Dirt Cheap Ice Cream

          Ice cream is ruined.  At least soft  serve ice cream and at least for me.  I walk into the house the other day and my son says, “Oh, enjoying your clay?”

          This is where my eyebrows lower and I stare at him, waiting for the explanation that is going to forever spoil my fun.  The same exact thing happened with Pluto not being a planet.

          I look down at my vanilla soft serve in a cone, and say, “This is ice cream.”

          “No it isn’t,” he says.  “That’s why they call it Soft Serve.  They can’t call it ice cream.”

          WHAAAT? 

          “It’s made with bentonite,” he tells me.  This kid should never have gone on that volcano study to Hawaii, where he became entirely too smart for his britches.

          “Bentonite sounds like an ingredient in linoleum,” I say.  “Like a plastic or something.”  And suddenly my treat seems a little too airy, a little too smooth.

          “They put it in milkshakes, too,” Richie says, completely comfortable with his role as Bearer of Bad News.  “It’s a clay made from chemically weathered volcanic ash.  But it’s totally edible—they use it as a filler.”

          Like sawdust?  Like feathers?  I’m eating ashes?

          He goes on to tell me it’s sold in health food stores and is completely safe, even added to baths for its healing properties.

          I don’t care.  I look it up and all I can see are examples of cat litter and mud drilling. 

          And it’s clay.  When I wanted ice cream.  I’ll tell you this.  No way am I eating cheesecake or truffles or donuts around that guy. 

Have you visited my website, lately?  No filler whatsoever.  Just a bunch of cool stuff like a music video, YouTube Mom videos, and tons of books you can buy!

One Hundred Years Ago

One hundred years ago, a darling, dark-haired baby entered this world.  Her name was Elva, and as the fourth of eight children, she loved being a middle child.  She lived in the middle of Salt Lake City, and the church was the center of her family’s life.  Elva was always in the middle of something, always surrounded by loved ones, even when she recently passed away at 100 years old. 

          All her life, Elva was in the middle.  Even her massive home with the beautiful staircase flanked by a parlor and a sitting room, was the center of activity.   Known for fresh flowers and pretty china, her parties were legendary, and people swirled about Elva.  She stayed socially active well into her nineties, still attending the Shakespeare Festival, the LDS temple, Book Club, Art Club, and water aerobics.  Her home was always open for houseguests and Elva’s wonderful, healthy cooking. Her sunny disposition drew people like a magnet.  Hers was truly a life well-lived, and thoughtfully lived. Many times she would drop me a note, just to let me know she was thinking of me.  Who does that, these days?  Only a remarkable, giving person with a heart of gold.  

          My father was her brother and, I’m afraid, a merciless tease.  But I have never seen another family with such tight-knit siblings!  They loved spending time together, long after they were elderly.  Apparently she forgave my dad for the mice he used to frighten her with, and the countless pranks he played during their teens.

          Aunt Elva was always so proud of her family, and with 144 descendants, who wouldn’t be?  That’s the size of a small town!  When I called her a couple of years ago, I found myself complaining that only one of my children had married so far.  She said, “Well, you should have taught ‘em how to flirt!”  Indeed.

          Incredibly, Elva reached this amazing milestone still living in her home, still mentally sharp, still gorgeous, even.  Surrounded by family, she slipped peacefully away.  I picture her simply walking into another room, where she was greeted by all the loved ones who preceded her, having arranged a grand celebration party.  And there was Elva, right in the middle.

Visit my website here, and buy one of my books for your oldest relative!

Singles' Conference

          I recently had the immense pleasure of meeting three knock-out, amazing women:  Al Fox Carraway, Zandra Vranes, and Tamu Smith.

          We were all scheduled speakers at a huge Singles’ Conference in San Diego and had more fun together than should probably be legal.  Let me just say that these women are inspiring and hilarious, and if you ever get the chance, run--don’t walk-- to go see them.         

          Al Fox Carraway joined the LDS Church in 2009, and a couple of years later her “Tattooed Mormon” blog went viral.  Today she’s greeted like a rock star (totally deserved; she is authentic and adorable), and her conversion story is unforgettable.  Check her out here. 

          Zandra Vranes and Tamu Smith are Sistas in Zion, two of the most uproarious women you could ever meet.  They’re the authors of Diary of Two Mad Black Mormons, they have a radio show, and you can read all about them here. 

          Nel Hardy coordinated everything, and kudos to a woman who can plan an entire weekend jam-packed with joy for hundreds of people.  So today, instead of sharing my latest humorous observations, I’m sharing links to three cool women you need to know and follow.

          And, okay, if you want to watch an uber cool music video that will make you stand up and cheer, check out What Makes a Woman from my new musical, "The Best Medicine," here.  It refutes the pop culture message that we should be judged by our appearances, and promotes Breast Cancer Awareness as well.  And then, since that link takes you to my website, check out my YouTube Mom videos, and mosey on over to my "Books" tab and buy a novel or two!

Now You See It

          Have you ever heard of a painless migraine?  That’s exactly what I get from time to time.  So how do I know I’m even having one? Because suddenly my field of vision turns into a geometric light show, with sparkling prisms and zig zags, like a kaleidoscope, only clear.  Imagine seeing this:

Only without the color.  Scientists describe it as broken glass and shimmering shards.

  It isn’t really blindness, but it does impair your vision for 20 minutes or so, until it goes away.

Some eye doctors call these auras “fortification illusions” because they look like castle rooflines.  Although, as one who actually sees them, I can tell you that castle is having a major earthquake.

 They’re actually quite beautiful and intriguing, something people try to approximate with art and photography, but not very accurately:

          And apparently there are triggers that cause the genetically predisposed to have these little eyeball theatrics.  

          I thought I’d look up the triggers so I can avoid them.  They include certain cheeses,  caffeinated drinks, red wine, smoked meats, food additives such as MSG, artificial sweeteners, cigarette smoke, perfumes and other strong odors, glaring or flickering lights, lack of sleep, emotional stress, loud sounds,  anxiety, relaxation after a period of stress, foods containing nitrates (hotdogs and luncheon meats), sausage, smoked fish, soy, fava beans, hormonal fluctuations, and even changing weather. 

          So, basically, everything.  I mean the weather, seriously?  Luckily, nobody thinks these sudden acid trips without the acid are harmful, but there are cases of people acquiring Foreign Accent Syndrome (FAS) from such migraines.  Yes, that’s honestly a thing-- People suddenly start speaking with accents from other countries!   If you’re from the U.S. you might suddenly have a South African Accent, or if you’re from England, you might sound German.  These are documented cases, folks.  And I, for one, would like to choose my accent and I want one of those darling Scottish or Irish Brogues.

I also plan to start that Irish dancing immediately, so I can get one of those cute costumes.  Although, since I won’t be able to see where I’m going, I’ll probably crash into a tree.  And then I’ll probably wake up speaking with a Mongolian accent.  But that’s okay because those dancers have cute outfits, too.  Pretty much a win-win.

Have you visited my website, lately?  You’ve got to see the new music video right there on the home page.  And then click the TV tab so you can watch my YouTube Mom segments on Good Day Sacramento.

Now I Lay Me Down to Wake

          According to scientists, nearly half of us are not getting enough sleep.  Apparently we can’t unwind, we have hormonal insomnia, we’re sleeping on the wrong mattress, we stay up too late, our spouse snores, we snore, or all of the above.  You could make a list as long as your arm, of reasons why people can’t fall asleep or stay asleep.

          So of course I was delighted to hear about a new trick that helps you fall asleep in less than a minute!  It’s called the “4-7-8” breathing technique, credited to Dr. Andrew Weil. The idea is this: You breathe in through your nose for four seconds, hold your breath for seven seconds, then exhale through your mouth for eight seconds.

          Sounds simple enough, right?  I decided to give it a try.  St. Bob and I climbed into bed, then I pulled the covers up and inhaled, silently counting to 4.  Now I held my breath.  But at five seconds my lungs were burning, I was sure I was suffocating, and I released my breath in a giant burst. 

          “That’s not how you do it,” Bob said.  “You have to exhale more slowly.”

          “Except that I’m choking to death over here, and had to exhale fast so I could get another breath,” I said. “That, or die.”

          Even in the dark I could hear Bob rolling his eyes.  “Try it again,” he said.

          Once again I inhaled slowly. 1-2-3-4.  And now I held my breath for 7 loooong seconds.  But there was no way I could take 8 more seconds to exhale—that would mean a total of 15 seconds without oxygen.  A person could asphyxiate.

So I exhaled all at once.  “Are you kidding?” I gasped.  “How is this relaxing?  I’m working up a sweat just trying to stay alive.”  Well, that and keeping the numbers sorted out.  “This is like being water boarded.  And we all know that is not relaxing in the slightest.”

Seriously, if someone held your head under water for 15 seconds you would be in a full blown panic, right?  Okay, I would be in a panic.

By now I was having a hot flash and had to throw off the covers.  “My heart rate is twice what it was when I got in bed,” I snarled.  “How am I supposed to fall asleep when I’m choking over here?”

“I notice it keeps others from falling asleep as well,” Bob said.

“Are you telling me you could fall asleep, knowing your wife was being smothered right beside you?”

“How can someone smother themselves?”

“By following this ridiculous sleep trick,” I said. “Who did they test it on—deep sea divers who can hold their breath forever?”

“Just take deep breaths,” he said.

“That’s how people get hyperventilation and end up in the hospital,” I said. 

“Then breathe into a paper bag.”

“I don’t have a paper bag.”

“Then pull the covers over your head.”

“I’ll pull the covers over your head.”  This resulted in a wrestling match, at which point neither one of us felt sleepy.  So I resorted to my old method which never works for me, but which works beautifully for Bob: Just zip it, Joni.

Or you could read.  Not that my novels will put you to sleep, mind you.  But you can order them (cheap!) right here.  And take a look at the new music video on the home page, while you’re there!

Husband Overhaul

          I like miscommunications.  See? There’s one right there.  I don’t like misunderstandings; those lead to hurt feelings, retribution, and in more than one case, wars.

          But I relish the little words that are said one way and heard another, leading to laughter.  You can even find greeting cards of elderly people saying, “It’s Thursday,” and their friend hearing “I’m thirsty.” 

          So I was greatly amused recently, when a girlfriend called me on a crackly car phone, to tell me that her mother and father were driving to a Refurbished Husband Convention.  What—that’s a thing?  There must be millions of people—granted, mostly women—who would sign up for that!

          Just picture it: Makeovers, lectures on active listening, role-playing, how to repurpose baggy pants, even gold medals for “Most Improved.”  What an ingenious idea!

          She talked about how this was something her dad had been doing for years, and I couldn’t help thinking, What a good sport!   How many people take self-improvement that seriously? 

          As she talked about their drive (and lack of air conditioning), she mentioned he had reconditioned the car and suddenly it hit me.  They weren’t going to a Refurbished Husband Convention—they were going to a Refurbished Hudson Convention!  As in automobiles.  Well!  That’s a car of a different color, to twist a quote from The Wizard of Oz.  Here's their actual car on the Hoover Dam:

          And now we also know who’s really the good sport.

Have you visited my website, lately?  Watch my new music video smack dab at the top of the home page, then scroll through and buy my books.   Perfect for a road trip to somewhere you thought was somewhere else.

          

Great Scot!

          Have you ever attempted something for the very first time and surpassed all expectations?  St. Bob's dad bowled a perfect strike the first (and only) time he threw a bowling ball.  Bob, himself, can pick up a golf club or a tennis racket and beat people who play every weekend.

          I've never had this happen in my lifetime.  Our son, Richie, however, just discovered a hidden talent: Haggis Hurling.

          I shall explain. For 138 years, there’s been an annual Scottish Games and Festival in Woodland, a nearby city.  It’s the third oldest in the U.S. and it’s exactly as you picture it: Highland dancing, piping and drumming, celtic music, food vendors, fiddling and harps, clan information, bagpipes, long haired cattle, and of course-- men in kilts hurling heavy logs, hammers, and metal objects as high or as far as they can.

Well, Richie has a Scottish friend who convinced him to go.  Toward the end of the day, they stopped to watch various men throwing Haggis, a combination of sheep organs, onions, and seasonings, encased in a sheep’s stomach, but which was also wrapped in duct tape for purposes of this competition.

After several moments of Richie claiming he could throw it farther than those guys, and his friend expressing genuine doubt about this, Richie stepped up onto the half-barrel and gave it a try. He has never seen Haggis before, nor attempted this feat, but 15 years ago he was the goalie for his high school’s water polo team, and would routinely throw the ball from his net into the net of the opposing team.  So he tapped into that old memory, and voile!  Or, seol, which is the same expression in Gaelic-- He threw it nearly 100 feet and won 2nd place!

For his efforts he was awarded a handsome certificate and some chocolate, cleverly named Haggis Pie by its maker, Brown's English Toffee.  If you ask me, one bite of chocolate is worth a boatload of Haggis stomachs.

And I am, of course, claiming a moral victory here by passing along beginner’s luck, something I’m pretty sure skips a generation.

Have you watched my new music video, yet?  I wrote What Makes a Woman with Jerry Williams, as part of our musical, The Best Medicine.  And we turned that one song into an empowering anthem for women—take a look and share it with your friends!