Sleepover Fun

Friday, Shannon's girls had a sleep-over at Grandma's house. Grandpa was in California, so we girls had a grand time on our own. We played dress-up and watched "WALL-E". But the best fun may have been making "eye-balls." Try this Halloween treat with donut holes, frosting and a chocolate chip.

Color Concert

Next to summer, which I love best of the seasons, I can't help but enjoy Autumn. It is such a dramatic shout--rather like gospel singers in a Southern Baptist Church. Now, my artist's heart loves color, even if these particular colors are not my favorites. I can't help but glory in the richness of all this. And living in a place with this kind of beauty is just a gift. These photos are from Mapleton, just around the corner from our neighborhood. I had to share it.

Plein Air Provo

Plein Air painting (that means painting outside, on site without any studio work or use of photographs) can offer unexpected gifts.But this time, my experience had more excitement than ever. I entered the Plein Air Provo competition this last week. For one thing, it was cold. I spent a great chunk of time huddled in the car, in spite of my ankle to wrist thermals and positive attitude. Nevertheless, that crisp autumn air gave me exhilarating breath and stunning colors. The sky was alive and singing different tunes every couple of minutes. My attention was riveted on the cliffs before me, enjoying all this, when my husband arrived to feed and support me. His attention was riveted on the weeds directly to the right of my table and tools, from where he plucked up a $20 bill! Hooray! And to add a "cherry on top," the painting won the "People's Choice" award in the competition! That was the most unexpected of all!

Thinking Poetically on the Season

September is a favorite month for many. Steven, I think likes it best. Anyhow, here is a poem that expresses my feelings about it .

SEPTEMBER (by Linda G. Paulsen)

September comes: a respite

from heat-beaten days

that linger long into night

and paint the valley’s dusty haze

in tired colors. I’m ready now

to crunch through heaps of leaves that blow

and rattle on the sidewalk, to

curl in a comfy chair and read

while the wind whines in blue

and orange lamentations. I need

to see rusty colors on the hill,

and watch bird brigades drill

in the sky. It is time

for eating cobs of sweet corn

and pickled watermelon rind,

for cotton sweaters and socks worn

to pick apples, and to pack

school lunch in a paper sack.

I want the air to cool and crack

its knuckles in my ears, to

forget my umbrella and back

into a doorway, breathing through

the rain. Now I welcome autumn’s

tawny herald. September comes.

Just Ride the Bus...

The Faculty Fall Social was being held Monday at Paula's (Steve's secretary) in Levan. The social always lasts until 8:30 or 9:00, and I can't drive in the dark. Ideally, I find a way to Payson in the afternoon, so that Steve can meet me half way. Usually, Shannon would just drive me there. But she was not available. My mother suggested I just ride the bus. Seems simple enough. "However," she warned me, "the UTA people are consistently incompetent. Ask them to tell you the schedule at least twice to be sure they get it right." Sure. Knowing Mom's anxieties, I didn't credit her concerns much. I called UTA, the gal on the phone gave me times and addresses that seemed sensible. Because I'm obedient, I asked her to double-check. She was sure. OK.
I got to the Springville bus stop near my home at 4:15. Steve called by cell phone: "I'm leaving Nephi for Payson," he said. "Are you on the bus?"
"No. It hasn't come yet." And I waited. The Bus didn't come until 4:30.
"I need to get off at 100 N. 30 W. in Payson," I told the driver. "Do you know that stop?"
"I have no idea," she said.
"Uh...my husband plans to meet me at that stop. That's the address the UTA office gave me on the phone."
She shrugged. I was feeding a dollar bill into the fare box as we spoke. The UTA office girl had told me that was the current fare. The bus requires exact cash. "It's $2," the driver said. I wrangled up 50c more from my pocket and she waved me to my seat.
The fellow sitting across the aisle from me smiled kindly. "I live in Payson. Maybe I can help you."
"I need to get off at the stop that's at 100 N 30 W," I said.
"That doesn't...I don't...What businesses are near there?"
"I don't know. I only have the address."
My cell phone rang. It was Steve, of course. "Are you on the bus? I'm nearly to Payson."
"I'm on the bus but we're still in Spanish Fork. You'll probably beat me to that address. When you get there, call and describe landmarks, so I can tell the driver." She's clueless, I wanted to say, but bit my tongue. Everybody's clueless!
"What? Is she clueless?"
I smiled. "Yes. Call me."
A couple sitting behind me had been chuckling to each other, throughout this exchange. "We've got a bet on what you're carrying in your pan," the woman said, pointing to the foil-topped dish on my lap. "My husband says it's fried chicken, but I think it's cookies."
"You're the closest. It's brownies."
Steve called. "Tell me the address again."
"100 N. 30 W."
"OK. I'll call you when I get there."
"So are you going to a Bunco party?" the woman behind me wanted to know.
Steve called, again. "Ok, I'm here. It's right on Main St. There's a Wells Fargo Bank, a Sinclair gas station and a Walgreen's."
I relayed all this to the driver. "Oh, the Wells Fargo," she said. "I can get you there." Hallelujah!
"How close are you?" Steve wanted to know.
"We're still in Salem."
The fellow who offered to help me got off at the first stop in Payson. "Good luck," he said.
The bus pulled up to the stop across from the bank. I got off. I could see the landmarks Steve had mentioned, but no Steve. Where could he have gone? Then, faintly, I heard a voice calling my name. Kitty corner to where I stood was the Sinclair station. A man was jumping up and down and waving his arms next to his car at the pump. Ah! Steve! I waved back and started to cross the 2 streets in order to get to the station. I had to wait for the lights, but it was a short trip. I got to the station. But Steve wasn't there. I know I'm blind, but that man had surely looked like Steve. And he was calling my name. I stood there in a puzzlement. Then I heard a voice calling my name, again. There was a man across the street standing by his parked car, waving his arms. Well, it looked like the same Steve I'd followed to the gas station, but at this point I don't trust anything, including my own eyes. Still. I crossed the street (3rd one) and walked toward the car.
"Why did you move?" I asked him. "I got to the station and you weren't there!"
"I'd finished getting the gas," he said. Duh.
But the party was nice.
I learned later that Mom had spent 3 hours that same afternoon trying to get a bus to take her to the bank...but that's a different story.
Mom's supposed to ride the bus down Friday to be here for Sarah's baptism. Shannon and I agree that we're going to go pick her up in the car, instead.

Fashion and Family

Family time is such a treat! I love to see the grandkids play with each other. I enjoy the joking and sharing with my adult children who have become my best friends. It's fun to eat together. But I think my favorite thing is watching Steve be Grandpa. Something about that thrills me like nothing else. Here, you see him playing "Dress Up" with the kids. They designed his outfit, as you can see. And everyone was totally pleased with the result.

Walking in the Sand

I had a "metaphor message" while watching the birds at the beach. While plodding along in the dry, safe, warm sand, making very little progress and working hard to get it, I noticed that the birds were busily and industriously focused at the edge of the surf. They were much better able to move in the wet sand. So I moved toward the ocean. Sure enough, I could walk better in the wet stuff, too. But there was some risk. The birds and I had to stay pretty alert or get bowled over by the waves. As long as we paid attention, we could skip out of the way of the dangerous waves and have a great time. The birds even found snacks. I found cool shells and rocks. It was worth it to walk in the wet sand as long as I stayed focused. Now, isn't life like that? If we want to progress, we have to accept the risk of a few waves, even get our feet wet. But the rewards only come when we keep dealing appropriately with challenges. We don't get very far nor get much nourishment out of "staying dry." And we have to stay alert, focus on the purpose or be overwhelmed.