Merry Merry

My new nativity and Marc's Christmas - just kidding, his real Christmas is the big Lego.

A very Precious Nativity

I have a growing collection of beautiful and remarkable Nativities.
I have one of snowmen, one of Charlie Brown figures, one plaster Mary, Joseph and Mary that Marc hand-carried home from Spain, one carved into a porcelain egg, two created by Jim Shore, one that's just the stable animals looking curiously at the Baby Jesus, nesting dolls, a glass set, one made of popsicle sticks, two Mexican sets and one carved into an acorn.
I love them all and enjoy unwrapping them each year and setting them up with care, remembering where I found them and what each one means.
But one stands out and not just because it was the first.
But because it was purchased over four years at a time when we had very little money for extras.
Then, Marc and I had a busy, full, house with a dozen kids headed in every direction. We had a limited income and many demands on our tiny Christmas budget.
It was rare to have a spare $10.
My husband bought the components for my Precious Moments nativity when he could save up the $50 for each year's addition in spare change.
The little set is a miniature Precious Moments Nativity with a Baby Jesus and a Mary and a Joseph and eventually, three Kings on their camels, an angel holding a star on a wall, a drummer boy, shepherds and tiny sheep. (One is a little gray one.)
It was truly a gift of love.
Marc knew I enjoyed these.
He's been dragged to more than a few Creche collections over the years.
He helps me guard my collection from little children and guide their little fingers to the more kid-friendly Nativity sets I have of plastic and fabric.
I'm thinking he's precious too.

The Round Tower

At first glance, the Round Tower in the park at Newport in Rhode Island looked like just that, a round tower of stones.
Nothing extraordinary and in fact, I wondered why the bus had stopped here in this park to let us out to look at it.
(We were just starting a tour of sites that included places where the prophet and founder of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had lived and worked.)
I gazed at the structure and tried to make sense of it in my mind when a middle-aged, slightly greying man rushed up to us. He was out of breath and clearly excited.
"I'm so glad to see you all here. Let me tell you a few things about this place," he said. "I own the museum across the street and I have studied this tower for years. There's some incredible things to know about this."
He went on to point out the skylights and slit windows that allowed the sunlight and moonlight to come in at very specific angles during the equinox, the solstice and multiple astronomic times in the year.
Also known as the Touro Tower,  the Newport Stone Templar Tower and the Old Stone Mill, many considered it the remains of an old windmill at Truro Park.
It originally consisted of three stories of stone but was used as a munitions storage place during the American Revolution and lost the third story when it was blown up.
We were to hear about the archeoastronomy of the tower from our tour leader but this guy obviously knew tons more about it than our leader did.
His name is James Alan Eagan, he is curator of the museum and the author of several books about what he believes is one of America's oldest and most interesting secrets.
He showed us the patterns and the hidden secrets of the tower which he maintains is a horologium and camera obscura designed by John Dee in colonial America. (The website tells all about him and the tower: http://newporttowermuseum.com)
He explained how the whole thing was actually a standing camera and an astronomer's tool.
His museum was fascinating as well, a cubbyhole full of scientific tidbits that made us feel like we were kids in a candy store.
It's a lesson in never assuming anything is just what it appears to be.


 

This is not goodbye to Donny and Marie

I always wanted to impress my father.
But he had what I considered unrealistic expectations of me and my career.
He kept telling people I would be an award-winning journalist one day when I was just happy to be writing for a weekly at first and then a daily and a better daily.
I am a realist and while I loved writing and felt I was doing well to find good stories, meet my deadlines and handle my interviews with some grace, I knew I wasn't probably going to win a Pulitzer.
After all I had six kids to raise while I was having a career.
I taught myself to use the computer and learned several different programs along the way.
I had basically taught myself all I knew and said thank you every night in my prayers that I hadn't made any fatal errors.
I was paying the bills and enjoying the education. People talked to me and trusted my stories.
But my dad kept saying these things and I always kind of felt I wasn't living up to the hype.
So when I was doing a story on Donny and Marie and the renewal of their show in Las Vegas, I again heard the prediction from him.
Meanwhile I was working with their publicist and arranging a visit to the show.
I've interviewed each of the famous Osmonds over the years, Jay when he wrote a book, Jimmy when he produced a children's book, Merrill when he went on tour, the brothers for Christmas concerts, Donny and Marie for a number of events and gigs.
The last story involved hassling Marie to get some phone time.
I played phone tag with Donny before we connected and I had the story information.
These Osmonds are busy, busy.
(They were always very nice, very professional. Marie was actually just coming on the line when her producer tried to call her away. "I just started talking to her!" she told him and finished the interview, bless her heart.)
I did the story, attended the concert — which was a fine, polished, fun show.
I was happy.
We went twice, in fact.

And later, when my father ran into Donny at some event, Donny didn't blink when my dad said, "My daughter is Sharon Haddock. She's talked to you."
Donny said, "Oh, I know Sharon Haddock!"
I figured that was my prize.

One solution...

I was trying to tell the very young-looking pharmacist my concerns.
I had in my hand a bottle of sleep medication that was just filled but the words printed on the label were incorrect.
Instead of saying I needed to take two tablets each night for insomnia and colitis, it said take one.
No big deal really except if I only take one I wake back up in about four hours and cannot get back to sleep.
That spells problems for the next day with my colitis which is in remission. (Too much information, huh? I'm sorry but for anybody who deals with colitis it's a big deal. I've fought long and hard for my stage of remission and am very careful not to upset my body.)
I explained to the girl behind the counter that it needed to say "Take two" because in the future some pharmacist would only give me half of what was required for a month's sleep. I wanted to avoid another battle to get where I am.
She was confused and looked at the computer screen.
"Yeah, it says take two each night," she confirmed.
I checked the bottle.
"I want it to say that on the label," I said, "just in case somebody gets the idea that it's wrong and decides to change the prescription back to just one a night."
She hesitated.
Then she asked for the bottle.
I handed it over, confident that she was then going to retype the label and give me a properly worded one.
She worked behind the counter for a minute.
"Here," she beamed at me. "Will this work?"
I looked at the same bottle of pills with a slightly revised label.
In green pen, she'd written: "Take two tablets!!!"
Okay, then.
I guess we're done here.

Million Dollar Quartet impresses bigtime...

The four guys playing the parts of Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis and Carl Perkins are not the only super impressive, extraordinarily talents actors on the stage at Hale Center Theater in Orem in the Million Dollar Quartet production.
The other two guys playing bass and drums and the recording company manager and Dyanne (played by Ashley Gardner Carlson on T/Th/S) are talented as well.
The whole show is thrilling and well done.
David Paul Smith absolutely rocks as Jerry Lee Lewis from his facial expression to his piano playing to his singing and his irrepressible sense of humor.
Michael D Potter makes a fine Elvis Presley and Colin Summers adds presence and depth in his role as Carl Perkins who never quite collected his due as performer although he wrote signature songs for Elvis and other greats.
Benjamin D. Hale is a marvelous Johnny Cash, sounding just like and looking like the famous man in black while maintaining a real man kind of character.
This is a production that gets a hold of an audience and flies away.
It's musically rich.
It's clever and funny and it tells the story of these iconic characters with heart and emotion.
Hale Center is fortunate to have gathered these performers together on one stage.
There's something magic about it.
(It plays through Aug. 3rd.)

30 years and I have zucchini...

It's only been approximately 30 years (and what, how many complaints?) that we've been trying to grow a decent zucchini out back in the "garden along the fence" behind this house.
This year — drum roll please — Marc and I harvested the first zucchini big enough to eat.
We made Zucchini and Eggs with onion and garlic and oil.
It was delicious and represented years of moaning, groaning and cussing.
We kept planting zucchini seeds and plants from the nursery. We made hills. We used expensive soil. We watered.
Some years I let Marc water and the plants turned yellow and shriveled.
Other years we didn't know what happened.
One year I declared war on the earwigs as I watched them eat the leaves.
This year I told Marc to leave the zucchini alone, no watering it, no talking to it, no checking it daily to see if it was alive.
I rejoiced the day we found an actual vegetable where there had previously been a big yellow flower.
I worried when the one we were celebrating started to curl up.
I became angry with it and told it to shape up.
I pruned off the sickly.
I paced.
Then yesterday, two of the babies became full-grown fruit of the vine.
We plucked them, washed them and sauted them.
(I have a recipe from a friend who used to bring me some of her garden bounty along with the recipe.)
I dug it out and Marc chopped.
We still don't understand our garden. We kind of get whatever we are lucky enough to keep alive. We can always grow a few peas and our herbs do well.
Marc finally has a single peony plant.
We are still battling the water wars though we've sort of declared a truce.
(Marc thinks more water is always the answer. I'm convinced that drowning a plant that had been forgotten the day before is a mistake.)
We realize high heat is bad and so is poor soil.
We believe in weeding and feeding but even with the odd success, we'll never be on the list of gardens that people should come and see.
But for today, for now, we're pretty happy and surprised.
If you want the recipe, we'll share.
Just be aware, it may take 30 years to grow the main ingredient.

Zip it...

We wanted to do something different for Memorial Day.
We usually barbecue with some family or go for a bike ride.
This year we didn't have a fixed plan so I looked around for an adventure.
Sundance had a two-for-one Zip Line deal so I checked it out.
For the usual $120 for one, both of us could go.
It looked like fun. something new and out in nature.
There are five segments of zip and it promised to be good weather.
Marc and I have done zip lines before so it didn't scare me.
(In Mexico, it was only scary when the line shook and the workers shouted out "Grande!" when Marc came down.)
It didn't occur to me that maybe I would be asking too much of my recovering left shoulder.
My rotator cuff surgery was clear back in December and I'd been faithfully going to physical therapy for months. My manipulation surgery was much simpler and I felt pretty good about my range-of-motion.
We prepared for the day, anticipating cool temperatures at the top of the lift and wearing thermals, good shoes, jackets and helmets.
We paid our money, signed our waivers and boarded the ski-lift up to the top of the mountain.
The employees packed our backpacks with the equipment that would hook onto the line.
We headed up, up and more up.
When we reached the top, they told us we would do a short 100-foot demo ride to get us prepared.
The girl clipped me on.
There was kind of a wedge thing that I had to hold onto and pull down.
I tried it.
It didn't move.
I tried harder and with both arms.
It still didn't move.
Oh dear.
It seems my arm strength hasn't returned.
I couldn't make it go. I was literally in limbo.
"Sorry, you'll have to come back," said the girl. "This is why we do this first. If you can't hold it down, you don't go."
I realized later that it's a good thing to fail at the demo run because if I got going on the real zip line and got tired, I would stop and be stuck up there somewhere scary for who knows how long.
I told my 5-year-old grandson about it later.
His eyes got really big.
"Grandma!" he said, "You would have been hung up there!"
Sundance is now holding my ticket for a future attempt. If I work out a lot I can try again.
In the meantime, I'm safe on the ground and I'm just celebrating that I didn't get further than I did.
Marc had a great time. I saw him flash by and met him at the bottom after I rode the lift back down.
He says I ought to try it.
It'd be fun!!!

Psst! Don't tell Mia

The fashion place

The doll caddy grandpa

Marc and I have been keeping a secret from our soon-to-be 8-year-old granddaughter.
We've been playing with dolls or rather a dolly caddy for Mia's American Girl doll.
It seems Mia has realized her doll clothes are in a closet that's way too big for the clothes and they end up getting mashed at the floor of the closet.

The underlying structure

I keep making her more clothes and her sisters keep giving her outfits for every occasion so the wardrobe has grown.
Marc and I decided to help her out by finding or buying or (in this case) building her a closet of the right size.
Marc is a Pinterest guy so he found a perfect closet constructed of fabric and PVC pipe.
We just had to build it.
I can sew.
Marc had a hacksaw and a measuring tape.
We ordered a pattern for $5.
When it arrived few minutes later (on the Internet), we went to work.
We went fabric shopping. (Marc loves it among the bolts and thread!)

The pieces ready to go

He bought a length of PVC pipe and glue.

The Tinker Toys

I looked at the pattern and tried to decipher how big to cut the pieces. When I couldn't figure it out, I e-mailed "Tilda" for help. "How big is the main side piece?" I asked.
She wrote back. "I don't know. I can't see what you are looking at!"
We figured it out and went to work.
It was fun. I was cutting and stitching. Marc was sawing and playing with the pipes like so many Tinkertoys.
Finally came the day when we could put it all together.
Things fit.
We found little hangers we could cut to size.
I made dividers so the shoes could be kept separate from the tops and skirts.
It's exactly what we wanted to create.
It should delight Mia.
The only problem is her birthday is still weeks away and I literally can't wait.

Coming round the mountain....

The layout at the tracks

A pop-up village in the desert

The Jupiter and the 119 meet face-to-face May 10, 2019

We knew we were taking on history, crowds and some adventure when we bought parking tickets (for $20) at the Promontory Point Visitor's Site (now a park) for the 150 Golden Spike anniversary celebration.
We packed on paper for weeks, loaded the cooler with ice, drinks, sandwiches and snacks. We took our hats, our sunscreen, camp chairs, umbrellas and jackets.
We left at 7 a.m. to make the journey to Box Elder County and dutifully got in line with 16,000 other people when we came in sight of the site.
We became part of a convoy of cars that stretched for the last 20 miles from Highway U-83 to the stage where tents, RVs, displays, teepees and food carts were set up.
Officers were keeping track of the traffic. If you didn't have the little parking pass paper, you were sent back with no apology.
We made it, parked and found a place to park our chairs on the downside of the tracks.
It was bustling. People everywhere, many in period clothes, long coats, top hats, bonnets and bustles.
We settled in to hear the music and stories and tributes about the arduous, courageous effort it took to bring the two railroads together, effectively bringing the American states together at the same time.
It was fun to hear the story of the two rail companies competing to reach the ending point first. They worked so hard and furiously that the tracks for the Jupiter Train and the No. 119 actually passed one another for 250 miles before they agreed on a meeting point.
Irishman, freed slaves and about 15,000 Chinese did most of the backbreaking work on the Central Pacific tracks that came 1,085 miles from Sacramento, Calif., to the crews laying 690 miles of rail for Union Pacific from Omaha, Nebraska. (Mormon men did the grading).
They had to lay track in the hot sun, the cold rain, the frozen snow and heavy dust. They had to blast through solid rock and move enough dirt by hand to fill in the areas that dipped too far down for a train to run.
They had to find a way to get through solid granite.
Sometimes they had to build roofs over the tracks in order to work in the falling snow.
They laid an impressive average of 7 miles a day with the record set at 10 miles in one day toward the end!
At the celebratory event, high-ranking officials like the governor and legislators tried to drive the final spikes to commemorate the work: a gold spike for California, a copper spike from Utah, an iron spike from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The men trying to drive them in missed both times just like it happened in real history. (Apparently, the workers learned the art of hitting the spikes just right with the mallet.)
It was an incredible feat that marked a discernable change in American history and economy and accessibility.
It was moving and sobering.
It cost the Native Americans dearly as the railroad tracks crossed sacred lands and ate up beautiful, previously remote and barren areas.
Buffalo herds were harvested without conscience to clear the way for the trains.
The Chinese who worked tirelessly for the railroad were ultimately denied immigration rights to the United States.
May 10, 1869, is a date that clearly deserves remembering.
I thought my husband was a little obsessive to want to be a part of the party and drive all that way for it.
But it actually was invigorating and renewing.
I have a new appreciation for the price paid by peoples I've never met or heard of before.


 

A Star is Born...

We all knew Emma had tremendous talent.
She's been playing the violin since she could stand and she's been winning honors for years for her performances.
She could read when she was three and has no fear of appearing on stage or in public.
But when she opened the Alpine Community Theater's Lion King Jr. show Monday, I was stunned with her confidence, her ability, the notes and her command of the stage.
She had the role of Rafiki down cold.
This is a young girl who has only been in acting for a couple of years, first as a pirate and last year with a role where she sang a small solo (also a surprise).
None of us were prepared for this metamorphosis.
She owned the part, singing with heart and gusto.
We were all blown away.
This girl doesn't usually talk a lot when we go places.
She chooses her words carefully and smiles more than she chats.
Small talk isn't generally her thing.
So when she came out singing like she'd been in front of an audience for her whole life we all dropped our jaws.
It's marvelous.
It's wonderful.
And we are so very impressed.
It's great to be her grandmother!
(Lion King Jr. is on stage for a few more days at the Valentine Theater. Emma is in the Grassland cast.)

An exciting night...

When we told Marc's oldest daughter we were traveling to the Great Basin National Park over Spring Break, she said, "Why would you want to go there? There's nothing there!"
We told her we wanted to visit the Lehman Caves, that we'd never seen it and wanted to visit more of America's national parks in our retirement years.
To do this, we had to plan a fairly lengthy road trip down through Delta and into a teeny tiny town called Baker.
On the internet, we found a roadside inn that charged a reasonable amount and booked it.
When we pulled up to the place, however, I was a bit taken aback.
It was literally four rooms on the side of the highway.
The manager gave us our key and showed us our room.
Double beds. That's good.
Fresh towels. Also good.
Not so good, the bathroom was a shower and comode with a sink and mirror outside the room. And the shower head leaked and sprayed all over. The hot water wouldn't get hot.
There was an ancient furnace unit in the wall, no thermostat anywhere, a closet cut into the wall.
We deposited our luggage and went to eat at one of the only places available.
When we came back Marc tried to encourage the furnace to heat up the room.
We asked for blankets and tried to settle in, watching TV on the tiny set provided. We shut the curtains.
It was about then we noticed a smell that I recognized as obnoxious, a smell that prompted me to return a bedroom set of furniture from China a couple of years ago.
I tried to ignore it and go to sleep — which worked well until about 4 a.m. when the carbon monoxide monitor went off with a shriek!
"Warning! Carbon Monoxide! Warning!" said the alarm.
We looked at the furnace. Could it be the problem? Were we in danger?
Marc finally disabled the alarm and pulled out the batteries which we figured were about dead. That would explain the malfunction.
Yeah, sure, that was the problem.
We tried to go back to sleep.
In the morning, we left a note and asked the owners to call us.
When they did, the guy apologized and then said, "Our propane guy told us it was clogged up and dusty. That may have been the problem."
What? So it could have been a real alarm? What?
"I'll refund half of the cost of staying with us," said the owner. "Then if you want to stay here again, we'll be friends."
I don't think so, thanks.

Stranger Strobes...

Warning! Warning!
"Stranger Things" is a show fraught with danger.
Not only are there spooky, creepy creatures on this show but the lights, the flashing and the rhythm of it all can be physically disturbing.
On the third night, my eyes were doing the dance they do when I'm getting a migraine. Images were shifting and there were wavy lines all around.
I thought I had eaten too much sugar or danced in the bright sun.
I want to bed with a headache and suffered through the next day with the kind of lethargic funk that usually follows a migraine.
I talked to Marc about it.
We wondered if the transmission from Netflix was weird.
We joked about the aliens on the show having great mental powers that could reach from the television screen into our living room.
We didn't watch two episodes the next night, only one and very carefully.
Then last night we were so interested in what would happen that we gave in.
We watched a couple in a row and I noticed that nearly every scene involved blinking or flashing lights, usually a lot.
I tried to shut my eyes when I could and refuse to admit the light.
I listened instead of looking.
But by the end of the shows, I could feel the tightening in the base of my brain.
I didn't feel swell.
So Marc looked up the show on the web.
Turns out many viewers have noticed that the lights trigger seizures and similar reactions.
Some are saying they won't be able to watch it anymore despite their interest in what happens with El and Nancy and Will and the boys on their bikes.
Some are calling for an apology or a change.
I agree with the ones calling for an apology or at least a disclaimer that warns viewers about the effect.
I can't believe in this day and age somebody had to be told about the possibilities.
Don't we learn from experience?
I think I can. No more "Stranger Things" for me.
Just tell me what happens.

Keeping track...

I was taking four girls to "Wicked" in Salt Lake City and using public transportation.
It seemed a better option than fighting inner city traffic and it was a rider free day so it didn't cost me any money.
However, our return trip had some challenges.
The TRAX train was crowded and we had to split up for a bit.
I was a couple of rows ahead of my granddaughters and near the door.
Four guys were grouped by me, waiting to get off.
They were loud, somewhat drunk and disorderly and they were turning the air blue.
They called back and forth to each other and made a slew of off-color comments.
I think they thought they were really funny.
The swear words were plentiful.
I couldn't decide whether to complain or just hope they would stop.
(It didn't seem wise to make a fuss as there were four of them and I was one weak grandma so I just sat there.)
The situation went on for several minutes and the group seemed emboldened by their words.
I looked at my granddaughters whose eyes were big.
Then the doors opened and they left.
People around us said they felt bad for us.
"They should have recognized there were young girls present," offered one gentleman rider.
"I think we ought to complain," said another.
I've thought about it several times since and wondered if I missed a chance to stand up for clean language and proper behavior.
On the other hand, what's a 67-year-old lady to do? Holler at them? Point out the sign that prohibits obscene language?
I'm thinking maybe, bear spray?

A Whole New World...

“The Little Mermaid” currently on stage at the SCERA Center for the Arts in Orem is totally enjoyable.

Performed by the teens and tweens who are part of the “Acting Up!” troupe and directed by Kathryn Laycock Little, this show is well-timed, lively and professional.

The vocals are strong, particularly those with Ursula the Sea Witch and with the French chef who chases Sebastian with a cleaver and cooking pot.

Ariel is remarkable, watchable and sweet. Her expression throughout retains a guileless quality and charm.

Her mermaid sisters, frustrated with her frequent absences and delays, swing right into their numbers and even tap dance.

Every cast member takes their part and song and moves seriously. There’s never a dead pause.

The staging is clever and colorful.

It’s a familiar show by now but this rendition makes it new and fresh.

It hardly seems like two and a half hours have passed when it’s done.

This show entertains. The little kids in the audience were still singing and laughing well out into the parking lot.

As were we.

Check this out before the run ends on the 30^th.

Must we eat every day?

My mom was a good mother.
She fed us on a regular basis and tried hard to introduce new and healthy foods.
I was a trial for her.
She often lamented that I wouldn't try anything new.
I feel bad for her now, now that I am grown and see the same sort of distress in my husband when he puts together a tasty new dish that I don't love.
And now that we're in retirement, he has to come up with the meals every other day so sometimes he's stressed.
He searches Pinterest and pays attention to new food ideas in the paper and at friends' homes.
He is willing to try out the InstaPot and invest in strange new spices for the cupboard.
I start to worry when I smell lots of garlic and onion. I won't let him experiment with saffron or such.
He only has a tiny bit of wiggle room in his work.
And some dishes succeed.
I've learned to like several Chinese and Asian dishes that include broccoli and onions and Golden Mushroom soup and stir-fry vegetables like water chestnuts and those little things that look like baby corn.
Plus, if I'm home, I can have a piece of toast after dinner if I'm still hungry.
But when I was a child, I often just didn't eat whatever strange thing we were having.
I preferred to starve much to my mother's disay.
I understand her situation more now that I've raised six children and am trying to find things for various grandchildren to eat.
I have one who is always worried about what we're having and another who needs to see how the dish is made so nothing gets sneaked in.
I totally understand when one of them chooses to hide her uneaten food or dump her plate before anyone can inspect what's left.
(I had all kinds of tricks for the lunch ladies in elementary school so I could get out of the lunchroom without eating my canned peas or stewed tomatoes.)
I also understand my mother's lament as she tried to come up with something for dinner.
Her options were indeed few.
My favorite was when she'd cry: "Do we have to eat EVERY day?"

101 Ways to Hurt Yourself

When the surgeon briefed me on what would happen once my rotater cuff surgery was done, he gave me a list of things to avoid so as not to re-injure the shoulder which would need about three months to fully heal.
Basically it said I should wear my protective sling day and night, avoid crowds and take care not to fall or bang into things.
Easier said than done.
The first thing we did was to attend a Maya experience at the Natural History Museum with lots of little kids barreling in every direction.
Then I went grocery shopping only to discover people drive their carts like combat vehicles, taking the corners at high speed and colliding without apology.
I closed the car door on myself and walked into walls.
I dropped the iPad and reached out to grab it without thinking about the consequences.
I found that even my husband - who loves me and has the best of intentions, would hit potholes and veer around corners throwing me into the arm rest, appear suddenly and startle me, wrap an arm around me and pat me on the shoulder and back up in the kitchen without beeping.
He tried to be supportive. He made meals, did dishes, hauled laundry and even rigged up a little seat-belt grabber from a bent coat hanger so I could buckle myself in once I could drive again.
It became a daily challenge to keep my shoulder safe.
We found ourselves choosing our ventures into the outside world carefully but we couldn't stay home all the time.
We would both go bonkers.
So we went to a few movies. The chairs in the theaters are comfortable and once we were seated it was fairly easy to stay away from people who might bump into me on purpose.
My sling fit right in.
So there we were happily engrossed in a show about political intrigue and complicated relationships when a bomb went off in the story.
It startled me and I jerked back and back again reflexively
Ow. Ow!
That hurt, so much so that for the rest of the movie I held onto myself and tried not to cry.
My physical therapist said not worry unduly. "It's probably a sprain," she said as she tried to work out the muscle spasms in my arm. "It happens."
It's feeling better and I'm feeling hopeful.
I'll just add movies to my list of no-nos.

A wickedly good time...

It's been six months in the making but Wicked watching with four grandaughters on a Saturday afternoon was well worth it.

Glinda and Elphaba face off

We insanely bought some tickets before Christmas last year thinking we could take couple of the oldest stars-in-the-making and share some top quality theater with them.
Then we threw caution to the winds and added another pair. No matter that the tickets were pricey. Marc had a friend who could get us early access for good seats for a fair cost.
We signed up for two more.
Marc agreed to be our chauffeur since two of the girls live in Bountiful and two in American Fork.
I agreed to sacrifice and go with them for my fifth time. (Yeah!)
We arranged for places to meet, how to get them out of four schools and where to eat later.
I made a flow chart and arranged with the weather man to keep the skies and roads clear.

Sweet ones at Wicked: from left, Hannah, Adell, Fiona, Alyson

On Friday we headed out.
We parked one car at the TRAX station and headed in on the rails.
Marc stopped at the Woods Cross High School for the others and came south.
Amazingly it all came together.
More amazing was the show.
The story is clever and fun and brings all of the elements of the classic Wizard of Oz together with a blend of lessons about racism, social change, judgement and love and forgiveness.
The songs are brilliant and live long after the show is done.
There are lines that just flatten you, "Take that road for as long as it goes. You'll be fine," says "G-a-Linda."
"There's no place like home!"cries Elphaba, surrounded by green creatures in Oz.
It's a story within a story that turns the trip to Oz as we know it up-side-down and inside-out starting with a green baby and ending with romance between a scarecrow and a wicked witch.
It's magical. It's real and it's funny and it's tragic with characters who appeal even while they shock a bit with pride, selfish intentions and over-the-top narcissim.

Elphaba

Ephaba is the green hero here but then Glinda "the Good" turns out to be made of tough, shiny material.
Everybody in my party was entranced and affected.
Everybody in my party was happy to have been there.
When can we all go again?

Grand events all around

Marc and his iPhone at Grandparent's Day

Our social calendar filled up last week with grand events.
We had one grandson ask us to come up for lunch (in Garfield) and another pair asked us up for breakfast (in Bountiful).
We had Valentine books to deliver all around and so we hit the road.
One of the boys has just recently moved here to snowy, frozen Utah from sunny California and so his invitation came with a little more urgency than others. One set of grandparents are on a mission and others work so retired ones are wonderfully available.
There's nothing more sad than a grandchild on Grandparent Day without a grandparent.
(We've been invited to a number of Grandparent Day events and we usually try to go so we can see their desks, meet their classmates and get a free cookie.)
For Jack, this would be the first one possible. I only had to reschedule a doctor's appointment and put my pillow in the car for the road trip.
We had to leave at 8 a.m. to be in Fielding by 10:30 a.m. and choose a drumstick or grilled cheese lunch entree with chocolate milk.
Turns out it was a great day.
We met a lot of really nice little kids. (One girl told me she liked my wedding ring. Another helped me figure out whether the strawberry jello was good to eat. One or two offered to share a cookie.)
I got to choose what I did or did not eat. No rules for oldsters.
We listened to a 3rd-grade rendition of "All You Need is Love!" and rocked out to pop music for inside recess time.
A couple of days earlier, Marc visited West Bountiful Elementary for breakfast.
We motored on down the road to visit with a little brother and sister and then over the hill to Smithfield to see another set of siblings.
We found giggles and smiles everywhere we went which is good.
We are finding the invitations to Grandparent's Day welcome.
We see the kids in their educational setting and get a feel for how their schools work.

Jack (in glasses) on stage just behind little brother.

Sometimes we "get" the opportunity to visit the Book Fair and buy books (or erasers or markers or funny pens with little plastic toppers.)
It's always interesting and we are ALWAYS glad we came.
As the years roll by, we recognize that these kinds of opportunities are fleeting and precious.
Bring it on!

Butterflies rise!

A while ago, I sat with paper envelope in my hand waiting for Barbara Barrington Jones to announce that Thanksgiving Point would be building a $31 million Butterfly habitat where the Emporium currently stood.
This gracious and generous lady said she drew in a breath when she was told how much the biosphere would cost but in a blink she composed herself and said, "Of course! That's a splendid idea!"
We opened our envelopes and released our little, beautiful creatures, thinking how crazy an idea it seemed for tropical Utah.

Friday, the 40,000 sq. foot Butterfly Biosphere opened.
Complete with colorful butterflies and exotic flowers and things to play on and climb outside the habitat, the new biosphere is a wonder.
Little kids can romp and run, jump, slide and play with abandon.
Meanwhile the butterflies are inside a sort of rainforest enclosure that protects and houses them while the temperature is 30 degrees outside with snow on the ground.
There are blue ones and black ones and some with translucent wings, some with stripes and owl-like eyes.
Guests are encouraged to stand still and look all around to find them, hanging on branches, tucked in among the leaves,  
(Outside the habitat, in glass cages and display cases that thankfully are escape-proof, there are 20 kinds of tarantulas, walking sticks, cockroaches (truly lovely), horned beetles and all kinds of creepy crawlies that you want to think about as you try to fall asleep.)
It's quite an ingenious place with plenty to look at.
It was crowded on Saturday but even then, the crowds are coming for various times so it's not overwhelming.
A lot of the butterflies are hiding out up high and sometimes you fear for the ones little kids can reach.
However, there's a new release of 100 butterflies a day and the nursery is full of cocoons with butterflies coming along.
The people in charge have thought about the hazards and worked it out so there are rewards throughout.
It's a nice blend of nature and humanity.
To get there, travel to Thanksgiving Point toward the Water Tower Plaza. The biosphere is open from 10 a.m. to 7  p.m. for a entry appointments and costs $20 for adults, $15 for children and seniors.
The website is: ThanksgivingPoint.org