Discontented

And it's not even summer. . . .

I love people like Amy and Allie and I must admit, making people laugh being like crack, that I totally have blog envy. I dream of a day when I could type up witty posts, perhaps featuring TMI that would bring people to my blog in hoards merely to comment things like: "You're so awesome." "Oh my heck! I peed my pants laughing." Really, it would be fabulous. But Amy and Allie and others like them possess this rare quality that allows them to turn the oh so mundane into snort out loud funny.

While thinking of this post, I thought of all the things that Amy and Allie could make funny: my two sons learning the clarinet and the sounds emitting from the instrument sounding more like a duck being strangled than actual music; my daughter's ability to practice karate while examining the length and condition of her finger nails; everyone in the family (including myself) getting extremely sick except for my oldest son whom we have dubbed "the silent carrier of death;" the joys of living with my almost senior citizen dad, who's by nature just a wee bit grumpy, and three young children who enjoy masticating their food with open mouths. Really, the joys just keep coming but I am hard pressed to turn any of them funny.

What comes out of my head when I actually sit to type? I think this morning it was along the lines of: I'm cold and it's rainy.

Scintillating stuff.

12 and 7

I love numbers. I'm pretty sure I've bored you previously with some love prose to numbers and math, so don't worry; I won't repeat myself here.

Well, not quite.

Several years ago I was reading a book of commentary on the Book of Revelation; the author talked a bit about the importance of numbers in Hebrew and what those numbers can mean. 12 means perfection in regards to the priesthood and 7 is complete and total perfection.

I think about these numbers while reading the miraculous feeding of the five and four thousands.

After feeding the five thousand, Jesus delivers the incomparable sermon (which always feels a bit cannibalistic to me) on the bread of life and the heart of the gospel - that through the atonement we are saved. After feeding the five thousand, there are enough pieces of bread and fish to fill 12 baskets which leads me to thoughts of Jesus establishing His church, it's organization with the 12 apostles and the priesthood connecting to the atonement, with the atonement being the center of the gospel and also the culminating moment of the priesthood in Jesus our ultimate high priest.

After feeding the four thousand, a mixed audience of Jews and Gentiles, there are enough pieces of bread and fish to fill 7 baskets, indicating to me, the perfection of the work of the gospel once it has been received by all mankind.

I don't know how accurate all these thoughts are, but I certainly pause whenever I see numbers in the scriptures; I doubt that the amount of remnants was a random event and I wonder what God was trying to communicate not only in the miracles but through what was left after the miracle was accomplished.

Christians and Mormons

I am wild about comparative religions; I wonder why people believe what they believe and exactly what they believe. I wonder, with the pattern finding craziness of a mathematician, how beliefs interconnect and how we are all alike more than dislike.

But, along with this study, come disturbing heart shrinking moments when the veil is lifted and you see what others, in their separate beliefs, think about you.

And it hurts.

No matter how many times I hear "speak the truth with love," I always return to what they really mean to say which is more along the lines of the words "cult," "not the REAL Jesus," and "you're not really saved and your mom's not really in heaven," and my heart gets crushed every time.  And I begin to wonder if any of us, with differing beliefs, can ever really be friends; how can someone be my friend when they think so little of me and the things that I hold the most precious to my heart?

Only on the Weather and the State of the Roads

It is hard, having be an irregular poster (gad but that sounds odd) for so long, to find something to talk about.

It's not as though I have nothing to say but rather that I have TOO much to say; every piece of witticism, every vague thought, every long item I've pondered over the last few months all come crowding to the fore and try and jump out of my fingertips at the same time; my hands begin to look like possessed marionettes involved in a tug-o-war as they pull from one side to the other side of the keyboard, pressing delete and backspace in between.

Then of course it comes to me: I should just post about the weather right? Because y'all are just fascinated.

I know - not true - but I wonder where to start.

The weather is remarkably balmy (by which I mean sunny and in the low 50's - but compared to a few short weeks ago when I was beginning to wonder if spring would ever really and truly come this year, it's balmy) and such a refreshing change that I'm afraid to breathe for fear that my breath will start a chain of events that will return us to sub-freezing temperatures with below zero on the Fahrenheit scale wind chill factors.  On the other hand, blue is remarkable color for me; it makes my eyes pop.

And our roads are clear.  Just in case you wanted to know.

Naomi the Diva

As I haven't been a regular poster, I'm sure you are completely unaware that I've cleaned up my television/movie viewing.

Yup, I did.

And it's been hard.

Can I tell you how difficult it is to find movies and tv programs that don't violate the law of chastity or are overly violent?  Diff-i-cult, my friend.

I had to give up all my favorite shows: Grey's Anatomy, Bones, Burn Notice . . . the list goes on and on.

As a result, because I still like to watch movies, I've been searching, particularly the religious channels, for movies.

Yesterday I watched The Book of Ruth: Journey of Faith.  Oh. my. heck.  The acting and writing were horrible.  Boaz shows up and says, "Man! Who's that over there?"  Or something to that effect.  "Man?!"  Somehow I never picture that word coming out of Boaz's mouth with such connotations.  But perhaps that's just me.  Perhaps "dude" is really from the old Hebrew and it just gets lost in the translation.

Everyone is clean.  So, so clean.  The kind of clean that comes with costumes whipped out of storage for the annual Christmas Pageant.  Clean.

Everyone has makeup.  Not the subtle "I'm on TV so I need to wear makeup" makeup, but MAKE-UP.

But what really got me?  Naomi had manicured nails: polished, long, perfectly rounded manicured nails.

Really?!

I never knew.

No wonder Ruth stayed; she was hoping for some of that action herself.

Slightly Disturbing Traditions

I just gave my two boys the wishbone from Thanksgiving to make a wish.

It gave me pause.

I handed my children a dried bone from a bird killed and eaten to celebrate gratitude.

Hmmm....just a little odd.

Of course, I don't know if it rates higher on the odd scale than searching for hidden eggs and treasure to celebrate the birth of spring.

Are other cultures just as odd?

Channeling Pollyanna

The shop has no bathroom.  Let me just put that out there first.

I know - I'm obsessed.  I'm sorry.  I don't mean to be.  It just is what it is, I guess.


Anyway, not having a bathroom necessitates a daily, if not more frequent, walk from the shop to our house (which is why we are so determined to live close by).  Happily, most of the time, the house is only a block away.  There are days, though, when that block feels like miles.  And miles.

When I'm at work, our black lab, Carbon, believes firmly that anytime I stand and put on my coat, I am taking her for a walk.  Period.  There are no exceptions to this rule.  So she walks with me and I use one of those "chuck-it sticks" (because I totally throw like a girl - a toddler sized one at that) and she chases the ball all the way home.

Yesterday, I threw the ball and heard her feet thunder past.  The first throw is the best as she runs the fastest for that very first ball.

I love that sound.

And it got me thinking. 

I've been here for more than a year and while I've spent a great deal of time bemoaning the move and missing my home of 9 years in Oregon, I haven't really praised my current home.

Well, in Oregon, we only had a small yard and we lived in a fairly busy part of town so it was not possible for me to let my dog off leash and let her chase balls.  In Alaska, I do it daily and I LOVE the sound of her running.

I love having water just out my front door.  I love the reflections on the water, the boats, the calm seas, the rough seas. . . . I just love having water right. there.

I love the wind.  We get these gnarly winds that roll off the ice fields and glaciers and blow so hard that I can't breathe.

I love that.

I love watching things blow by in the wind . . . leaves . . . sticks . . . grocery bags . . . small children . . .

Once, when we were kids, my older brother taped cardboard to his arms and the wind picked him up and carried him a foot or two.

I love all the mountains and seeing them slowly morph from summer green to fall gold to winter brown topped with snow.  Right now it's perfect; no snow on the ground and just enough on the mountains to make them look interesting and majestic.

I think that's all.

I wouldn't want to overwhelm you with my positivity and gratitude.

But I did want to let you know - it doesn't completely suck up here in the north.