dunnthat

Or at the very least, a great big void on my CAT scan:

1.  Last night at dinner I told the group through the chaos that we should pray before we ate.  I was told, “We already did.”  I said, “When?  Really?”  “Just now.  Don’t you remember?  You folded your arms…you said ‘Amen.’  Don’t you remember?”  No.  Didn’t remember.  Then they started messing with me.  “We didn’t really pray.”  “Really??  You were just messing with me?”  They all said, “Yep.  Messing with you.  We didn’t pray.”  “Oh my gosh!  I’m so relieved!  I really thought I’d lost it!”  Then someone else said, “No, we really prayed.”  OH…MY…GOSH!!  I felt like I was going crazy!! 

So here’s the thing:  They DID pray and I seriously don’t remember.  Scary.

2.  Two days ago at the gym after my workout, I went to the locker room to open my locker.  I’d brought my own padlock.  And…I couldn’t remember the combination.  At all.  It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve used the padlock, but STILL.  I KNOW this combination!  I sat there and stared at it for five minutes.  I tried every combination I could think of.  Tried them again.  Nope.  Forgot.  I had to have the lock cut off because my car keys were in the locker.  WEIRD.

I still can’t remember the combination.

3.  This morning I put water on my cold cereal.  I KNOW!

4.  When my son said there were a lot of cars on the road, I said, “Well yeah.  It’s, uh…”  Pause.  Pause.  “That time of day when everyone comes home from work.”

Couldn’t think of the words “rush hour.”

This is all within the last three days.

Weird thing, though.  No headaches.  No nose bleeds.  Just brain voids. 

Oldest says, “Maybe you’re just sunsetting.”  “Sunsetting?”  “Yeah, you know, like what Nana has.”  “Nana has DEMENTIA!” 

OH MY GOSH!  I have dementia!

What does this MEAN??  I’m laughing.  I really am.  But kind of worried, too.  This is SO WEIRD.

Oh, and PS:  I’m having hot flashes.  Is this related??

Who needs Fisher Price when you have a three-foot length of rebar and a steak knife?

While missionary prepared a fantasmic Brazilian churrasco (shu-HAH-sko) at the Bishop’s house, we watched with wondering awe as this young boy played happily with this piece of rebar and a steak knife.  The boy ran around the court/patio with both toys firmly in hand, easily navigating the tight fit where the half barrel of burning coals and meat sizzled and smoked:

Eventually the little girl got jealous and they started fighting over the knife.  My eyes got bigger and rounder as I quietly panicked.  They jerked the knife  between them back and forth, back and forth. 

The solution? 

A steak knife of her own.  At which point the two kids contently started cutting through the gaps between panels of wood on the floor.

This young bishop and his wife were darling.  And very laid back. 

Obviously.

The moral of this story? 

Relax.  Life is short.  The kids will be fine.

• I have GOT to lose some weight.  Okay.  A lot of weight.
• I am SO spoiled.  Houseboat = aMAZing.
• I’m the only person I know who can spend a week in Lake Powell and come home whiter than when she left.  It’s called MELANOMA people!  Stop making fun of me. 
• Early morning hard ski plus Costco poppy seed and/or chocolate chocolate chip giant muffin for breakfast = calorie surplus.  Sigh.
• LOVE Haven Kimmel.  Started and finished She Got Up Off the Couch, her part two memoir after A Girl Named Zippy.  Just so you know, if I could write, I’d like to write like her.  Laugh out loud funny.  Two enthusiastic thumbs up.
• Good news:  Even through significant weight gain since last year, I have more stamina than I expected.  Yay gym.
• Bad news:  Our ski boat must have lost horse power … Pulled me out of the water slower this year.  Hmmm.  What does this mean?  Stupid boat.
• I love Lake Powell.  Love.  Gorgeous.
• But it is HOT.  HOT!  I burned my foot on the carpet of the ski boat.  JUMP IN THE WATER!
• I will MAKE son number three (recently returned missionary) love The Big Bang Theory.  I will I will I will.  (Watched it a lot during lunches…)
• Son number three discovers that two years without sun causes sunburn without sunscreen.  Told ya.
• Son number two pops out of the water so fast when water-skiing his hair doesn’t even get wet.  When I said how awesome I thought that was, he said, “I don’t like to drag.”  Well DUH.  Neither do I.  But I do.  Hmmm.  What does this mean?
• I like having another girl on the boat with me.  Yay DIL.
• Ice cream at Lake Powell is decadent and should be very wrong.  But it’s so very very good.
• Husband and I don’t act our age.  Still skiing…and actually both kind of old.  Take THAT aging demons!
• I need a vacation from my vacation.  Too much gone time.  Too too much.  In the last five weeks I’ve been home one.  Going to rest tomorrow.  I earned it.
• Breaks in blogs means I’m out of town.  Won’t be the last time this summer.  Vacations = fun AND exahaustion.  I know…poor me.
• My boys are men.  Number four reached the man rank this summer.
• ‘Cept mini.  Keeping him teeny as long as possible.
• Mini started and finished Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince on the trip (second time).
• Number one started and finished Into Thin Air (about climbing Everest – to which I always have to ask…BUT WHY would any sane person want to do that??).
• Why were we all reading so much?  Can’t ski all the time…
• There’s something so exciting about watching a movie at Lake Powell when it’s dark.  Love it.
• Ready to come home, but always ready to go back.  This is my love letter to Lake Powell.  HEART YOU.

• I like to be clean.  A lot.  I wasn’t.  A lot.
• I ate two bugs.  Within minutes of each other.  Sick.
• I have a new girl crush:  Mindy Gledhill.  Sang at camp.  Gave a motivational talk about how we don’t need to be thin and beautiful and super talented.  She is thin and beautiful and super talented.  Sigh.  Heart her.
• Really intense campfire smell smells like tobacco on my clothes.
• I like to sleep in beds.  I didn’t.  A lot.
• Which makes me love my cabin more than ever.  Beds.  I like beds.
• I like flush toilets.  Had them.  But they were distant and I almost didn’t make it once.  I enjoy a close-by bathroom.
• I didn’t realize how much I like being naked in my bedroom…just from the closet to the shower.  Ahhh.  Missed that.  Missed my shower.
• Came home to my shower, and the water heater wasn’t working.  Bummer.
• I feel I shall never be clean again.
• Young women are thoughtful and cute and helpful (for the most part).
• I love these girls…even though I don’t have any myself, I can enjoy them as a surrogate.
• Young women have so much love to give.  They like to hug.  I like to hug.  Works.
• Young women have an unusually potent fear of ticks.  Fortunately they prayed (how cute is that) and they felt their prayers were answered.
• You can find a kindred spirit who is thirty years younger than you.
• I met a lot of people who have really weird talents – not useful, but very funny.
• I’m tired.
• You can get a sunburn even when you don’t think you’re in the sun.  Yay for farmer tans and burned noses.
• If this is the telestial world, I’m okay with shooting for that.  This world is beautiful.
• I like hanging out with the women leaders.  Another ward let us use their foot bath (they called it The Waters of Mormon).  They had magazines to read while we soaked.  But even better they sat and talked with us.  And they gave us polish.  And I heart them.  A lot.
• Starburst can be roasted over a fire like marshmallows.  DELICIOUS.  Great…I’ve found yet another way to gain weight.  And oh, did I find many…
• I didn’t have time for this.  But I’m glad I went.
• If you hang around your dirty self long enough, you stop smelling bad.  Right?
• Some women are happy no matter what.  How do they do it?  Drugs?  I want some.
• Some women work tirelessly and are embarrassed when they are recognized for it.  Weird.
• I can learn from young women leaders who are young enough to be my daughter.
• I am allergic to dust.  New discovery.  Still sneezing.  Blowing my nose brought surprising results.  Black.  Gross.
• It is possible to live without a cell phone for four days.  But I wouldn’t recommend it.
• Sleeping on a slant puts you at the bottom of a tent at 4:00 a.m. 
• I longed for level more than anything (except a shower).
• Watching my young women wash the feet of young women from another ward was a spiritual experience. (service project)
• There is no end to the charity of some women. 
• I was nicer to the women at camp than I was to my family when I got home.  This is bad.
• Elves did not visit my home in my absence and keep the lawn green and the dishes done.  Sad.
• Camp intensifies all relationships.  That is to say…if there is someone you like, you will like her even more once you spend non-stop time with her.  If there is someone who bugs you, she will bug you even more after non-stop time.  Mostly, I found people I grew to like even more.  This is good.

I learned something yesterday.  I’m pretty sure that a girl’s drooling love of shoes is innate.  You’re either born with it or you’re not. 

We had a gathering at my house, and my nephew’s adorable four-year-old daughter had a love affair with the shoes that were kindly removed upon entering my house and placed by the door.

She was in heaven.  She tried on every pair and walked the catwalk through my entry and down the hall. 

All day.

I was FASCINATED.  This was a testimony for “nature” in the whole nature/nurture debate if I ever saw one.

In the whole “born with it or you’re not” argument, I’m definitely a “not.”  All I need is a good pair of sensible, comfortable shoes and I’m pretty much satisfied.

My husband calls these “lesbian shoes.”

If this is really the case, I think the lesbians may have something – at least when it comes to shoes.  Sturdy shoes that are functional.  Really, that’s all I need.  A good pair of Dansko, for example.

These shoes whisper “I love you” with every step.  Good support for my heel and arch and well-made.  Last forever.

Comfortable shoes can be stylin’, for sure.  Like my Ariat boots.  But do I wear them just because I look sassy in them (which I do, by the way)? 

Nope.  I wear them because they are freakin’ comfortable. 

I love Ariats and they love me back.  With every step.

Don’t get me wrong.  I enjoy a hot pair of heels.  They do make my legs look longer, and to be honest, I like towering above everyone.  I can really see everything so much more clearly from up there.

For example, I really like these shoes.  I may even love them. 

But my milk doesn’t come in when I see them.  If you know what I mean.

Nature.

Am I the only one who has irrational thoughts?  Thoughts that cause me to say to myself, “What the h ??”

I am reminded of my irrational thought problem every time I fly.  Which I just did.  A lot.

So, we’re on the plane, and I have to go to the bathroom.  (I know!  There’s the bathroom thing again!!)  The bathrooms are always next to the hermetically sealed door that separates the inside sane people from the outside air vacuum of space that if the door were to open would kill us all.

And I always have to wait for the bathroom.  And I wait.  And I stare at that door.

And I always think:  What if I were to open that door?

And I know what would happen.  A great whoosh of wind and that vacuum would suck us all out.  Suck.  Us.  Out.  I know that.  But I think about the consequences of opening that door every. single. time I fly.

And I think…why is that door so accessible?  Wouldn’t it only take a couple of flips of a couple of red levers to kill us all?  Shouldn’t it be guarded by, like, an armed guard??

People in planes should be protected from people who think like I do, don’t you think?

A couple of other irrational thoughts:

• We climbed Waynapicchu during our trip to Machu Picchu.  It’s that tall pointy mountain you see behind most pictures of Machu Picchu.  Of which we have many.  I will post some soon.  Anyway, the trail is steep and narrow and completely illegal in the US (surely the US would have to provide handicap access).  So we’re climbing this mountain and I’m looking down this steep cliff, and I think, what if I were to just miss one step?  Would the fall kill me?  Would I go all the way to the bottom?  Would I tumble and bang my way all the way down?  How long would it take me to die?

• 

  Internet picture of Machu Picchu and Waynapicchu...ours were way better, but I haven't uploaded any yet

• Similarly, years ago when we lived in San Francisco area, we used to always watch the Blue Angels fly during fleet week.  One such time the kids were young, and one was still in a stroller.  We positioned ourselves on the Golden Gate Bridge.  Back then the jets would fly under the bridge and even between the spires.  So cool.  But this time the weather was foggy and we had to wait a long time for the jets to fly.  During that long wait I kept thinking, what if my baby dropped his bottle, and then he tried to get it, and then he slipped and fell off the bridge.  What would I do?  Would I jump after him?  Would I watch him fall and do nothing?  What?  What?  What?  Gah.
• When I’m driving on the freeway, I always think, what if I were to open the door and stick my foot out and push it off the pavement, like one does when pushing a scooter down the street?  Would it rip my foot off?  Would I get pulled out of the car?  Would the back tire catch my foot and pull me under the car, and then would the car run over me?  Would I tumble down the freeway like a sack of potatoes?  Would I get hit by other cars swerving to try to miss me?
• And most recently, I went to visit my friend’s yellow lab puppies again.  They are so freaking cute!  And so much bigger.  Rambunctious.  And I was thinking…what if I were to buy one?   And then I would think…that’s crazy sauce.  What the h ??  But then I would look at this adorable light-colored male who was sort of mellow and who really loved me, I could tell, and I would think, but what if I did get this puppy?  Wouldn’t that be fun?  And then I would think, Oh my gosh, they get so big.  That’s just crazy.  And then he would try to climb the fence to get to me.  His eyes said, “Hold me.  Just hold me.  Love me.  I love you…”  Crazy sauce. 

I really am irrational.  Maybe there’s a pill for that…

For a person who hates bathroom humor, I sure talk about it a lot.  Disgusting.

Here’s the thing…why does a place that shares the United Nations’ concern about how many towels I use (I’m ON VACATION for crying out loud…I want a clean towel every day…forget how many trees I may or may not save) have such inefficient and annoying toilets? 

I would venture to guess that a single flush wastes about 30 gallons of water (probably not, but WOW…loud, energetic, and STILL can’t flush all contents).  Did you know that in most other countries they have a garbage can next to the toilet for your used tissue?  As in…the toilet paper, DESIGNED for toilets, doesn’t flush?

EW.  That’s why the Hispanic workers at our house left their used tissue in the garbage. 

First of all, let me repeat:  EW.  And secondly, why are they using my bathroom??  Another story, another day.

Back to South American bathrooms…their tissue (that doesn’t flush) is SO THIN it’s a problem.  Don’t you worry, I gathered PLENTY for the purpose, but then, later…in the shower…I almost always found remnants…a reminder that had been traveling with me since my prior bathroom trip.

I KNOW. 

I think I need to lose weight.  Seriously.

And on another positive note, through this very long trip I achieved bathroom successes in which I have heretofore had difficulty.  To wit:  I actually was able to go, you know, the longer one, four times in the airport and two times in a restaurant.

This is ground breaking news.

I could not be more pleased.

In Brazil the true “gauchos” (gow-OO-shows) (gauchos are like cowboys) drink chimarraon (shim-ah-HONE) – a delightful mixture of lawn clippings steeped in boiling water and drunk from a cuia (COO-yah) (made from a gourd) by way of a “bomba” (BOAM-bah) or metal tube with a strainer about the size of a quarter that sits in the bottom of the cuia.  Tasty.

Chimarraon goes in this cuia

A view from the top...lawn clippings, right? Notice the Brazilian flag proudly waving on the lawn.

Missionary became a believer over the last two years.  And a gaucho.  He says it’s good for your digestion.  Must have been, because after eating monstrous amounts of beef, chicken hearts, bull humps, pork, and other fattening unmentionables, including FAT, (“Eat the fat, Mom.  It’s the best part!”  “Have you been eating the fat??”  “Oh yeah!  I love it!”  My heart is crying right now.), missionary still managed to grow an inch (6’4″) and lose TWENTY POUNDS (now 144 lbs).

Women all over the world kind of hate him.  I’m working my way through my anger.

Chimarraon is a very social part of the Brazilian culture.  Every home you visit offers you chimarraon.  It would be bad form if the missionaries didn’t accept.  There is one cuia.  Just one.  The head of the house drinks first, then passes to the person on his right, who drinks from the same cuia and bomba.  Back to the head, who fills the cuia back up with hot water, then passes to the person next to the person on the right.  It’s very ritual.

I tried it.  Let’s see.  How to describe…dried alfalfa hot water?…uhm, hay?…lawn clippings?  Not a fan.  Oldest boy also served his mission in the same general area and culture, except in Argentina.  There they call the lawn clippings “mate” (MAH-tay).  His mission president didn’t allow the missionaries to drink it, for fear they’d just sit around drinking mate when they should have been working.

Obviously this wasn’t a problem for missionary.  Twenty pounds.  Remember?  He walked EVERYWHERE.  We saw where he walked.  It was exhausting just to drive it.

There are ten gaucho commandments for drinking chimarraon:

1 – Don’t ask for sugar (it would totally help, I promise)

2 – Don’t say it isn’t hygenic (it isn’t)

3 – Don’t say it’s too hot (it is)

4 – Don’t leave your chimarraon halfway finished (hard…and, ew)

5 – Don’t be embarassed to slurp at the end (this is a right of passage – they all seem so happy when the slurp occurs)

6 – Don’t mess with the bomba (this is tempting, but don’t even touch the straw)

7 – Don’t change the order in which it’s served (host, then person to the right, back to the host, next person, etc)

8 – Don’t “sleep” with the cuia in your hand (this means, don’t just hold onto it – drink it and pass it back)

9 – Don’t condemn the host for drinking the first one (I have nothing snarky to say to this one)

10 – Don’t say it gives you throat cancer (apparently Brazil is number one in throat cancer, but they also smoke a lot, then drink chimarraon, then smoke – this makes the raw throat more susceptible to cancer…maybe)

Missionary wants to move to our cabin in Oakley and ride horses and drink chimarraon and wear his gaucho clothes.  Who can blame him when he looks so good doing it.

This is missionary. I love this picture.