fun to watch, like watching a married couple tease each other or brothers who are trying to be well behaved but can't help occasionally slugging the other one. Elder Hessing said he's been teaching Elder Ardilles(?) some English words you won't learn in the MTC, like "freaking awesome" and "pissed" and so forth. I told them about the time we taught a Russian friend "Number One" and "Number Two". Heaven forbid we teach foreigners anything useful. After chatting for a bit, Elder Hessing said that Elder Santiago (which is what I call him because I can't pronounce his name) found a scripture that he thought would help me. D&C 98:1-3. So of course, as he was reading it, I started to cry. Those poor boys have probably never seen anyone cry so much. So embarassing. But they of course knew what I needed to hear and even when the elder didn't know the English word and had to throw in some Spanish, it was a huge help. As usual their visit seemed to break down whatever fence I'd been leaning on, figuratively speaking, and once again I spent a great deal of time sobbing as I tried to pray. I swear I'm losing my grip on my sanity. And all these unbidden thoughts about Bozeman are like salt in the wound.

hmmmmmmmmm

Well, today was singularly uneventful. I woke up late, again. If I were a monkey I would fling poo in the face of Daylight Savings. I decided to finally try and get started on my talk for Sunday. By getting started I mean flipping through the Bible Dictionary randomly reading entries and waiting for something to jump off the page and form itself into a wonderful speech. Not so successful. Oh well, it's only Thursday. Last night I watched the 1969 movie Paint Your Wagon. Few people know that Dirty Harry has such a nice singing voice. Clint Eastwood is certainly not my favorite character. I mean, there's no way he can compete with Lee Marvin's performance. Classic. Speaking of classic, I bought season one and two of Bewitched. I love the show, but I get really irritated at Darrin's male chauvenist I am man therefore I am god comments. And did you ever notice Samantha doesn't actually wiggle her nose? She moves her mouth. Not quite as impressive.

Oh, and I have stationary made out of recycled elephant poo.

Giant Update!

well, it has been an interesting few days. on friday afternoon stan picked me up because he was going to test drive new cars. see, they've been thinking that it would be easier and cheaper in the long run to get a car for me to use rather than taking off work to drive us places. so they started looking into cars, thinking they can give it to their son when he turns 16. anyways, Fran wants a mini cooper so stan and i went to test drive minis. he took me along just for the heck of it. yesterday, sunday, they bought one. i've overheard enough to know that olive is paying for who knows how much of it, since (in theory) i'll be using it to run errands and things. they are going to play with it for a while before i get it, but supposedly i'll be able to have it "three or four days a week." oh. my. word.
yesterday i went to the singles ward for church. there were maybe a dozen people there, fairly split down the middle gender wise, though two of them were missionaries. the girls in relief society (a whopping six of us) were fairly nice and the missionaries are adorable idaho boys that are so cute you want to spoil them and pinch their cheeks. (although the cheek pinching may be the result of living with a 91 year old woman.) the rest of the guys, save one, are (as I told seth) gnome-like creatures that emerge periodically into the sunlight but avoid the fairer sex at all costs. i half expected them to hiss or curl into a ball like a beetle if i looked at them. not that you would WANT them to pay attention to you. heavens no. and of course every person in my family (and the church) over the age of sixty is determined to marry me off in the next few weeks, which is frightening since i've seen what they have to offer. oh. my. word.
then today i was sitting with olive outside, since it's nice out, and i was trying to think of something to say. she can't carry on what i would consider a normal conversation because she can't hear well and has a hard time understanding things. so everything i say to her is half shouted and very simple so there is low chance of misunderstanding. or so i thought. i saw a disgusting lizard creeping towards me and after shooing it away, mentioned that i had had a friend who had served a mission in LA. for some reason she heard the word "friend" and interrpreted it as "fiance". she immediately began pestering me with questions like, are you going to marry him when you get home? what does he think about you being down here? what does his parents do for a living? and various other questions all involving the word marriage, or some form of the word. i sat there for a brief moment thinking, 'how in the world did she connect those two things together' then tried desperately to explain that just because i had a guy friend, doesn't mean we were engaged. i kept saying 'he's just a friend' and 'no he's not upset about me being down here because we aren't engaged' and finally tried to explain that he was dating my friend and so therefore not engaged to me. she asked if he was going to marry her and i said 'i don't know. it's not really my business' which she interpreted as "yes". then she got fairly upset and said, 'well, does he love her?' on the one hand i am very confused about where all of this is coming from and on the other trying very hard not to laugh because its all so completely ridiculous. somehow it went from me saying "I have a friend who served a mission in Los Angeles" to me suddenly getting married to seth being engaged to two people at once, one of whom olive is SURE he doesn't actually want to marry. ((seth and daneesha i am soooo eternally sorry for somehow getting your personal lives dragged into such awkward questions. i really have no idea how it happened. please please forgive me.)) even now, as i write this, im laughing because i STILL can't figure out how she linked everything. of course, this particular line of thought led to a firm lecture about not taking anyone's advice about love (again, this is funny because that's exactly what she was doing) and somehow this led to a tangent about divorce. all from a rather inocuous little statement triggered by a lizard. i can just IMAGINE what will happen if she gets even more confused and calls my grandma to relate everything. a bloated, runaway defense budget run by republicans can never inflict as much damage as a few elderly women with telephones and nothing to do. OH. MY. WORD.

As the title may have suggested, all of you lucky receipients of these messages are going to receive them whether you like it or not, because typing these are one of the great highlights of the week. So deal! (Enter evil, dominating laugh here). The following letter may sound a bit disjointed because the subjects have nothing to do with each other, but are a bit amusing, at least to me.

First of all, those of you who have ever been to BYU-Idaho know the squirrels are evil spawn of satan with homicidal tendencies. The squirrels out here, however, actually act like animals, except they are so numerous I fear they may one day rise up and reclaim the state in the name of Squirreldom. Whereas the Rexburg squirrels were rather small, unremarkable, and rather rabid, the ones out here are large, brown and hyperactive acrobats. Considering all of the people out here, you would think they wouldn’t be afraid, but they seem to be more scared of humans than we are of Dick Cheney with a gun. I must admit it is impressive to watch them leap three feet and land on a branch an inch thick. But I still keep a wary eye on them because when their cousins in Rexburg give the signal to attack, at least I will be ready.

Every day for the past few weeks I have heard a Lady GaGa song playing over the loudspeakers from the nearby middle school. Why they blare this song over and over again for hours is beyond me. At first it just made me want to GagGag, but now I’m being reminded of the true meaning of the word “gaga”. Occasionally a voice will interrupt the song, telling a student to report to the office or to return a lost sweatshirt. Why is it so loud? The entire valley doesn’t care if Billy needs to report to the principal’s office. And what about his poor parents? "So I heard your son Billy got called to the principal's office," the neighbors will say. "What'd he do?"

So I may have mentioned the excessive amount of pricey cars out here, like BMW, Mercedes, Jaguar, and the occasional Astin Martin. To those of us who live in the real world, these cars would seem like a pretty cool thing to have, but out here, everyone has one, so it doesn’t really seem like a big deal. In fact, if you only get the “low end” BMW everyone is looking at you like, oh please how lame, kind of the way we would wonder why anyone would buy a dumpy Ford when the F150 is readily available. Anyways, I was at a stoplight the other day, looking out the window, and a Ford Explorer pulled up next to me and I got really excited to see a Ford SUV. I thought, “Oh my gosh, a Ford” with the kind of reverence most people reserve for Lambouginis. Then I thought, “Good grief, I’ve been away too long if I’m getting that excited about a FORD!”

So, Olive has been in a rather snarky mood the last few days and constantly mentioning in a polite, roundabout way that she’s bored. Of course, everything I suggest for her to do to occupy time and whatnot, she turns down, so I’m having a hard time conjuring up sympathy. But last night I was able to figure out how to start the fire in the old-school gas fireplace. She’s been wanting the fire lit since I got here, but she couldn’t remember how to do it and I obviously had no idea, so we haven’t had a fire. (Not that one has been needed in 70* Southern California weather.) Regardless, having a fire made her very happy and brought back all of these memories about her husband, most of which I’d heard before. But she had a few stories that were interesting. She said her husband was somewhere down south once, working on a movie, and she went down to visit. So there she was, a woman from Hollywood and used to polite, wealthy society, in the Deep South. She said at one point, she needed to use the ladies room and asked a nearby black lady for directions to the “powder room”. The reply was, “Well, sweetie, I don’t know where the powder room is but the shi* room is over there.” She was so shocked that a lady would say that to a stranger. It was one of those rare, happy and lucid times where she sounds almost like her old self and I could understand why she had so many friends. She kept saying funny things like Greek men were “miserable, squatty” things and that Dick Cheney is “dumb as hell.” Every once in a while she’ll say things that shock even me and I’m so glad no one else can hear them or I’d fear for my life. Once she said she had a Jewish doctor. “I didn’t like him,” she said. “He was Jewish.” Or she’ll say she taught in Ogden, Utah and hated it because she had “a lot of blacks in the class”. Then in regards to the Hispanics it was “look at the kinds of people they’re letting in the country”. These may be things people think, but they certainly don’t say them out loud. Apparently when you get old, your brain gets some sort of laxative and it all comes squirting out all over the place. And embarrassing racist blurbs aren’t all. I’m used to swearing since many students in Bozeman had a wide variety of curse words they like to air out, but Olive is certainly giving them a run for their money on sheer volume. Who came up with this "sweet little old lady" crap? It all reminds me of the Monte Python skit of the town terrified of the local gang of old ladies who go around harrassing young people.

As a consequence of my situation, I have far too much time to think about things and since my conversations with Olive have to be very simple so she can understand me, my thoughts have likewise gotten simpler. This does not mean they are simpler in a purer, transcendently philosophical way, more like dumber. For example, I was thinking how much I dislike the sound of nail clippers clipping nails. I mean, who really cares about that right?, but I found the sound very annoying. Not as bad as nail files. This sound, to me, is far worse than nails on a chalkboard. It makes my bones hurt just thinking about it. I also stumbled across the thought that I dislike the sound of dishes clanking together, the brushing of teeth (because it reminds me of the dentist), the sound of liquid being quickly poured into a glass (because it makes me have to use the restroom), and Free Form Jazz. We’re all very sorry their cat died from horrible intestinal explosions, but must they record it and pass it off as music? I also don’t like the wascly wabbits wustling awound in the bushes because it makes me think my stalkers are getting too close again. I suppose I'll have to get out the Stalker-B-Gone spray again. On the other hand, the wooden steps up to my room creaky terribly, which I like, and when it rains, it makes the coolest sound hitting the roof and echoing around the lofted ceiling. I also found I really like the satisfying snap of the shampoo bottle lid closing. Good heavens, I need some serious intellectual stimulation.

During the war, Olive was a hospital recreation director, apparently the youngest one in the country. From what I could gather, she was in charge of entertainment for the soldiers in the hospitals recovering from whatever injuries they had sustained in Europe or the Pacific. She said the patients in the mental ward had to be locked up and anything from the outside that went in had to be checked for anything sharp, for safety reasons. One day she was supervising the mental ward while they were watching a movie or something and man comes up and opens his hand. Lying on his palm was a razor blade. Trying to stay calm she asked him what that was for and he replied with a smile, “To cut the faces of pretty girls.” She didn’t explain exactly how she got out of the locked room, but somehow she stayed calm enough to keep him calm and got the MPs to come in and take care of the situation. Then she said she was walking down the hall thinking, I think I handled that okay, and her knees buckled and she had to hold onto the wall to keep from falling. Delayed reaction shock I suppose. Her boss man told her she did a fantastic job doing whatever it was she did to control the situation. She said afterwards when she could be scared she was thinking, “How did he get a razor?” “If I hadn’t stayed calm all the other mental patients would have gone crazy.” Scary to think about. That’s been the only story she’s told me about the war until tonight. We were talking about something completely different and suddenly she said, “A guy came in and took off his medals and handed them to me saying, ‘I won’t have any use for these. They’re shipping me overseas tomorrow.’ He went under. They told me they bombed his ship and they all sunk.” I was like, “Geez, that’s rather…intense.” “Yeah, what do you say to something like that?” Indeed, what do you say? It reminded me of the Dixie Chicks song, Traveling Soldier. Depressing, but most excellent song. That’s where she met her husband, since he was in the Navy. They met in October and were married New Years. Then he went on to become a Park Ranger at Mt. Ranier and then eventually Death Valley. Olive told me it was so dreadfully boring for her there and one day she started to cry, thinking about how she had gone from being the country’s youngest hospital recreation director to sitting in a desert without car, radio, anything really. One of the stories she’s told me is when she was sitting on a big rock near their pool and her husband says, “Pigeon, why don’t you go inside and start dinner.” Ever the faithful forties wife, she did so without question. Suddenly, her husband came inside, grabbed his pistol and went back outside. She followed and saw him shoot a huge rattlesnake that had been curled up right next to her rock. Had she moved a few inches in one direction, it would have bitten her. I find this story more disturbing than the mental patient with the razor. I hate snakes. During the fireplace night, she told me how one of their friends had called to tell them that Stan’s song, Ghost Riders, was to be on the radio, on the show that played the top songs in the country. I think it’s similar to our “Top 40 Countdowns”. Anyways, the friends drove up and Olive and Stan crowded around their car to listen to the radio. They didn’t hear the song and Olive said maybe it hadn’t made it. Just as they were about to give up, the announcer said, “For the first time in the history of this show, Ghost Riders in the Sky by Stan Jones.” She said they all started to scream and jump up and down. I read an old magazine article written ten years later that said the song was such an instant hit, he made $100,000 overnight. Olive said it became the number one song of 1949 and there were so many people coming to Death Valley, not to see the desert, but to meet Stan Jones. Stan’s boss finally said he either needed to transfer to Florida or leave, so they moved to Hollywood. According to this magazine article, he never spent more than half an hour writing songs and wrote quite a few big hits. He also created and starred in the number two TV show for the time, though I have never heard of it.

Outside I saw a cloud shaped like a rabid beaver, teeth bared as it leaping to eat someone’s leg. Just thought I’d share that. The water here is so dreadfully chlorinated, when I turn on the tap I half expect a soggy pair of swim trunks to come squeezing out and somewhere, far away, a little boy is sitting in the corner of a pool, naked, and wondering what the devil is going on. There are also so many mushrooms growing in the yard every morning I expect to turn the hose on some Nirvana-seeking hippies. After all, this is California. I’ve given up on trying to keep this house as clean as it should be and am now simply trying to keep it liveable. It is impossible and frankly a bit ridiculous to mop the floor every day or twice a day because it adds that much stress to me and more stress is the last thing I need.

As you may have noticed by my pictures on FB, I am officially a thief. The lemons were hanging there so tantalizingly, just begging to be picked. There was an orange tree as well, but I thought an armful of lemons and oranges and mail and toting a 91 year old was not conducive to a good escape. Perhaps later, under the cover of darkness and wearing black, I’ll return and pilfer to my heart’s content. Then again, most of the houses here have security signs blaring “Armed Patrol”. I don’t really want to be shot in the process and be forever labeled Kim, the Citrus Kleptomaniac.

*On Monday I was feeling a bit stifled and about to go crazy, so I pop in my headphones and wandered the yard, dancing to music and wondering if a cartwheel would cripple me. During a particularily jam-worthy song, Olive comes outside. “Are you cold?” she asks. “No,” I answer. “But you’re shaking.” I reply, “I was dancing.” Well, not anymore. It reminded me of the joke about someone dancing like no one was watching, but someone was and, assuming the person was having a seizure, calls the ambulance. These jokes, along with the one from Tommy Boy about only doctors going to school for ten years, are no longer funny to me. Hitting a little too close to home, they are.

Tuesday morning Olive’s friend Heather called and in her lilting Scottish accent, asked me how I enjoyed my first earthquake. Though it was apparently large enough to be felt, I felt nothing. Nothing even shifted places on the walls or the shelves, so I decided it wasn’t a real earthquake and I certainly don’t count it as “my first”. Unfortunately, now every time I imagine a slight shaking or vibration, I freeze, thinking it’s the Big One, the earthquake to top all earthquakes, the worst event in California history. So I got onto some website that tracks earthquakes all over the world and emails you when events are happening in your area. I signed up thinking that I’ll get an email warning me of an impending earthquake and I’ll be able to mentally prepare myself. Then I realized when they send the email it will probably be DURING or immediately after the event, in which case I’m pretty sure I’ll already know we had an earthquake. It’s not like I’m going to run the gauntlet of a violently shaking house like some kind of Indiana Jones movie just to check my email and make sure that yes, this is indeed an earthquake I am experiencing. Whew! What a relief, wasn’t sure there for a second. As I told a friend from church, I’ve just hit the part in the scriptures when Christ was crucified and the earth was experiencing horribly violent earthquakes. Talk about bringing the scriptures alive! I’d rather not get THAT close to scriptural experiences thank you very much.

Aside from the angry earthquake gods, nothing else has really been going on this week. There are no new stories from Olive, though there rarely are, and this daylight savings bull poopy is really kicking my butt. This lack of sleep combined with my crushing homesickness for Bozeman just might be the death of me. Then again my death may involve an earthquake-caused giant, bottomless crevasse, like in the movies. I may fall all the way to China! An American in China without a passport. China with the roving death vans and the hundreds of disease with no cure. Oh goody.

Wish I had the energy to actually BLOG something. eh....

My brother has been out on his mission well over a year now and just barely sent me a pic of himself. Better late than never.

My blog is so boring....

I haven't done anything on here in ages, but who cares. I am currently in California and really disliking it. Too many people and traffic and noise and rushing. I miss the quiet simplicity of Montana. I hear so many helicopters and planes and sirens around the house it's like a war zone, sans the bombs and guns and death.