The Land of the Free

The first presidential election I voted in was 1976: Jimmy Carter and Gerald Ford. It was the first of many experiences of voting for the losing candidate. The legal voting age changed from 21 to 18 just as I was turning 18, so I didn't have to wait long to vote. It was a thrill to go to the polls and voice my choice, whether or not my particular candidate or issue won.

Last night was Caucus night here in the state of Utah. Although I have voted in every election - local, state, and federal - since the age of 18, I have not been active politically. I've never attended a caucus before, but I went last night. So did Ray, Audrey, and our son Ray.

In the past, they've met in precinct neighborhoods. This year there was a change. All the precincts in our district met together at a local junior high school. We had a brief opening - said the pledge, heard the Salt Lake County Republican preamble, received a few instructions on what we should accomplish in our individual precincts, then split into precincts.

Once we gathered in our precinct, we held elections. We elected a precinct chair, vice chair, secretary (me--how did I end up there??) and treasurer (also me). I didn't have to do much to be elected. Mainly just be there in the meeting. Ray was elected state delegate. He, on the other hand, had 3 minutes to "campaign", and 5 minutes to field questions.

In these times we've decided we need to take a more active interest, and take action where we can. So last night we took our first steps along that path.

Mystery Solved...

This post is a follow up to The Mystery of the Quilted Bag (click here to read it).

I went to church at Debra's ward today. That is where she spied the bag I made. The girl (woman) with the bag was there. I approached her (with my sister-in-law, who knows her), carrying Debra's bag, which is nearly identical to hers, and explained in what I hope was a very comfortable way, that I had made her bag. In the course of the conversation I told her I was dying to know where she'd gotten the bag, because for the life of me I could not remember who I'd given it to. She got it from her mother, who had been given it by her sister-in-law, Nicole. Aha! I know Nicole! Okay, here it is, perhaps a little less confusing:

1. Me to Nicole (in Kirkland, Washington)

2. Nicole to Nicole's mother-in-law (in Orem, Utah - my mother-in-law's ward, now my daughter's ward)

3. Mother-in-law to mother-in-law's daughter (same ward in Orem). So the girl who has the bag now is the sister to Nicole's husband (whom I also know).

Well, it's all perfectly clear to me now. Nicole's bag was the one on the left (brown handles). Nicole and I served together in YW camp for our Kirkland Stake, and I'm pretty sure I gave her the bag after that.

It's all perfectly clear except for this minor detail: I still can't remember to whom I gave the other two bags. It would have been at the same time, and likely for camp service together. Grrr, this is when I wish I kept a journal! Or even kept up on my quilt journal. Maybe the rest of the mystery will be solved someday. Meanwhile I am happy to know the outcome of this bag's mystery.

I love these "small world" events.

In Which a Stick is Not a Stick

A couple of weeks ago, Audrey and family went to visit Joseph's grandpa up in Idaho. They live on a farm with an orchard, and the boys revel in their time at "Grandpa's farm". Austin and Matthew brought home a couple of souvenirs.

Sometimes things are not what they seem. For instance, this is a sword:

Matthew

And this is a divining rod not used for finding water, but rather unsavory items in the back yard:

Austin

Austin came in the other day and informed me that there was dog poop in my yard. (Don't ask me how it happens, but it does. Our yard is completely fenced and the dogs still get in.) I didn't really respond. He continued his story, telling me that he had smashed his stick from Grandpa's farm (see above photo) into the poop, then he smelled the stick to confirm that it was indeed dog poop. What am I supposed to say to that??

He then tried to bring the stick inside. You can imagine what I said to that.

Announcing...

Sorry for the late notice. Randy's senior recital (piano) is tomorrow night--the 19th, 7:30 pm in the Madsen Recital Hall, Harris Fine Arts Building, BYU. It will be fabulous!

84, Charing Cross Road by Helene Hanff

Finally, a truly delicious read. Delightful from beginning to end. I read it this afternoon - 96 pages of bliss.

If you love books and reading, witty correspondence and getting a peek into another life and times, this book is for you. It is the 20 year correspondence between Helene Hanff and her booksellers in England. Helene is a writer in America who has very decided opinions about her books. She buys them from Marks & Co. at 84, Charing Cross Road.

I needed a read like that. I've sure had some disappointments lately.

Travelin'Oma recommended the book, and she was right on target.

Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout

I looked at this book on Amazon, and there were more than 300 reviews, and Amazon gave it over 3.9 stars. I was dumbfounded. I wouldn't even give it one star.

I picked the book up in the bookstore, and read the first chapter. It looked good. I bought it. It was not good after the first chapter. The writing style was good, but the plot was non-existent. The book was all over the place, and I never could figure out where it was going.

The title character did not figure prominently in the book until the last half of the book, and even then only sort of. There were several people introduced, then after giving a glimpse of their life, they disappeared. I kept waiting for the great tie-in, and it never happened. Once a character disappeared they pretty much never reappeared.

I kept reading, thinking surely there will be a great coming together of characters and the mystery of why the book even exists would be cleared up. No such thing. I do not recommend it, and am sorry I spent any money or time on the book.

Last Day in Paradise

This is the view from our front door in Utah:

Ray just loves those mountains. I like them. I think they are stunning, and a wonderful view that we actually get from three sides of our house. But no matter how you look at it, Utah is a desert. Where we live is less desert-seeming, but desert nevertheless.

I was born and raised about a mile from the ocean. I'm a water girl. It's in my blood. I don't have to be in it, but I do need to be around it once in a while. Lakes and rivers will do the trick for me, but the ocean is the best.

I don't need heat - in fact I don't like hot weather. I do like warmth, and balmy, slightly breezy weather. This time of year in Hawaii is perfect; not too hot, not too rainy. Just what I need to rejuvinate my soul.

We fly home tonight. Tomorrow real life begins again. I'll be hustling the next few days to catch up and get ready for what's ahead.

But I'll head into it fully armed.

From this:


Aloha!

Secret Stash

You know you've lived in Hawaii a long time when....

This is what the ceiling of your garage has stashed: (surfboards in their covers). This isn't even all of them, nor does it include the kite surfing equipment.

Sorry, Mike. I just had to share.