Hank and the Rotton, No Good, Very Bad Night

Hank and I had a less-than-pleasurable weekend together. He is usually a very sweet child. Only not this weekend. On Friday night I was trying to walk out of my house and Hank was hovering by the door. Sometimes he likes to run out when I open it, and I didn't have time to mess with that foolishness. So, I put my foot out as a barrier to keep him from running out. Only guess what? He doesn't appreciate being shooed with my foot. I think he thinks it's disrespectful and IF he were a person, he'd be right. Nobody has bothered to tell him he's a cat yet. I blame myself. Since he is a cat and can't use his words, he showed me his displeasure another way...he wrapped himself around my foot and put all of his claws and teeth into whatever he could sink them into. Mostly my foot and leg. Luckily the leg was covered with pants, but the foot was not so lucky:

Then on Saturday night I came home late. Like 11:30ish late. Hank must have been lying in wait for me because the second the door opened, he zoomed out. I had my hands good and full and could do nothing about it. So, I came inside, put down my load and went back out to go find him. Usually, he will run out into the yard and sniff around the flowers for a minute and I can scoop him up while he is busy investigating. Not this time. This time he ran from me when I got close to him. He would only run just out of reach and wait for me to get close to him again. Then when I got within reach, he'd run a few more yards out of my reach. I was not saying kind, loving, be like Jesus words at that moment. Also, keep in mind that I was still really upset with him from the night before. I probably spent one minute trying to get him and then I told him he could stay out all night for all I cared and went inside. I fully expected him to be meowing at the door in a few minutes. He typically gets nervous about being outside within 5 or 10 minutes. I checked about 15 minutes later and he was nowhere to be found. I shut the door and went to bed. At 8:00 yesterday morning I woke up and when I didn't hear the tinkle of his collar outside my door, I remembered that I left him outside. I opened the front door and he ran in like a shot. He was not pleased. Apparently, it's colder outside than inside and there are no food and water dishes always full for the eating. Also, there are no warm, soft blankets and beds and couches to sleep on out there. I laughed at his displeasure. He ran straight in and got food. He hadn't eaten the night before because he ran off before I could feed him. Then he went to my room and promptly passed out on my bed. I giggled in delight to think that he was probably a nervous wreck and didn't sleep a wink outside.

Only as he was lying there I noticed that he was not my white kitty but a much dingier, grey cat. I delighted even more in thinking about how much he was going to hate the bath he was about to get.

He was very upset and tried to lick himself dry. You can already see how much whiter and porcupine-like he was. And once he dried, he practically sparkled:

After his most traumatic day, he has cooled his jets quite a bit and we are friends again.

Who Knew?

Today I took a walk. I took my camera with me to see what I could see. Who knew all the things right outside my own door? For example, apparently, I live in the forest. This photo was taken right outside my very door on the side of my house:
I walked right through it to begin my walk because it looked so lovely.

I live right next to an elementary school and someone lost their homework:

I hope they didn't get in too much trouble. I decided that I would probably have stopped at 7+8 too. Numbers are hard.

Plus, also, who knew that the park next to my house has a nice little walking path?

I maybe should have noticed it when I was at the carnival, but I was too busy talking to Hillyerie I bet.

I found these guys playing in a little stream that runs by the park:

Who knew that kids still played outside in the dirt like kids should? Sometimes I worry about that because our society is getting so that we keep our kids inside 24/7.

Who knew that people still had tomatoes on their vines? I thought it might be a little late for them.
These people had LOTS of tomatoes:

Then I saw a house with this sign:

I don't always worry so much about those signs because people will put them up just to keep people away from their houses. Only who knew these people really meant it?:

I saw a house with a limo in the driveway and I thought, "How Fancy!" Only then I thought, "Maybe not so fancy." :
The cooler, wheel barrow, bikes, dilapidated yard swing, and sacks of cement in the dirt yard kind of detracted from the fanciness.

When I got back to my house I found this:

It used to be our mailbox. Only who knew that if your 15 year old neighbor knocks it over with her mom and dad's new Mercedes, you don't get mail anymore? Well, you don't unless you go to the post office and beg them for it.

The last and happiest part of my walk is who knew that I got a welcoming committee?

Mostly, who knew all of the things that are in your very own neighborhood when you are walking and not zipping past in your car trying to get somewhere you probably didn't want to go to in the first place?

Things I Worry about when I Should be Sleeping

1. I hope I don't forget my lunch in the fridge tomorrow morning. It's a yummy lunch and I'll sure be hungry if I do.

2. Oh, Shoot. I forget to put the attendance in the computer before I left school today. Julie is not going to be happy with me. I bet I'll get one of those not-so-friendly emails tomorrow morning reminding everyone to put in their attendance everyday when I know it's just for me.

3. I wonder what I'm going to wear tomorrow? I'm not so sure I have too much clean.

4. Once the red gas light comes on in my car, I wonder how long I can go before I have to get gas? I've got to go to Spanish Fork tomorrow, I bet I can get there. I hope I can get there. We'll see if I can get there.

5. What if I can't fall asleep? I've got to get up early and if I don't sleep, I'll hate tomorrow.

6. I'm almost out of milk.

7. I haven't gotten any mail the last few days. I should go over to the Eaves and see if they have my mail at their house.

8. I wonder why my cat is so big. I'm not sure if he's just a big cat or if he's getting fat. I only feed him 1/2 a cup a day. That's all I need is a fat cat. I guess it's not the end of the world to have a fat cat. Unless he gets dead from a teeny kitty heart attack. Then it's the end of the world for him.

9. I've got to get some money to register my car. It's to the point that they will tow it if I get caught. On the other hand, I'm sure an obedient, safe driver now. No need to draw attention to myself.

10. I hate it when my favorite TV shows come on at the same time. How am I supposed to pick?

11. Where's the best place to buy panty hose?

...and the list goes on and on. I don't worry about these things in the day when I'm supposed to worry about them. Nope, only at night.

Tips to Surviving Parent/Teacher Conferences

1. Diet Coke

2. It's best not to laugh at the kids who you get in trouble while their parents are still sitting there.

3. Eat garlic before hand...parents tend not to linger.

4. When talking to parents avoid phrases like, "You look so familiar. Did I see you at the bar last weekend?" or "I'm not sure why your kid is failing. Maybe you should just stick him/her in special ed."

5. If a parent tells you that their child is too smart for your class--agree. Then send them directly to the principal to tell her how smart the kid is and demand that they be transferred out of your class and into honors English. Nobody likes those know-it-all kids anyway.

6. Be extra-nice to the parents whose kids are idiots...after all, they are stuck with them forever. You are only pulling a 45 minute shift a few times a week.

7. Never admit that you really have no recollection of ever seeing their child before.

8. On the day of P/T conferences make your kids feel sorry for you because you have to be there all day, and tell them to bring you stuff when they come with their parents.

9. NEVER eat anything homemade they bring you.

10. Make sure you've planned an easy teaching day for the day after because post parent/teacher conference hangover is a beast.

Tender Mercies

Sunday I taught Relief society. That’s my job every 2nd Sunday. I realized that it was going to be a tough one when I started crying during the practice hymn. Furthermore, I didn’t stop until sometime after I got home. Why? I don’t know. Maybe for lots of reasons, but I think the subject matter didn’t help too much. My lesson was on friendship. I know that I have more than my fair share of friends. Not just your regular kind either. The kind that many people go a whole lifetime and never find. The kind that listen real close, laugh with you until you snort, and always hold your heart carefully. I think here’s the part that makes me bawly…Why me? How come Heavenly Father loves me and blesses me with so many people to love and that love me back? I happen to know me better than anyone else, and I sometimes don’t feel worthy of all the angels Heavenly Father has given me. I think my friends are Heavenly Father's tender mercies for me. It’s what I’m most grateful for in my whole life, and I pray every day you don’t get tired of me. I’m such a mess sometimes. I guess mostly I just want to say thank you and that I love you.

I looked out the window and what did I see?...

Actually, that's not so true. On Onion Days day Hillyerie noticed it. I was shocked because as you can tell it is quite large. It is just outside my front door and has been for a long time. I was wondering all summer why there were always hornets in my house. Hank liked them because he could chase them around. I just ignored them until they got dead of their own accord and then I threw them away. I grew up with bee hives all around because my Uncle Ed was a bee keeper. I'm not allergic and have spent time with swarms of them, literally, so I wasn't too alarmed or worried. However, when I saw how huge that nest was I decided I should be nervous about it. I saw that My Girl movie where the little boy got dead because of bees. Only it was too late too get too worked up because I think it is empty now. Do hornets leave their nests? More importantly, do they come back? If they do, I need to take the nest down. If not, then I kind of like it there.

Too Bad For Me Because I'm Not A Bleeder

Remember my snarky post about the clinic in Springville that advertised free bandaids with their flu shot? Well, apparently it's not a laughing matter because today I got a flu shot and guess what I didn't get? Yup, no band aid for me. She poked me and looked at my arm to see if I was going to bleed out and then sent me on my way when I didn't. Serves me right for my smart aleckiness. It also serves me right for not being a bleeder. I was actually a little butt-hurt about not getting one. First thing at school tomorrow I'm marching myself to the front office and demanding a Band-Aid.
Plus, also, if some one knows the best way to spell bandaid/band aid/Band-Aid, let me know.

Good Eggs

I bet none of you know just how pitiful my life has been the last couple of summers. I will now tell you. I live in Payson, America. I've lived here since June 1, 2008. That is not the pitiful part because I happen to love it here. I love it here more than any other place I've lived in Utah and I've lived many places: Lehi, Pleasant Grove, Cedar Hills, Orem, and Provo. Here's the pitiful part...I happen to live almost exactly across the street from the big park here. I guess that's not exactly the pitiful part yet because I love that park, too. It's a nice park and two times a year they have a huge carnival there. Once in early summer for Scottish days and then again on Labor Day weekend for Onion days. Did I mention that I love carnivals? I love the booths, the food (especially the food), the rides, the people, and even the heat. I love ALL of it. (Only maybe not the clowns if there are any because clowns are scary and if you think I'm kidding you'd be wrong.) Here has been my dilemma and the source of my pitifulness...for 2 summers now I have not been able to go to the carnivals that are almost exactly across the street from my house. Why, you ask? Because I also happen to teach jr. high kids in this same town. As far as kids are concerned I'm not really a person because I'm their teacher. If I were to show up at the carnival to enjoy a good scone, for example, I would run into no less than 32 kids that I currently teach or have taught in one of my past 8 years here. This is not a problem at all if someone were with me also enjoying a scone, perhaps. However, without a good-time carnival friend with me I'd look like a creepy old maid cat lady that is too weird to even have friends. Jr. high kids are not just mean to each other, they are terrible to weirdo teachers too. I know this because we have a couple of them at my school. One guy is rumored to live in his mom's basement growing frogs. The other is said to sit at home all by herself all evening picking at her mustache. In the kids defense, these teachers are kind of creepy weird and I must take care not to turn into one of them. Hanging out alone at a place made for fun and friends might just be the thing that does it. This summer, however, I fixed that and forced this girl to the carnival with me since she lives close and has kids that likes that kind of business: All 2 of you that read my blog probably recognize her as that Hillyerie girl. We had a good time even if she did get stuck in the parade, have to walk 60 miles from her car to the carnival, not get a ride the 60 miles back to her car because my car was blocked into my driveway, lose her car, and once she finally got to her car, it had a flat tire. Her first flat tire ever. She will probably blog more fully about it all. I just mention it all because I think she's a good egg for coming to be my carnival date and having a good time despite all that. At least she pretended to have fun and that's enough for me. The girls had fun:

Oh, and this is Maddy looking all dramatic in front of the flat tire:

At first she smiled but I made her frown because flat tires aren't happy. Her dad came and rescued us. He's a good egg too. All I can hope is that by next year Hillyerie has forgotten the trauma of this year and will be my date again.

Full Circle

In honor of my weekend at the Storytelling Festival, I feel I need to tell this story. It begins in North Carolina where I grew up. I believe it proves that no matter how old you get, or how far away from home you may move, you always come back full circle.

The first time I realized there was a distinct possibility that I was a redneck was when I was about 12 years old. When you are a kid you don’t notice stuff like that because you have other important things to think about like how to get to the good swing before Angie Vance when the teacher let you out for recess. Also, in my defense, I grew up in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains; so really, pretty much everybody in my town could be classified as a redneck. It wasn’t a bad thing. While life here in Utah is about as opposite as you could imagine from my southern upbringing, one thing that the cultures share is an enthusiasm for killing things. I don't really understand how shooting things is fun, but I also don't mind that others do. Growing up, my brother-in-law, Buddy, was and still is an avid deer hunter. We all knew that every fall and winter Buddy would be missing in action for a few weeks and he'd likely return with a deer carcass or two. As a result, I've had my fair share of deer chili, deer jerky, deer burgers, deer roast, and other deer meat concoctions. Again, I don't mind it so much. After one particular hunting trip, I happened to be at my sister's house when Buddy got home with the kill. I sat in the living room and watched him cover the coffee table with garbage bags. I didn't think too much of it until he dragged that deer carcass into the house and plopped it onto the coffee table. He then commenced to hacking at that thing right there in the middle of the living room. Honestly speaking, I still didn't think a whole lot of it. I just kept watching TV and playing with my nieces. The moment when it all became very clear to me was when I heard the dog and cat fighting and looked to see what the matter was. I looked down and saw that Buddy had thrown them a bone and they were fighting over it right there on the living room carpet. THEN it dawned on me that I was the people that Jeff Foxworthy made fun of. This was a moment that very well could have been illustrated in one of his You Might be a Redneck if... books. “You might be a redneck if you’ve ever had a relative chop up a deer corpse on your living room coffee table while the dog and cat fought over the bones.”

Fast forward about 20 years. Since then I’ve graduated from high school, moved to Utah, served a mission in Los Angeles, graduated from BYU, and have taught jr. high English for the past 9 years. There is really no part of my life that resembles redneckness. For heaven’s sake, I’m a Mary Kay beauty consultant. Fancy high heel shoes make me downright giddy. I’m pretty girly and I dare say even a bit prissy. Imagine my surprise tonight when I looked at my own living room floor and saw this:

I'd like to tell you that I didn't give my cat a huge bone to knaw on in the living room, but I can't.

Have I Got a Deal for You!

I don't have a photo for this blog and for that I am truly sorry.  I will just tell you instead.  Today I was running an errand in Springville and I happened by a sign outside of a health clinic that said this, "Free Bandaid with Flu Shot."  I sure know where I'm getting my flu shot this year.  With those kinds of benefits, who wouldn't?  I never got bandaids with my shots before because who can afford it?  I've just always drip-dried.  Boy am I going to feel fancy this year.