Promise of Youth

I sit in the third row of Primary, waiting for the cue to start my show. In front of me sits a mom and her toddler. The child, never motionless, shifts, pulls, pokes, turns, sits, stands, constant movement in her mother's arms, face set in concentration, long lashes covering eyes that always look down. Suddenly she flops down on her belly and slides to the floor. In a few short seconds, she moves right to my side and extends her stubby arms for me to hold her. I lift her up and hold her so that she can stand on my legs like she stood on her mother's. Her legs go limp as I set her down, and she sits on my lap, her round face turned up toward mine. Then with no warning, she spreads her arms, leans into me, and clutches her arms around my pot belly. My arms instinctively wrap around her, and I look down with a sudden ache of love at the soft yellow curls and pudgy rolls of baby fat on her arms. I catch a whiff of baby shampoo and soap, and then she is sliding off my legs onto the floor, moving again with downcast eyes, face set in determination at the carpeted aisle between chairs, the warmth of her sudden affection still resonating through my chest. For a moment I forget my own brokenness and bask in the bright hope and wonder of her youth instead. If only, I think. If only. I watch her toddle away, and I ache once again as the warmth inside begins to dissipate.

Living with a dying grandmother

It's surprising that I could have spent so much time with my grandmother and yet not really have known her. While growing up, I visited my grandparents frequently, and occasionally stayed with them on my own. My grandmother was always content to let my outgoing grandfather run the show and take the major role in our interactions. I know that my grandmother loved me, though, because she always made sure I was comfortable and well fed. Whenever we were with her on a trip, she made sure that meals were planned and restaurants picked far in advance. Food was never left to chance. To a hungry teenager, that was important.

After my grandfather passed away, my grandmother came to Utah. She was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer's Disease. After a long respiratory illness, she came to live with us. We thought that she might die in the next month or so. Instead, she seemed to rebound, and for the next four months became an important part of our family.

Some moments stand out:

• Christmas lights on Temple Square: Grandma trudged through the cold air using her walker and grinned like a young child at the beautiful lights. She also loved the apple pies we got at McDonald's afterwards.
  
• Sourdough pizza Mondays: Grandma loved to help make meals. We loved it when she put the pepperoni on the pizza because she always piled it on. She loved to eat the pizza, too, and almost always ate four or five pieces.
• Running errands: Driving with Grandma always made me see things anew. She grew to love the mountains, and every time she saw the snow covered peaks while driving with me in the car, she would gasp and exclaim how beautiful the world was. It warmed my heart each time, helping to ease the pain of seeing her health and memory decline.
• Gentle conversations: Grandma taught me the joy of talking about the things that are present and close by. We would talk about the warmth of the sun on our backs as we walked, the flowers that poked through the snow, the strange ice formations made by the slanted winter sun in the snow piles by the walks and drives, the warmth and softness of the Floppy's fur.
  
• Eating out: Grandma's favorite activity was going out to eat. She loved buffets. She could really put the food away for a tiny 85 year old woman.
• Ice cream: Grandma's favorite food was ice cream. The easiest and surest way for us to show love for her was to buy her ice cream. She loved ice cream her whole life, and by the time she came to live with us, she no longer had to restrict her intake of her favorite food. But she didn't like eating ice cream alone. I gained at least a couple of pounds while she was here just from all the ice cream we ate together.
  
• A new side to Little J: Grandma had a special relationship with Little J. She would let Little J help her and tell her things that she would not accept from anyone else. Little J spent hours helping Grandma eat breakfast, move around the house, and find interest in day-to-day life.
  
• Floppy's friend: No matter how bad things were for Grandma, she would not forget Floppy. She regularly checked to see that he had food and water. She let him out several times during the day. She would bend over, risking personal harm, to fill the food dish or clean the water dish. She never complained when he climbed on top of her. They spent hundreds of hours being couch and bed buddies. And when her memory was especially bad, she would follow him around the house, always trusting him to lead her to where she needed to go.
  

Taking care of Grandma brought feelings of joy that frequently warmed and filled me completely. I connected with her at times on a level that felt like old friends, a relationship that seemed to stretch beyond the present to both the far past and distant future, as if this were but a moment among many pleasant moments we had known and would know together. Although her illness had changed her personality a lot by the time she moved in with us, I'm grateful that I got to know her in at least one phase of her life. All the scary and hard times we experienced taking care of her made those good moments even more precious. Toward the end they seemed like fragile, almost illusory gifts that we dared not inspect carefully for fear that they would transform into her bouts of rage, frustration, impotence and fear.

Along with joy came sadness. Watching my grandmother's health and mental state deteriorate before my eyes crushed my understanding of human life. I began asking the questions to which I thought I already had answers. I struggled to see the beauty in the snow-covered mountains because I couldn't see past the devastation in front of me. I questioned the reality and promise of the good moments. They seemed unreal compared to the darkness of pain, anger, and fear.

When I heard that my grandmother passed away last Tuesday, I did not cry. How could I grieve death when life contained only horrors for her? I hope for her that death comes as a release from living hell. I hope that she and Grandpa are together. I hope that they both know how much I love them. And one day, maybe soon, maybe in ages, I'll sit with her again and we'll continue our conversations of the present and close by. We'll feel inside, once again, that connection that transcends the bounds of mortal life, and we'll rejoice.

I live next door to a genius

I opened up Facebook today and once again faced the ad for the IQ test. That's when my suspicions were confirmed.


My neighbor is a freakin' genius, but her daughter is dumb. Sorry Konnie, but Facebook doesn't lie. (Obviously it might have been different if you're mom had married someone smarter.)

Making the world a McBetter place

McDonald's has finally come out with a product that makes any situation better: it's the line up of McCafé products. For example:

machine gun

machine guné

death

deathé

puke

puké

poop

poopé

Finé!

Her face says it all

"What? You're taking a picture of me? I had no idea!"

"It's hard being this adorable!"

"I HATE this boy!"

"I can act dead standing up..."

"...or lying down. (Note the open eyes--they make it more realistic.)"

Caught unaware.

Josh joins Buddhism

It's official. Josh is Buddhist.

Josh was talking to one of his friends at school who naturally assumed that he was a member of the majority faith in our region. Without missing a beat, Josh corrected his friend and let her know that he is in fact a Buddhist. She was shocked, and began questioning him about his beliefs. Of course, not being an active Buddhist, he didn't know the answers. That didn't bother him much, though, because he is exceptionally good at making stuff up. She believed every word that came out of his mouth. I'm sure she thought it exciting and refreshing to have a Buddhist friend.

But then things got a little awkward. You see, after pondering the situation for a week or two, his friend finally realized that she had a wonderful missionary opportunity. She started inviting him to church. He refused the first time, saying that he had to go to the Buddhist church on Sunday. She asked him how often he went, and without really thinking it through, he said he went about once a month. So then she began to work on him to come to her church on one of the other Sundays of the month. He finally got tired of trying to put her off and instead told her that he actually was a member of her faith after all. This was an extremely effective ploy, and she hasn't invited him to church since. I think his ruse will work as long as she never sees him in Buddhist robes. And since he's still too short to wear his brothers' hand-me-down robes, I think he's safe--at least for another year or two.

Wedding receptions promote thoughts of sin

Wedding receptions make me think that breaking the commandments might not be so bad. I'm not talking about your wedding reception, of course. I just loved that one. No, I'm talking about all the other wedding receptions that I have to attend.

My biggest problem is that I'm a wedding reception dork. I don't know what to say to the bride (Hey, it's really great he didn't knock you up first) or what to say to the parents of the groom (I heard [groom's name] has a good chance of beating that drug charge). Half the time I don't really even know anyone well enough to do more than speculate about the weather (There's a tornado warning in Eastern Kansas, can you believe that?). And talking about the weather at a wedding reception is a major faux pas.

All of my wedding reception dorkiness leads to major embarrassment, and yes, down right humiliation. Why couldn't the bride's mom put together a bunch of inane little sayings on business card size slips of paper that would allow dorks like me to read off something that shows class and good breeding (I saw cousin Jimmy at Del Taco and he said y'all we're getting hitched for tax purposes. I knew y'all was always big on screwing the gov'ment.).

Instead, I find myself wondering how nice it would have been if the bride and groom had just moved in together, sparing everyone the cost and discomfort of a reception. Or what if there was a little bowl of Valium at the door? A couple of those, and even if I was dorky, I wouldn't remember it the next day. How about a nice alcoholic beverage?


Let's face it, me at a wedding reception is just not pretty, no matter how you slice it. So if you're working with a guest list and you just don't know who to cut, may I suggest you place I nice thin line through my name? You'll be doing everyone a favor, I guarantee it.