Venezia Parfum and the Meaning of Life

I am not really sure how to approach this subject. I suppose I should say that I fell in love with a parfum which was discontinued sometime ago. To me it is simply the best scent and fits me perfectly. It's woodsy, spicy, heavy....sort of like I imagine a night on Bourbon Street in the heat of summer would be like. It would likewise fit perfectly into a day of shopping with my friend Sarah in Milan. (envision 2 almost middle aged women giggling breathlessly wearing high heels and big floppy hats) But I digress... It was discontinued and I began this manic buy up of every bottle I could find. The price shot up as supply decreased. Thoughts of reselling it and making a fortune "someday" crossed my mind. I put each new bottle away like a trophy and didn't use it.

Over the past year I have been developing weird physical symptoms. Tremors, loss of memory, swallowing was getting difficult, I would be in mid sentence and forget a simple word and just stammer. I couldn't write my name. Dr.s started throwing around words like Parkinsons, Multiple Sclerosis and other things I couldn't pronounce let alone remember. It was a dark time. My GP sat me down and told me that before we proceeded he wanted me to taper off my high doses of antidepressants. All of which act on the dopamine levels in the brain. I decided to humor him. In just three weeks time the tremors had disappeared! Each week more and more of myself reemerged. I was literally overcome with joy the first time I tried to decorate a cake, sign my name, have a conversation. I had been given my life back. That doesn't happen to many.

While getting ready for Christmas I found my stash of Venezia high on a shelf waiting for "someday". I realized that it is now I should be enjoying it. Today is a gift and I should act accordingly. So what if I never make a million on it. So what if at 80 I will be surrounded by empty Venezia bottles saying to my grandkids...."Ya know kids, grandma could have been a millionaire..." I grabbed a bottle off the shelf and I grabbed a bottle to send to a friend... I even wrapped up a bottle to give to my daughter for Christmas. It was delightful moment when she opened it and got all wide eyed. "Mom, isn't this the expensive perfume?" "Yes it is dear. Life is too short to keep the good stuff on the shelf."

It's Happened!

I walked into Wal-Mart today and immediately smelled Peat Moss and Round-Up! My heart jumped for joy! Spring is coming...

What is Your Sin?

We all have weaknesses. We all have areas in our lives where we fail time and time again. While doing some rather heavy introspection lately I have come to the conclusion that I am guilty of committing one sin more than any other.

The sin of omission.

It is an easy one to get sucked into because there are so many ways you can excuse yourself from not acting, not saying, not doing. And indeed my best and long suffering excuse is that I am weak and shy and I don't do well at standing up in a crowd of already raised voices to speak my mind. It's just an excuse. It doesn't negate the act (or non-action) nor heal the emotional or physical consequence of my habitual "not doing".

So many things I have chosen not to say. Leaving a void as wide as my guilt is deep. A void that people, being human and acting accordingly have chosen to fill with their own interpretations of what they think should go into that nice empty space. Or what serves them best. Not their fault, I left the empty space.

There was a story I was told a long time ago. It's about a woman who had gone about the town spreading rumors and hateful things about many of her neighbors. She felt remorse and wanted to find a way to fix the hurt she had caused. She consulted a wiseman who was known throughout the land for his far reaching intelligence. She told him what she had done. He listened to her story and her sadness. When she was finished he looked at her and said,

"The first thing you should do is take this basket of feathers. Place one feather on each doorstep of a person you have hurt with your words and then come back to me."

The woman thankfully took the basket and began her work. By dawn, she was finished and hurried back to the wiseman. She said,

"I have done what you have asked me to."

The wiseman smiled and said,

"This is very good. Now you must go back to each of those houses and retrieve each of the feathers from the doorsteps. Once you have all the feathers back in the basket everyone will forgive you and your sin against them will be forgiven and forgotten."

The woman stared at him. She said,

"But those feathers won't be there. The wind will have blown them away by now... they will be gone." The man smiled at the woman. "As are your words, like the feathers, gone, blown far and wide and gathering them and taking them back is impossible..."

Now granted, I differ from this woman because I am not in the habit of speaking falsehoods and ugliness of or towards people. But replace "rumors" with "things left unsaid" and I am not so different. I have never been one to weigh sin against sin. I have never been one to say one sin justifies another. No matter what someone else has done to me it does not justify mine done purposely or inadvertently against them. It just doesn't. I am busted. I am guilty.

Where do I go from here? Do I have the courage to stand amongst the screaming and speak my mind? Will I no longer hesitate when a space between me and a friend needs an "I love you"? Will I find the kindness and insight needed to say "I forgive you." when I would rather coddle my pride, furrow my brow and push away an already humble heart? Will I jump to say "I am sorry." before time stretches the chasm hopelessly wide?

What will I do? What would you do?

I Never Turn Down an Invitation to Play a Game

4 Jobs I Have Had in the Past

First job was a hostess for a dinner theater when I turned 16. I met the Smothers Brothers and "Ike Godsey" from The Walton's.

Shortest job was when I was hired as a maid...I lasted until noon. I sneaked out with my best friend who also was hired and we went home got drunk in the shade and blasted Billy Squire from the stereo.

Most fun job was at the Provo library where one night I found myself checking books out for Marie Osmond. That night she was a little bit fiction.

Last job was as the manager of Receiving for Wal-mart. That is where I met my husband.

4 Movies I Could Watch Over and Over

The Sound of Music
Doc Hollywood
Anything with Katherine Hepburn
Fiddler on the Roof

4 Places I Have Lived

Utah
Idaho

sorry, thats about it....

4 Favorite Foods

Prime Rib
Creme Brule
Dark Chocolate
Anything with cheese

4 Albums I Can't Live Without

Spike Jones Christmas Album (I actually have the *album*)
Tori Amos compilation
John Denver's Greatest Hits
Crowded House Best Hits

4 Places I'd Rather Be

Camping in a tipi
Victoria, BC
Topsail Island NC
On your original top 4 list

4 People Who are Obligated to Do This on Their Blog

I want everyone on my link list to do this. I also invite a certain llama lover to do so too.

Canadian Lament Continues...

Hints to help answer all your video questions:

Elvis is still dead.

Queen Victoria was made out of wax.

That isn't George Clooney juggling at the Inner Harbour.

Yes, you can see a reflection of Joseph Smith in the glass at the last supper. I did it on purpose. Old habits die a slow, hard death.

Yes, it WAS a beautiful day!!! It always is in Victoria BC!

click here to see video:

Still pining for Canada....

We took this wonderful vacation there a few years back. We took our 4 kids and my two older kids were allowed to take a friend. It was magic.


click picture for video:

Ugh! I miss Victoria!!!

The Sound of Paradise

The sound of the CoHo horn brings memories of the smell of the sea. The mournful call of seagulls. The street performers and the delight written across the faces of tourists like me. Any minute, some where across town there will be a phone ringing in my travel agent's office... Get me back to British Columbia P-L-E-A-S-E?!

To Everything Turn, Turn, Turn,

there is a season
turn, turn, turn
and a time to every purpose under heaven...




Goodbye TPP

Indeed...

The Spector of 9/11 reaches far and wide forever...

It has seeped into every crevice of my life. It resides in every thing I do and everyone I see. My perception is permanently altered. It jumps out at me when I least expect it. I had no idea what I was in for last night.

It was family day yesterday as are all Sundays around here. We decided that the 6 year old would make dinner and then we would pick the movie. The Sound of Music. We encouraged the littler ones to dance and sing and celebrate the beauty which lies inside every Rogers and Hammerstein song. It's a delightful show and my babies loved it. My teenagers endured it. I was blindsided. Imagine the room when mother bursts out crying during the concert scene when Christoper Plummer sings Edelweise. His portrayal of "love of country" and the desperation in his eyes knowing that everything about his country was going to change. The loss of innocence in the hearts and minds of the good people of Austria. How is such a deep and haunting moment in a movie lost on me for all those years?

My daughter asked me why I cried. "They all made it over the mountains and they were safe mommy!". I hugged her and told her mommy cries at the silliest stuff and we sang one more round of My Favorite Things as we headed off for bed. But in my heart I wondered if my children, indeed the world's children would ever find a way over the mountains where they will be safe.

Edelweiss, Edelweiss,
Every morning you greet me,
Small and White,
Clean and bright
You look happy to meet me..

Blossoms of snow may you bloom and grow,
Bloom and grow forever

Edelweiss Edelweiss
Bless my home land forever

Feeling the desire to make a new entry....

but I really have nothing to say. So with this in mind I would just like to share this picture with you. Yes, its the face of Joseph Smith (founder of the LDS church) on a sphinx body. *shrug*

~~~GILGAL GARDENS~~~

Let It Be Written....

While packing up Christmas decorations this year it became clear that I really needed to buy some new totes and rescue my heirlooms from ancient cardboard boxes. Some of these treasures I can remember from when I was too small to help my mother and watched with excitement while she made our house festive.

I felt my inner Fly Lady come roaring to life as I perused the aisles for all sorts of storage ideas and items. I could envision my storage unit packed up in color coordinated totes all labeled with a computer generated tags. God it would be beautiful!

With an excited proclamation to my family that *I* the "really together housewife with a plan" was leaving for the garage to "pack things properly" I dove into the cardboard jungle. Box after box went sailing into the trash "area" (we have an area at the moment because we have completely filled the cans). Tote after tote took its place in color coordinated, stackable glory. The last box held my late mother's wooden nativity complete with a plastic, cream and gold baby Jesus and a lamb whose leg had been broken back when I was just a child. Yeah, I broke it. Sorry again mom... I carefully wrapped each piece in new tissue and placed the nativity inside the new tote. Closing the tote, still singing my own praises I reached down to toss the cardboard box away. Just as it left my hand I saw my mother's handwriting on the sides. It landed top side up so that I could see clearly the hand written notes she had written year after year. "Nativity and Poinsettas for living room 1987" "Nativity set 1965" I picked up the box and grew quite weepy. How could I throw away a box with my mothers hand writing all over it? I mean I still have her purse with her checkbook, a shopping list and other things in it. I have a spaghetti recipe in her hand writing stained with sauce. I swear that if I close my eyes and sniff the paper I can still smell her spaghetti and garlic bread and sometimes I can even hear the voices of family who would sit around the kitchen table eating that spaghetti every year for birthdays. I miss my mom.

In the future, if one were to visit my storage unit they will be in awe of how beautifully all my Christmas decorations are stored. Red and green totes a plenty. All with uniform labels and stacked neatly in rows. Beautiful, just beautiful. If one looks really close one might see an old tattered box on top of all that organization. Perhaps they will think it was just an oversight or that I just grew tired of being tidy. Never fear though, it's just my personal Ghost of Christmas Past. It's my mom stopping by to say Merry Christmas. A gift of memories and feelings in a rag tag box. It's the most beautiful of all my boxes.