Because it Needs to be Done: Grace High Dance Music, My Years

I was recently involved in someone else's trip down memory lane via music.  It was 80s music. Some of it was awesome... totally rad.  Others were kind of embarassing for the decade.  Still others I hadn't even heard of.  But all in all it was a fun evening with good company.  Most involved in this event shared the same musical past.  Others did not.  Therefore I feel the need to take my own trip down memory lane and hopefully some of you will enjoy it with me.

MUSIC THAT WAS ALWAYS PLAYED AT GRACE HIGH SCHOOL DANCES

Love Shack, B-52s


Criss Cross, Jump


November Rain, Guns-n-Roses


Faithfully, Journey


C+C Music Factory, Gonna Make You Sweat


Enter Sandman, Metallic


I Cross My Heart, George Strait


The Dance, Garth Brooks (so very much not the official video but I couldn't find one that wasn't a cover)


And another C+C Music Factory, Things That Make You Go Hmmmm (it's apparently how Grace High rolled.)


REM, Shiny Happy People


There were more, but I'll stop.  I admit, I'm feeling quite happy this morning.  And a little bit happy!
May your Wednesday be spectacular!

Monday Photo

It's nice to have flowers.  We didn't plant anything last Fall like I had planned on.  I was so very disappointed in myself.  I even had the bulbs, just didn't get around to it until the snow started falling and the ground was hard.  The last time I planted flowers was back in the "Adam's House" when we were in the 6th ward.  I still drive by every Spring and see how my flowers are doing.  It's nice to have left signs that we were there, good signs too.

Monday Photo

I once went to a Chris LeDoux concert and I loved it.  It was awhile ago, obviously, and I went with roommates.  It was Erica's birthday and that's what she wanted to do.  We went to Ruby River for a steak before hand because it just seemed fitting.  At the concert Chris pulled out all the favorites.  Some I knew, some I didn't.  But some I absolutely loved.  "Western Skies", "County Fair", and "Look at You Girl". 

April leaned over and asked if I had fallen in love before at the county fair.  As it turned out I had.  Several times.  Then she said "I bet these songs just speak to your country girl heart?"  and you know what, the answer they did.  Country will always be in me no matter where I live.  It's my roots.  It's why as a semi-photographer I have an obsession with old buildings, fence lines, herds of cows.  They speak to my country girl heart.

"I just can't take this anymore"

"I just can't take this anymore," she said with disgust and started to get up from her seat.  I touched her arm to get her attention and asked if we could talk to her after the meeting was over.  Jovita sat back down but  continued to fidget as more people got up and shared their feelings about the gospel.

It was fast and testimony meeting.  This was Jovita's first visit to the ward and as missionaries it's always a little nerve wracking.  You hope and pray that no one in the congregation, though well meaning, will say anything foolish or embarrassing or just plain weird.  I quickly took inventory of all that had been said up to that point and I could think of nothing that would cause such a reaction.  In fact, we hadn't had such a good fast and testimony meeting in quite some time.

As the meeting continued I could tell that it was taking a Herculean effort on Jovita's part to stay with us.  She was clearly upset by what was happening and there was disgust written all over her face.  My companion and I were trying to think of something that would buy us some time with her.  Some time to talk about her feelings, about why she was reacting the way she was. 

The organ sounded the first chords to the closing hymn "Lord I Would Follow Thee".  I held the book out to share with Jovita and we began to sing.

"Savior, may I learn to love thee,
Walk the path that thou hast shown,
Pause to help and lift another,
Finding strength beyond my own.
Savior, may I learn to love thee-
Lord, I would follow thee."

Jovita began to relax.  She visibly calmed as she sang and listened to the words of the hymn.

"Who am I to judge another
When I walk imperfectly?
In the quiet heart is hidden
Sorrow that the eye can't see.
Who am I to judge another
Lord, I would follow thee."

The meeting came to a close and we all left the chapel and found a quiet spot on the lawn to discuss what had happened in the meeting. It was the perfection that got her.  Jovita was a single mom struggling financially and with her son.  She didn't see a lot of good things in her life and she was thoroughly disgusted that so many people could get up and publicly share how thankful they were for a good family, health, and prosperity.  She had been deceived by churches before. She said it with bitterness and envy.  She didn't want any part in a church who's members were "perfect".

I honestly don't remember how I or my companion responded to her that day.  We were able to see her a few more times so we must have said something right.  I do remember how sad I felt for her.

The people who shared their feelings that day about the gospel and families and health, were the very people who had been without the gospel or families or health.  They had overcome obstacles in their path.  They had learned to be thankful for the health and prosperity that they had been blessed with not because they were perfect, but because they were imperfect.  Because they knew what it was like to be without.  Because they were still dealing with being without. 

It was a hard day when Jovita asked us not to come around anymore.  We had come to love her.  She had a wonderful tongue-in-cheek sense of humor and there was so much happiness that we had to offer her.  So much pain we knew the Lord could heal if she would just open her heart.  Instead she thanked us for the "Dog and pony show" and informed us that it just wasn't for her.

That was just over 12 years ago.  Times have changed, we've all moved on with our lives. Every once in awhile I wonder what happened to her.  Did she ever change her mind?  Did she find happiness in her life?  Was she able to be at peace with herself?

Then again we could ask ourselves the very same things.

Did You Write That?

Thirteen years ago I was living in Alton, IL as a missionary for my church.  It was truly one of my favorite areas.  It had rolling hills all over town, but not like the rolling hills I was used to, these actually had houses on them.  Historic homes, steep inclines, and brick everywhere.  It sits right on the Mississippi River in all it's grandeur.

The people there, though nothing like my hometown, had some of the same endearing qualities that my hometown did.  I say hometown, but really I grew up in the country so I'll say country-side instead.  There's a difference you know.  But on with the story.

One day during church I was struck by the humility of the people there.  A farmer by origin had given one of the prayers and had thanked Heavenly Father for the rain and asked that it would bless the farmers and the crops.  Coming from "farm stock" myself it struck a chord.  I thought of the many times we had prayed as a family for rain.  And not just because it would cool things down, but it was desperately needed for our livelihood and the livelihood of those around us.

That evening it was my turn for the spiritual thought.  )A mission is quite the experience and had it's own lingo so if you would like clarification, let me know.)  I called the rest of the missionaries in my district and gave them my spiritual thought.  I can't remember word for word but it had something to do with the humility of the farmer praying for their very livelihood.  I wrote it down.  I read it over the phone and credited "Anonymous" for the source.

Everything was going well until the last call.  One of the elders asked if I had written it.  A flush came to my face and I immediately replied "No. It was Anonymous."  He said "Oh, it just sounded like you" and I said with greater insistence and a little more volume "No, Anonymous."  Goodbye!

I hung up the phone and was flustered.  It felt like he had seen me... me.  I didn't want anyone to know I had written it.  I didn't want the criticism.  I didn't want them to say "yeah, I thought you did that's why it sounded so cheesy" or "dumb" or whatever they would have surely said... right?  I didn't want him seeing inside my heart.  I didn't even dare ask him what he thought about it, good or bad.  I just wanted to hang up as quickly as possible.

Sometimes I think back on that day.  The desire to share something that had deeply touched my heart was stunted with the fear of anyone knowing that it really was from my heart.  It was easier to hide behind "Anonymous".  That way it didn't matter what anyone thought about it because no one knew who had written it. 

Would I still deny it today?

That's what sometimes goes through my head.  I have always enjoyed writing even though the  majority of my thoughts may never see the light of day let alone find someone else's eyes looking them over. 

Fear keeps me from doing a lot of things.  Fear keeps us all from doing something.  Sometimes those things don't really matter, like skydiving or rock climbing.  But other times, when it really does matter, fear can be absolutely crippling.  Fear of hugging a family member, really letting them know you care.  Fear of forgiving someone because then you might look weak.  Fear of letting things go because it's all you have known even if it's one of the worst things for you.  There is comfort in familiarity.

Today I haven't even come close to conquering all of my fears, and in all honesty I'm still not sure I'd own up to my Anonymous quote just yet.  But then again... maybe I would.

What are your fears?

I Saw a Purple Bug

I saw a purple bug on the way to work this morning.

It reminded me of Chris.

Chris was a boy in my singles ward 8000 years ago.... you know, in the 90's.

He had a purple bug.  It was cool.  It was metallic shiny purple.

I still had trouble getting into the back seat because of my long legs.

And to clarify for you who's minds wander and go to other places rather rapidly when "back seat" is mentioned, I was getting in the back seat for rides to ward functions.  Innocent-like.

We (as in my roommates) all liked Chris.  We would have all said "yes" to Chris if he had asked.

He didn't ask.  Well maybe he did, but not me.  My memory is getting bad.

I'm sure I would have remembered if he had asked me.

He didn't.

But he did give rides in his purple bug.

He also had a special tie tack made for him.

From one of his wisdom teeth.

It had a cavity.

Yep, we all liked Chris.

High School P.E. and What it Did For Me

There are a lot of  things that I have blocked from my mind.  A lot of things from High School.  A lot of things from High School P.E. class.  For example, I have no idea what I wore during P.E.  I can't remember changing cloths.  I know I did, but I've blocked it.  I vaguely remember extra doses of deodorant, but that's about it.

Besides Coach Clark that is.

No one can forget him.

Coach Clark was the P.E. teacher, the wrestling coach, and the football coach.  We called him the ape-man or the missing link.  Cruel I know, but if you had seen him you would agree.  He was barrel chested, swarthy in complexion, and as compassionate as an ape.

He put up warm-up exercises for us to do at the beginning of class.  Other, less informed people, who saw the list on the wall thought they were for the wrestling team.  Nope.  They were for a bunch of girls.

It was not uncommon for this list to contain such things as: run 25 laps, 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, 25 sets of ladders.  Lest you think that these were spread out, not so.  Usually all four were on the "warm-up" list. 

The worst were the push-ups.  We had to do them right.  Meaning we had to partner up and our partner had to hold their fist on the ground right below our chest.  As the pusher-upper, we had to lower our body (no knee push-ups mind you, full on straight legged) to the persons fist.  Then and only then had we completed a push-up.  Others didn't count.  I hated push-ups.  Only when we had completed all of the warm-ups were we able to continue on with the rest of the class. 

My partner was Sally.  She was great.  We cheated. We never did finish a complete set up push-ups, or at least not accurately.  It was odd how sometimes I would be lifting myself up and her fist would just hit me in the chest without me even moving.  Fastest push-ups I ever did.  We laughed a lot.  Coach Clark didn't like us.  He was pretty much disgusted with our weakness.  Did I mention we were in high school... we were weak by definition.

On the last day of class Sally and I decided that come hell or high water, we would finish our set of push-ups.  Just this one time we would make Coach Clark proud.  You know, to give him a reason to believe he was doing a good job, to pay him back for all the anguish we gave him.  We didn't cheat.  We persevered.  We lowered our chest to the other person's fist.  We collapsed regularly in exhaustion and laughter, mostly laughter.  He was still disgusted with us.  But we kept on going.  After a good half hour into class he finally came over and told us to stop and get going with the rest of the class.  He was still disgusted.

I like to think that he learned from this experience.  I hope he realized that all men/women are not created physically equal.  That sometimes people just aren't interested in doing push-ups until our arms fall off.  That high school girls don't like to sweat during the day because it ruins make-up and hair.  That not everyone is a wrestler.

I know I learned a few things.  I learned that Sally was an incredible partner in crime. I learned how to change in the locker room with speed and accuracy (still can't remember what I wore though, shorts and a t-shirt I'm sure but I have no recollection of what they actually looked like).  I learned to block out a lot of memories about high school P.E.  I learned that I absolutely hated push-ups.

I think it may have scarred me just a little... don't worry, I'm sure I'll get over it some day.

How about your P.E. memories?

Musical Thoughts

My first boyfriend, and my first kiss.   This was "our" song.  He wrote down the lyrics and sent them to me in note form.  You know, back in the dark ages before text messaging, cell phones, or the internet.  It was on paper and it was folded all neat like, a little rectangle with a flap that was tucked in for security purposes.  Note folding was an art, as well as note writing.  That's a story for another time though.

Firehouse.  Love of a Lifetime.


That song still gets to me, even after all of this time. Weird.  It must be something about that first love. That first someone that you kind of connect with.

He made me a mix tape. It had this song on it too.



I don't think it was meant to last.

Things That Make Me Happy

Pennylu was a woman I met in St. Louis, MO while serving a mission for my church. She was awesome. She had Christmas in her basement all year round and Pepperidge Farm cookies everytime we went to see her.

She burst with life. She was the only 50ish-year old I knew who could outlast the energy of a toddler. She had a player piano and maracas. She had padded "butt-pants" for roller-blading. She had a poster on her bathroom wall entitled "Things That Make Me Happy"

I don't remember anything on that poster, but it inspired my companion and I to make one of our own. Through the years I have had several lists of things that make me happy. I can look at them and feel my spirits lift. It is time I make one again. This time I will share it with you.

There's a new page on this here blog if any of you care to look. It's my list. Some will make complete sense and some will leave you wondering. Rest assured though, all of them lift my spirits.

Christmas Memories

Monday night was the last night of my photography class.  The "final" was to bring 5 of your favorite photos and let the class critique them.  I showed up a little before 7 and the previous class was still there.  There were 5 photos up on the big screen and they spoke to my country girl heart.

I forget sometimes that I grew up a country girl.  I've been away for so long in the "big city" (yes, laugh if you will but coming from Grace, ID this is the big city) that I sometimes forget my roots.  The building blocks that are so very much a part of me.

The first picture was a close up of a white faced heifer with a snowy background.  It was cropped close so the entire face didn't show, the beautiful brown eyes made striking.  But oh the memories it brought.  The feelings.

I have a favorite Christmas tradition.  Growing up on a farm there were always chores to be done regardless of the holiday.  One was to feed the cows.  On Christmas morning we not only had to wait for the parents to get up (an eternity in and of itself) but we had to wait for Dad to get done with the chores before we could throw back the makeshift curtain that hid the living room from our view and gaze with wonder upon the gifts Santa brought. When we got a little older, it was suggested that we go along with Dad to feed the cows on the hill.  So we all bundled up in our mis-matched winter gear (did anyone ever have matching gloves?) and headed out into the cold Christmas morn. 

Depending on the amount of snow, we either rode on the back of the snowcat (ideal for deep snow) or the feed wagon behind the big green John Deere tractor.  Dad would put it in gear and we'd head up on the hill where the cows were waiting with eagerness.  First the hay went down.  As the cows munched away contentedly a bale of straw was pitched bit by bit for the cows to bed down in. 

It was magic.  I can still smell the crispness of the air, the sweetness of the hay as it was tossed down to the waiting cattle.  Sometimes we were blessed with blue skies and the warm sunshine.  Other times it was frigidly cold and grey.  Still other times were filled with snow globe weather; big fluffy flakes that floated down like magic.  Always it was filled with satisfaction.

When I was younger it was fun to ride on top of the hay bales and get in snowball fights with brothers and sisters.  Watch the dogs plow through the snow and try to do the same only to break through the hard surface and sometimes fill your boots with snow.  The older I got the more I appreciated that moment on top of the hill.  I loved to look across the valley, at our home, and be filled with gratitude for the beauty of the day.  The beauty of the season.  The gift it was to grow up in such a remote and perfect location. 

This year I will miss the sounds of children giggling ring through the air, no longer brothers and sisters but nieces and nephews, combined with the quiet munching of the cows and the sounds of my own breath as I take it all in.  That is the sound of Christmas morning for me.

I hope to be able to share one of those moments with my own children someday.  For now I will be content to remember it and to share a little bit of what Christmas means to me.

Halloween Candy

David and I bought Halloween candy today. 

I'm quite proud of us because this is the longest that we've held out on stocking up for the Halloween rush of costumed kids coming to the door.  Of course when purchased in advance of the actual day that usually means another purchase closer to, if not the day of, because something mysterious happened to chocolate stash!  I have no idea what, it just disappears.  And I'm positive that we're not the only ones who suffer from this phenomenon.  It is Halloween after all, strange and unusual things are in the air.

So with a few days to go and a minimal purchase, we should be right as rain.

My snack size candy bar of choice is Milky Way.  It's not even my favorite candy bar but it has so many memories attached to it.

My Grandma.

Isn't she beautiful.  This was taken when she was younger of course.  She's gone now but it always surprises me how much I miss her at times.  So much that it hurts inside.  I get a lump in my throat and for a minute I can't trust myself to speak.

Halloween as a child carries memories of scratchy burlap sacks and tights (Indian), painted faces, hand-made costumes, snow boots and winter coats.  I grew up in Idaho after all and it wasn't uncommon to have the occasional skiff of snow (or drift as the year went) on the ground.  But out we went.

I also lived in the country which meant everyone piled in the car fully costumed and we drove from neighbor to neighbor.  We mostly kept it to our ward members and started at one end of the valley with Aunt Diane and Uncle Kurt and ended up on the other end of the valley with Aunt Sandy and Uncle Berry and hit every house in between.  Each year we went to the same houses and each year we came home with homemade popcorn balls, Halloween suckers, Tootsie rolls, and the prized snack size candy bars. 

After the usual route, instead of heading home we made one last stop at Grandma's house.  She always had a hug and a kiss on the cheek for us.  And she always had Milky Way candy bars... always.

My grandma was an incredible woman so full of love, hope, and reality.  There are so many things to tell about her, to pay tribute to her character and the strong woman she was.  But today I'll just take comfort in letting the sweet feelings of memory wash over me.  Remember her scent.  Remember her smile.  Remember always feeling special.

So, if April Showers Bring May Flowers then...

What does 6 inches of snow get ya?

As many of you have woken up to this winter wonderland with me, I just can't help but think there's got to be something really good in store to have us covered with snow for this long.  I'm pretty sure this is one of the bigger storms that we've received through-out the entire winter.  It's not exactly huge, but it is substantial.

I also can't help but be reminded of the 2nd grade.  My 2nd grade class to be exact.  I don't know why random things like this pop into my mind but because it's there I just have to share.

Throughout the year groups of kids had the priviledge of doing the back bulletin board it the classroom.  My group was assigned April.  I remember having this glorious vision of the bulletin board themed around April showers.  In my minds eye it was perfect.  Blue raindrops falling from the sky.  An oversized umbrella with a fluffly yellow duck taking shelter underneath.  The words folllowing the curvature of the umbrella "April Showers Bring May Flowers".  It was glorious, breathtaking even.  So much better than the paltry efforts of my other, less skilled classmates and their March rainbow with the pot of gold the previous month.

We went to work.  I was in charge of the rain drops.  I drew them, I cut them, I hung them.  Each child contributing their part.  I stood back to survey our efforts.  It was.... well, it was awful!  Why were the raindrops so jagged?  The words, they looked like a kindergartner had written them! Was the yellow blob with eyes a duck? 

It appears my mind's eye failed to take into account the 2nd grade skill set.

Enjoy this April Winter's day!

Do you ever wish for someone else's life?

Today I wish that I were in someone else's shoes.  I wish I had someone else's life besides this one right here, right now.  If I had someone else's shoes then perhaps I wouldn't have the scars on my feet from the awkwardness of my own shoes.  Perhaps I wouldn't have tripped and fallen so many times.  Perhaps there would not be so many set backs.  Or maybe I just need to take a closer look at my own life.  Maybe I'm exactly where I am supposed to be.

Lora Hubbard Sullivan.  That's me.  But for the purposes of this particular work I will be simply Lora Hubbard.  Back to my roots. Pre the crazyiness of this life.  Back to simpler times.

I was born in a small farm in Grace, Idaho.  I was an excellent baby.  My mom said that she could leave me alone for long periods of time and I would entertain myself.  Content.  I didn't cry much and I was a fast learner.  I was walking at 9 months.  My first memory is from my first birthday believe it or not.  I remember very distinctly getting a small piece of maroon polyester cloth with buttons and strings sewed onto it.  I also remember thinking "this is it? are you kidding me?"  I was not impressed.

I am the second of 7 children.  I have one older brother, Jarom,  and we were the best of friends.  We did everything together.  We lived in a white house just down the road from my Aunt Janice's house and not too far from the main farm house where my grandparents lived and my dad worked.  The world was our back yard.  I have many fond memories of that house.  In the upstairs room (on the main floor, there was a main floor and a basement) there was a built-in closet.  Not an ordinary closet, but a kind of cupboard closet.  We had to stand on a stool to climb into it.  It had one half shelf in it and it was big enough for at least two small children to get in and have a ball.  It was where we lived sometimes.  Stuffed animals, blankets, pillows, all stuffed in the closet along with our bodies and imaginations.

Jarom and I shared a room for quite awhile.  At least it seemed like quite awhile.  When more siblings, all in the form of sisters came along then other arrangements were made and I moved downstairs with the girls.  But until then we had the run of the place.  Part of it was our bunk beds.  I was on the bottom bunk, he was on top bunk.  I was always jealous of the top bunk.  The exceptions were tent days. 

Bunk beds have many uses, one of which is the making of the tent.  We tucked blankets under the top mattress to form the sides transforming the dreary bottom bunk into a place of wonder and desirability.  The use of a flashlight made it even better.  Everything was magical in our makeshift tent.  Everything was more fun, even naps.  Though I don't know how much sleep was had but I certainly wasn't opposed to staying in bed. Of course being the younger sibling, I often had to forfeit my magical bed for the once oh-so-coveted top bunk.  For some reason Jarom thought that since it was his idea then he should enjoy the fruits of his labor.  I never saw it that way but being smaller and weaker... I didn't have much choice.

New Year Thoughts

The missionaries came over for dinner tonight. Mostly because David forgot to find people from the ward to have them over dinner, but truthfully I didn't mind one bit. It's been a long time since we've had them over and it was a nice chance to sit and remember my own mission. I won't bore you with the details since it's only really interesting to me, but I'm sure getting a replica of my head in the mail (pinata style of course) was also interesting for Sister Pratley. If she had any doubts about the sanity of me and my family up to that point it was solidified that day.

Anyway, back to the here and now, it was nice having them in our home. It has prompted me to reflect on my life right now. And since it is a time for "new beginnings" then why not! In one of my meetings a spiritual thought was given and I wrote it down. "If you are not as close to the Lord as you used to be, who moved?"

I've been thinking about that statement. I remember well the mission days when 2 hours of gospel study was the norm. Praying always was a way of life. I knew that coming home would introduce new challenges, and there really was no way that I would have realistically expected 2 hours of gospel study to continue being the norm. However, I also didn't think I would be as casual as I sometimes am when it comes to gospel study either.

I don't write this to make myself or anyone else feel guilt or remorse, but simply to take a good look. Is this where I want to be? Am I comfortable with my level of faith in God? Do I really trust him? Do I really know him? The theme for Primary this year is "I Know My Savior Lives". The instruction to Primary presidencies is as follows:

Through the witness of the Holy Ghost, the children will learn that because of the central role of Jesus Christ in our Heavenly Father's plan, they can have faith in Him. The children will also learn that their faith will grow stronger as they keep the commandments, serve, share the gospel, follow the example of the Savior, and prepare for His Second Coming.

It's the simple truths that are taught in Primary and yet I feel so inadequate. It's a good thing that this is the Lord's work and not mine. Can you just imagine the mess I would make! Sheesh!

So that is my pondering for the coming year. Sure I could make resolutions to lose weight, take up painting, go sky-diving, and any other number of things, but who's kidding who? I'm going to be lucky to make it out of this year alive! What I really want is to be closer to God so I can enjoy life more even when things don't turn out according to plan. I want peace of mind. Really that can only come one way. And with God, that might not be too much to ask for.

May the New Year bring all that you hope for and if it doesn't, at least keep a smile on your face.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Sometimes I get in the mood for the oddest music. My current kick really makes me laugh at myself. I'm currently listening to the oldies station. And by "oldies" I mean way oldies. Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole, Louis Armstrong, big band stuff. It usually happens when I've been through the rotation a couple of times, country to classic rock to pop to alternative to jazz and everything in between. Then I find myself on 103.3 listening to stuff that no one my age really has any knowledge about.

I think it started with the purchase of my very first car. "Rose". What a beaut. I had graduated from high school and needed wheels. I wasn't in a position to be picky either. I was desperate. So off to Pocatello I went with my parents and there we met Rose. The 1984 4-door rosewood Plymouth Reliant. We test drove, it fit the bill. It wasn't until after the purchase that we found out that the radio was only AM and stuck on 1390 am- Hits from the War Years. I had no idea that there were cars that were purposefully made to only broadcast AM stations. I paid much more attention to those sorts of details on my next car purchase.

But, Rose was mine and she did travel well from point a to point b. It was truly the ultimate in grandma cars. It was just impossible to make it cool and I tried, I swear I tried, it just wouldn't stick. This was never demonstrated so well as it was one day in the K-Mart parking lot. I had gone to the store for some reason, came out with purchase in hand and got in the trusty Reliant. Put the keys in the ignition and turned. Or tried to at least. It wasn't working. I tried again but to no avail. "What's the deal!" I thought. Then I looked around. The color was right, the interior exact, but it was clear by the paraphernalia around me that I may not be in my car. As luck would have it one row behind me there was a little old lady trying to get into my car! If ever there was a doubt that cleared it right up. We shared a laugh, switched cars and went on our merry way. Weird that I was okay with that. I had a good laugh about that for quite awhile.

So, in memory of Rose and hits from the war years, I give you Nat King Cole's "Rambling Rose"

Haunts

There are a few things in life that haunt me. A memory that makes my blood do interesting things. I think about it and get ashamed of myself. It's one of those things that I've never really taken out and examined. It's always been too hard to face. Like if I brought it out I would find myself completely in the wrong even though I tried so hard to make it right.

It was back in High School. (Why do so many haunts occur in High School...) It was homecoming week. I don't remember what year, but it was the night of the snake dance. You couldn't miss the snake dance, it was the only time it was legal for a high-schooler to be in the bar. The whole of main street shut down, the entire high school population that could come came. We all joined hands in one long line and 'snaked' our way from the high school through to the other end of town. The bar was always open and it was the one establishment that allowed us to snake our way through. It ended at the Grace City Park where a bonfire was built and a replica of the opponent's mascot was hung and burned to wild cheers of victory to come. A glorious night indeed.

It was after the official festivities that my particular haunt occurs. It was customary to drag main, small as it is, after the event. I was driving the 'speed demon' or the 'demon truck from hell' as it was often called. In reality it was a little tan Toyota. It had to have a cool name otherwise it would have been embarrassing. I was proud of my little 'demon'.

I was driving. Someone was in the passenger seat. A whole lot of someones were in the back of the truck sitting and standing as we drove around. Tonya was one of them. Mom wasn't so sure she liked me hanging around with Tonya. I always seemed to get in trouble with her. Said she was a bad influence. I can't imagine why. Common sense seemed a little on the scarce side when we hung out. Like that time that we didn't want to come home from the movie so we called and said that Tonya had lost her wallet in the movie theatre and we'd be home late. Apparently it was a bit later than they anticipated (cause it takes 3 and a half hours to find a lost wallet in the Soda Springs Idanha theatre) as evidenced by the extremely angry face of my father as he waved me down while I dragging main with a boy at 1 am in the morning. I digress.

So Tonya was in the back banging on top of the cab. It was just like being inside a tin can. I asked her to stop, it kept going. I asked again, it kept going. Finally I got really mad and jerked the truck to the curb so that I could get out and take care of the 'issue'. What I didn't realize was that my jerk of the truck almost cost Tonya her life. That may be extreme, but when I pulled over she didn't have a good grip and almost flew out of the truck. She was hanging on for all she was worth, her face inches from the ground, and scared to death. Then she was mad.

I spent the rest of the night trying to apologize. She wouldn't accept. I was ashamed of my actions. I was ashamed to think that my loss of control almost seriously hurt my friend. I wanted so badly for her to accept my apology so the horrible feelings would go away. Those are the feelings that haunt me when I think about that time. I wanted reconciliation. I wanted to know that everything was okay. I wanted to feel better about what I had almost done. Like if she forgave me then I wouldn't have to be so ashamed anymore. I could chalk it up to 'stupid' and not have to loose too much sleep over it. I could put it to rest.

Life goes on, time passes... but that night occasionally pops up and haunts me. It all seems so silly now, but still I wonder if she ever did forgive me. I wonder if she ever knew how really sorry I was. I wonder if she even remembers that night.

Let's talk about...

So, this week has been quite eventful, but strangely difficult to write about. I have spent the majority of the week at the Caribou County Fair in Grace, Idaho my home and I have learned a few things. I still have love for my home town although I feel it best at this time to point out that I lived on a farm outside of the city limits. Having spent 4 days at the fair grounds (and I mean days.. not a few hours here and there... all day long) with all the noise and people... that it brings with it, I have done some evaluating.

First. I think it would be an extremely difficult thing for David and I to move back to Grace or the surrounding areas. Not because it's a bad place, but I have really grown used to restaurant selection and paved roads. I can always visit mom and dad for peace and quiet.

Second. I will never be a part of an adult dance group that performs at the local fair. Rockin Rythym Cloggers... not for me. I was actually part of the group when I was in the 7th grade... I really was in shock that it was still going. Who cloggs anymore?

Third. I will always try to look in the mirror before I go out of the house. If I'm okay with it then it's my fault if I get mocked.

Fourth. Greeting cards just don't sell (at least not in Grace). If you're into that then you make them yourself. Were I to do a booth again, I would raffle a quilt.

Fifth. Always go to your high school reunions, you never know who you are going to run into. My good friend Connie attended and I haven't seen her since she got married right around 12ish years ago. Perhaps I should say one time good friend since we've not been in contact for so long. But I really was surprised and glad to see her. What an opportunity to reconnect! I have been thinking a lot about her for the past year and didn't really know where to find her. Her parents had moved away and I didn't really know where anyone else was to find out about her. So what a pleasant surprise to see her at the reunion! Who knew!

So that's what I've been up to. Lost in the nostalgia of high school days, hanging out at the fair grounds, and being thankful for the life I have. I guess it was worth it then wasn't it.

Oatmeal

I have recently remembered a fetish I once had for flavored instant oatmeal. Weird huh!

I actually forgot that it had ever been a part of my life and on a whim, purchased the Western Family multi-pack of flavored oatmeal packets. (It was on sale) Thought it would make a quick breakfast/snack. Okay, seriously, who has oatmeal for a snack?

Anyway, I popped a bowl into the microwave (Cinnamon raisin) and sat down to eat. It was the smell of it all that reminded me that I used to eat this a lot. Memories of the mission field flooded my mind. In my first area, East St. Louis, Illinois, I had oatmeal for breakfast every morning. I remembered buying it at Shop N Save, and Aldi's (the store where you had to deposit a dollar in order to use the shopping cart... ghetto, but cheap!) Sister Sullivan was my trainer and this little farm girl had jumped into a whole new world. Those were good times. Not sure if I would repeat them, but I certainly wouldn't give them up.

Fetchin' Gretchen

I have recently caught up with one of my all time favorite companions from the mission field. Of course all my comps were grand in their own way, but Sister Pratley and I did a lot of time together. We served in 3 areas and 5 months. Unfortunatley after the mission we kind of lost track of each other for awhile. Through the miracle of Facebook, we're connected again.

Gretchen, this one's for you!

There are a few things that come to mind right away when I think of Sis Pratley, one is companionship inventory (one in particular of course, something about crooked sunglasses and non-flowered dresses), "what do you mean this is the AP's camera", and a note that is kept lovingly in my journal. It says:

"For my Sister Hubbard,

What I like about Sister Hubbard

1. Your accents

2. Your cookies

3. The fact you're a big dork like ME"

For you, in photographic form, is a brief journey of all that we went through together.

Us and the elders decorating the fake Christmas tree that Sister Preece loved so much. We were just happy we weren't in trouble for sneaking into the elders aparment and sabotaging it.

The Christmas garland of 1997 that must have been a relief society project gone wrong. Ever cheap, ever sheek, ever classic, ever tacky to-go containers with plastic wrap and lights. We didn't know whether to put it up or wear it.

"This is a tornado warning! Take cover immediately!"
What better place than the bathtub!

I have to wonder, did you ever get to live in your dream home!
The 16 Wide is the "Home of the Future"

And who can forget the need to preach repentance unto all.

There are so many more I could have posted, the pics in front of the Granite Steel mill, the Eternal Flame, Sandy, the Hawg Cafe, Paris, Brooklyn, God's Bus, The Kelly's (do you know where to find them?), year mark "burn", concrete geese, our "fake fight" to help our DL feel useful, Shop-N-Save Sombreros... the list goes on.

Sure do miss you!