My Fairy Tale Ending

I kissed my prince and he turned into....a dolphin. That would be the happy ending to my fairy tale. All my life I have loved dolphins. As a pre-teen I would walk the mile and a half to our town library and spend Saturday afternoons studying about dolphins, then go home to dream about them. Luckily when I got my license I could drive to the Salt Lake library which had greater depth and variety to my favorite subject, but still spend my free time studying this fantasy of mine, instead of perhaps....ah....dating-or at least dream of dating-like any healthy 17 year old.

When I was pregnant with Angela, Roy and I traveled to San Diego's "Sea World." Tears ran down my cheeks the moment the dolphins swam into the large show pool. After the show, Roy held me as I continued to cry and tried to make sense of my feelings. Dramatic? Okay, no question, but it was the pinnacle of all I had dreamed. I was just a hick, small town, Utah girl who wasn't ever going to go to such exotic places as San Diego, California. But- exotic did enter my life when, as a young mother, we moved five miles from our own "mini" Sea World. At this marine world there was a dolphin petting pool, which I would spend every second my whining children would allow. *Note: they had a point - they were missing the whale show, the tiger show, and the fantastic playground, while mom wooed this fat dolphin called Gordo. But Gordo and I became best of friends. He allowed me, and me only, to pet him when I was there, ignoring all the other reaching hands. After letting my children drag me away to actually spend time with them, I returned to Gordo after an hour absence. He circled the pool increasing his speed till water slooshed out, finally rising high above me to spit in my face. I was devastated until the docent explained that he was acting out his anger; after all, I had abandoned him for a whole hour. Gordo died about a year later and that was then end of my dolphin days. Although my son Pat, who lives in Hawaii, frequently has awesome encounters with dolphins ( I'll let him blog about ), it still left me on the outs. But, this summer we went to Six Flags Discovery Kingdom - a cheesy, tacky excuse for "animal shows", in the guise of an amusement park. James and Chase got splashed by the orcas, but the show was bad. It would hurt too much to see the sacrilege they would make of the dolphin show. I just couldn't go. But just before we left I saw a small sign in a neglected corner of the park, "$45.oo to pet a dolphin" - sooo..., I used to pet Gordo free as often as I wanted, sooo... Pat gets to swim in their native environment; free of gimmicks and a pure encounter, so? I'm desperate. I paid. I petted and rubbed and cooed and kissed and even now, writing about it, tears are welling in my eyes. Dramatic? Yeah, but......he's my prince.

The Bad Fairy

Santa Claus in the Robinson household was great!!! The Easter Bunny - probably a little better than average. The Tooth Fairy? An abject failure. Roy and I have never been able to pinpoint exactly why the tooth fairy just didn't have the drive and passion to fulfill her or his calling. Picture the scene: a toothless grin in an eager face, talking constantly of the coming night with the magical transformation, and the morning when he or she peeks under the pillow delighted with the coins left in place of the very familiar tooth they had wiggled endlessly. They are tucked in, assured that the tooth fairy is somwhere near just waiting to delight them. Morning comes - NO COINS - the tooth's still in the envelope - look some more - no coins. At this point a very sad and disillusioned child comes to breakfast with the envelope in their hand. It's now up to mom to explain this fiasco. "Oh, honey I'm sure the fairy just forgot." (good one mom- now the kid thinks they're not worth remembering) or - "I'm sure the fairy just had an extra busy night, soooo many teeth, you know." ( oh so, now the busy fairy gets to all the kids but yours, how do you think that feels?). Now replay this exact scene over for the next night, and the next, and the next. No kidding, now you know how deprived dear little Abigail felt. Her experiences were the worst. But each of the five children all lived with the failure of being remembered by The Tooth Fairy. Not just one time but with several of their teeth. There are no excuses, nothing can justify the wrenching pain and lifetime of scars that disgusting fairy inflicted on the Robinson children. Booooooo to that fairy!!!! Booooo!

A Genuine Steam Engine Ride

Our adventure this weekend was to ride a 100 year old steam engine at Roaring Camp Railroad. Chase was mesmerized by the steam engines sounds and the visual impact of the steam spraying and puffing. James said, "I could have thought of lots of things to do today, but I couldn't ever come up with something this wonderful."

That sure made me feel good about coming up with the idea. Especially since the last time I went there was when my children were little and there was an accident on Highway 17, we sat in 100 degree weather for hours, finally took some tiny road off the highway, wandered for what seemed like hours, to finally arrive and eat a horrible meal in a dusty, hot picnic spot, be attacked by insects and MISS the train. I vowed never to come back. Oh well, what's a vow? This time couldn't have been better. It was a beautiful, cool day and the giant sequoias were majestic as we gazed skyward and the train chugged it's way up to the top of Bear Mountain. The sun's rays pierced the leafy heavens that towered hundreds of feet upward.

After the train ride, we walked a nature trail through the redwoods. We hid in the hollows of burned out sequoias and found the tree John C. Fremont camped the night in. Once you crawled through the small hole at the bottom you entered a 15 foot wide and 30 foot high hideout. Cool! We stared at the cross section of a giant trunk that marked when Jesus was born, when the civil war started, and other amazing facts all told in the rings of the tree. With a music cd about lonely peas and crabby crabs to sing to all the way home, it couldn't have been better.

Yarnstorm

Is there something in the world that just grabs those creative juices and ideas tumbling pell-mell through your mind? I have several (later blogs to be expected), but rich colored fabrics and especially colorful yarn, with their various textures, stir my unused well of latent talents to bubbling.

Suddenly, I get this urge to Knit. But it's the URGE, not the knitting that gets me excited. It's

what all the beautiful colors and textures do to my, at rest, creativity. That moment when creativity goes from passive, to full throttle. It's a moment charged with possibilities and the accompanying adrenaline resulting in joy, is a wonderful by-product.

But whether it's knitting, or painting or dancing, or remodeling my house, just looking at these colors revs up my thought engine.

More often than not I do nothing with these urges. Sometimes I feel slightly bad about that and other times I am satisfied that I can have those juices flow and not feel the responsibility to do anything about them. Just to know that there are sparks just waiting to be ignited is exciting enough. I like not having the burden of always acting, doing, becoming. Just to sit comfortably as the ideas tumble through my imagination is an experience complete with it's own kind of satisfaction.

I think for my daughter, Angela, table settings and cookbooks. Roy, well, it's a sketch book, with accompanying paints. Abigail - nature, and challenge. Emily - nature, and travel. Pat - perhaps the thought of adventure. Ben - mmm...mmm...a ball of any sort? I know they have many others. What are some of yours?

But, dang, when I see something like this, I'm just sure I can knit. And that knowledge is good enough, so don't expect so see me with knitting needles any time soon.

Sunglasses for every mood

Oprah proclaimed today that,"Sunglasses are like shoes, you should have some for every mood." Feelings of isolation washed over me. I've never really been "into" sunglasses or shoes and I know that most the people around me are. My children, friends, strangers and even Roy all get excited about sunglasses. I don't get it!!! Doesn't anyone want to see the colors in the world just the way God intended them. I get driving with sunglasses on long trips to reduce eye strain. And maybe on a really sunny day at high noon at the beach, but no thanks, I just can't pass up true ocean colors, or a sunset without artificial tints. Admittedly if I looked like the model above I'd go for it. I guess I've never been with it, as I notice each Sunday as the really beautiful folks have more pairs of shoes than I have had in my whole life. But it's time to face facts: GI Joe has sunglasses, beloved bunnies have sunglasses....I can get sunglasses for sassy moods, chic moods, sophisticated moods...I'd begin to walk with a strut...I'd....I'd.........................Oh forget it, I'd much rather buy new plants for my yard.

Head over Heels or High Wide and Handsome?

Anyone that has seen me water the lawn, weed the garden, paint a craft, cook a new recipe or more recently, cut hair…..surely has seen a woman “jumping in with both feet”, “flying by the seat of her pants”, or as a past Bishop described me, “that woman is a loose cannon.” Defintion: an unpredictable person or thing, liable to cause damage if not kept in check by others. Because James recently gave a lecture on “idioms”, I decided to use his lesson to try and describe why I chose this picture to accompany my blog name. It seemed the most representative of all the idioms that describe me. “Head over heel” seemed appropriate, but interestingly enough the phrases that seemed on the mark had swear words in them – like –“Hell bent for leather”, or "arse over teakettle”. (That one gave me a chuckle) You know, I always start with such good intentions. I see a small weed in my garden – I bend down in my Sunday dress – ahhhh…another weed…another…compacted earth…needs mulch…sack of mulch is new….grab anything handy to gouge hole in sack…sack explodes…try to clean up before Roy sees…, I think you get the idea. Oh did I mention, ALWAYS, dirt in apparently hilarious locations on my person. Let’s see… What about, “Helter-Skelter”, Meaning: In chaotic and disorderly haste. Or, “Pell-Mell”, Meaning: In disorderly confusion. The trouble is I am opposed to the negative connotations implied in all these idioms. I maintain there is passion, enthusiasm, and yes, a good deal of grace involved in my spontaneous jags. HAZAAAAA! I have found it! “ HIGH, WIDE, and HANDSOME” Meaning: In a carefree and stylish manor. Stylish…hmmm…Stylish… I’ll take it! (for those of you wondering, high-wide-and handsome, originated in the mid 1900's in reference to the independent cowboy)

Rose Colored Glasses

Driving home from Utah to California, I woke from a long nap somewhere in the middle of Nevada. Roy was driving with a big smile on his face and a "little bounce in his drive" (if that can be a phrase) (cause that was what he was actually doing) - "So, Roy, how's the drive?" Roy looks over to me with a big grin. "It's fantastic, great, everything's wonderful." I'm a little unsure, I mean he has to have been driving a long time now with no break so I inquire further, "Are you sure you aren't tired?" Roy again looks at me with that contagious grin "Really, I'm fine, I'm just loving how beautiful the colors are this year in Nevada. They are so much greener and richer. It's just been wonderful." Having driven Nevada several times in my life, I cynically look out the window. Hmmmmmm......Then I look back at Roy.........sure enough, Roy has his dark green sunglasses on. "Roy! It's your sunglasses - the desert's just the same." Roy puts his hand up to his glasses and takes the snap on shades off. "Wow! No kidding - it was just the glasses! Isn't that amazing?" Yeah it certainly is. Roy was happy thinking that Nevada was a verdant desert and now he's happy that he has magical glasses. Roy just happens to be the kind of person who looks at life with rose (or green) colored glasses. Amazing?....... Yeah.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

I just finished reading this exceptionally moving novel. The author is gifted in creating characters and the art of story telling. But for me this novel reached deep in my gut and wrenched and extracted a huge emotional land mine. Kabooom! I cried so hard and so long that after I went through all the Kleenex, I gave up and got a hand towel. Poor Roy, who had to start a road trip to Utah at 5 a.m. the following morning, was woken up by my wails and spent a few hours holding me, trying to grasp WHY I was in this condition. He left still not knowing. I got two hours of sleep that night. And spent the next day mostly in bed, recovering and wondering what had just happened to me. Occasionally for me, and I suspect others, stress and unresolved feelings get stuffed down somewhere slightly below the conscience level. This time I kept stuffing and stuffing knowing that sometime I would need to pull this all out and get rid of it or deal with it. But sometimes all that careful planning goes haywire when we get hit with an undetected road side bomb. My bomb was..."A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini. As I started weeping for the beautiful story and the endearing characters, the tears just wouldn't stop and at some point I realized the tears were no longer about the book, and they just kept coming and coming. Resolution to all this: 1-It ended my writers block. Everytime I tried to blog in the last few weeks - there was nothing. Just nothing. 2- It ended the nothing. The feeling of feeling absent from everything and everybody and somehow just moving through life as a vague automaton. I feel today, mostly tired, but I FEEL. 3- No matter how many times I tell myself I'm fine, I've dealt with my fears....they like to creep back and hit me with the force of an atom blast. So...you know I think it's okay to say "This is hard for me, this frightens the heck out of me!" No matter how logical it seems to be otherwise. 4- And mostly, it reminded me even if it's great, heaving, sorrow.....it's better than a dark, endless void pulling you slowly downward. 5- No matter how many times I tell myself, "Most people are NOT like this, so stop being this way!" It doesn't change the fact that I AM like this - I feel deeply about things. From nature to dogs, from children to family, from written words to music in my heart......I FEEL DEEPLY! - and it's NOT going to change. Like the 17th century poet, who expressed his feelings about his homeland as "a thousand splendid suns", in my heart I have moons and suns casting their light and their shadows, too inumerable to count, but they make up who I am - Kate.

Quote by.... 17th-century poet Saib-e-Tabrizi "One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs / Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls."

Yes, This Stud Is Mine!!!!!

Yes!!! He's Mine!!!! This is my Roy, who at the age of 54 1/2, and hasn't water skied in years, is positive that he can get up on one ski - and - HE DID! He also climbed to the top of Half Dome with Emily and Snap last year and survived his fear of heights.

He is up for any adventure. He talks to complete strangers and actually gets them talking (something he learned from his dad)- he still flirts with sales ladies - and he still doesn't know he's flirting - and he still gets his problem resolved to his best interests everytime - even on the phone. He absolutely adores me and will do ANYTHING I ask of him, and I'm ashamed to admit that I've taken advantage of that trait - (never knowingly though). He thinks he can fix ANYTHING - and most of the time he does!!! (another trait from Gramps) He let me have dogs, when he doesn't even really like them. He even washes off Tanyon's (our dog) tummy when he pees, when I don't feel like it - which isn't very fun cause Tanyon has a crooked Ying Yang and can't hit the bush, but dribbles all over himself. Everyone in our church says he's the best at the pulpit, cause they love his smile and his voice. He loves to run whenever there's an errand to do or a project - he just starts running like he's a kid. He loves dumb jokes and loves to retell them to everyone, although Emily is usually the only one to laugh. He has beautiful blue eyes surrounded by oodles of laugh lines. He loves stupid - but really funny movies - you know the ones where the pre-teens are busting their guts - and he beats all of them for the most open, full, gut laugh. He likes to practice funny faces in the mirror, so he can use the best one at an appropriate time. He puts towels in the dryer and brings them to me, without me asking, if I'm cold and can't get warm. He gardens with me and pretends to love it, cause I love it. He loves to build sand castles with moats ( the moats are his passion) with anyone on the beach, but his favorites are his two grandsons. He loves to play football, basketball, or any sport, although he isn't particularly athletically gifted - but it has never stopped his enjoyment. He gets excited about something new, just like a little kid and his excitement is contagious. He......., oh this is just a start....but mostly...he loves me, and...HE'S MINE!

The "Time of Your Dreams"

Emily called briefly from her honeymoon to ask us to look up on her e-mail the next bed and breadfast along their trip up the Mendocino Coastline. When James overheard that the newlyweds had called he made this pronouncement...."I bet they were having the time of their dreams!" That phrase has been sounding in the back of my mind for a few days with a haunting type of truth. Why not? If you had to choose between --"The time of Your Life" -- or --"The time of Your Dreams" --which would you choose? Well, I don't think I could have dreamt anything better than Saturday, May 12th around 11:30ish. Emily at total peace and happiness. I don't know anyone I think deserves to have a happy ending more than Emily. She was absolutely radiant - but more importantly, with all the pre-wedding stresses and jitters, to see her sealed to her loved one, Josh, and then see the complete peace wash over her as she held on to him, just filled me with the joy of all my dreams.
Another of a moms dreams - in middle age-dom - is getting all the children together, and that also happened to me for a little more than a week. It is SOOO rare now when all these adult children, living all around the country, and with all their different lives and schedules, can actually get together and play. Seeing my children playing is a wonderful dream, as they all laugh and tease and reminisce together. Wack - a - Mole was the game of choice this time, and although I participated one night and it left me aching for several nights, it was hilarious. Ridi would wind up the wacker with a huge grin on her face, and then deliver the blow to the booty of the poor "mole" (usually Emily). The triumphant golfers returning as if, men of ancient times returning after a rousing hunt. Everyone folding napkins, tying ribbons, and working like demons to make Emily's wedding a wonderful "Time of Her Dreams". And, it happened!!! For there are times, although maybe fewer and shorter than we'd like that we have for a moment - THE TIME OF OUR DREAMS!!!! That is my wish for all of my friends and family, as I think of you this moment, each of you, with your struggles and challenges, that you may also have--sooner than you'd even hope for - THE TIME OF YOUR DREAMS! I love you all, Catherine.

An Old Friend

31 years ago, just before I got married, it dawned on me that I would need a bed! Yeah, Roy and I had never discussed it, and so my dad and I ran to Levitz and picked up the cheapest double bed I could find, it took all of a half hour. Little did I know that this would be the one possession of ours that somebody, anybody, should have put a little thought into. Nobody told me that I would grow old on this bed and suffer aches in my joints. Nobody told me that I would grow bigger and a teeeny, tiiiiiny, double bed would seem awfully small, sooner or later. Nobody told me that I would fall off a horse at 45 and be bed ridden for months on an old, uncomfortable, sagging mattress.
I remember quite clearly when I was sixteen I visited my church leader in her huge home. She and her husband had a loft on the third story with a window dome over their bed looking up to the heavens. Underneath that dome was a teeeny, tiiiny, double bed. (Incidentally, they had 10 children) Another leader asked them how they could have spent all those years in that little bed. She replied, "Oh, we've always vowed that we would spend our lives in our marriage bed, and we've never regretted it." Well, that did it....being the romantic that I am, I vowed right there that when I married I would have a double bed and we would never get rid of it.
About, 5 years ago our children took pity on our aches and sleepless nights and bought us a new bed. But, they were considerate enough to buy another "double" bed because they knew our romantic history.
So today when a QUEEN size bed came in through the bedroom door and James and Chase happily wore it in, I couldn't help think that at the age of 50, some part of me had given up on the romantic notions of my past. I am bigger, and Roy does toss and turn, and I do have aches and pains and a little extra room would be nice - but, a large part of me wanted to tell them to take it back! Somehow hanging onto those young, romantic dreams seemed important. Why? I haven't really figured it out yet....or perhaps...in my heart of hearts, I'm still a young girl soon to be married with all the hopes and dreams ahead of her - and admitting otherwise, isn't something I'm eager to embrace.

The Flat Road

When Neal Maxwell was driving across the Nevada desert he pondered on the landscape around him and later he made a statement something like, "Don't be impatient with the flat periods in our lives, these are the times we should reflect on the hills and valleys we have lived through, and prepare for the new terrain coming up."
I have driven the Nevada desert many times, especially when I had a young family and after several trips, I too pondered and came to a strong conclusion, " Somebody should blow up everything from Wendover to Salt Lake City, just a giant...KABOOM...and we'd all be the better for it."
Needless to say - the differences between us are all too obvious. Yet now that I fly to Salt Lake City instead of drive, I admit I recall with fondness some of the adventures along the flat roads. When Roy and I were just married we'd have hour long talks that led us down unexpected and illuminating highways of thoughts.
Then with the young children, the hundreds of games of "In My Grandfathers Tool Shed, there was a....", and "The Minister's Cat is an....alligator cat", or the plethora of traveling songs, the worst being "100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall."
As a young child, staring out the window of the back seat and watching the shadows speed past, while the humming sounds of the tire and engine lulled me into a sort of halfway world, where I seemed to float somewhere above myself.
Some of my favorite times were the magical "Toby" stories that kept the children enthralled for another thirty miles. Roy sometimes took a turn story telling and they would invariably be about cowboys, and ranches, which we patiently endured, except for Pat, who would come from the back corner of the van for the first time of the trip and perch himself as close to his dad as possible. Once he was so engrossed in the story, that when Roy got to the part when the rancher nursed the cowhand back to health, young Pat cried out in horror, "He NURSED him!!!!"
Yeah, I guess there is a place for the flat, monotonous, boring stretches of our lives. They can sometimes turn out to be paths of wonder.

What do you LOATHE?

Last night at dinner James was trying to acurately define the word - LOATHE - and after asking his mother and the rest of us, he nodded his head in satisfaction and announced, " I loathe Porsches!!!!" Yup, folks, you heard it here and you heard it correctly, James loathes Porsches. I envy James's ability to know so definitively just what he likes and just what he loathes, it brings him such ease of mind. James actually means what he says, you see there are no grills on porsches and a grill is an absolute must for his idea of a car. But I grew up thinking porsches were the ABSOLUTE tops in a must have car, so I yearned for one. I even kept going out with a guy for awhile that I didn't really like, but, he had a porsche.

James's behavior gave me an idea...if I just said, with great conviction, that I loathed something that I really painfully yearned for, maybe the longing would go away. Poof! like magic.
So here goes...I loathe first class seats in air planes. I loathe Hawaiian sunsets. I loathe family rooms, you know, a room where everyone can gather and there's enough room for all to play and laugh and then go to their bedrooms at night and not have to put mattresses and foam on the floor, covering all available space just to accomodate your loved ones. Yup, that I definitely loathe. And what about a trip to the beautiful homes and gardens of England, imaginging Austin, Bronte, Eliot and others, oh, decidedly unabashed loathing. I absolutely loathe the idea of a vacation home in some beautiful, wooded mountain lot.

There - I feel much better! Sort of............well..............okay, it didn't help at all. From now on I will be as firm in my yearnings as James is in his loathings. I ache, pine, and yearn for a Hawaiian sunset....yeah....those longings feel right at home.

Comfort

At Easter dinner Chase was accidentally whammed in the head by the Brita water pitcher, and I really mean whammed. After a few shocked moments, the tears started flowing and then broken hearted sobs. (He was adorably happy and babbling moments before, so it was a real shock) Angela kissed and cajoled but he wouldn't be eased. But as soon as "blankie blue" was laid on his cheek, he melted into the blankie and Angie's shoulder. His entire body softened and curved to his moms. The crying abruptly stopped. He laid on her shoulder a few minutes and then he was ready to continue with Easter celebrations.

Oh how, at times, I long for comfort that complete. There are times sorrow and anxiety are so actute I feel my body screaming inside for aide. Yet often I will turn down other's requests to assist, even at times turning from a similarly loving shoulder and hug as Chase had. Are my sorrows really that greater? Have I learned that a hug and shoulder aren't enough? Or, do I for some reason turn from the very comfort I may know deep inside could help?

Sadly the answers are not easy, or have not been found, yet I watch Chase melt into "blankie blue" and I long with every part of my soul for my own blankie.

Gotta Love Those Toys

James has just been talking to me about the Ninja Turtle he just got at McDonalds - Donatello! Wow, did that bring back memories of my boys and the absolute NEED to get all the turtles, and the pizza shooter. We knew the personalities of each turtle and the boys could give the equal of a "Doctoral Thesis" on the turles, and Splinter, and Shredder.

When I was a young girl the absolute "Must Have" was a troll doll. Oh how I loved my troll. I would spend hours combing my trolls hair (with the special comb attached to the doll) All the friends would sit around at recess and talk about the merits of blue vs. yellow hair, or that the white hair was fuller. We had troll families, and friends, and whole societies. My troll got me through many a long church or a sad alone time, or a special hide out together and have a heart to heart talk time. My troll did tend to take me away from the "barbie" friends, or the special "feel like a real baby", baby doll friends. But, at last, after trying very hard to love barbies and even baby dolls, I had found my real love and my real friends. Knowing me now, it seems a natural fit.

So what about toys? Angela had to swim the whole length of Burgess Pool (which took her weeks and weeks) to get the beloved "Cabbage Patch Doll", which then, Emily just had to have one for her own. She begged and pleaded and bargained for one. I think Emily was much more attached than Angela. Then there was the beloved "He-Man and She-Ra! " Even I loved that whole romance of that series. Later it was "Strawberry Shortcake and Lemon Meringue" and the others.

The boys, of course, loved the "The Ninja Turtles" but their real obsession was "G. I. Joes," which they thought about and plotted to get the newest or the rarest "Joe." Daniel Mason their neighborhood friend seemed to have all the really hard to find ones like, Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow! ( as seen in picture) But he obviously had the better mother(my boys thought) who would take him to Target every day to see if a new shipment had arrived and hadn't already been picked through. (Daniel's mother assured me she didn't go to Target daily)My boys reminded me of my failings often.

And now, here are my grandsons, James and Chase. James only too happy to jump on the latest must have new toy trend. And then Chase will come toddling up voicing in his own 2 year old speak... Yace hab ell! (meaning: Chase has Raphael)

So who did you love and (using Chase speak) who did you hab?