Friends and Family Days

Dear Friends and Family,

We're going through closets and all the stuff in them as we prepare rooms upstairs for paint and new carpet. Here's the latest discovery: 3 perfectly good vaporizers. We don't need three.

1.  We've had one here for years.

2.  The Professor bought another one when he was at Notre Dame.

3.  Sometime BN (before Notre Dame), he got up in the night here, unable to breathe, but couldn't find ours so he went to the store and bought another one. In the middle of the night!  (I can't really blame him for not waking me. I mean, which is easier? Going to the store or waking me to ask where the vaporizer is?  Do not answer that to my face, please.)

So, like I said, we don't need three. Anybody want/need one? If not, they'll go to DI.  Because we're on good terms with DI this month.

Love,
Nicea

Next up:  Hammers, screwdrivers (one can never have too many Phillips head screwdrivers), gloves, flashlights and other multiple purchases*. Amazing what you can find when you clean. Here's the success story of the summer so far: I found my favorite umbrella.  The red one.  It was in the bottom of my white purse.... IN THE LINEN CLOSET in the upstairs hallway!!!  I should have known it would be there, right? Because most people store their handbags with the sheets and pillowcases.

Love,
Nicea

*On the subject of purchases.  I'm pretty good at buying the occasional birthday/wedding/baby gift.  It's getting them into the hands of their rightful recipients that brings me down.  So, if your name is Megan or Brian, Jeff,  Max,  Rebecca (formerly Gilbert),  Melanie Elison**, or Annie (formerly Pinegar***) you might want to come over and pick up your gift.  It's taking up space. 
N.
 
**Sorry Ab.  We'll make it up to her when you come in September. 
***Melanie - This plant's gonna die.  Get over here!

Memorial Day Weekend - Part 2

Nevermind.

Memorial Day Weekend - Part 1

Mt. Timpanogos was there.  As always.  Firm.  Like the song says.

And so were some very special military people when we said goodbye to Papa on Friday.  He was 85.  We're told that only the best are selected to pay tribute to fellow soldiers at their final resting place.

They're dignified.  And solemn.  And the way they handle the flag!  The ritual makes me feel secure.

I wanted to salute them.  Like these men saluted Papa.  He had served in the Navy as a young man.

And this older soldier!  Such dignity!  I'm SURE he's part of the Greatest Generation.  But I'm afraid he might never know how much esteem we hold for him.  I really don't think there's a human way to communicate that to him.  Can we EVER adequately thank him (and his comrades) for everything?
He kinda looks like my dad.

They presented the folded-up flag to Fred.

These three granddaughters were present.  Blake came.

And little great granddaughter Perry, too.

She liked the chairs.

Announcing the Winner

And Natalie wins the post naming contest by a landslide!! The winning title is (drumroll please) "Getting Old Sucks". This title was selected from among thousands of nine other entries. All hers. Thank you, Natalie, for playing. Thanks, too, to all other commentators for indulging me at my momentary pity party. And now, we shall not speak of this again.

Until next time.

Untitled - See Below*

Not that I expect it from anyone, but if you ever DO go back into the comments on my blog (or anyone else's, for that matter) to see if someone has responded to a comment YOU made, and if you happen to have done so on my previous post about The Professor's birthday, then you may be calculating my age based on his comment.

Or not.

(While I think this is all about me, you are under no obligation to agree.)

In either case, allow me to explain.

It's much like a story problem in math. I am a certain age. I am 3 years older than The Professor. On his birthday, I thought it would be fun if he pretended, just to me, that he was older than I am. You know, to be nice. It was a chivalrous thing to do.

I thought it was a private matter.

And I'm sure he did, too.

However, when he thanked everyone for the birthday wishes in his comment on my post, he divulged the fictional age he had decided to adopt (in all his chivalry), inadvertently triggering a train of thought that any curious person reading his comment would, I assume, think: "Hmmmm. If X equals The Professor's age and Y equals the Number of Years Older she is than he, then The Professor's Wife's age equals X + Y or ______.

ANSWER: Let me be clear: I'M NOT OLDER THAN 61 FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!!

I am, right now, a little sensitive about aging.

Sorry. I can't help it.

It's not that I have anything against old people. From the perspective of a 12-year-old, I am one. (Geez, from the perspective of a 50-year-old, I am one.) But still....

It has more to do with the fact that, as the years fly by at rakish speeds, I realize how impossible it is to have it all together all at the same time. Just when you figure out some bit of wisdom and start living it...wupp! There go the knees! You've almost figured out how to forgive and forget (Forgetting. Well, now, that's not so hard, is it?) and...flurp! There go the abs. Become more compassionate...blimey! You got jowls. You know what I mean?

But it's especially bad today because it's spring so I'm not wearing long sleeves. AND THE BACKS OF MY ARMS ARE FLAPPING IN THE FREAKING BREEZE!!!
I didn't even master any new insights before that happened. The flab just butted in line.

I hate it when flab butts in line.


*Please feel free to make suggestions. Best title submission wins a prize and the honor of having his/her title grace this post.

Wishin' and Hopin'

Today is The Professor's birthday. Thinking about it on ordinary days, it's a pretty good thing. Because most birthdays are. Good things, I mean. But there's this one, stinkin' little detail: He's younger than I am. So every year I wake up on his birthday wishin' and hopin' and thinkin' and prayin'....that he'll be older than I am. But every year it's the same dang thing. He just can't seem to catch up with me.

Happy Birthday, Professor.

Chatting Up The Professor

This post is alternately called When a Parent Needs to Know and Where She Can Find Out.

It is customary for a young man to ask for the hand of the young woman he wants to marry.  Typically this is done by seeking out the father of the future bride.  For the hand of our first-to-be married daughter, Jeff went to The Professor's office and proceeded to make his case.

Apparently it was a grueling experience.

 For the hand of our second to-be-married daughter,  Blake went to The Professor's office and proceeded to make HIS case.  According to him,  The Professor has been improving his techniques over the last six years.

This information and the accompanying photos were recently exchanged between our two sons-in-law on Facebook.  So, thank you,  Facebook.   When a parent needs to know what's really going on, there is no better place to look than on you.

This information may also explain why both Jeff and Blake had to have surgery before their respective weddings. 

I love it when the universe reveals its secrets.

Oh, and Daughter-To-Be-Married #3, you may want to encourage any interested young men in the future to just pick up a phone.  Or better yet, have them submit a brief.