The Uncelebration

On Thursday mornings we have a collaberation meeting at work. The first item on the agenda is always "Celebrations." We go around the group and everyone shares a "celebration." It may be as big as "I have a new grandbaby!" or as simple as "I found cake mixes on sale at Macey's!" It may be work-related--"Jacob passed the rate and accuracy check!", family-related--"My daughter got third place in the spelling bee", or personal--"I'm finally feeling better after being sick for a week." (By the way, those are all actual celebrations I've heard this year--can you guess which ones were mine!)

So, today, as I was driving to work, I was thinking about my celebration for the week. What could I share? I could celebrate that I have dragged myself out of bed for a walk every morning now for nearly three weeks--except that I was UP two pounds this morning when I stepped on the scales :( (Go ahead, tell me that muscle weighs more than fat. I know. I've already heard.)

I could celebrate that Danny got his private pilot's license this week. But--for me--is that really something to celebrate since that means that he spends time FLYING IN THE AIR!!!! (I also know that statisically he's safer up there than on 1-15--but it just doesn't feel that way.) Not to mention that he's probably going to be moving soon to a place where he won't be able to come for Sunday dinner :(

I could celebrate how Eric aced his GRE, but that was a few weeks ago . . . or how I cut out the fabric for the sister skirts for Julie's wedding . . .

At about this point, I look up and notice a car behind me. "Hmmm. That looks kind of like a police car," I think. "Good thing my registration isn't expired." I press on the gas pedal and glance in my rearview mirror again and HIS LIGHTS ARE FLASHING!!!!! I pull over and wonder if something is wrong with the car. Maybe he noticed my brake lights aren't working or something. Nice of him to let me know. Maybe that will be my celebration.

Or not. He says I failed to come to a full, complete stop at the stop sign on the corner, just before I made a right turn. I hand him my license and registration and wait. While I'm waiting, I decide that my celebration will be that he gave me a warning when he could have given me a ticket.

Wrong again. He gave me a ticket. "We just need you to be careful stopping, especially with all the kids in this neighborhood going to school." Say what? It's 8:50. I'm now late for work, thanks to you, and all the kiddies are IN SCHOOL since school starts at 8:30. There is NO ONE on the street.

Ah well. I plead guilty. Apparently I didn't fully stop. I was in a hurry. I looked and no one was there. (Except him, obviously.) But I promise I would have been fully impressed by just the flashing lights and reprimand. The ticket was completely unnecessary.

My celebration? I asked if I could give an "uncelebration" and told my sad story.

The Christmas Tree

Tonight, as I've been decorating our tree, I was reminded of something I wrote a few years back on a similar, sentimental night. I thought I'd revive it. So many memories hang on that tree!


I thought about buying a star for the top of the tree this year. I even looked at them. And then I came home empty-handed. Now, as I decorate this tree of ours for the twenty-fifth year in a row, I reflect upon that moment when I chose our cardboard cutout star covered in layers of foil with a hole not quite centered in the middle through which we poke a white light.

I wonder whose hands fashioned that misshapen star.

I’ve often thought our tree looked provincial. Homemade. Thrown-together. I’ve seen other trees–almost all other trees in fact. Perfect in symmetry, perfect in decor. Light dancing on their perfectly spaced glass balls. They’re beautiful!

And then there’s our tree, hung with candy canes and not long enough popcorn strands. A cherished collection of cross-stitched Santas and angels and little toy soldiers–yearly gifts from a grandmother, now gone. Tiny sleds made one year for my two now grown-up and living on their own girls. Broken dried salt water clay framing another daughter’s much younger face. Wooden cut-outs markered and crayoned with bright Christmas colors. Construction paper circles with waded red tissue paper stuck around another school photo; on the back, the inscription: “To Mom and Dad, I love you.” Green and red bead wreaths. Hand prints.

It’s a good thing everyone is gone while I decorate the tree this morning. I can hear their voices insisting those ornaments be thrown away, replaced by pretty ones. Perhaps they are embarrassed by the evidence of their ineptness, but I see only those tiny hands and loving hearts as they made their gifts for me.

I hang the candy canes and smile. Three boxes. They’ll need replenished soon. Even the ones hung high are not safe; it’s only a small stretch for my children these days, and they will also disappear.

There now. It is finished. I step back and look, knowing this is as good as it will get. My carefully spaced ornaments will shift and move as the weeks go by. Even now, little Andrew is admiring the tree–soon his hands will be rearranging things. I pause to admire this work of cherished memories one more time, wiping away a few stray tears. I love our tree!

Speaking of Stupid Comments . . .

I had my own this last week. We were leaving the church one evening when I noticed that a couple from our ward were in the library. We walked over and chatted for a bit. For some reason, (and who knows why this would have come up) my sweetie remarked that he'd just read that everyone actually dies of a heart attack.

To which the man in the library said, "And did you know that everyone has cancer."

To which I said, "That explains it. I've always been sure that I have cancer."

The man looks at me, surprised, and says, "You have cancer."

I try to back peddle. This was supposed to be funny. "Well, you know, some place in my body; I'm always sure I have cancer some place."

"I have cancer," he says. "I had surgery for cancer this week, in my colon," he says. "I'll show you." And he pulls up his shirt and shows me the incision.

What was I to say then? I have no response to that?

P.S. An explanation

Since writing yesterday's blog, it has occured to me that some of my dear readers--those who have not spent countless hours at our dinner table, often quoting their Dad (much like others quote movie lines) might find his comments demeaning. Not to worry. Rest assured that I'm not in the least offended by his tactless, but extremely amusing, statements. We all say stupid things sometimes; his just seem to "stand the test of time" better than most :)

Say What?

A few days ago we were sitting down to dinner. Andrew commented about something he wasn't thrilled with, and his dad made this ego-boosting remark:

"I've learned to eat anything."

I guess that pretty much sums up what thirty-plus years at our dinner table does for you. Good to know.

Then today we were discussing our coming ward party program. My Sweetie had just finished describing the Jerusalem temple in great detail, and Andrew commented (again) that he should try out for Jeopardy. I agreed. He responded:

"When you think I know a lot, it's just because you don't."

The Name Game!

Before I give you the rundown on my little trivia competition, here are a few random facts:

• No one came close to getting the order right!
• No one picked either the most popular name OR the most original name!
• Everyone, however, picked the 3 most popular names--just rearranged them.
• Jenny and Amy tied for the most names in the right places--with three each.
• Still, Jenny edged out Amy as the overall most accurate guesser.
• Christy was decidedly on the bottom of the heap, with not a single correct guess!
• Josephine was hands down the most misplaced name, with each person placing her four or five spaces away from her correct spot (#4)!
• And finally, the best guessed name, was Elena. Three people placed her exactly in the middle and they were all right!

And now, for the answers.

From the top 1000 baby names chosen in 2008, ranked from most original to most popular:

9. Maren, #965

8. Atticus, #689

7. Macey, #640

6. Lincoln, #212

5. Elena, #211

4. Josephine, #208

3. Parker, #103

2. Sophie, #74

1. Caleb, #34

A Bit of Trivia

How original are you?

Which of my grandchildren has the most popular name? The least popular? An internet search showed that in 2008, my grandchildren's names came out in the following positions (based on baby names chosen during that year):

34

74

103

208

211

212

640

689

965

Can you match up the name with the number? Let's have a contest and see who can best guess which name is the most popular and which is the most unique, and all those in between! (And no internet searching of your own! That's cheating!) In case you don't know, here are the names of the nine most delightful grandchildren in the world for you to order:

Parker

Caleb

Maren

Macey

Sophie

Lincoln

Elena

Josephine

Atticus

I'll post the answers in a few days! Happy guessing!