Grandpa

My Grandpa Johnson passed away yesterday. I can't say it was unexpected, he was 87 years old, but I can say that it's an awe-inspiring moment to witness his graceful passing.

Mom had told us that he was in the hospital on Thursday, and on Saturday it was looking like he might be on his way out. However, overnight, things took a downward turn, and I received the call at 7:00 am on Sunday that he may not make it through the day and to come right away. Although Steve had been unable to sleep the night before, he and I were both awake right away, got dressed quickly, and were on our way to Heber.

When I arrived, Grandpa was still breathing but wasn't conscious. I sat beside him, touched his head and his chest and whispered that I was there. Within a few minutes he let out his last breath, a soft moan, and he was gracefully on his way to his next journey.

I'm sure that wherever he ends up in heaven, he'll be greeted by his family, his two poodle companions, and my own father. I'm sure after a few war stories and embraces, Grandpa will be on his way building the streets of heaven or whatever there is to build, since that's what he seemed to be made to do: build things with his two very capable hands.

My first memory of my Grandfather was when he and Grandma would come to visit while we lived in Roosevelt. Grandpa and Grandma had two little poodles named Missy and Squirt, and every morning, regardless of where they were, he would take the poodles on a walk. "They have to burn extra energy, because for every step you take they have to take four," he'd tell me. While he visited, he and my father would spend time winterizing the trailer or building whatever would be useful, and sometimes things that were not necessarily practical but brought a lot of joy, such as my playhouse. When I was 6 years old, he built me a one-room palace with a split entry door, real windows, and wooden soldiers to guard it. It had a real shingle roof, and even a utility table where I could spend hours making mud-pies and weed cakes (inedible, of course.)

When I was about 9 years old, we kids spent an entire summer with Grandma and Grandpa while Mom stayed at the Weber State dorm rooms to work on her RN degree. That summer, he was our constant guardian and would do whatever we asked. One day he'd sit next to the pool while we swam, the next day he'd take us for a walk over to the library, and the day after was a weekly trip to the Bean Museum, where we'd discover new things about animals and even get to hold a boa constrictor. He never seemed to mind when we ran all over, just as long as we didn't leave his sight. He never spoke harshly to us on our trips. We spent an entire summer exploring Provo, and sometimes even talked him into buying us ice-cream cones from Reams but not telling Grandma so we could have ice cream again that night. I certainly inherited his love of ice cream, and there was no one that seemed to enjoy it more than he did.

When I graduated from High School, I moved to Provo with Grandma and Grandpa to attend college. They let me have the room near the garage, which used to be his music room - it was the one room where he could hide away and listen to the country music he was fond of but that Grandma didn't care for. It must have been a bit of a sacrifice, now that I'm older and understand the concept of a "man-cave", that sacred place where a man can go to be with his thoughts. While I was studying, he would give me hugs and tell me how proud he was of me.

As an adult, I had an opportunity to stay with him when Grandma and Mom took a trip to Germany. He had fallen and broken his arm, and Grandma didn't want to leave him, even for a trip to her home country. I agreed to take 1/2 days from work to stay with him. During that week he and I spent time talking, listening to Johnny Cash, and he would tell me stories from his times in the war, his trips with work along the West Coast, and about some of the things he learned about other people. These were stories that were difficult to come by in a family setting, as he was often overshadowed by our own boisterous voices. I enjoyed every moment of staying with him and learning about him as an adult.

In my life, I have never known anyone who was filled with so much love or felt things as deeply as he did. When his beloved poodle companions passed on, he vowed to never have another animal because it was so tough to lose them. No matter how much prodding, he wouldn't consider another animal, but still showed love and tender care to the rest of our family's cats and dogs.

My Grandfather's passing isn't really a sad occasion - it's more of a celebration of the love he had for his family and all those he had around him, including his two great-grandchildren, which made him smile even bigger than the usual every day smile. He had lived a full, happy life, married to his wife for over half a century, and almost every day he had something he had to do - mostly for her. On the day he died, she said "It was such a pleasure to take care of him, because he spent his entire life taking care of me." He was surrounded by his family when he left this earth, and he will be waiting to meet us on our own journeys past this world.

Well, this post used to be a link to Sammy's page on Petfinder. We went to Shop-ko today and before we got out of the truck, Steve gave me $85.00 and said, “Urf (Obi) has saved up his allowance for a little brother. We need to even out the numbers. We need another boy, and Urf needs a kitty who doesn’t yell at him. I think we need to keep Sammy for Urf.” ($85.00 is the normal adoption fee for a kitten from CAWS.)

So, apparently Sammy isn’t going to be a foster kitty anymore.

Welcome our new kitty, Sammy.

Bad Hotel Art

While Steve and I were in San Francisco, we had the opportunity to stay at the Hyatt at Fisherman's Wharf. Although the hotel itself was very nice, and had some spa-ish qualities to the rooms and lobby, I just can't explain this hotel art. Steve walked by this picture, and said "Stomach:"

OK, Granted, it's a cow's stomach, plus one, but I thought it was interesting that's what he saw. Then we got to this one:

And this is an X-ray of Steve's hip, after replacement:

Do you see the comparison here? (Apparenly I need to make it known that the "white" area between his leg bones is not his family blessing. It is his tailbone. Sickos!)

Whoever picks this stuff out needs to have a head check. Or maybe the person who came up with the designs needs to have a head check.

Around the corner, we have this beauty:

Well, I won't go into details about the symbolism of the three holes, but Steve said, "Edamame."

Then, before we enter the room, we have this:

Um, an X-ray of a woman in a corset? Shoulder blades and a spine?

Last, but not least, we have the piece de resistance:

"Alka Seltzer." (Can you tell that Steve might have had heartburn one night?)

I suppose it would have been more exciting to tell you all about the trip we took, but I started thinking about vacation pictures - they never really mean as much to the people looking at them as they do to the person who was there and took the picture. So, I'll just leave you with this:

The Evolution of Cat Names

I've heard somewhere that a cat has three names: There's the name they're first given, the name you give them, and the name they call themselves. I started to think about my cats, and how their names have evolved:

Cat #1:

• Given name: Aisha. She was our first cat, and we were her first humans. The name came from my nephew, who loved cats. Aisha was supposed to be his cat, and he wasn't even two years old yet. He called cats "ay-yah," but I just couldn't name a cat "ay-yah." I knew someone named Aisha when I was a kid, and I heard the name meant princess, so Aisha it was.

Abby, my mother-in-law (who's nickname is Lady-yes, humans have evolved names, too!) found her under some boxes and shopping carts at the Reams store around State and 2700 S. She was fierce and full of fight. There was a three-month period where we lived with my in-laws while we put together the down-payment for our house. The day she was brought home, I came home from work and Jesse, my father-in-law was outside, and told me there was an attack cat inside. I thought, "Wow. Wonder what that means."

Sure enough, I walked in, and a small kitten scampered up the couch to jump on me to attack me. If she were bigger than the frozen burrito size she was, I might have actually been a little afraid. Steve trained her for hours to keep attacking - she'd keep coming back at him, and finally, when she was about to give up, he'd give in to her. She was his baby first, and as we added cat #3, her responsibility has grown to keep the house and her "mommy" in line.

• Names we gave her: Aishie, Kit-Kat, Queen Aisha, Princess Aisha (which doesn't fit anymore- see Princess Beezy below), Aishe-Aish, (pronounced i-she-eish), Little Girl.



• Name she calls herself: Aisha. You see, she's not a cat. She has told us time and time again that she is our director, and must keep us in line. Bedtime is exactly when she says it is, and I must obey her. I am her charge. She sleeps on the corner of the bed to protect me and keep an eye on me. Therefore, she is not a cat: She calls herself Aisha. And by the way, she owns this house - hence the title of this blog.

Cat #2:

• Name given: Brady.



• Name we gave her: Bailey. OK, that's the name I gave her. She's a girl! Brady is a boy's name! Bailey-Boo, Boo-Boo, Bailey-bugga-boo, Cuddle Kitty, Bailey-big-eyes, Bailey-baby.
  

Bailey was adopted from Wasatch Humane (which is now Utah Animal Adoption Center.) She was a replacement for the baby-hunger I was feeling at the time. My sister-in-law just had her second baby, and I was feeling pretty down in the dumps that I didn't have a baby yet.

Bailey's homecoming was filled with noises I hadn't heard Aisha make yet. Growls, spits, and "Ffffff-ffff-fff!@#!@@@#" (cat cusswords.) However, Bailey was not intimidated. She was too dumb to be intimidated.

Dumb cats really are good cats - they cuddle with you, and do just about everything else the other cat does. Case in point: We got a drinking fountain for Aisha and Bailey. When Aisha was a kitten, Steve used to pour water out of a bottle, and Aisha would catch the stream in her mouth (again, proof that she's not a cat.) When we got the drinking fountain, Aisha figured the stream was there for her to drink from - not from the moving water in the bowl. Since this is what Aisha did, Bailey had to do it too. And still does - she can't take a drink without getting the entire side of her face wet.

• Name she calls herself: Unknown. Bailey doesn't seem to be quite aware that she should call herself anything. She's never referred to herself - only to her external world. If you could speak cat, and ask her what her name is, she'd say "Huuuuuhhhh?"

Cat #3:

• Given name: Shiloh. I think Lady gave her this name, or the people Lady got her from gave her this name.

When we first got Beezy (pronounced Beeshey - see below as to how this name evolved) it was on a day that I got a raise at work. Cats have always been good omens for me, and Lady rescued her from some people who thought she was "too mean." She was like Aisha-full of fire, and she growled at anything that got near her food. Steve put her up on his shoulder, no bigger than the palm of his hand, and gav her a piece of steak. She sat on his shoulder, ate her steak, and growled any time his hand got near her. (It took her months to stop growling over her food.) There was a little doubt at first, then Steve brought her home. He put her down on the floor in our bedroom, she walked around a little bit, and Aisha came over to check her out. Aisha sniffed at her, and jumped back when she hissed. The look on Aisha' face said "Holy $h!t! A Peruvian Ninja Hissing Rat!"

• Names we gave her: Chasquido (I thought we should have an A-kitty, a B-kitty, and she would be our C-kitty. Chasquido means "snap" in spanish - like "Oh, Snap!" "Oh, Chasquido!" But as she played, Steve nicknamed her Beezy - she was "beezy" over here, "beezy" over there, and just plain "beezy" playing. Bear (she looked like a baby bear when she was a kitten.), Baby-bear, Bear-bear, Bizh-Whizh, Princess Beezy, the Cutest Cat in the World (according to Steve,) Baby-Cat, Baby-girl, Peruvian-Ninja-Hissing-Rat.



• Name she calls herself: Unknown. It's not that she doesn't refer to herself, but that she thinks so highly of herself and is so secure in her care under "daddy" that she has no need to converse with the other cats unless she fees like it. Yes folks, she's a spoiled brat, and he likes it that way!

Cat #4

• Name given: Unknown. Obi was a stray, however, Steve thinks it was Clyde.


• Name we gave him: O.B. - he looked like Beezy, but he was an outdoor cat, so we named him O.B. for Outdoor Beezy - and when he had his tail degloved (see my first post,) the vet wrote down Obi. When you touch him and he's really relaxed, or if he wants something, he'll "Urf", so it evolved to Urf, Sir-Urfs-A-Lot, Urf-a-durf, Obi-wan, Baby Boy.


• Name he calls himself: Rarn (like yarn with an "r".) I have no idea how Steve knows this, but he swears he calls himself Rarn. See, when Obi was an outdoor cat, he had to socialize with other cats. Therefore, he had to give himself a name - and he could pronounce Rarn.

So there you have it: the introduction to my four fur babies.

It's like riding a bike, right?

You know the saying, "It's like riding a bike." You learn when you're a kid, and even though you haven't done it for many, many years, you instinctively know how. Well, I know I told almost everyone I bought a bike. I was so happy to get it - and it wasn't cheap. It wasn't the most expensive bike out there, but it was over the price range Steve and I had set. It was exactly what I wanted - no shocks, SPD clip pedals, and it can go extremely fast. And it's blue (I wanted the blue one! Blue, Blue Blue!)

Yesterday, we picked up the bike, and Steve decided to take surface streets for a while - we weren't in any hurry. I mentioned that I was hungry (Ok, more like kept mentioning it), so we hit the drive-through of one of our favorite places and then stopped in Murray Park for lunch. After we ate, we got my bike out.

I've been taking spin classes, and riding a bike is so easy there! I kind of forgot two things:

1) I haven't been on a bike in over ten years, and there's this little thing called balance that's required, and
2) I don't have much experience with the clip shoes on bikes yet - even the ones in spin class are a little bit tricky.

I tried clipping in and clipping out a couple of times, thought I had that all down, and then off I went. The tires are skinny tires - made for road biking, so you don't even have to turn - you just lean. Using the methods I learned in spin class, I went extremely fast - so fast that when I hit the brakes, it scared me a little - like I was going to go over the handlebars (they were good brakes.) I got back to where Steve was standing, and he said "OK, now try to unclip fast." I tried, and me and the bike ended up on the ground, my feet still attached to the pedals.

I scraped my knee pretty good (I was wearing pants, so that was OK), but I think Steve hurt more than I hurt myself. It hurt his feelings that he knew this would happen, but that I didn't listen to him. But I know in my mind that even if he told me a million times, I had to try it for myself. Like a kid, some lessons you just have to learn by falling down.

Off came the clip shoes (I have pedals that work with both SPD and street shoes), and on went the street shoes. I spent the next half hour just getting used to the bike.

It's going to take a while to learn how to ride a bike again - so I guess it's really not like "riding a bike." And this speaks volumes for Steve's character (and love for me) - to see me go down and let me do it, even though he knew it would hurt both of us.

The scraped knee was the only injury. I'll practice for a while before putting the SPD shoes back on again....

Big Birthday...

So, last weekend I turned 32. Reaching this age has always scared the hell out of me - my father passed away when he was 32. I seemed to think that by this age, I'm no longer a kid, I should have all the answers, I should have it all figured out. So, starting in November, I started feeling a little freaked out knowing that this age was coming - and quick.

I know that this may all seem a bit unrealistic, and it is. But even though your head says something, your "subconscious" carries those old beliefs from years of conditioning. It was as if my mind said, "You better make it count and do it all before you reach 32." And boy, did I believe it. I found the person I wanted to spend my life with before I even graduated high school, got a full-time job, went to school, finished a degree, finished another degree, finished a master's degree, traveled around the country for work, landed the job I always wanted, bought a house, and settled down. I was done before I was 30.

I had thoughts of going to Disneyland for my 32nd birthday - I thought that this birthday should be big, as if I were going to leave the earth in the next year for whatever reason. However, the funds, and the timing, didn't work out.

My mom called me in January and asked me, "If you were going to go to Chicago, when would you go?" (I had been to Chicago for a business trip in May, on Mother's day. I went to the Shedd Aquarium and spent all day missing my mom, because she would have loved it.) She said, "I want to offer you a trip to Chicago. You pick the dates. It's for your Birthday." (I took my mom to Disneyland for her birthday a few years ago so she could see Tinkerbell fly. She will always have a part of her that never grows up.) This gift was one of the best gifts anyone could give me. It was as if she said, "You still have a lot of living to do, and we're going to start in Chicago."

I was also challenged in November to do things I enjoy. I froze - what do I really enjoy? I mean, there's playing video games, but that gets kind of mind-numbing after a while. There had to be more, right? I thought long and hard about what I'd like to try. This year, I'm going to try it.

So, here's my short list of things I plan to do this year.

• Go to Chicago: Thanks to Mom, this is planned.
• Find a book club: I think I might have this one in the bag - we'll find out at the end of the month.
• Go to San Francisco with my husband: Steve has been awarded a trip to San Francisco for his sales record (in other words, busting his butt for years and pulling the highest sales out of his group.) I am very excited to join him on this trip.
• Volunteer at the Pet Super-Adoption with CAWS: I love this organization - it's been a great adventure to volunteer with them, and have I mentioned I love the animals?
• Go to Fish Lake with my in-laws: This is one vacation that I would like to make a tradition. We don't get to spend much time with Steve's parents outside of our weekly dinners.
• Ride my bike: I just got a bike for my birthday (Thank you Honey!) I've been taking spin classes for a year and would love to feel the freedom I used to feel when I was a kid, with the added benefit of extra calories burned. This needs to be an ongoing commitment to myself.
• Become healthier than I am now: I've lost 20 lbs over a year and have improved my heath. 20 lbs isn't a lot considering my current weight, but it's better than nothing. Instead of saying I"m going to loose X number of lbs, I just want to be healthier than I am now - to find one or two things that I can do better than I can do right now.
• Go to one afternoon matinee at the Babcock Theather: I went to one as a college course requirement, and rather enjoyed the discussion with the directors that comes after the Saturday matinee. I want to do this one more time.
• Cuddle with Steve: OK, so this is something I already do - but there's no place I'd rather be than in his arms. Not even Disneyland beats that.

OK, so it's not a short list. But hopefully by next year, I can look at this and say, "Yes, I did."

My kingdom has been secured.

So, yesterday Steve and I went to the doctor. Everything is OK at the moment (no need to worry) but he asked us how long we'd been together. I realized we've been together 15 years, of which we've been married for 13 of them. (Ask Steve, he'll say we've been married for 30 years at least...)

Anyways, on the way out, the doctor put his arm around Steve and said "Don't worry. Your kingdom in heaven has been secured - you picked a good guy."

Whoa. That was the most LDS thing I've heard, right next to "I'd like to turn the time over to..."

Now, we're not LDS. My mom pulled me out of the church when I was 7, but I continued to go off and on as a teenager, and my grandparents on both sides were LDS. (Yes, Grandpa B. was LDS, despite the fact he owned a bar, cussed up a storm, drank and smoked up until 10 years before his death. However, the offset to this is that he was a very knowledgeable man with great advice, he demanded respect with his presence, and I miss him.) My parents were also sealed in the LDS temple when I was 5 or 6. I understand that the LDS believe that the husband is to secure the wife's place in heaven, and they're married for all eternity.

My husband, on the other hand, was raised Catholic. He's read the book of Mormon and has his own understanding of the LDS religion. But, most of our recent discussions about the LDS religion and their beliefs usually take place after watching Big Love. We both know that this show doesn't correspond with what the LDS church currently teaches, but it's still funny to us since we live in the middle of the "Zion Bubble" yet we aren't LDS. For me, it's being an outsider watching the outsiders from the far extreme of where we sit, while in the middle is the LDS culture.

So, after the doctor leaves, Steve and I both look at each other and laugh a little. It was the most LDS thing someone has ever said to me. And that's pretty good since I live here in Utah.

My value as a person should not be based on my reproductive decision (or lack thereof.)

So, every once in a while, I get on a bitter streak about not having kids. It's not that I want them, or that I don't. To be quite honest, I haven't made up my mind permanently. Steve and I have always taken a "wait and see" approach. If it happens, it happens, and if it doesn't, it doesn't.

But the thing I struggle with is the desire to feel like a responsible human being who contributes to society when I don't have kids. I find it difficult that women my age put value on themselves as a person based on their children. And therefore, since I have none, do I not count?

Don't get me wrong - I think kids are great. I know that raising a kid is not easy. I've witnessed and assisted with raising two myself. I've also been told it can be very rewarding. I'll keep an open mind about that. My brothers turned out to be great guys, but I don't deserve any credit for that. There were many others involved, including my mother, and they had great personality traits as well.

It also seems that no matter how bitter I am, someone else is more bitter. I found an entire website dedicated to the "voluntary human extinction movement." (Google it if you want to learn more. I don't want to appear biased - I don't completely agree, but I don't disagree, either - my opinions tend to change on this subject daily.)

On this site was a link to another essay by Corey S. Powell. It's called "20 Ways the World Could End Swept Away." Since I was old enough to understand global tragedy, I understood that entire masses of people, entire cultures, are often wiped off the face of the earth - Biblical stories that involve a global flood, the Mayans, the Minoans, etc. The earth seems to "clean" itself. And, if you've seen Wall-E (I know, the world according to a Disney Cartoon may not count as philosophical research, but follow along anyways), our planet is destined for failure based on our over-consumption. Therefore, this article may have a hint of truth at some point.

Speaking with a coworker, he commented that by not having kids, if the world ended, I could take a sideline seat to the show since I'm not invested. (I'm not saying he's bitter, but his point was very ironic. He also doesn't have kids - yet.)

So please, don't feel sorry for me that I don't have any kids, or tell me that I should have some. Please don't think I'm selfish for not having any. My decision to have kids will be between my husband and I, and my value as a person shouldn't depend on that decision.

Valentine's Dinosaurs

While we were in Vernal, we saw the strangest Dinosaurs. I know the people who live here are used to this, but it's still very strange to me.

Come on now - there's really no scientific proof that Dinosaurs were not pink, is there? Maybe they figured this would be their version of a pink flamingo.

This one has been domesticated to sit and hold a sign, like a good dog. Unfortunately, my picture of a dinosaur wearing a bikini didn't turn out, but I'm not lying - a hotel across the street has one!

I'm ferocious, I'm the king of all dinosaurs, I'm.....dressed as cupid. Yeah.

Happy Valentine's day!

This used to be my playground....

From the time I was two years old until I was 11, I used to live in Roosevelt. Now, keep in mind that my parents weren't exactly rich. But the double-wide trailer I lived in was owned, not rented, like some of the other trailers in the area. This is the house I used to live in:

Yes, it was always that ugly yellow-green color. But the porch used to have an awning-cover on top, and the fence wasn't there. Funny, it seemed bigger when I was a kid. And my parents took very good care of it. (Not sure who lives there now, but if it's your house, let me know if you mind that I posted the picture.)

This was my best friend's house. She had five brothers and sisters, which means eight people lived in this three-bedroom home. They always kept it clean, and I hung out here a lot:

Now one sister is a doctor, another is married to a doctor, a third is married to a lawyer, she's a social worker, not quite sure where her brothers live, but her Mom and Dad own a beautiful home in Draper. Good things come to those who wait - and work very, very hard.

When I was about 9 and my best friend was about 11, my mom used to drop us off at Marion's (far left). We would have a hamburger, chips, and a drink for $2.00, and could get an ice cream for $1.00. The people who owned this place knew my parents. On the other side of the theater in the picture is a bar. One time, a drunk Ute (think Indian tribe, not football) tried to come in. To protect us, the owner locked the door until the guy left. They were great people.

When I was six, I was in a school program. After the program, Mom brought me here for a sundae. While I was eating it, plaster fell from the ceiling and fell right into my sundae. The owner dished me up a new one so fast, I hardly had time to figure out where the plaster came from. If you wonder why plaster fell from the ceiling, well, have a look. This picture was taken in 1956, from the opposite angle of my shot. It's the place that says "Lunch":

Mom used to drop us off at Marion's, we'd spend an hour here and then around the corner to the brand new bowling alley:

Like my house, it was much more impressive when I was younger. It used to be brand new back in the mid 80's.

This used to be a Pepsi distribution center. In front of it was our bus stop.

In the summer we would ride our bikes over here and buy a can of soda for a quarter from their machine. We thought we were so grown up, buying our own sodas. My dad worked here for a little while, too. We used to joke that they fired him because he drank Coke.

A half hour away from Roosevelt is Vernal. They had this really cool water slide called the Aquanoodle:

It's called something else now, and doesn't look like it's still in business. There's a UPS distribution center right next to it. Steve thinks that they air-drop the packages, and use the old water slide to slide them on over to the distribution center. The one and only time I wore a bikini over the age of 3 was here - I was 9, and we went on a school field trip. It was so much fun, since we didn't even have cable TV in Roosevelt yet.

And last, and still in Vernal, is Tyrannosaurus Rex. He's been moved to a new museum, across the street and down a ways from the old museum:

When I was about 4, my mom and dad took me to the museum. When we walked past Rex, my dad would say that if I wasn't a good kid, he'd feed me to Rex. I'd end up in his belly for the rest of my life. And I'd believe him, and cry. Believe it or not, it was a good memory of my dad.

Coming soon: The Vernal Dinosaurs.

A perfect picture.

This is a picture of my niece, Enorah. It was taken on Christmas Day. I couldn't witness this moment, but in this moment is the moment that every little girl should know: That her dad, whoever he may be, loves her. He holds her up. His hands are rough from hard work, his nails are ragged because he uses his hands for fixing cars. Yet, at this moment, they are the most soft, gentle hands that she will ever know.

I lost my father when I was 7. He was so much like my brother - he had a tender heart, and his children were his world. He used his hands to drive trucks, to fix cars, to fix things around the house. In this moment, this is every little girl, and every father.

Somewhere is a picture of my father holding me at this age. It's not the same pose, but it feels like the same moment. Every daughter should have a picture like this to last a lifetime.