You can't lie to the MRI...

I just flunked my latest MRI test.
I didn't intend to.
I, in fact, expected to ace it.
I've had these diagnostic tests before and it's never bothered me to be slid in under a big white kind of saucer thing for 4-5 minutes at a stretch.
I would just close my eyes and go somewhere else in my head while the machine clattered and knocked.
But this time I was supposed to have two done at the same time, one for my right shoulder and one for the left. I went in all full of confidence expecting to be done in a couple of hours and on my way to understanding why my arms burn and hurt without me doing anything to aggravate them.
So I laid down to have my arms sandbagged and shut my eyes.
Three hours later, I was sobbing in the parking lot, trying to understand what happened.
I failed to hold still, apparently, though I tried and could have sworn I held rock still.
 Trouble became obvious when the technician kept coming to talk to me under the saucer mechanism.
"You are squirmy," he said. "It's blurring the image."
I was surprised.
I really thought I was holding completely still.
I breathed in and out but no too deeply. I clenched my fists.
I held my breath.
Nothing worked.
No matter how hard I tried, I kept messing up the test.
"Are you nervous?" asked the tech guy. "No, I'm trying," I said, feeling like a 4-year-old who won't eat her vegetables. "I held still. Honest."
"You can't lie to the MRI," he informed me rather brusquely.
We tried again, over and over.
This time, he impatiently pushed back the machine and said, "I don't know what to do. It's getting worse. I can't send these images to the doctor."
I shook my numb fingers thinking I was done for the night.
"Don't do that! he cried. "Now you've ruined it!
Oops. I thought it was over.
He sighed in exasperation, probably needing to be someplace else at 7 p.m. at night.
He told me to give it up and go get dressed.
On the way out, he suggested I get some Valium from my doctor and come back drugged.
"Maybe that will help," he said.
OK. I can do that. But I don't have a lot of expectations for the next try. I will take the Valium and relax and just keep breathing.
But I KNOW I was already holding as still as I can.
I can't hold any stiller.
Maybe if I die?

Watch the magic disappear...

My 11-year-old grandson is into magic.
He watches it.
He loves it.
And lately he always has a deck of cards on hand so he can invite watchers to pick a card and find it again — magically — at the end of the trick.
So when he asked for magic tricks for his 12th birthday, I wanted to support him.
I scoured the Internet to find a couple of tricks that would be impressive and good additions to his growing collection.
I found two, each in England so I figured I could save some shipping money and spend a touch more on the actual trick.
It was early October so I knew I had time on my side.
I fired up my computer and pushed send.
Both gifts were on their way.
I sat back and waited for a response.
After a couple of weeks I checked.
My son said nothing had arrived.
I checked my bank account and the money for both tricks had been withdrawn.
I started looking for phone numbers and emails.
The one trick (a Rigid Rope) was supplied by a local magician in Yorkshire who told me he'd promptly sent the trick. He said he'd send another one.
When it didn't show, I checked my address information. Seems the address I'd been using for years to get Christmas and birthday gifts to Hednesford was not correct anymore. (Maybe it never was...but they made it there.)
The magician said he'd send a third but that would be it. He was now losing money on the deal.
On his birthday, Jack had his magic rope.
Now to find the other trick.
I started emailing after which I got a couple of long-distance calls from Florida. I didn't pick them up in time and there was no room in the mailbox for messages.
We kept waiting.
Yesterday, the company spokesman told me it had been sent but refused. He said he had tried to contact me via an ancient email address I haven't used for years. He told me he'd arranged a refund. I hadn't seen one.
I checked my PayPal records.
Yup. I had a refund but I still wanted the magic trick.
Long story short: the trick is supposedly on its way again.
It's going to the right address, the right kid, the correct country and money will be paid once more.
Let's just hope it magically appears before Dec. 25.
This magic stuff is hard!

Launching into a driveway...

Grandpa's bad rocket

Cael's good rocket

Marc's newest thing with the grandkids is rocket launching. He likes watching their reactions when the rockets take off, fly high into the sky and then float down again with the parachute fully deployed.
The only problem is the rockets — depending on the weather, the wind, the craftsmanship and the battery power — are unpredictable.
You never know for sure if, at the end of an enthusiastic countdown, the rocket will sputter and shoot off or if it'll just sit there, disappointing the crowd and the builder.
My brothers launched rockets when they were younger and my oldest son today puts on little shows for elementary school classes.
I remember my dad trying to help insure a successful blast-off by wiring the rocket to the car battery.
We had rockets that took off into outer space never to be seen again.
We also had a box full of pieces left after the rocket blew up or simply came apart for no apparent reason.
So when we took 5-year-old Cael to the park for a rocket launching we knew it was a gamble.
We had just spent part of a day in northern Utah where we had two brilliant launches and two complete duds for unimpressed grandchildren.
This was a chance to figure out what went wrong.
We headed to the park by a nearby elementary school. The sun was out. The winds were calm.
We handed Cael a green and yellow rocket and showed him how to press the ignition button on grandpa's command.
We taught him the countdown procedure. 10-9-8... and we were a "Go!"
The rocket took to the sky and looped over a little to the west. The parachute deployed and Cael and Marc ran over to catch it.
Success. Easy Peasy.
But the next try didn't go as well. The pretty little red and yellow rocket refused to lift off.
Marc tried new igniters. He adjusted the launchpad and wiring. He cussed.
Cael got restless and started looking over at the playground equipment nearby.
Then Marc decided to try a fresh battery and that worked!
The rocket flared and flew way up high, so high it couldn't be seen for a few minutes. Then it came down, fast and straight with no parachute out and no way to stop it.
It appeared to head into the nearby yard so we trooped over to find it.
We peered through the holes in the fence and into the trees.
We couldn't see it.
We walked around to the street and the house's front yard. I wrote a note explaining our plight and Marc stuck it in the door.
Then I saw a few pieces of red rocket on the side driveway.
It had a broken nosecone and part of the body blown out. (Apparently the engine was too big or Marc had forgotten to pack in the wadding. He swears he remembered.)
Back at the launch site we discovered a hole burnt into the metal launch plate. Wow.
Marc and I discovered a new appreciation for science and its rules.
Cael decided it's important to back the "good" rocket!

A fit bit fit...

British Airways has earned back my respect, though it took a while.
We were on our way back from Spain when we ran into trouble.
We were in a long, long line waiting to check in on Iberian Airlines (one of their partners).
A harried-looking man was working the line and didn't seem to be having a good day.
By the time we got to him, his patience was gone.
He looked at us, at our tickets and waved us away.
"You need to go to British Airways," he said and shut down his desk.
We trudged about 10 feet over and go into another long line.
It was getting late for us as our connection flight was going to board in about 15 minutes.
We got to the front of the line again.
There was the same unhappy man.
He glanced at the same tickets we'd shown him earlier.
He looked at me and my luggage.
I had a cute little red suitcase I had bought just because it was small and guaranteed to fit in the overhead bins.
"You'll have to check that!" he said curtly.
I started to protest.
"Go see if it fits," he said, indicating a baggage cage a few feet further over.
I picked up my case and started to fit it in.
"No! The other way," he said.
I turned it around. Pushed it. Looked at him for mercy.
He put his hand out for my credit card and charged me 75 euro which translates to about $85 in US dollars.
I didn't have time to argue further so I let him take my little case (which had thus far made it from the United States to England and from England to Spain and back without incident).
I fumed though, especially as I watched passengers board with really big carry-ons.
I'm known for being a problem customer so when I got home, I took care to keep track of my receipt and contacted British Airways.
I explained that I felt I was treated unfairly and needed some redress if I was ever to travel on their airplanes again.
I got the boiler plate replies: "This is our policy." "We have to treat everyone the same." "We can't make an exception."
I seethed.
I wrote again and pointed out that my little bag is within the required dimensions and we were flying internationally so we had one free bag allowed.
Again, the polite "We're sorry" replies.
Finally there came one that said basically, "Fine. Send us your routing number and the name of your bank and we'll see what we can do."
Then radio silence.
I figured I had taxed the PR person's patience beyond the limit.
I kept up my campaign however, advising them that I would not travel on their airline ever again.
I could see a $25 or even a $50 fee but $85?
I didn't see why I should pay for the guy having a bad day.
Today I received an email that said they would be returning and depositing my $86.16.
Only three months and 15 emails later.
I win.
I think.

Marry in the park...

The three raccoons that tripped along the road toward us were right at home in the park where the wedding reception was.
The rest of us were somewhat uneasy being in the middle of nowhere after dark.
Marc had accepted the invitation to attend the wedding for a co-worker.
It sounded like fun at first. The ceremony was in one canyon and the reception was in another.
We like an adventure so off we went, gift in hand on a sunny afternoon.
We found the place next to a pretty little pond and took a seat.
The sun started to set as we waited for the groom to arrive.
Apparently the traffic on I-15 had slowed him down and he was a hour late by the time he showed.
(Good thing it was his wedding day and his bride-to-be didn't get upset.)
The ceremony started and it was sweet with tiny flower girls and ring bearer boys and plenty of romantic touches.
But it was nearly dark when it ended and we hadn't had dinner.
We hurried back over to a restaurant and then started to try and find the reception.
The invitation was clear: head to Exit 134 and turn left to a park in the woods.
We tried to do that but the road we took was dark and lonely.
Marc figured we had missed something so we headed back into Salt Lake.
He wondered if we had taken the wrong exit and felt bad for missing the chance to wish his friend well.
We turned around.
This time we carefully counted exits and made sure we were taking off on Exit 134.
We again found ourselves on the dark and lonely road into the forest.
We turned off into a entry point to consult our GPS.
A tiny sign bore the name of the park we wanted.
We started off down the road and turned and twisted for a while. We found a pavilion but it was not the right pavilion.
We got back in the car but not before some elderly people in the same parking area asked for our help in finding the wedding.
We wished them well and agreed to let them follow us if they wanted though we didn't know where we were going.
At the end of more unpaved, windy road, we saw lights and heard music.
We'd found it.
All was well though the trio of raccoons thought we were nuts.
I'm pretty sure I agree with them.

Evermore surprises...

Three years ago I interviewed Ken Bretschneider who had a crazy, ultra-expensive idea.
He wanted to invest millions of dollars and put tons of long hours into putting a fantasy/theatrical/reality amusement park together.
He had the land.
He had $91 million and plenty of interested investors.
He wanted to share his dreams.
Being a skeptical reporter who had heard lots of big ideas including one for a Six Flags/Disneyland-like Park in the same area, I wished him well but doubted whether he could pull it off.
I looked at the model and listened to the ideas he had, from a pirate treasure ship moored in a man-made lake to the   spooky woods full of magical, dark creatures.
It would be kind of like a Jumanji game come to life.
I came close to seeing the vision but it was so revolutionary and would take so much talent and money to make it real I couldn't totally buy into it. (This is even after I tried the virtual reality helmet and took a journey into The Void which was breathtaking.)
Nevertheless, I persuaded my editors at The Deseret News to run a story and a rendering.
And waited to see.
The months and years passed and I read a few stories about the success of The Void which was making money, news and waves.
I saw the ground broken at the site and construction start.
Bretschneider had a Halloween party on the grounds. It was lively and brought in a crowd.
I crossed my fingers for him.
Then my husband saw a notice about Evermore auditioning for people to be part of the scene.
He got a part.
We heard about an opening date.
We learned they were having a party to announce themselves and teaming up with Fan-X to create some buzz.
This weekend we bought a ticket to a soft opening on a night when my husband was not in the show so I could see for myself what it is.
And it is...different, quirky, magical, a little spooky and very adventurous.
There are lots of visual treats, plenty of creatures with stories to tell and agendas that require a little investigation.
It's a unique kind of venue.
We met vampires, witches, a dragon, an owl, zombies, gypsies and a great big king with a weird voice.
I bargained with a vampire to get information I needed to help a sick lad. I visited with a fortune teller, traded with a potion maker, successfully avoided a scary acolyte. (Didn't know what it was until my husband told me.)
It's like nothing I've seen before.
It's breathtaking.
I don't understand all of it. I think there's more going on than I know and I think I'd like to go again.

Mini-Movie Reviews...

I'm pretty sure most of you out there value your money as much as I do.
So when it's spent on a lame movie, it's frustrating.
I'm going to try an experiment here and see if it works: I will post a mini-review of the movies we see and share what I think. If you find it helps you choose a good movie, I'll feel like I've made a mini-difference. If you disagree with me, that will be educational.
Here goes:

The House With a Clock In Its Walls. This is a dud and I can't understand why Cate Blanchett agreed to be in it.
It's all over the place with the plot and the actors don't have direction. The little boy is alternately scared and worried or unafraid of anything weird.
The house apparently has a secret in the walls but the things outside the walls are pretty odd.
This movie is either a dark comedy or a parody of something like The Munsters.
It just doesn't engage even after a dead guy breaks out of his grave and threatens to make a decent movie of this.
Skip it. Skip it and don't go there.

Crazy Rich Asians. Surprisingly entertaining this one. We went because we needed a movie fix and this was what was the most easily available. It's a trip through life with truckloads of money from first-class accommodations to parties decorated to the top of many towers. It's really lots of eye candy and for those of us who live in the real world, it's somewhat obscene. There's no limit apparently to what one can spend for a wedding the potential mother-in-law doesn't want and the simple economics professor didn't expect.
Here's one for the big screen because much of glitzy effect just wouldn't be nearly as effective in the family rooom.

It's also one not to take very seriously or it would be hard to come down out of the sky to do the dishes.

Good Story...

Donald Davis is a Master Storyteller

Karen Ashton

Almost 30 years ago, Karen Ashton began to try and bring storytelling to Utah County. The wife of WordPerfect founder and successful businessman Alan Ashton, Karen had discovered festivals dedicated to sharing all kinds of stories: stories with heart, humor, history, fantasy and reality.
She offered her backyard for the first festival and put together a committee who worked tirelessly to create a local venue for magic.
That first festival drew a couple of thousand people.
The 2018 Timpanogos Festival brought in more than 10,000 on the just the two Laughin' nights alone.
The tellers come from across the nation and across the ocean including longtime favorite Donald Davis (who tells stories from his childhood in North Carolina and from his lifetime of experiences from riding a mule down the Grand Canyon to standing beside his beloved wife Merle as she succumbed to complications of rheumatoid arthritis), Kevin Kling's witty descriptions of watching a Demolition Derby with his mother's Chevy Nova in the competition, Bill Harley's recounting of a T-ball season and Irish teller Clare Murphy's vivid tale of three women trying to make fools of their husbands for free rent.

Kevin Kling

Dovie Thomason brings her stories of animals, Apaches and the modern-day trials with the TSA ("It's my dog. His name is Rex," she said when the TSA agent wondered why she had a coyote skull in her suitcase).
Each is a master of words, of gesture and of expression.
There's no easy way to describe what the festival is.
I've tried for years as I've written advance stories for the Deseret News.
It's been somewhat frustrating as there's really no way to convey how it works and what happens without somebody actually being there.
I felt better when one of the tent hosts said she never could explain it either.
It's magical, real and unique.
After two days hosting and helping make sure people found their way into the story tents this year, you'd think I'd be weary of storytelling.
But, actually, I came away Saturday night marveling at the complexity and simplicity and creativity of the human spirit.
I realized that as different as the stories were, there was a common thread.
Every story and every teller recognized the value of people, the value of sharing experience and laughter and life.
They celebrate making and learning from mistakes.
They revel in falling in love and the triumphs that come from surviving mishaps.
A storytelling festival is art, reality and tremendous warmth.
I wholly recommend it.

Close your eyes...

The sand and the see

When we asked the lady at the hotel desk for directions to a nearby beach, she wanted to know if we wanted a "Barcelona beach" or a good beach.
Hmm.
We wanted a beach in Barcelona where we were, of course.
We did not want to board a bus or train to a beach far away and we couldn't see anything wrong with the beach right in front of us.
It had pleasant sand, warm blue water, boats going by and plenty of sun.
We couldn't see any problems and we were totally enjoying ourselves in the water and on the sand.
It was also crowded but not too.
Many of the locals had left the city for cooler places during the hottest part of the summer.
We had brought water and snacks and towels and hats.
We laid back and relaxed.
"Oh, I see the problem," Marc said after a minute.
I looked around.
The guy in front of us seemed fine except for the fact that he wasn't a guy but actually a lady without a top.
And she wasn't alone in her world.
Apparently in Spain the stores don't sell tops with the swimsuits.
At least the ladies around us didn't have any.

Not a problem...just keep your eyes and mouth shut.

Missing a step...

Before we left for our visit to England and Spain, my doctor sent me in for an MRI to determine where the discs in my back were and what they were doing. Had they collapsed or shifted? Were they causing the pain in  my upper arms and hands?

The tile work in the alcazar is legendary

He also prescribed some pain pills I should take every four hours.
I didn't want to be drugged for the trip and the sightseeing.
I already had insulin pens I was hauling with me which required I find a refrigerator in a couple of the small hotels that didn't provide a mini-bar in the room.
So I thought I could just tough it out although it made hanging onto the Metro straps a little hard and raising my arms to put a carry-on up in the overhead bin on the airpline.

The alcazar gardens are works of art

I winced a bit as the days wore on but I was dealing.
After all, what could I do several thousand miles from my home and bed?
We had plans, things to do.
We were doing one of those things in Seville.
We were checking out the Alcazar with its fountains and mosaic tiles when I missed a step.
The jolt was painful.
I felt it all up and down my spine.
Marc said my face reflected the moment.
However, once the pain stopped, I was amazed at what I felt.
Nothing.
Nada.
I could lift my arms to the sky, twist and twirl.
I understand that this may not last and I recognize that it's an unconventional way to fix a painful problem.
And I in no way recommend it.
But in the meantime, I'm celebrating the respite..
And hoping no one sends me a bill for chiropractic therapy.

The Sagrada Unfamilia

One side of the Sagrada Familia

Inside the Sagrada Familia

The chapel in the forest

One of the Spanish tourist sites on our list was, of course, the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona.
I knew very little about it before we visited except it was a must-see.
I had a vision of this castle-like structure that Robert Langdon dropped into when he needed a place to hide for a minute in the "Origin" book.
Well, it is castle-like and huge. It makes you gasp at first glance, partly because it is so big and tall and it looks like a child has played in the mud to make the towers.
It's really indescribable.
It rises to 566 feet and has four different facades.
Inside it's like a big forest, serene and colored with the light from green, orange and blue stained glass windows.
It's very soothing and unlike any other cathedral we visited.
The ornamentation is all outside with statues that depict Christ throughout his life: when he is born, as he taught and as he died.
It's a spectacular feat of architecture overseen by Antoni Gaudi and under construction for 131 years since 1882.
There are still 14 towers to be constructed and much detail work to be done but the plan is to get it all done by 2026 even though Gaudi died at 81.
I came away much more impressed than I expected.
I knew we were seeing a World Heritage site, the most popular site in Spain but I didn't expect it to move me.
In fact, it wasn't until we were on the rooftop of the Casa Milà-La Pedrera that I fully appreciated it.
I could look over and through the archways and see the Sagrada Familia.

The Guida Pedrera, built with no rules

I am uncertain as to whether he was a genuis or a crazy man, with many experts divided as to what his decisions as architect and builder mean.
He was fined for building his Pedrera too high. He horrified the residents of Barcelona when he built what is a completely unorthodox multi-level home for himself but declared his methods as based on nature and therefore inspired.

On the rooftop of the Pedrera, high and spooky

He did his own thing. He bent the rules. He made buildings that have impressed and intrigued people for more than a hundred years, including the Park Güell, the Palau Güell, the Pedrera, the Casa Vicens, the Nativity Façade and the Crypt of the Sagrada Família, the Casa Batlló, and the Crypt of the Colònia Güel.
He's everywhere in Spain and talked about the world over. (Did you know he used the skeleton of a python to use as a model for the interior of the Pedrera?)
I think I vote for his being a genuis.
A note: You absolutely need tickets purchased online ahead of a visit. It sells out and there's no mercy at this religious site.

Bread and jam

I have a little story I like to read to my grandchildren about a child named Francis who would only eat bread and jam.
Nothing else.
She turned up her nose at new things and yet was alarmed when her mother stopped offering her the spaghetti and other delights the family was having for supper.
It's filled with cute little songs as well and illustrations but I like it because I identify with Frances.
I know her pain as she looks at wiggly eggs and other threatening foods.
In Spain, I faced three strange meals a day for 18 days.
That - I explained to Marc - is a lot of food hurdles to climb over, 54 if you don't count airline "meals" and snacks.
Marc was in hog heaven. He likes vinegar and Saffron and onions and squiggly creatures in strange sauces.
We had to do a lot of talking about the daily meals.
He would have a traditional English breakfast while I looked for raisins in my Muesli.
He asked the waiters for the traditional favorites while I looked for pizza.
The further into Spain we went, the harder it was to find things I can eat to fill out my meals, things like bread and ice water.
It kind of went like this:
Marc had shrimp paella with a 5-inch beady-eyed critter sitting in the middle of the platter.
He ate squid and octopus rings and clam in their shells.
Sharon: cheese pizza and Sprite
Marc: had Ox Tail soup
Sharon: cheese and ham sandwich with no dressing and Sprite
Marc: had Guzpacho soup
Sharon: potstickers and Sprite
There were a couple of highlights because the restaurant right across from our hotel was a copycat version of Texas Roadhouse with ribs.
There I had a marvelous plate of grilled vegetable two nights in a row!
At the last place we ate by Gaudi's Pedrera I had a totally splendid piece of salmon with real bread (No butter because Europe doesn't believe in butter).
On the flight home, the airline actually served a chicken and potato and spinach dish that was tasty.
But mostly, I dreaded every meal. I always had to make myself study the menu searching for something safe.
So here's some advice from a food coward.
When in Europe, take some packets of salt and pepper and something to deal with the aftertaste like Peanut M&Ms.
Or as some might advise me: grow up and deal with it.

The what I forgot before list...

Packing for a lengthy trip has become a marathon event.
I start thinking about what I might forget the minute I make the plane and lodging reservations.
Once I miscounted my sleeping tablets and had to rob Peter to pay Paul to make the nights and sleep come out even.
Lately I failed to check the amount of insulin still left in my Pen so Marc had to make a midnight run back to home from Midway.
Over the years we've forgotten things like our temple recommends (which we had to have air-mailed to London) and rain jackets (because, for some reason, it rains a bit in England).
This time is a bit more complicated because there are three of us heading to middle England and then two of us going on to Spain and home again.
We are trying an airline that's new to us and they're British and everything is a little different.
(I have to read dates backwards and already, more than once, I've panicked a bit thinking it said our flight was on 2/8 instead of 8/2.)
And our travel needs have changed.
Instead of just packing a travel pillow and a small blanket, I need my headphones and my aux cord and my Smartphone.
We need recharging cords along with our power adapters.
I have medical needs that go with being a senior citizen. (And a letter from the doctor explaining to the TSA why I need needles in my carry-on.)
We need our passports, our ticket vouchers, our phone confirmations of passes to things like the Alhambra and Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.
I am more forgetful now so I have lists everywhere, and lists of my lists.
It's arduous.
Now, for Marc, it's not such a process.
He calls up his list on his phone and Voila!..
It's all there from before and he packs light. Everything in a backpack.
Plus, if he forgets anything, he buys another in whatever country we're in at the time.
And he has me.
I bring the cash for the country we're in, the sunscreen, the bug repellent, the emergency cookies and the treats.
It's always fun. We like traveling together.

But I can't wait till I get on the plane to find out what I forgot this time.

Honk!

I'm sitting quite comfortably in my car in the parking lot at Market Street Grill waiting for Marc to arrive.
He's coming on his bike from American Fork to meet me for a birthday dinner.
Never mind that it's 103 degrees outside and the journey from our house to the restaurant is more than 20 miles.
As the time ticks by, I start to recognize that it's a reckless thing to attempt.
I had just watched a TV report on a kid who died hiking in the heat, a report that noted that it's too late to stop an episode of heatstroke once the symptoms have shown.
I began to fret.
At 5:45 I went in and told the reservation desk girl that we better make the reservation for 6 p.m. instead and let her know I was probably going to have to go hunt for my husband.
Then Marc called.
He'd had a couple of flats and the tire was still losing air despite his repeated attempts to pump it up. Would I come get him and his bike?
He estimated he was somewhere in the 12600 South area but nowhere he could recognize as an address to give me.
I sighed and started the car.
Marc said just head down the road in front of the restaurant heading south and I would come to 12600 and see the park where he was waiting.
That was good advice except the road ran out after a bit.
I came to a big sign and concrete blocks. The sign said, "This road will be finished in the future!"
So I turned to the west and kept looking for a way through.
"Private Property! Keep out!" said the notices I found.
I went up the hill some more.
And some more. Further west.
Finally I came to 1300 West and found 12600 South.
Marc called again and said he could see the car.
I could see the park he was in but there was a barrier in the road.
I slowed and looked and tried to find my way over.
Cars behind me didn't appreciate it.
They honked.
Marc said he could hear the honking all the way over to the park.
I'm sorry if I delayed any of you.
I did eventually find my husband and we got to dinner without injury or serious trauma.
I have figured out the secret to having a good bike ride?
Have a working car and a willing sidekick.

Movie mob...

For the past three summers, some of the grandkids and I (sometimes Grandpa) have been loading up the car and heading to the Summer Club movies.
We sit through endless commercials and an assortment of day-old kid's movies together.
The kids like it because they get an adventure — out of the heat and with popcorn and drinks.
The mothers like it because I take all of their young ones for several hours every week.
I like it because I get to see them each week and share time laughing, gasping and groaning.
We're on week 7 now and I thought I've take a poll.
"Which movie did you like the best?" I chirped.
There was a big silence.
The 4-year-old finally said, "One was stupid!"
The 7-year-old said she enjoyed the Smurfs' movie and sometimes she liked "My Little Pony."
"Which was the worst?"

The fearless five

"This one," they anwered in unison after seeing "Nut Job 2." "The blue squirrel wouldn't have still been alive after he dropped off the building. They are just little animals. They can't take down a roller coaster! They wouldn't do those things!" said my various critics.
I never did get a definitive answer on the movies. They are realizing that their choices are limited to second-run flicks and they can't expect a blow away show.
Sometimes when we go in past the display advertising they want to know when they're going to see something new.
Sometimes they ask if we can come back to something just released.
Most of the time, though, they are just happy to spend time with each other and away from home.
And they agree on the important things. They like the top of the theater last row of seats. They like Twizzlers and Skittles and chocolate in their treat sacks. They like the little cans of pops.
They're happy with a little blanket to snuggle under.
They don't like screaming babies or tall guys sitting in front of them. They don't understand why some kids run around the theater.

And they want Grandma' Movies to go on forever.

Buying Hawaiian

Just a note: If you are in Hawaii and looking for authentic Hawaiian clothing or food, look no further than the Costco in Maui.

Meant for Kari

We had been searching the island stores for something for Marc for a couple of days. He had some white Hawaiian duds for the family wedding but he wanted something casual.
Every shirt we looked at was either too much money or not anything any different than what we could buy here at home at Kohl's.
Then a family member suggested we go to Costco to get the chocolate-covered Macadamia nuts we wanted to take back as gifts. (They ended up as a big lump of melted chocolate after a day in the car trunk. But that's another story.)
We headed over somewhat skeptically because, after all, we spend way too much time here in American Fork at Costco.
Were we surprised and impressed!
This store had everything Hawaiian and at good prices.
We found the Macadamia nuts, a pair of shorts, a shirt for Marc and all kinds of goodies.
We marveled at our "luck."
The only problem was in our limited carry-on space luggage. We had to pare down the bundle of clothes we wanted to buy.
We'll simply have to take bigger cases when we go back to replace our melted
nuts.
(Editor's note: Costco isn't paying me for this commercial although if they want to drop me some cash, I'll take it!)

Shooting the messengers

Years ago, we at the Deseret News Utah County Bureau in Provo were worried about a very angry news source.
This man felt we were deliberately attacking him in print.
He would sometimes stand across the street and stare up at our office.
He was a big man and just a little unhinged.
It was unnerving.
Our office was pretty open and people could literally walk in off the street with a complaint, a sales pitch or a weapon.
We realized that by putting our names on our stories we were actually volunteering for trouble.
A couple of us asked the receptionist if we had money in petty cash for pepper spray.
She kind of laughed and said she would check on it.
The news bureau chief offered to buy us some toy guns that looked real.
I remember at the time thinking we were probably overreacting.
Since then I've watched the reports on the news about the random mass shootings and car plows and suicide bombings.
The latest tragedy at the Maryland Capital Gazette is horrifying. The people killed were just doing their jobs, just following their inclination to make a difference.

The newspaper men and women killed

It calls attention to the fact that working as a journalist is not so much a situation that calls our worries an overreaction as underplaying what's reality today.
I think it's sad to be at this point.
I also think it's time we wake up and take it very seriously.
I now work from home and seldom do a hard news story.
The closest I come to ticking somebody off is to make a bad joke in this blog.
Meanwhile...
Where does one buy pepper spray and how do I keep it away from the grandchildren?

Counting the miles...

So Marc is telling me about trying to make it home in the electric Leaf on Eco mode with the radio off, the air conditioning shut down, and the windows open.
I'm listening and laughing at his story.
He barely made it (in my opinion) to our garage without going into "turtle mode" which is when the car basically is moving on instinct rather than electrical power.
We had taken our granddaughter to meet her mom in Salt Lake and now we know that to do that we need the car charged at least up to 85 miles. 100 percent would be better.
I tried it a week later on 87 miles and I was sweating it by the time I reached 106th South.
The heat cuts into the range a little and freeway speeds reduce the available miles.
Where I had laughed a little at the image of Marc rolling along the highway with the windows open and at a pretty reduced speed, when it was my turn I didn't laugh.
I stopped thinking it was amusing.
I started watching the mileage rate as I came off down the hill from 1400 East.
Coming downhill is encouraging because not only do you not lose any miles, you gain.
And on the freeway, it was bumper-to-bumper traffic which for me was a plus.
The electric car does fine in parked-car traffic. It doesn't lose anything.
However, I'm still a chicken when it comes to running out of power.
I like to know I can get home without calling a tow truck. (My daughter reminded me that one of the gifts Nissan gave us at the outset is a miniature tow hook for the front of the car.)
I did all of the things Marc had done, took all the same measures: put the car in Eco mode (though it's a little more sluggish in Eco), turned off my music, opened the windows and shut down the air conditioning).
I knew once I cleared the Point of the Mountain and down onto the surface streets, I could coast on home — which I did. But usually my rules is the car should be at 40 miles left at the crest of the Point.
It was at 32, 18 when I got home and with only 1 and a half power bars left.
I reflected on my experience yesterday when my grandkids, Cael and Mia, took our little Monster machine over to the park.
Cael, who routinely checks the gas mileage as he buckles in, was alarmed. "We almost out!" he cried.
Mia leaned over to look. "Grandma, it's on the yellow! she said. (In this small battery-powered car, yellow means "hurry back home" and red means you're stopped in the road.)
Again, I was counting miles and steps back to our garage and the charger.
With a bit of pushing and crossing of fingers, we made it.
Both cars are now charging and we'll all be fine.
I'm just wondering if the electric car makers realize the "range anxiety" is a real thing for all of us.

Flying high...

If you should be inclined to catch the Thunderbirds in the Air Force Air Show at Hill Air Force Base today (or in the future) I have just a few words of essential advice:
Take water, cold water.
Take and wear sunscreen. Apply often and liberally.
Wear a hat and sunglasses.
Wear good, comfortable shoes.
Take a chair.
An umbrella cuts the heat.
Bring earplugs.
Take cash and prepare to spend it for food and trinkets and cold stuff.

Prepare for a long day as the Thunderbirds don't perform their amazing and thrilling show until 3 o'clock "sharp" and even then, it's a 45-minute wait while they go through their pre-flight checklist on the way to actually taking off.
If you take children, secure them with a wristband with your phone number on it. Lots of little folks ended up in the Lost Children facility awaiting reunification.

And take advantage of the UTA special which allows you to ride the Frontrunner and bus bridge for $5 round trip. Not only does it save you the headache of fighting traffic and finding parking but the police made concessions for the buses, allowing them to speed through the intersections without delay.
It's still a crusher at the end when thousands of fans try to leave and board all at the same time.
We went yesterday morning after a stint with our ward cleaning the church so we were there fairly early. (It opens at 8 a.m. and flights begin around 10 a.m.)
If we were to go again I would wait until the afternoon and go around 2:30 so as to catch the Mighty Thunderbirds.
They truly are worth the effort. They are fast (the races toward one another are made at 1,000 miles per hour!) The planes are gleaming. The choreography is unbelievable as these giant, powerful jets fly within inches of each other's wings, tip, dip and roll with seemingly little effort.
You KNOW one tiny mistake could be disaster.
It's thrilling.
It make you appreciate the skill and the training involved.
It makes your heart ache.
I recommend it but like a Scout, go prepared!

Space for more...

As part of Central Elementary's rebuild, Alpine School District is putting up a permanent planetarium dome — with a little help from a few friends, of course.
The new dome will be built on land next to the new Central Elementary which will be torn down.
It'll create space for more space...as the demand to participate in the Christa McAuliffe Space Center has outstripped the program's capacity.
We have gone there since the very beginning over the past 27 years. We've gone as a family, as business colleagues, as birthday party groups. We followed it from Central Elementary to the Discovery Center in Manila to Renaissance Academy in Lehi and back to Pleasant Grove and the mobile center in a semi-truck and trailer.
We've cheered, thrilled and sorrowed as our various missions succeeded and/or failed.
"Nice try," said the operator one time, "but unfortunately, you all died." 
We think it's a wonderful way to learn to work as a team, to problem solve and to appreciate science.
The planetarium will cost $800,000 so fundraising is underway.
 

“For 27 years, the Space Center has served over 400,000 participants in our simulators and classroom through field trips, summer camps, a volunteer program, employment, and other outreach efforts.” said James Porter, the program’s director. “Through simulated learning we introduce and reinforce curriculum from areas such as science, social studies and math in an engaging and unforgettable way. Participants take on the role of crew members in a starship simulator set 300 years in the future. During their mission, crews test their skills in communication, critical thinking, collaboration, and have to creatively problem-solve to overcome many challenging situations. 
Adding the planetarium will increase the capacity by 50 percent.
Right now, schools wanting to go to space without leaving Earth are being turned away.

Tax deductible donations are being accepted now through the Alpine School District Foundation and the rebuild is scheduled for completion in 2020. To donate to the project or learn more about its progress visit: spacecenter.alpineschools.org/donate or facebook.com/asdspacecenter.
I say here is an opportunity to make a visible difference in the future for kids. 
Make it so!

YouTube video explaining about the program and rebuild

• https://youtu.be/A2FjWXFo8SQ

Living with lizards in the rainforest

We've lived with lizards before.
Years ago when we were staying in the houses once occupied by the workers in Chichen Itza in the Yucatan, we expected lizards on the walls and ceilings during meals – even at the fancy places.
We didn't freak when they turned up in the shower.
Basically it was a waste of time to fret about them.
So when we moved into the Bamboo Valley Inn in Haiku for a week in Maui, we weren't overly concerned or surprised to find the slightly creepy creatures running about on the patio and climbing through the dense plants just outside the door.
(We did check the insides of our shoes in the morning after they'd been outside all night. No shoes inside the Inn, y'know.)
We figured it came with living in the middle of a rain forest as did the warmth, the breezes, the gentle misty rains and the lush, green foliage inches from our door.
I only screamed a little when I discovered an inky black baby lizard on the wall above the bathroom mirror.
I told Marc to get him out of there. I didn't want him dropping on me while I was brushing my teeth.
He tried but the tiny guy leaped and disappeared into the air.
I figured he was somewhere preparing to crawl across my toes.
But again, what is there to do?
I checked all around, under mats and inside the trash can and then tried to mentally blot him out.
When we went to bed, I changed the sheets and made sure no Thing was in there.

I was mostly OK until the last night when we were on the couch watching the news.
On the fireplace below the screen, up popped a pretty good-sized grey lizard looking right at us.
Neither of us moved and the lizard proceeded to walk across the wall and drop back behind it.
Ewww.
Now I knew they could be everywhere, in tiny and in bigger spaces.
I realized the doors and windows were mere inconveniences in these little creatures' way.
I had to acknowledge we were co-existing with nature.
But, hey, when you can't do anything about it and they were here first, you just go with it, huh?

Give a turtle his space...

Getting the gang together again

When we were in Maui, Marc and I heard about some turtles hanging out on the beaches.
I absolutely wanted to see them, thinking they would be a herd of average-size turtles who were congregated on rocks in the sun.
We found some at the Ho-Okipa beach on the north side of Paia.
Turns out they ARE the rocks in the sun.
They're huge and they just come laboriously nudging out of the ocean onto the sand whenever, using their flippers to propel their bulk.
Then they sleep in a pile until they decide to lumber back out into the water.
I found them fascinating.
We stood and watched them for about an hour.
These guys are one of the seven kinds of turtles who home in Hawaii. They are green sea turtles or Honu and only live on the beaches and reefs in Australia, the Galapagos and Hawaii.
They can live up to 80 years and reach a speed of 20 miles an hour coming at you if you get in the way of them and their air!
They generally weigh between 500-700 lbs. and have shells up to five feet long.
They like it quiet so if you go to where they are and see them napping in the tropical sun, hush! We watched the clueless people, adults and their kids, ignore the signs that asked that the turtles be given their space.
A minimum of 15 feet from a turtle is advised and no touching, petting or riding allowed.
(I hear they can snap your hand off if you get too close. I didn't test that theory.)
Mostly we in the crowd were minding the rules, staying fairly quiet, taking pictures with our phones without flash and standing on the proper side of the line.
And when a particular bunch of rowdy folks crossed the line, heading in to see the turtles up close, brave people spoke up.
"Hey, can't you guys read?" asked one guy. "Geez. What are you thinking!"
I'm not sure they were.

The road to Haiku...

Because we had been well warned, we didn't have very much trouble with the legendary Road to Hana on Maui when we were there last week.
We planned ahead. We bought cold drinks with bubbles. We ate a good, light breakfast. We started off early so as to avoid the crowds who would be coming with us on the narrow, winding road purported to have over 600 twists and turns, narrow bridges and endless scenic delights.
Our intrepid rental car was full of gas if not gusto so off we went.
We stopped for this and that, trying to head off any carsickness, stepped right into a dreadful mud puddle that sucked our shoes in and tossed Marc into a violent bush.
We visited the Garden of Eden with strolling peacocks, checked out off the colorful flowers and ancient trees.
Eventually we arrived at the Hana Coi Maui where we were staying the night.
The next morning, we headed back, visiting caves and beaches and lava tubes that amaze.
It was great and we only had to stop once: at the way stop for feral cats. (Apparently there are between 11,000 and 20,000 charming feral cats living in the rest stop park. The cats aren't friendly or pretty. They're skinny, hostile and everywhere!)
The real test for us everyday in regular Maui was the road to Haiku to the Bamboo Valley Inn where we were lodged for most of the trip.
It was dark when we arrived and we had this little list of instructions. "Head north to W. Kaulia road, go until you see the flag pole and mailboxes. Turn right! Follow the road to the inn. Aloha!"
We drove along. There were numerous chickens scuttling out of our way. Then suddenly, a flag pole appeared and mailboxes.
Marc turned into a road that was a little more than a dirt trail. It was bumpy and full of holes, dirt-packed with jungle on both sides.
There were junked, decaying cars all along the way until the end where there's a sign explaining that the neighbors were going through an "unfortunate" time and with some help would be cleaning things up.
At the bottom, after the car had groaned and complained most of the way down, there was the Inn, simple and sweet.
Marc went around the side to park under the carport.
That's when I heard this horrendous smashing, grinding sound as he hit the side mirror into a concrete pole.
(It looked like metal mayhem with wiring hanging out and missing portions. The car was disabled. It wouldn't go, shift into another gear or turn off.)
Long story short. The damage was really only minor. Once we called a tow truck and suffered for a while, trying to guess what this would cost, Marc went back to the scene and found the back side of the mirror. He popped it back on and "Voila!" the car came on and we were good.
(At the rental return, when the check-in girl asked if there was any damage. We were able to say, "uh, no...just a little problem with the light.)
We consider ourselves lucky and now that we're home, we can truthfully say, "We survived the Road to Haiku!"

Jumping the line...

The kids about to graduate from Lehi High School were firmly told: if they weren't in line and in place by 9:30 a.m., they wouldn't be allowed to walk.
Samantha and her parent and sisters were sitting in traffic at 9:20.
And the cars weren't moving.
She could see the event center but she couldn't get there.
"Hurry," said her mother. "Get out of the car and run!"
They did, Samantha in her cap and gown and heels with her mom alongside her.
They made it to the fence which is about six feet high.
"Hurry," her mom instructed. "We're going to have to climb it."
So, standing on her mother's shoulders, Samantha went over the fence, ripping the sleeve of her robe as she went.
"It's OK," yelled her mother. "I'll fix it when I catch up with you!"
And she did. With her handy, dandy sewing kit from her purse. Lauree mended the tear.
The adventure had a happy ending.
Samantha got into line and marched with her class, graduating in style with the class of 2018.
She looked beautiful and relaxed and you couldn't even tell it had been a stressful home stretch there.
Here's to making memories!
(I'm so glad I only had to hear about it after it turned out OK!)

Catching a flight...

I decided I wanted to go on a pricey helicopter ride over Maui.
We're going to be on the island for a second time when we go to attend Marc's son Seth's wedding and we've done the snorkeling thing, the biking thing and the luau thing. I wanted something new and exciting.
The helicopter flight seemed just the ticket.
You get to see the waterfalls and the beaches from way up in the sky.
It appealed to Marc too so I booked us two seats.
Then the crewmaster called us to make sure we understood what was involved.
First of all, there's a weight limit so the helicopter stays balanced and in the air.
Combined we could not be over a specific number of pounds. If we were over that, we would have to buy a third seat which is another $250 or not go at all.
Marc's weight put us over.
I turned to tell him the bad news.
He looked alarmed and a little angry.
"I'll just lose 20 pounds!" he said. "I can do it."
That was three weeks ago and as of today, he's lost 25 lbs. by taking sweets off his list of edible foods and curbing his portions. (We leave in three days.)
He counts every calorie he consumes and leans heavily (no pun intended) toward fruits and vegetables.
It's been impressive.
His chin re-emerged. A spring returned to his step. His clothes fit better. He can move around and tie his shoes without huffing and puffing.
He's hungry but he's happy with himself. He's almost as surprised as I am.
And now, he can officially fly over Maui with me.
Yay!!!