Now I'M the Infamous One?

           You know how it’s fun to discover that an ancestor of yours was a notorious bank robber or a gun-slinging madame?

          Well, now I've got to do ALL our genealogy so our kids won’t, because now I’M the one I don’t want them to read about!  Here’s how it happened:

I signed up for a family history webinar and guess who was running it? The granddaughter of (let’s rename her) Ethel Smick! Ethel was on my committee when I was a Relief Society President back in the 1990s. And it just so happened I was on the phone with her when St. Bob (See? This is really HIS fault) called with a very racy, flirtatious phone call. Husbands do this.

I thought I had put Ethel on hold, but no! She was only on conference, so she’d heard the entire thing, finally interrupting with, “Uh, I’m still here. I thought I’d better speak up before this went any further.”

Well, of course I died inside, made a flustered apology, hung up, and vowed to move away in the Witness Protection Program. It is truly one of my most embarrassing moments.

          And now, here was her granddaughter, saying, “My grandmother always shared such amazing stories with me…” at which point Bob, watching along with me, muttered, “There was once this Relief Society President…”

I even included the story (with fake names) in one of my novels. But here it was again, popping up to haunt me. I held my breath, waiting for the granddaughter to relay the story, to show the entertaining sorts of details you might uncover about your ancestors.

Finally, the segment ended without this humiliating detail, and I breathed a sigh of Relief. Not Relief Society, just relief.

You can find my novels and my Youtube Mom videos right here.

Making a Great Impression

          We all know the law that if you look your best, you can run errands all day and never see a familiar face. But look a wreck, and you’re sure to see everyone you know.

          I was gardening all morning, which means lots of sunscreen, and pinning my hair up into a very messy bun, not one of those cute ones you see.  I was also wearing grubby clothes and even worse shoes—a pair of loafers with holes in the toes.

          I lost track of time and suddenly realized I had to dash to an eye appointment, so I jumped in the car and drove like Cruella deVille to get there.

          But on the way, my sweat transported smears of sunscreen right into my eye, making it water and sting. I pulled over, took out my hard contact lens, rinsed it, and put it back in.  It was still stinging, so I just took it out entirely. One of my strip eyelashes had also come off from all the crying, so I put it in my purse.

          As I dashed through the front doors the receptionist looked up.  Only then did I see myself in the mirror behind her. Half of my bun was hanging down on one side. I had mud on my chin and on the side of my nose. One of my eyes had eyelashes, the other was bald. My nose was red from tearing up all the way there. My hands were muddy, even though I had worn gardening gloves, and my shoes looked like I’d found them in a dumpster.

          “Oh, wow,” I muttered. “Sorry for how I’m dressed—I was gardening.”

          She stared at me. None of this explained my wonky eyes, but she told me to take a seat. And, of course, this is a place where people try on frames, so every flat surface is a mirror. No matter where I looked, an alley cat crazy woman was looking back at me, and socks were sticking out of the toes of her shoes.

          No less than seven people had to help me—with eye tests, insurance questions—I was there for two hours! How many times can you apologize for your appearance before it just seems like a ridiculous lie?  So if you see me gardening in formalwear next week, you’ll know why.

But I try to look a little more cleaned up in my Youtube Mom videos.