one down, three to go

Finished up my first semester at UVU. Feeling pretty good about it all. Do not understand the point of tests that nobody can possibly score more than 70% on, including the professor. If I got the highest score on the first four tests in that class, is it worth the effort to go back on Monday (at 7:00 a.m., read: rise before the birds, drive 45 minutes, retake the test, then drive 45 minutes plus another 90 minutes to work)? Nah. 70% is okay.

Spent the remainder of the day with Jack at the rental house. With an electrician we hired to complete the wiring before Jack or Jr or both lose a thumb or worse. I wish I'd taken my camera so I could produce photographic evidence of the progress we're making, but of course, in my rush to hurry off to take my last two finals, I forgot the camera. Let's just say that we have safe wiring throughout the house and only another day's worth of paid electrician's time and the lights and switches and outlets will all be working perfectly. Also, the steps are firmly in place, almost all of the holes in the walls are patched, and we are preparing to texture, prime, and paint. Still need to retile the basement shower and need to repair and paint the walls in the downstairs bedrooms--oh and paint the storage/laundry room. But it's looking better every time we go there.

The other reason I wish I'd taken my camera is to document the beautiful bulbs that are growing alongside the driveway, but since I didn't, I took these of more bulbs in my gardens that I totally do not remember planting last fall. I vaguely remember planting orange tulips, or at least, I think I planted orange? Haven't seen them yet.

if money were no object

What would you do if you didn't have to earn money at a job? If you could do whatever you wanted to do with your days, what would it be?

Besides the obvious of spending time with family or eating or resting, what would you do?

Lately, for the past few years really, I've thought that if I didn't have to work and I had a pile of money available to me, I'd spend every bit of it to try to teach girls that their bodies belong to themselves, to help them understand that they can decide how and what to do to and with their own bodies.

I would teach girls and boys to respect themselves and to expect others to do the same.

I don't know how I'd accomplish this task. But I'd sure like to try.

it's spring

You know it's spring, right, because it's raining more and snowing less, and the crocuses are up and gone replaced by the daffodils, and there's that one other thing that happens every spring.

Baby cows. Yep, the calves are back. I've been watching them during my recent drives up north and I'm developing a theory.

I know, you can hardly wait to hear this one.

But see, it's like this. I watch those baby cows running and kicking up their little cow heels and sprinting about the hills and through the sagebrush. And I see their mamas plodding along with the babies running circles, literally, around them.

I'm starting to think that those mama cows aren't really mama cows at all. They're gramma cows. Or at least it makes sense to me. They're content to walk slowly along while those little babies run circles around them. It feels very familiar to me.

but then there's skype

some melancholy

Today while driving to Orem for my last of the 7:00 am class, I had a brilliant bit of insight--hey, you can go see Jessie and the girls after class-----

And then, just as quickly, the realization that while I definitely can go see their house, which I did with Jack and Jr, I just as definitely cannot just go see them. Boohoo for me.

However. I soldiered on to class and then met up with Jack and Jr at the house.

Progress Report:

Jack and Jr pulled more wire and stuff.

Jack dragged around stair stringers and only cussed a little under his breath at some broken or missing part and stuff.

I scraped off more old falling plaster in the stairwell and replaced it with loads of new spackle and stuff. And I made a plan, which upon hearing from me, Jack gave his highest approval: Go take care of it.

The plan is that I'm done with the spackling. Next step is to wash down the walls with TSP (tri-sodium phosphate--the ultimate wall cleaning and preparing for paint chemical), rinse well (and during the washing and rinsing, smooth out the bumps--major bumps that is), and then prime and paint the stairwell.

I considered trying to apply the same heavy texture that the former remodelers added to the walls throughout the rest of the house. And I thought about just sheetrocking over the whole thing. And I even paused long enough to weigh the pros and cons of trying to get mostly smooth walls before priming and painting.

But really. The house is almost 100 years old. The walls are not smooth. And they're walls in a stairwell. A back door stairwell.

I'm thinking the remaining bumps and dimples and such should be viewed as character. Bits of character in the stairwell. So there it is. I may be done painting by the start of next week and wouldn't that be some progress.

please explain this to me

Jack and Jr and I went to IHOP tonight for dinner. I looked at the couple who were sitting on the other side of the glass and they were playing Scrabble. Seriously playing Scrabble. They had clipboards and were keeping track of letter usage.

I just want to know what word could have been formed with these letters: d-i-s-_-r-e-a-d. And also, is there really a word that is spelled: r-e?

Can we get a word check over here?

finally i get it

Sometimes it's difficult to deal with something if you don't have clear understanding of it.

For example. Several years ago, Jessie gave me a delightful gift--a makeup bag full of bottles of nail polish. While it's been years, maybe even decades, since I polished my fingernails, I adore polished toenails. So I was excited to try all of the colors. She didn't go with only the usual reds and pinks and clears--oh no, not my girl. She bought me those and more--silver with glitter, navy blue with glitter, purples, oranges, pinks, reds--perhaps more than a dozen shades and tints and joyously fun little bottles of happiness. One color though, was a bit of a puzzlement to me. It was a shade of green, not just any shade, but a neonish green, and honestly, the thought of wearing it was almost nauseating to me, even on my toes. But eventually, I gave it a try. I'd grown weary of the reds, pinks, oranges, purples, and even the glittery options. Admittedly, it was difficult. But I painted each of my ten toenails with not one, not two, but three coats of that gagging green. And then I looked at each of those toes, and in a stroke of genius, I realized that color wasn't gaggy, it wasn't nauseating, it was the color of Mountain Dew! And who, who, who doesn't love the color of Mountain Dew?

~~~

Last night, Jack went out back to play fetch with JoJo. Since we got Gus, the game of fetch has changed drastically. Once in a while, Gus actually goes after the ball. But almost always, nearly 99% of the time, we throw the ball, JoJo bounds after it, and Gus sprints after her, all leaping and gnashing of teeth, trying to attach himself to her neck, and often succeeding at being dragged about the yard while she snatches up and returns the tennis ball, ready to begin the process again.

Last night, Jack headed out back with JoJo and I cajoled and pleaded and eventually succeeded in getting Gus to come back in the house with me so Jo and Jack could have a decent game of fetch. Gus went nuts. More nuts than usual. He began racing from the entryway through the laundry room, into the kitchen, under and around the dining room table and then repeated that route, over and over. I pulled a chair to the counter near the sink where I was rinsing dishes and filling the dishwasher so he could stand up and look out the window and observe the game of fetch, thinking he might enjoy watching the game. That did not pacify him. He leaped from the chair and began running his circuit again only this time, he added another feature to the laps--he started leaping into the air during his sprints, so that he could cover the space of three normal paces in one leap...it was run, run, run, leeeeeap, run, run, run, leeeeeap, as if he thought he was a deer or a puma or some graceful wild animal--and that's when it hit me.

Gus is a circus dog.

Imagine those run, run, run, leeeeeaps with ten other little dogs, rocketing around the three-rings at Barnum and Bailey--add in his tendency to leap from the ground, uninvited and unannounced into your arms--throw in the occasional leap from the ground, into a somersault or flip, landed perfectly scoring a 10 in the doggie acrobatic olympics, and I think you will agree.

Gus left the circus and has come to live with us here in the gardens.

It all makes so much more sense to me now.

Finally, I can stop viewing him as that crazy little dog with no brain and no object permanence.

That dog is amazing. He learns what the other dogs teach him, and in addition to his circus tricks, he's learned from watching Jo that the proper way to rise in the morning is to snuggle next to the owner for as long as possible, ignore her when she rises and asks if you're ready to go out, lazily stretch into a long, slinky dog when you finally decide to get up, and then hesitate when the door is opened.

Now I get it. Is he adorable or what?