Warm Heart, Cold Nose?

         Lots of people have cold hands, right? I have a more canine situation. My nose gets icy cold. If I go to bed before my nose warms up, it’s so cold I can’t fall asleep.

          Here are my remedies, in case any of you suffer from what is undoubtedly a sign of great character:

1.      Wear a Covid mask. You won’t get much oxygen, but your nose will be warm.

2.     Rub your nose to increase circulation. It probably won’t work and your nose may turn red. Also, now your fingers might get cold.

3.     Hide under the covers until your nose warms up. See the side-effect of remedy #1.

So the other night I was under the covers, complaining with a muffled voice that I couldn’t breathe, when St. Bob suggested what he thought was a perfect solution: A SNORKEL.

And there is no photo here, because NO ONE ELSE WOULD THINK OF ANYTHING SO RIDICULOUS.

Yes, folks, that is the kind of brilliance you can always find in Joniopolis. Just dial 1-800-Imarriedacomedian.

Traces of his personality also show up in several of my characters. You can find all my books right here.

Until We Meet Again

           I’ve told you quite a bit about our amazing cat, Simon. But now I have sad news. We lost him this week. He passed peacefully in his sleep, on a bench at the foot of our bed. We’re grateful that our church teaches we’ll have our pets again in heaven. I can only imagine the ruckus he’s stirring up there.

          This is the blog I was going to post about him today, and it still brings a smile to my face:

          I think Simon pities me. In fact, I think all cats pity their owners. First of all, no claws. Second of all, no tail. Third of all, a weird affection for dogs. The list goes on and on.

          But I think Simon most pities my lack of hunting ability. Whenever he sees me outside, I seem to be digging in the dirt. Don’t I know there won’t be a mouse under there, let alone a bird?

          And not once has he seen me climb a tree to raid a nest. Yet, you can see these nests with your bare eyes.

          Further, I never keep up my hunting skills. I do not fall on my side to wrestle with a small ball, nor do I pounce on a piece of string. I don’t suddenly dash through the house like a rocket, then hide behind the sofa. And I certainly don’t lick my coat to pretend I’m not watching a string.

          Maybe that’s why he curls up on my lap and purrs. He’s trying to comfort his poor, inept owner and let me know I’m lovable anyway.

          Thanks, Simon. I miss you.

          Be sure to subscribe to my Youtube Mom videos—you’ll occasionally see Simon wandering by.

Having a Blast?

           Can I just stay out of the hospital for a few minutes, please? My last routine x-ray revealed two kidney stones loitering around the water fountain in one of my kidneys, and my doctor said she could blast them so they don’t become actually, raging kidney stones.

          Having had those twice, I agreed. Zap ‘em while they’re not looking. So, under I went, asleep for the simple procedure.  But then—what they don’t reveal in the trailer for this movie—is that you have to capture these bits of sand, now, with a strainer, and turn them in like the loitering criminals they are.

          Not only that, but you have to have someone (St. Bob) do percussion on your kidneys twice a day to loosen these particles. Because being naked again in front of a room full of strangers (a.k.a. nurses, etc.) wasn’t bad enough. I kid you not, here’s the position you have to take for this pounding: 

          Seriously? And you have to drink gobs of water beforehand—how do you keep it down while basically standing on your head?  And how do you and your husband not fall over laughing at these gymnastics?

          Not only that, but am I the only person who sees a bigger problem here? If these tiny bits don’t pass on their own, what’s the downside? I’ll tell you what it is. They can grow, right? And become a zillion REAL kidney stones! It’s just like Mickey Mouse’s broom in Fantasia's The Sorcerer’s Apprentice—each time he chopped it, brooms would grow from the splinters! 

          So what we’ve created here, it seems to me, are kidney stone seeds! This is not my idea of having a blast. I’ll let you know if I move into a wing of the local hospital. Meanwhile, if you have any secret stones yourself, you can order my books here and see if laughing jiggles them loose. 

Sticking My Neck Out

        Last week I treated you to my latest disaster, getting completely buried by posters that leapt from their rack in a craft store. This week I’m going to show you why I wanted one in the first place.

          I decided I needed a background so I could display my Primary Bandlo. My WHAT?  Yes, folks, in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, little kids used to earn awards and rhinestones that could be attached to a felt “Bandlo” (sometimes spelled Bandelo) we’d wear around our necks. Kind of like Scouting badges.  And we did this in the children’s program, called Primary.

          I recently found mine (it hadn’t fossilized—yay!) and decided to put it in a shadow box. What memories it holds--  We got awards for reading and memorizing scriptures, keeping our health guidelines, praying, serving gladly, being a light in our home, singing, attendance, cross-stitching, knitting, and crocheting (just like in Pioneer times). 

          I remember knitting a pair of slippers, the loops of yarn so snug on my needles that they squeaked when I tried to slide them. My stitches were pulled so tightly that the slippers felt like, well, felt. I was definitely not going to become a knitter.  

          My cross-stitch pillow still has the gray, smudgy spot where I tried to erase my pencil marks. 

          And my crocheted rug and hanger covers never quite laid flat. But boy, I knocked out whatever it took to get those rhinestones, Baby!

Do you have an old treasure you’ve kept? Write and tell me about it. Meanwhile, be sure to subscribe!

Avalanche!

           I was in JoAnn’s Fabrics trying to buy a poster. Easy enough, right?

          Wrong. See the rack? See all the stacks of paper? Well, they can simultaneously decide to come tumbling out, just like snow on the face of a mountain.

          I pulled ONE poster and dozens of them—in all colors-- came pouring over me, knocking me down and causing me to scramble about trying to collect them all, stack them right, and re-insert them into the rack.

          Did any employee or customer rush to my rescue? No. I was left to my own diminishing wits, trying to restore order and line up corners.

          Have you ever seen a juggler trying to juggle posters or even papers? No, you have not. This is because, like live birds, they take wing and fly all over the place. It’s total bedlam.

          In my valiant efforts I even managed to pull a muscle in my back. Finally I got home, but could I get that muscle rubbed by St. Bob? No, because just the previous day I had a mole removed in the EXACT SAME SPOT, so there was an incision and stitches right above my pulled muscle.

          It’s like the posters knew.

          Next week I’ll show you why I needed a poster. Meanwhile, check out my Youtube Mom videos here.

My Second Childhood

         Let’s start with the truth: You can’t have a second childhood if you’re still having your first one. And I have never, truly, grown up. Every week I still play with the absolutely adorable little girl who lives across the street. And her younger brother. I’ve been doing this for four years. My worry is that she will turn 10, then 15, then 20, and I’ll still be five.

          Our latest exciting discovery is that fairies have built an entire village under a tree in my back yard! 

          They’ve also installed a door by my fireplace, and have left fairy dust beside it. When you open it, it says, “Faeries Only” and there’s a tiny handprint that my 7-year-old Bestie says must be where you put your hand to gain entrance. 

        

           They’ve built another door on my front porch that exactly matches the color of my front door! This one doesn’t open but we are hunting for a key, or other clues about how to get it to open. 

          We keep watching to catch a glimpse of them, and we listen carefully as well. We know they don’t show up in photos, so that eliminates the chance of them getting caught on camera. ☹  But one of these days we’ll see them gardening, flying through the treetops, or walking across the little bridge. We just know it.

While you await magical visitors you can watch my Youtube Mom videos right here!

Beyond the Pale

           Maybe it’s because I’m adopted, but I find genetics fascinating. Someone with brown eyes could have kids with any eye color.  Brown is dominant, and it can conceal lots of fun surprises.

          I, on the other hand, have all recessive traits. This means I can only contribute pale, pasty skin, blue eyes, and blonde hair to my children. My tallness is also recessive (though many genes account for our height).

          When you get two light-skinned, light-haired, light-eyed people together, you get kids like that as well. A blond person can’t hide genes for dark hair or dark skin.

          And this is why our third son, the palest of the bunch, came home from school one day with news that his teacher thinks he’s unwell. “You look so pale,” she said. “Do you feel all right?” It wasn’t the first time someone had commented on his light complexion. 

I sighed. “Just tell her you’re Scandinavian,” I said. “And there’s every chance you’ll show up Scandinavian again tomorrow.”  Here he is, all grown up:

We Casper-the-Ghosts often sneeze when going outdoors into bright sunlight (photophobia) and blue-eyed baseball players blame it for different batting averages at night versus in daytime. We’re also more prone to sunburns and skin cancer, which St. Bob and I have both had.

One Halloween I thought I’d be really funny and go as a tan. I slathered on dark makeup and went to a party. All night the only comment I got was, “Wow, you look really healthy!”  

          Ah yes, we all love that moment when your Halloween costume looks better than the real you.

Luckily writers have indoor work. Yes, you may buy all of my books right here.