Bricks

I changed the name of this blog. When I was at Ricks, starting a degree in journalism, one of my professors had us read an article about writing ... I don't remember the details. The gist was that if you can't think of a topic to write on, you are thinking too broadly. Don't write about the world, narrow it down to your city, to one street, or one building in your city. Or one brick in the building on the street in your city. Then you can write forever.

So now, whenever I can't think about what to write, I think about bricks.

Here's a tag from Bryn.

1. go to my documents/pictures.

2. go to my 6th file folder.

3. go to my 6th picture.

4. blog about it.

There was a 5th step, but I never forward things. Hardly ever.

This is Gabe. He was almost a year old. Our sweet neighbor Emma Dutson (Grandma Emma) had given him this toy, leftover from a toy stash for visiting kids she had maintained. He wiggled out of my grasp one morning when I was dressing him and pushed it around. I was charmed by his complete lack of self-consciousness being in the nude, playing with a toy. And that cute little baby bum.

He was just learning to walk. His body was soft and round and shaped like a jellybean. Now he rollerblades.

Something has happened to me two years in a row ... in the springtime, I get achy for color. Last year, I visited a green house that had row upon row of hanging baskets in bloom (long before the grass had turned green in Logan proper). As I stood among these flowers, it felt like I was eating up the color ... like a vitamin deficiency being corrected. I had a hard time leaving, but when I finally did, I felt re-energized.

This year, I walked by a talented friend's painting studio. It was packed with his work, intense tones, yellow with depth, bright turquoise blue. The same thing happened ... I felt like I was eating up the color. I wonder if color effects other people like this? My theory is that humans didn't evolve to survive a long Logan winter. Spring should be here by now, evolutionarily speaking. And my body is like, "What the heck?" This yellow painting is his, by the way. He is really a great artist. Check out his website.

I was reading in Diane Ackerman's "A Natural History of the Senses" about Synaesthetes (people who experience sensory crossover - like seeing music, or hearing color.) True Synaesthetes are rare, but I think we all have aspects of sensory crossover to some degree. Music effects a lot of people that way. Often, when I have my eyes closed, like when I'm falling asleep, sound comes across my eyelids as fireworks. According to Ackerman, this is a primeavial mistake in the brain, in which sensory centers have not fully separated. I wonder if great artists/writers can use that kind of crossover information.

We have a dilemma at our house that involves pink Ikea tableware. Nobody wants them. I'd pull a pile of dishes from the cupboard, and a big fight would follow about which unfortunate sap would get stuck with the pretty-pretty-princess dishes (that is the worst insult possible in our house). Finally, I convinced the boys that the pink dish is a wish dish. If you get a pink dish, you get to make whatever wish you want. So now everybody wants them.

Yesterday, Leo got a pink fork. "Star light star bright I wish I make a wish today," he said. He thought for a moment. "I wish Lael was my mommy."

"I already am your mommy!"

"My wish came true!" he exclaimed with relief.

It makes me feel good that I am my three-year-old's wish. Or maybe he is shooting too low.

We all have colds, but they aren't the knock-you out kind. They are the sniffle all day, and feel congested at night kind. I'm looking forward to spring, and airing out the stuffy-germy air in our house. I'm going to open all the windows and doors, wash all the sheets, and Lysol everything that doesn't run.

I Heart Jeff

Here are a few reasons why:

-He eats frosting straight out of the tube
-He researches things before he buys them.
-He is tolerant of people
-He understands taxes
-He likes to eat out
-He is civic minded and acts for the good of the group
-He gives people second, and third and fourth chances
-He bears responsibility, even when it isn't fun
-He'll watch "Bizarre Foods" with me
-He sees the big picture, and is willing to explain it to me
-He wrestles with the boys on the floor after work
-He likes Disneyland
-He plants a garden, builds a fire, paints a wall, scrubs a toilet
-He likes dogs, and dogs like him
-He cares for the environment
-You can always call him in a pinch.

He is such a great man. Take that, Chinese Calendar. An ox and a sheep can find harmony!

Passing Week.

This was the week of passing things on. I passed on our Saturn to a new home, and passed my old job to a new torch bearer. All within three hours.

We casually posted an ad on KSL.com for our car during Jeff's lunch hour on Monday. Jeff returns to work. Five minutes later, I get a call from the first interested party. They want to drive up from Price, but can't come until Tuesday.

Then the doorbell rang. It is the new prodigy my ex-boss has finally hired to replace me (I quit around Thanksgiving). There are a lot of really talented people out looking for jobs lately. This very smart individual has a MBA, and is willing to take a part-time job that pays a mediocre wage. I show her the ropes. The second inquiry for the car rings in. They are from Pocatello, and are driving down right now. Back to the job training. I throw complicated information at her for two straight hours, and she eats it up with efficient grace. I kind of wish she wasn't so competent ... just to make my boss miss me more. He won't miss me.

Efficient girl leaves. Third phone call on the car. I answered questions while desperately looking for the title in case the Pocatello people actually want to buy. I don't know how to sell a car. I call my husband's cell phone three times. Not answering. I find the car title, call my Dad to find out how to sell a car. Not there. Doorbell rings. It is my neighbor. She gives me some pointers on how to sell a car. I clean out the cheerios and child safety seats. The Pocatello people come, test drive, want to buy it. Write a check, off they go.

I call back callers number one and three to tell them not to come. Three says, "Unless they paid in cash, it isn't really a done deal." I tell him sorry, he can't come.

Maybe we underpriced the car?

Non-cool things I love.

Here are three things if I were more cool, I wouldn't love, but since I'm not cool, I really do:

Minivans: Boy are they great. My sweet sister sold us one they had outgrown, and I'm loving it. I love the space. I love the sliding doors on both sides. I love that I can access my kids from the driver's seat (when we are stopped). Image? Pshaw. Doesn't hold a candle to convenience.

Jello: Gabe has a weird virus that gives him bumps on his tongue and cheeks, and I've had a sore throat for a month (allergies?). So we've been eating a lot of jello. Smooth and cold, sweet and slippery. I love it. Yes, I know what gelatin is made of. I'm a meat-eating environmentalist, so I'm glad to use the whole animal. Jello is as environmental as recycling.

Radio Dramas: I know I don't need to defend this with most of my family, but I list this for the benefit of those who aren't familiar with the genre. It is fun to listen, rather than to watch. It is not so overwhelming to the senses, and the familiar format is comforting. I was listening to an old radio drama as I fell asleep last night, "Jack Benny." He is so funny, a master of comedic timing. Ironically, the program's sponsor was, yes, Jello.

J-E-L-L-O!
Color: Bright, sunshiny and gay! Flavor,: Extra rich, cool and refreshing. As tempting as the real ripe fruit. Ease and speed: Jello dissolves instantly and sets quickly. Economy: Jello only costs a few cents a package, and a package serves the average family generously. And variety: for Jello offers you dozens and dozens of delicious new dishes. Serve it plain, in a colorful mold of beauty, garnish it with whipped cream, or any seasonal fruits, Use it for salad, for Jello makes swell salads that even the men-folks go for.

Yes sir, one box of Jello is filled with real kitchen magic, the kind that every busy woman appreciates. So ask your grocer tomorrow for Jello! Jello spells a treat!

I almost leaped out of bed to get some. Don't tell me you aren't hungry.