Enjoy the ride, there is no return ticket

I got this emailed to me from my Relief Society President, Julie Postma.  The cute part is that she didn't recognize George Carlin.  I guess we ran in different circles.

Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions.  

'How old are you?'  ' I'm four  and a half!' You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key.

You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.

'How old are you?' 'I'm gonna be 16!' You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life  ! You  become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony.YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!!  

But then you turn  30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're Just a sour-dumpling. . What's wrong? What's changed?

You  BECOME  21, you  TURN  30, then you're  PUSHING 40.. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you  REACH 50 and your dreams are gone.. 

But! wait!! !  You  MAKE it  to 60. You didn't think you would!

So you  BECOME 21,  TURN 30,   PUSH 40,  REACH  50 and make it  to 60.

You've built up so much speed that you  HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!

You  get into !  your 80's and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn't end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; 'I Was JUST     92.'

Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. 'I'm 100 and a half!'
May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!  

HOW TO STAY YOUNG   
1...  Throw out nonessential numbers.  This includes age, weight and height. Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay them.

2.  Keep only cheerful friends.  The grouches pull you down.

3. Keep learning.   ! Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever, even ham radio. Never let the brain idle. 'An idle mind is the devil's workshop.'  And the devil's   family name is    Alzheimer's.  

4.  Enjoy the simple things. 

5. Laugh  often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.

6..  The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person, who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.

7.  Surround yourself with what you love   , whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever.Your home is your refuge . 

8.  Cherish your health:  If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.

9.  Don't take guilt trips.. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country but NOT to where the guilt is.

10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.  
AND ALWAYS REMEMBER: 
Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,   but by the moments that take our breath away .   
And if you don't send this to at least 8 people - who cares? But do share this with someone. We all need to live life to its fullest each day!!   
 



Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, champagne in one hand - strawberries in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming WOO HOO - What a Ride!

Another Good Guy Laid to Rest -- Goodnight, Bishop Miner

Bishops have to be creative to be sure.

When we were twelve, there were a bunch of us -- probably twenty of us who went to Sunday School.  And few of our parents went to church at all but most of them sent us to Sunday School to get us out of the house.  Unless we had the grippe or some such thing.

Quite a number of us were scary, too.  Names could be named.  Names of several have probably been to jail, or possibly prison.  We were a blue-collar neighborhood in Provo, Utah with houses built right after World War II.  

Little tiny houses right at the base of Y-Mountain, almost all alike; two bedrooms, one bathroom, living-room, kitchen a little hall adjoining all and almost everyone's dad worked at Geneva Steel. And like I said, almost no one went to church except for the kids who went to sunday school so the parents would have some peace and quiet on Sunday morning.  All the kids went to church, I might emphasize.

Anyway, no one wanted to teach our class.  We were awful.  Loud, crass, awful.

So the good Bp. Gordon B. Miner called my father, Ben R. Cannon and Ted Bandley to be the Sunday School teachers.  They were neighbors and buddies and of course never went to church.  They accepted the call.  After all, Bp. Miner evidently liked and trusted them to do no real harm, so how could they say no?

Every week, Ted would read the lesson right out of the manual without ever looking up.  Dad would run the room, hurting people if they dared step out of line.  I remember one week, Jon Hall was high up in the window sill, and dad lifted him down, just by two fingers by Jon's forearm, slowly and carefully, Jon hanging and flopping like a trout.  Jon, too tough to cry or yell, just took it.

Dad would squeeze the thigh, or shoulder of anyone who looked like they might try to act out of line.  That class never behaved better before or after that year.  It was an inspired call.

I don't know why everyone continued to come.  I imagine it was because no one dared tell their parents about what was happening at church.  I think once they got the gist of what was happening, the torture really didn't need to happen very often.  The parents didn't want their kids home and they also didn't want their kids behaving badly at church anyway.  They knew Dad and Ted and knew they'd treat them the same way at home anyway so what was the problem?  Those were different times anyway.  Those were the fifties.

Bp. Miner died last week at 92.  I bet God welcomed him home with open arms.   Who doesn't want a good man like that around?

I think my Dad and Ted welcomed him home, too.  How could they not like the guy, too.  He was just a really good guy like that.  He liked everyone.   He was just a really nice guy who wasn't judgmental like sometimes religious people can be.  He even liked that class of twelve-year-olds.  Enough to have them taken care of by a couple of guys who could do it.

Launching a Lunching Marathon

Suppose you  were approaching your fiftieth  high school graduation reunion.  What would you do?  Panic?  Cry?  Put balm on your aching muscles?  Maybe not.

You might do what I'm doing.  You would go on a mammoth and historic lunching binge that knows no end.  Partly it has to do with planning the event.  But partly it has to do with realizing the people you went to high school with so many years ago were really quite likable people.

Bob Valentine is really to blame.  He's in charge of the whole event and he's done an amazing job of getting us back together, finding out email addresses, phone numbers, getting people on Facebook, locating lost souls and, of course, find out who has passed on. There are those, of course, who don't want to be found and would just as soon, forget about us all, but there aren't too many of them.  And we are sorry they feel that way.  We hope they change their minds before July 2 which is the big day.

The truth is, by now the cliques are kinda over with, we've kinda forgotten the old feuds and who was wild and who was pregnant a little too early, who was a little too judgmental, who were the brown-nosers, who were the goody-goodys, and who, well, you know.  And if we remember, we don't much care.  And if we care, I guess that's our problem because that's jerky behavior now just as it was then.

And we just want to get together and catch up.  That's all.

We're finding out that friends at first are friends at last and that is what reunions are all about.  It's not the event itself.  It's these fun little lunches that happen along the way.

BTW:  Thats back row:  Linda Holm, Jayne Wright Neeley, Kathy Davis Allman, Carma Banks Smith Bush, Linda Cannon Aukschun.  Front, Susan Black, Kathy Ostler Fryer, Naoma Gammon Bird, all at Thanksgiving Point on Tuesday, February 23, 2010.

Billy Joel and Elton John Come to Salt Lake and Me In Concert!

Now folks, understand this.  I am so glad I downloaded my Bick lighter app on my IPhone in advance because I used it liked crazy during the concert at the Energy Solutions Center.  I also screamed like crazy.  These two guys are not old and neither was I for three plus hours.  It was fabulous.  My ears are still ringing.  

They are a natural together.  Just as the two girls in the picture below said, "They're like Ranch and carrots."  The whole night was perfect.

They started out singing a few of each other's songs in duet perfectly, then Elton took over for an hour, then Billy was on for his hour, then Elton returned and  the two of them went at it together for three, or so more songs.  I was screaming like an crazy schoolgirl.  I don't know where it came from.  Carl even commented, and he usually tries to stay out of my business.  

The girls sitting by me kind of dumbfounded me because they loved John and Joel.  The wondered in the beginning if they would like them as much as they liked Fleetwood Mac!  I asked them how old they were and they thought that was pretty funny, but they were really cute the whole night.  I couldn't have sat by better people. They screamed, they danced, they drank beer so they got funnier and funnier.  It really was a cute little perk.  They took our picture below.  But I digress.

"Rocket Man", "Tiny Dancer", "Daniel", "Philadelphia Freedom", "Crocodile Rock", "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road", all made me crazy as I loved Elton.  

"We Didn't Start the Fire", "It's Still Rock and Roll to Me", "She's Always a Woman", and "Only the Good Die Young", were Billy's with power, beauty and style.  

Together they finished with "Uptown Girl" (I guess that Joel can't do that one alone anymore, what with Kristie Brinkley and all), "Bennie and the Jets", and "Candle in the Wind".  I knew that was about it and I wanted to rush the stage and beg them not to stop.  I know now how addicts feel for sure.

Look at this face.  Am I not an idiot?  That is pure joy, I tell you.  I know what Elton said a day or so before about Jesus, but I bet Jesus himself loves Elton just because he knows Elton is a little cracked and  . . . just because he can pound the socks off a piano and can make life just glorious for three hours.   It was wonderful.

I Got Phished

Well, if that wasn't embarrassing enough, I was IMing with my son when he suddenly received  a message from me inviting him to check out a website  where he could procure a "male enhancement" product that would be certainly something to his liking.

Holy Cow!!

Glad he mentioned it.

But it was even bigger than that.  Turns out it was some sort of Phishing expedition on my Twitter account that went out to everyone who follows me there.  That's dandy.  At least it didn't go out to my "Facebook Friends", but my apology to my Twitter followers did which do include some family and friends who do deserve a little explanation.  Arghhhh.

It didn't take much to to resolve the thing.  A change of my password did the trick.  I had more trouble taking care of the password on my IPhone because it's not quite so obvious as just changing the dang thing, but it's not really hard.

I do understand the dorks who do it.  They're just having a good time.  It's kinda funny to them and a little entertaining to others WHEN IT DOESN'T HAPPEN TO THEM!  But when it does, it's a huge pain, a lot of embarrassment and really lots of trouble getting things straightened out.

I think I'll go lie down.

It's Amazing Our Parents and Grandparents Ever Got Married With These Tips

Sorry I didn't get these up in time for Valentine's Day

http://all-thats-interesting.tumblr.com/post/390563220/dating-tips-for-single-females

For Julia and Her Diet

With much love, of course

The Dynamic Duo

Carl and I are highly sympatico if you know what I mean.  We get along famously.

The only real difference between us, and this one is huge, is that Carl can amuse himself and I must be amused.

Carl could stay home all day, every day, enjoying puttering around the house, playing on the computer, gardening, camera stuff, watch sports and other things on TV.

Whereas I need, and it is a need, to do something every day.  Stuff away from home.  Lunch somewhere is high on the list.  It can be a cheap lunch, I'm not fussy, I'll go to the dentist, get my blood checked, go the the library, pick up a few things at the grocery store, get a flue shot, who cares?

Lately, we've compromised.  We walk at the mall.  I know it puts us right in the middle of the really old people, but it works.  We ARE old anyway.  We don't feel old, but we are, and we know it.  You tell us about it.

We've become mall walkers.  So sue us.  What it'll do, is extend our lives and make us even a bigger drudge on the market.  We'll use up goods and services, insurance, government services, air, traffic lanes and everything else.  So sue us.

Actually, it won't.  God knows the number of our days.  We'll live just as long as ever.  We'll just be healthier so it'll be win/win for everyone.  We'll be good, contributing members of society longer.

And besides that, when we're at the mall, we sometimes pick up a few things, so don't consider us a pain.  Look at us as a little stimulus package.

I Fought The Law . . .

Almost got in a fistfight last month with a Transportation Security Agent at the Phoenix Airport the other day.  

Most of the time things go pleasantly.  I’m an angel.  But i have a streak that rises up occasionally that makes me go blind to my Christian nature.  I have a testy streak.  I might even cast an oath to get your attention.

Carl and I had our two little granddaughters, five and seven, going through the checkpoints at Sky Harbor.  We’d take off our shoes, our coats, put our backpacks, belts, all kinds of paraphernalia into boxes, gone through the gizmo to check for bombs, sweated a quart or two and were trying to regroup.  We all felt frazzled.

We were doing fine, however.  We’d used about seven of the plastic boxes used for the rolling conveyers.  We were not light travelers. We had much gear to make our flight easier, more entertained.

Most of our boxes have been returned to their proper rack.  ONE, however, remained on the loose.  

Miss TSA Bristlypants goose-stepped over to where Ali was trying her best to get everything accommodated and redressed and commanded “Clear this area now” or some such such obnoxious statement in a loud, authoritative voice.  


The girls are little, they were doing their best, the whole situation was weird and I almost went for her throat.  I did forebear.  I don’t remember what I said, but I don’t think I swore.  She then threatened me.  I then said something probably not highly recommended.  I think she then planned to get a higher authority.  We hurried off.


It was nothing close to the TSA agent who insisted the four-year-old remove his leg braces the other day, but it was still a really bad public-relations move, I'd say.   I don’t like authority figures anyway.  I’m a sixties liberal after all. 

Later as Carl and I discussed the incident, I noted that he was probably surprised that I’d not been placed in jail at all in my life, just to lighten the mood.  Hahaha.

His surly response was “Don’t count on getting bailed out if it ever happens, either.”  Well.

I think it was just a threat.  I think he’d come get me.  It still wasn’t very nice to say.  

A Conundrum of the Sexes

I was always glad to be me, but I could usually see that it would also be more fun to be a boy.  

That’s why I was interested in a comment that I heard the other day on Oprah  when she was talking to a transgendered woman named Kimberly Reed who had been a high school hero, quarterback, senior class president  and all-around good-guy named Paul McKerrow from Helena, Montana.  

He said he knew something was wrong from the time he was in the first or second grade.  He dated through high school but waited until he went to college in the Bay area before he started experimenting with cross-dressing, dating issues and whatever.  That’s not the point, however.

What he said was that he felt he had the “best of both worlds.”

He grew up as a boy with the opportunity to be free to behave like boys behave and yet to become the woman he felt he truly was.  

That’s MY point.  Boys grow up much freer than girls do.  Boys were especially freer when I was growing up.  We wore skirts and dresses everywhere.  Girls didn’t play hard.  They didn’t play full-court basketball.  You were either a guard or a forward.  Girls didn’t laugh hard.  They weren’t bold.  They weren’t encouraged to do much.  There were no girls sports teams.  Girls who wanted to play sports were called Tom Boys.  I wasn’t a Tom Boy, but I wanted to have more fun.  I was one of those kids who always had a dirty face and I always felt bad about it.  Or I wished people would just shut their mouths about it.

Girls had clubs.  They giggled with their friends.  Girls did sewing and crocheting projects.  They did help their mothers, which wasn’t horrible, But they didn’t help their dads which wasn’t very nice either.  

I had four brothers.  We always camped because that’s what men do.  That’s what my dad did.  Women stayed back at camp and made things nice so that men ate as though they hadn’t left home.  The fire was nice.  Food was great.  Camp was clean.  It was great.  What a load of crock.

But when I was a leader in Church Young Women’s, the girls always complained that they didn’t get to do the great stuff that the guys got to do, but when we provided them with it, they really didn’t want to do it.  Even Girls Camp was girly.

But one thing that I really can’t figure out about all this is that more men are transgendering into women than women tansgendering into men. 

And I’m still glad I’m me.  It’s really strange.

Double Feature at the Aukschun House

Saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Night at the Museum, Battle of the Smithsonian on DVD this past week and either I'm becoming my old pal, Dave Thomas who finds something to like in every movie he sees, . . . or they're both good.

The first, Eternal Sunshine, considered by some to be one of the top ten movies of the past decade, had a little rugged language and some rough but quite likable characters in Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet as lovers who choose a service to obliterate each other from their memories.  The story is good and it's well put together.  It's definitely not a movie I'd recommend to everyone, but to those who like the esoteric and weird, give it a try.  I really liked it.

Night at the Museum we had to watch twice because Ali and Soph liked it lots.  It had good stuff in it.  Funny lines, battles between warriors of all ages and a really cool bouncing balloon dog.  Amy Adams is a truly compelling Amelia Earhart and Ben Stiller, saves the day as the night watchman.  Maybe not twice, but once is good.

Brian Cox' Master Class With Theo

This is a very cute clip of an actor teaching Shakespeare to a toddler.  Just a bit of culture as well.
http://www.boingboing.net/2010/02/09/teaching-shakespeare.html

The Ladies of the Temperance League

If you came upon this poster in 1919, would you seriously quit drinking?

This honestly came compliments of my RS President, the honorable Julie Postma.

Well, Buckeroos, Let Me Tell You About the Snowstorm in Chicago, January 26, 1967

You think this snow in Washington D.C. is a big deal?  Well let me tell you.  Carl and I saw the  "Storm of the Century" when we wuz in Chicaga back in the nineteen hundreds.


Carl and I wuz moving to Chicago because some Slick Willy had convinced Carl to advance his schoolin' at DeVry Tech in Chicaga out East in the Windy City and so we'uns high-tailed it outta Spokane Falls eastward in our little Ford in January or so after checkin out with Uncle Sam and passin' through Utah on our way.  

I was scared as sin since I barely knew the man (him bein' Carl) anyways and there we was headin' out on I-80.  Can't remember much about it all since it was ages ago, but I do remember that a big storm was headin' our way.  Turned out it was the storm of the century.  That's what they said.  No lie.  People talked about it fur ages.  

As luck would have it, we found a nice little apartment at 2530 Foster Avenue, upper floor, put down a little rent, where we eventualy lived for a coupla years and where we lived when Ben was born, but we had to skedaddle outta town as the snow was comin' down faster than snot.

We high-tailed it down ta Wabash, Indiana where Carl had seen his upbringin' and I met my new in-laws who were the scariest folk I'd ever seen.  Holy cow.  Within five minutes I was alookin' through the Sears Roebuck catalog with Carl's mother, Helen.  

I ain't makin' a word of this up.

Ten days later, we ventured back to Chicaga, buyin' three rooms o' furniture for $350.  We were the first delivery the store folk made too.  They took pity on us since we didn't have a stick o' furniture to our names.  Not a word o' this is a lie neither.




http://www.islandnet.com/~see/weather/events/chisnow1967.htm

Healthy Good News

Thump me on the chest and call me Tarzan.  

I went in for my report on my Stress test yesterday and found out I’m much improved over a couple of years ago.  

My ejection fraction is now within the normal range.  Before it was really sub-par which means that too little blood was getting squirted through my heart with each beat.  

I do have a dead spot which means I did have a silent heart attack a couple of years ago, but I guess my little heart can compensate for that. 


I still have atrial fibrillation, which means that I have to take Coumidin (rat poison) all my life because my heart beats only when it wants, so blood could clot during intermissions and cause strokes.  But I am still one happy little clam.  So happy, in fact, I forgot to ask about the leaky little valves.  Oh, well.  

The reason my heart is better is Coreg, a nifty new heart drug that actually improves the heart as well as just improving heart function.  Dr. Gary Symkoviak, my beloved heart guy, says that he’s not had any heart transplants among his patients with Coreg which is just fine with me.  I didn’t even know that was a possibility.  Silly me.  It not only forestalls another heart attack, but helps with my heart failure.

The only advice?  Exercise.  He rudely observed that I'm not in good shape.  I knew there had to be bad news.  After all.  He is a doctor.  Oh well.  I guess Carl will have to dust off the tread mill.  

Family Madness at the Stupid Bowl

Super Bowl Sunday has always been a great experience for the Cannon/Aukschun Family.  Bonding, love all around.  Stuff like that.

We all make a point of keeping the Sabbath holy, of course.  Church all around comes first.

Then comes the celebration thanks to dirty cars and lazy dirty car owners.

Money for Pizza and other food and PRIZES comes from money sucked up in the vacuums at the Cannon Bros. Car Washes that people leave in their cars because they are too lazy to fish around looking for dropped change.  Score!!!!

Some of us then watch the game, some watch half time and some view some of the commercials and the rest of us (women) sit around laughing and talking.  Everyone eats.

But after halftime it got ugly.  People came lungeing up the stairs, struggling in twos and threes to the computer to see the score lineups.  It got terrible.

It had been disagreeable to begin with because we had all been bullied into choosing the Colts because of Collie having been a BYU player and because Peyton Manning was the favorite in Rex Cannon's host home.  But then when the Saints took over, Hell froze.

My son, Brad, was the only one brave enough to choose New Orleans, and that is because he's a trucker and thinks he can beat others up so his family went home with all the loot.  He didn't deserve it.  I did.  I'm the real Saint.  I was just being polite in choosing the Colts.  He was just going against the tide in order to win.

I see it now.  I was robbed.  I'M THE REAL SAINT I TELLS YA!

Incidentally, the people pictured above will remain nameless due to the pathetic nature of the scene.

Blind Sided by Blind Side

Saw Blind Side with Sandra Bullock on Friday.  

I know I’m late but remember, I was the babysitting grandma.  

I really wanted to hate it.  I thought it would be sappy.  I thought it would play right up the alley of all us guilt-ridden folk and try to twang our heart strings at every turn.  I’m tough, you know.  I see it coming.  

After all.   The rich, white, southern Taco Bell family pick the huge, black poor kid off the streets of Memphis, bring him into their spacious, fancy-Dan home, raise him as their own and turn him into an NFL player.  Come on.

But dang it was good.  I liked the kid right off.  Sandra Bullock can’t lose and the little dork of a kid was just a kick in the head.  

I liked it.  Gol, durn it, I did.

At the end they showed actual pictures of the real family, and they actually looked like the movie family and the real football player -- I actually bought him too.

I saw the real woman (that Sandra Bullock played) on the news the other night and she said “They took a few liberties”, but I’d guess they didn’t take many.  It was, . . . it was, . .(I know I’m going to get this out)  . .quite inspiring.  

No real cheese on the side either.

The picture above is of the real family.  Thought you'd like to see them.

When Elephants Retire

Thanks, Wendy.  This is great.

http://s436.photobucket.com/albums/qq89/jaynewr/?action=view&current=When_elephants_retire.flv

Sand Faces

Don't these sand faces make you long for summer RIGHT NOW?!?!

Greatest Salesperson in the World

Is there an award for the best sales person in the world?  I found the winner today.

But i’m ahead of myself.

I forgot to tell Carl I’d decided to store my glasses on the floor of the garage, so he didn’t realize they were there when he drove out.  And nasty.  He pulverized the frames.

Amazingly, though, the lenses escaped with only a scrape and a divot or two.

I went to Eyeglass City today (or some such spot) and asked if they had frames that would fit my lenses.  

This amazing woman picked up the one lens that had popped out and strode to the banks of frames while this officious man was informing me at length that no one could guarantee that any frame could fit the lenses precisely, particularly if, blah, blah, blah, blah.  

I followed the woman leaving the man as quickly as I could turn and leave.  

As I got to the woman, she held two frames.  “These two would work,” she said with assurance.  “These,” she said, are more like the ones that your husband smashed.”  

“I didn’t like those anyway,” I said.  “I’ll take those.”  I bought them without trying them on.

As we went back to the counter, she popped the one lens right into the frame and when we arrived, we removed the other from the old, ratty frame and popped it right in.  She cleaned it spiffily, then we went over to the checkout place.

“Thank you,” I said, “for not trying to sell me new glasses.”  

“I knew what you wanted,” she said.

“And thank you for not lecturing me on what might go wrong with what I wanted, too,” I said.  

“Don’t mind him, “ she said.  “He’s from another store,  He’ll be going back soon, though we’ve been told we’ll have him for another week now.”

“Maybe it was his wife who put in the recommendation?” I suggested.

“Do you really think he’s married? she said?  

That’s the only time she tipped her hand but that solidified it.  I really love her.  She’s the best salesperson in the world.  And I think the sale took only about ten minutes.

Justice for Henrietta

You have those stories that hit you and stay with you for years giving you pause more than once and making you think, cringingly again and again?  One to me was the story of Henrietta Lacks.  It came up again the other day with some consolation.  Here's the link:

http://www.smithsonianmag.com/science-nature/Henrietta-Lacks-Immortal-Cells.html

It's been years and years ago that I first heard of this woman and her ubiquitous cancer cells and she creeped me out then and gave me periodic willies ever since.  I thought how cruel of history to remember her so horribly -- to have her cells torment labs throughout the world like they have.

The story then was that when labs thought that they were culturing one thing, HeLa, was actually on the job.  it was horrifying.  Henrietta Lacks' cells somehow migrated from lab to lab throughout the world, appearing in cultures everywhere: HeLa cells.  The poor woman had become something worse than Frankenstein's monster having done nothing more than dying tragically and much too young.

I'm grateful to have learned that her life meant more than that.  Her cells actually helped as the Smithsonian Magazine reports.  That she's not bedeviling science but helping post-mortem.  I'm also glad that Henrietta Lacks, whose pretty face I finally see, can rest in peace in my heart.

Avatar, Redux

I am not a geek of any rank.  Just a minion, I guess.

However I sat beside one of their lieutenants yesterday at my second viewing of Avatar.  The woman and her husband had travelled two-hundred and fifty miles from a place called Baker, Nevada to view the production in 3D, IMAX.  I thought Carl and I were weird to have travelled across the Salt Lake Valley on a Monday afternoon to see it for the second time on the larger screen.

I was also glad that we bought our tickets on Friday night because surprisingly, we got good seats though it was full up by Monday afternoon at 3:05 P.M.

Did I tell you last time I raved on that it's BEAUTIFUL?  The people are beautiful.  The scenery.  The music (I think).  The animals.  There wasn't much to the story that was made clearer because the storyline isn't all that complex, but it's crazy beautiful.

Even I feel beautiful, lithe, speedy and beautiful during it.  Swinging through trees, flying, just like in dreams.  It's wonderful.  What therapy.

I really didn't like the battle scenes all that much.  I am a sixties pacifist, after all.  If I were to recommend times to go to the restroom, it would be during those,  I would also recommend that you not drink much before, not have drinks during and definitely anticipate that the movie is three hours long, so go to the biffy before taking your seat.  In our theatre, there is little access to the aisle if you have nifty seats like ours, so plan to stay for the long haul if possible unless you're on the front row of the balcony.  Hey!  There's a thought.

It was great.  Did I mention that?   Don't let me build it up too much, though, because we don't want too many disappointments.

Church Education, What Have Ye Done To Me?

I went to a BYU Alumni event last week to hear the venerable Dr. Susan Easton Black (pictured right,) address “Martin Harris, More than a Lost Manuscript.”   She has submitted the topic to Oxford.  It’s all very exciting.  

"Hot dog",  I'd thought. "This'll be a plate of scriptural meat for sure."  (I always think  in witty puns, you know.)

Karren Ashley and I headed to the beautiful Hinckley Alumni Building to first labor through a plate of mystery meat to arrive at the real entree, Dr. Black.

She quickly went through a timeline of Martin Harris' life accompanied by a Power Point presentation, and then and then . . . Wait!!

 She's bearing her testimony!  She's winding down!  She's done!  Noooo.  They're now giving her the lovely parting gift!  That was just the appetizer, wasn't it?  I have the attention span of a gnat and yet it's over?

These people have never been to a Church Education presentation.  That was nothing!  (I’m using way too many exclamation points.)  I wander off to my car, drift home and wonder what happened.

I guess it's all in perspective. I think I'll just have a Diet Coke and watch an episode of NCIS.