On Holiday

Once upon a time there was an awkward self conscious 12 year old with brown hair and freckles. On the first day of 8th grade at Ingleside Middle she was assigned alphabetically to a seat in Mrs. Morrill's Social Studies class wherein a class syllabus was distributed. She took one of the stack at the front of the row and turned around to pass the rest back, when she was met with a new face. A lovely face that also had freckles and was framed with brown hair. After lunch she was waiting outside Science class with the new girl and introduced herself. It took several tries for her to catch the new girl's name. Breeze? No, Bree. The awkward girl's last name started with A. Bree's with B, so they were paired up in nearly all their classes for the next two years. Both girls were academically above average and they both enjoyed participating in drama. It was a friendship made in Heaven. The girls were nearly inseparable until shortly into Sophomore year when Bree's cruel parents ripped the two apart by moving back to Colorado. Another year and a half later and the awkward girl (yes, it's me) moved to Utah. We went on to separate universities. I served a mission in Spain while Bree went around the world with Semester at Sea. Then, in 1997 we both married tall blond Anthonys. Then in 1999, we each gave birth to our first child. Bree's Anthony (Tony) is a Lt. in the Navy and in these last 8 years they have lived in Guam, Chicago, and Spain. Currently, they are stationed out of Bremerton Naval Base near Seattle. All these long years of separation has not diminished our friendship. I count it as one of my life's great blessings.
Through their generosity and my frequent flyer miles, Mason, Moira, and I were able to visit them last week as an early birthday present to me.
How wonderful that we can pick up where we left off as if we'd actually lived in the same town for the last 18 years! And as Bree put it, how wonderful that we could give the gift of friendship to our children.
We went to Pike Street Market, the Children's Museum, the Seattle Aquarium, rollerskating, we took the ferry, and just enjoyed hanging out with each other. After such a great birthday present, I guess I'll not even mind turning another year older in a few minutes.

Musings on Death

Occasionally my son likes to ask the big questions like "what is divorce," "what is an ice age," "if I fell into liquid hot magma and died, would I ever see you again," and "what does it feel like to die." This last one was something that came up just a few days ago. I answered that I didn't suppose that the actual dying felt like anything. But then added, "Course, if you were being eaten by a bear, it would probably be really painful and scary before you actually died." I like to keep it real for my kids. I mean, if I don't play straight with them, who's gonna?
So then I was thinking about my preferred manner of death and I thought about Eowyn of Rohan who said, "I fear neither death nor pain." Then Aragorn asks her, "What do you fear, my lady?" And she answers, "A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them. And all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire."
I don't know if I fear death. I think I fear being without my family. I fear them being without me. (But that's probably vanity.) But I do think I'm not a big fan of pain. Although I did give birth sans medication less than six months ago. So maybe I could handle pain too. To be honest, I used to be a romantic, but old age has made me a realist. I don't need to go out in a blaze of glory. I don't need to prove my valor on the battlefield like the sheild maiden of Rohan. I think I would like to live a full life and have full mental and physical capacity until the end. And then, one night, my spirit could just slip home. Maybe that's the most romantic notion yet!

Neither Shall I Eat at the BK

Last night I stayed up late to watch Jon Heder host Saturday Night Live. I believe it is the first time a member of our faith has ever hosted the show. And I don't count Steve Martin or Tom Hanks. Toward the end, a commercial for Burger King came on and it was worse for me than if I'd seen a horror movie before going to bed.
What is with this campaign?! Yikes! A man is riveting the steel of a new sky scraper together, only he's really tired so it's slow going. The person on the other side of his column is riveting like gang busters. After a moment, the gang buster peeks around the column revealing himself as the Burger King. My, what a large head he's got, grandmother! And my, what a large smile! They scare me as no clown has ever scared me. If I looked around a column 20 stories above the earth to see that frightening mug, no doubt I'd give in to my vertiginous tendencies and plummet to my demise, likely breaking every bone in my body on the steel skeleton all the way down.
But this is not the only ad of this variety. What about the lumberjack (and I'm ok)? As his most recent newly dead tree topples, the creature from the golden grease vat pops up offering a meat on top of meat on top of meat breakfast sandwich. Honestly, I'd rather here a banjo playing in the distance than be spooked by the King.
And what does the slogan "Wake up with the King" imply anyway?
Both commercials end with this satanic sovereign jokingly endangering the lives of these new recruits. Yeah, I've got my eye on you, Mr. Burger. You can't fool me with your plastic grin. I can see the evil behind those crinkly eyes! You'll lure the trusting hungry into your false kingdom, only to kill them slowly with ultra processed fast food. Well, not ME, by jove!
Hear this Burger King: your campaign isn't working! I'll be staying away from your monster monarch and your artery clogging repast.