Penny for your thought

First thing first:



I know I post this video all the time but a.) What, like you're tired of it? and b.) I feel like we can never celebrate his jubilant hand clapping enough, especially now that he has died. We were all lounging around in our jams on Christmas afternoon when we heard the news and we instantly turned on this video to remember him.

Now, on to Christmas. We were all a little apprehensive about Christmas this year, what with my parents being on their mission. We knew it was going to be weird. You really discover how much your mom means to the whole spirit of the season when she's across the country. But we pressed forward. Gina, Chris, Levi, and Camille came down from Utah and Lindsay and Susie joined in with a lot of the festivities. Katie and I made, cut, wrapped and gave out about 1300 caramels. We hosted a couple of parties, including the Knecht Family Party, where we had a legit bell concert. We put up the full array of decorations, even though we told ourselves that we would mainly just do the tree. We sang in choirs and went to church parties and school concerts and the Chino Christmas Parade. We went out to LA to see the temple lights and even dropped in on my ice cream boyfriend Leo to wish him a merry Christmas. (He had carob clove ice cream in stock and I don't even really know what carob is and every time I've had it it has been as a substitute for chocolate so I naturally think it's a tool of the devil. But this ice cream blew my mind. It tasted like Christmas. I don't know how he does it!) We watched A LOT of Hallmark Christmas movies. So many. And I'm not going to justify it to you because you know that they're awesome. All of these things combined, plus the Church's Christmas initiative to Light the World, really made for one of my favorite Christmas seasons in memory.

Conveniently the first night of Hanukkah was also Christmas Eve so the Appels invited us over for a party. Val told the story of the Maccabees, Joseph, although a Hebrew school drop-out, said the blessing and Rosemary lit the menorah and then we all ate latkes, matzo ball soup, donuts, tamales, and chips and salsa. It was a true Southern California Hanukkah/Christmas/Mormon/Jewish festival. Later, I read a poem my dad wrote for the occasion and Val read David Sedaris' "Six to Eight Black Men" and we laughed and told stories and generally felt the warm glow of a friendship that has spanned decades.

It's been such a lovely season. Tomorrow Katie and I drive up to Utah for a week with our people in the Frozen North. I'm not mentally prepared for the cold and snow but I am prepared for laughing with the kiddos. 

Speaking of laughing, this video has been on repeating at my house and we cannot stop laughing over it.

"This is a beautiful view."

I would like to point out that all the men of the British Royal Family are wearing knickers and stockings in this picture.

Also, some kind of garter. This is glorious! Although William looks skeptical. I wonder who decides what ceremonial attire the men will wear. Probably the queen. She must have a thing for shapely legs.

Have you been watching the Crown on Netflix? I have notes: namely, Prince Phillip is a bit of a hunchy crank. I've always suspected him to be such, but for crying out loud, he KNEW that she was going to be queen someday. Maybe not so quickly, but King George VI had to have had some kind of ominous cough to give him a hint that the lung cancer was lurking. For crying out loud, everyone back then had to have known that a cough equaled imminent death. I keep finding myself yelling at him to stop whining about how unfair his life is and stand up straight and support his wife.

Speaking of royals, this Prince Christmas tree is possibly the greatest of all themed Christmas trees:

If I did not have a beloved family Christmas tree to honor I would have done this and invited you all over to hold hands around it and sing the opening lines to "Let's Go Crazy."

Whilst celebrating A Very Oregon Thanksgiving with Casey & Fam we went out Christmas tree hunting. It looked like this.

Hideous, right. This little farm is 15 minutes from their home and it smelled exactly how this picture makes you image it would smell. Only better because there was a fire going nearby so it smelled like rain and moss and pine and camp fire. We took a little tractor ride around the place and saw some miniature horses and had hot cocoa. All of it was magical. And we found the perfect tree and we actually did stand around it and hold hands and sing like we were in a Charlie Brown Christmas. And then we had to play ring around the rosy because Graham thought that's what we were doing.

Speaking of Graham:

Kylea sent this picture a few weeks ago and I spent a good 20 minutes just staring at it and figuring out how I could move up there so I could devote all of my time to squeezing his cheeks. It is the very essence of Graham. Dumb Oregon and your beautiful vistas.

Straight from the airport we went up to Vista House, which is this amazing little Art Nouveau rest stop overlooking the Columbia River Gorge. On the way there Addie asked where we were going and I said, as Charlotte to her Lucy, "To see a view." And she asked what a view was and I explained that it was a lovely thing to look at. And a couple of times over the week when we were out and about in the rain and the cold I overheard her say to herself, "This is a beautiful view." What a gal!

P as in Peaver

Tales from the Institute. I love my job.

1. While on an hour long phone call trying to get the Institute projector fixed, I had the following exchange with a customer service representative:

Rep: That's "p" as in "peaver"

Me: Excuse me?

Re: P as in Peaver

Me: B as in Beaver?

Rep: No P as in Peaver

Me: P as in Paul?

Rep: No P as in Peaver

Me: B as in Boy

Rep: Yes. P as in Peaver

The projector was still not working by the end of the phone call but we wiggled some cords and it unfroze and when it asked for a password that we did not have we tried 0000 and like magic it started working.

2. I cook lunch every Thursday for the kids. It's usually an easy meal, sandwiches or something in the crockpot. But every Thanksgiving, per tradition, I have to cook enough large pieces of meat to feed 40 people (half of them football players) for our lunch and I gag over turkey giblets or warm gelatinous ham fat because I am a delicate flower and can only handle cooking meat in small portions and I end up weeping in a corner questioning all the decisions I've made in life that led me to this point. This year I decided to not be a dummy and we had a BBQ instead. I put our director at the grill and all I had to do was chop vegetables and mix the Kool-aid. The kids don't care what they eat and there was zero gagging! There was a small casualty, though. I took over at the grill for a little bit and as I went to flip a burger there was a terrific bang and a burst of flames and suddenly most of the hair on my right arm was singed off. I still have my eyebrows, thank heavens. The lighter, which had been sitting on the stand next to the grill, had exploded and shot off over the roof. But I think lost arm hair is a small price to pay for not having to put my hand inside a turkey to pull out its neck and guts.

3. Before lunch today a guy walked in asking if he could borrow a cup and our microwave to warm up his tea, which he had in a gallon jug and looked to be just water with lettuce and orange peels in it. I pointed him in the direction of the kitchen and asked his name and he said, "It's Jeremy, but that one doesn't matter. People call me Emmanuel. That's the important one." I didn't want to break it to him that at least once a semester we have some vagabond wander in calling himself Emmanuel and prophesying. He reached out to shake my hand then got very serious and said, "I believe you are going to marry the greatest man." Then he went off to the kitchen to drink his tea out of a flower vase. I get this often. When you're a single Mormon woman of a certain age people like to be encouraging and to be honest, though well intended I can do without it. But if a drifter comes in and makes such a pronouncement like he's Professor Trelawny I suppose I should take it. 

Country Western Existential Crisis

Thoughts I had while at a free Brad Paisley concert for Frontier Communications customers:

1. Is it obvious to all of these folks around me that I barely know who Brad Paisley is?

2. Is it obvious to all of these folks that I don't like country music?

3. I suppose this proves my love for free outdoor live music is greater than my disinterest in country music.

4. Why are there more trucker hats than cowboy hats? Are they the new Stetson? And if so, that's a real shame because if you're given a chance to wear a Stetson why wouldn't you? Trucker hats are just as lame as they've always been.

5. Those two guys are literally wearing overalls and tank tops and trucker hats and carrying 2 giant beers each.

6. Remember when overalls were all the rage back in the 90s and how comfy they were?

7. Whatever happened to my overalls?

8. How much is this costing Frontier?

9. How badly did they screw up on their transition for Verizon?

10. How often does Brad Paisley do corporate events? And how much does he hate himself for it? Probably not too much.

11. How many times is he going to mention hanging out on the banks of a river/lake in one of his songs?

12. That must be nice to have a last name that is so conducive to cool guitar designs. All I could put on a guitar would be a silhouette of a feudal serf.

13. I think he's on his 7th guitar change over.

14. Who in the H is smoking around here?! Dumb new pot law!

15. If the opening act grew up in Orange County then where did he get his southern accent?

16. Is Brad Paisley this boring at all of his shows or just the corporate events? I mean, he's talented but would it kill him to crack a joke?

17. Am I partially to blame for this? Can he sense that some of us are neither fans of him nor his genre but are going along with a giant corporation essentially buying art for the amusement of the masses? Are we all just minor nobles in the Medici court?

18. Is country music bringing about an existential crisis in me?

19. Do not take that free Brad Paisley/Frontier Communications red trucker hat, Rachel!

They've All Gone to Look for America

Well, we did it. We made it to the end of this miserable election cycle. It has been a giant bag of vomit from start to finish and I think we all deserve a firm pat on the back and a nice long nap for having endured it.

Were I the Queen of All Election Stuff I would make it so that candidates could only campaign for six month. And they'll have to do it the old fashioned way, by train. They will zigzag across this beautiful nation of ours, and stand on the back of the caboose which is decked out with buntings, of course, and tell us what they think. There will be small boys in overalls ready to throw tomatoes at them if they tell a lie but we will listen to them respectfully and kindly and enthusiastically because freedom of speech is beautiful and democracy is thrilling. A band will play some kind of John Philip Sousa march because those are always stirring. And after they ride off to the next town the good people will gather together and talk like civilized human beings about what they heard and what they think. There won't be ugly words or groundless accusations. Anyone who says anything mean will be put in time-out for a few minutes and then given a hug. Root beer floats will be served. Basically, we'll act as if our mothers are with us. Wait, no, I don't know your mother. We'll act as if MY mother were with us. 

Until that time, let's be nice to each other and stop thinking that someone who disagrees with you is evil and deserves your ire. They are not and they do not. In fact they probably want the same things you do. Stuff like safety and security for their families, a solid job, a home in a happy neighborhood, and a good taco place nearby. Just because they have a different vision than you do for how to get those things does not make them bad. It just makes them human.

Let's hug people tomorrow! And watch this video of one of my favorite songs about America. There is truly nothing more American than Art Garfunkel's hair.

Baby you can drive my car off a cliff

Oh geez, guys. I bought a car last night. Which I had no intention of doing that morning. I didn't really want a car payment but do you know what else I didn't want? To sit in a tow truck again having 12 miles of awkward conversation with the driver.

How about a rundown of my car in the last two months. In the beginning of August two of the cylinders needed to be replaced along with a bunch of other small things. Four weeks later the alternator needed to be replaced. And then on Wednesday the transmission went out. Miraculously it started giving up about a mile from work and I was able to make it to my parking lot, where I did not break down and weep, as I fully expected. Because weeping is my body's natural response to cars being jerks. No, I wept later in the day at home. Plenty. Because even I know that a transmission costs the price of a kidney.

I had it towed to my mechanic Maha and he called back yesterday morning at 10 with an estimate. $2400 was the cheapest option. Even if I had it I didn't want to spend it on a car that was only going to have something else quit in another 3 weeks. I am positive that the next thing would be the engine growing a mouth, insulting my hair, and then exploding, which I don't think Maha could fix! So I gave myself a few minutes of deep breathing and then decided I needed to buy a car. 

At this exact moment Camille messaged me about the car, seeing how things were going. And I told her Maha's estimate and she was aghast as any good sister would be. And then she said she was sure that a way would open up. And I believed her because one always does. I just did not expect it to open so soon. Because as soon as I started looking I found a car I liked from a reputable place at a price I could handle so I called and got the financing all worked out and the car put on hold and in 20 minutes it was all done. Twenty minutes! I should tell you that I NEVER have been so quick and single minded in making a big decision. It generally takes me days of worrying and dithering to act on something and even then I never feel great about it. But as soon as I hung up with my new best friend and car guy Carlos, the panic disappeared, the urge to cry subsided, and clarity and the Blue Bird of Happiness set in. 

I picked her up last night. A Nissan Versa, which means I'm happily back to a small car. I've been driving the Love Boat for the last 2 years. Ok, it was a Camry. But considering all of my previous cars had been little nuggets it felt like I needed a special license and a wide load sign on the back just to take her out on the road. I'm happy. Relieved, really. I sold my old car to Maha and he can shove it off a cliff if he so chooses. Which was what I was planning on doing, if only I could have gotten it to a cliff. 

Mystery Nuptials

A few weeks ago I noticed this entry in my calendar that I did not put in:

Am I getting married? 

I googled Sherilynn Takushi - Marriage License Agent, obviously, and guess where she at? Maui. Which means I better get to Maui if I'm getting my marriage license on Friday. Don't you think I should go out, JUST TO MAKE SURE! I mean, what if this is legit and my wealthy benefactor is waiting for me? With a Slurpee machine as a wedding present. I've never been to Hawaii and I imagine that my hair isn't going to do so great there, but does that even matter? No. Let's all go to Maui and meet the WB! 

I may have a conflict, however, in that I've just been asked to teach seminary again. Which makes sense. Of course I'm teaching seminary. It was a very restful 9 months (oh, the sleep I got) but it's good to be back. I'm team teaching though so I teach every other week, with is total luxury. I taught last week and was quickly reminded that I am not meant for 6 am. But it's a fun class. I think I'll like it. Who am I kidding, of course I'll like it. What's not to like? Teenagers and the scriptures are two of my favorite things. 

Here's a video to help you through the reality that it's not Friday yet. 

Lots to discuss

1. As promised, here is my walking tour of downtown LA. I was going to make it its own post but it was turning into the Atlas Shrugged of tourism so I made it a link instead. It's detailed, folks. I want you to see the high points and eat good food and not get lost in the process. If you do it I would love to hear how it goes and any suggestions you have (maybe too long? the directions are crazy? I don't know). And as always, I am happy to take anyone around as a guide. My only stipulation is that you don't complain about the traffic. Move to Iowa if you don't want traffic and marvel at their magnificent soy fields. (Okay, I actually do love their soy fields.)

2. Dear School Behind My Home. Is it not enough? I mean, is it really not enough that your parents clog the streets in my neighborhood with their massive SUVs and your kids drop their candy wrappers and chip bags on my lawn and on the occasion of a day off I can't hear my TV or enjoy a book in silence because you're blasting party anthems all day long? It must not be enough because marching band practice has started up again and the other morning I endured some kid banging out the same cadence on a quad drum over and over and over again for a full hour. Oh, summer was sweet. And now the Autumn/Winter/Spring of my discontent has returned. Do not make me resort to lobbing eggs over the fence. Best Wishes for a Quick Resolve, Your Justifiably Cranky Neighbor.

3. Do you know what I pray for every day? That my friends and loved ones make a million dollars selling Lularoe leggings (and such) but that they do so without adding me to any of their Facebook groups. How do I tell them nicely that I love them and that I want them to be ridiculously successful and be able to support their family while wearing stretchy pants and over-sized shirts from the comfort of their home but that I don't want any part of it? I simply do not want to go to their parties or buy their clothes. I hope all of their multi-level marketing dreams come true, just without me having to continuously go through the process of removing myself from their groups.

4. At 11 am on Saturday Katie got word that she had won a lottery to get $20 tickets to see the 2 pm show of Newsies out in Hollywood. Of course we dropped everything and went. We were orchestra level, dead center and 19 rows back. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon. This is the 3rd time we've seen it which I originally thought qualified us as super fans. But the guy sitting next to us had seen it 4 times...THAT WEEK. He said it was his 10th or 11th time seeing it total. He also bought his kids every Newsies related tchotchke they sold out in the lobby including newsboy caps and newsie teddybears. His boy even ran up during intermission to grab one of the newspapers they threw off the stage during one of the songs. I should have asked him if has was a crazed fanatic for all musicals or just this one. Either way, I get it. It's a fun show.

5. In the spirit of conservation I saved the syrup I boiled my peaches in for the peach cobbler I made for yesterday's BBQ at the Appels (Thanks, guys. Let's be friends for literally forever.) and I poured it on my french toast I made for dinner tonight and topped it with the leftover whipped cream from said cobbler and holy cats was it the greatest thing I've ever eaten. Don't you love how often breakfast foods can be turned into desert?

All the way to Boston, all the way to Lynn

My cousin Sarah and I spent a week out in Massachusetts with my parents who are out there serving as missionaries for the Church. Sarah was the best traveling partner and my parents are the greatest. It was the tops. To recap:

1.

I'm going to live in Orchard House. Louisa May Alcott wrote Little Women here, from a desk that you can cry over but cannot sit at, which is a dirty trick if you ask me. They're probably (rightly, in my case) worried that someone will snatch her extremely charming inkwell. (You cannot take pictures inside the house, which is another dirty trick.) It's the tiniest of desks, next to a larger desk that she purchased after she got good and rich from her book. Treat yo self, Lou! I bet people called her Lou. I certainly would have. The home was saved from ruin and turned into a museum all the way back in 1912 which means that just about everything in it is original and belonged to the family. Like the Alcott sisters' dress-up clothes they used for their theatrics. I wanted to clutch everything to my bosom and lay down in her bed but they don't allow that sort of behavior. I settled on visiting her grave. She's buried up at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, very near Hawthorne, Emerson, and Thoreau. Do you like cemeteries? I think they're kind of nice.

2. We loved Cape Cod so much that we went there twice. It should be noted that the weather was perfection. Whenever I would tell people that I'd be in Massachusetts in August they'd gasp and say, "The humidity!"  and I don't doubt it but we did not have much. And I am a delicate flower who wilts in just a hint of moisture in the air so you can trust me that it wasn't bad. It was glorious for beach sitting and ice cream eating, of which we did a lot. Particularly at this place called Ice Cream Sandwich in the charming little town of Sandwich when you first cross into the cape. (Look at me, I just called it the cape, like I'm a local who has been eating lobster rolls her whole life. Fact, I ate my first lobster roll on this trip. Can I be honest with you and say that I don't get it. Lobster tastes like all other shell fish. And I think I may prefer shrimp. But this is not about lobster it's about ice cream on the cape.) This ice cream was so good that it was a driving factor of returning a few days later. When you go get the Sandy Neck flavor. It's graham cracker with little chocolate covered honey comb. Holy moly! But avoid Sandy Neck beach a few miles down like it is the plague. Because it may actually be that plague. It costs a fortune to park and it is nothing but a bunch of rocks and flies that bite. And it's on the bay side so the water is colder. Other than that bad decision everything about the Cape was perfect. 

3. Overheard at the Nobska Lighthouse from an 80 year old gentleman: "I used to come to Christmas parties here. The Commandant and I became good friends when we both belonged to the same platform tennis club." I mean, come on! Platform tennis withe Commandant?! What luxury. But when asked when this was he said 10 years ago, which was a disappointment. He talked about it like he had to trudge through the Mists of Time to retrieve the memory. 

We ate the best fish tacos of our lives sitting on the beach near the light house and watching the sun set. Luxury indeed.

4. Ah, the Gilded Age! Newport RI is the birthplace of American Elegant Leisure. The Tennis Hall of Fame is there, for crying out loud. We took a harbor cruise and looked at Jacqueline Kennedy's summer home of her youth and the church she was married in and then we toured Rosecliff, one of the many mansions on display, and I dreamed of descending the elegant staircase that was designed specifically for gliding in tulle. Only my imaginings always ended in me tumbling down, as that is what I usually do on stairs. But a girl can dream.

This is the Lady of the House. Doesn't it make you think of Rebecca? 

What a dump.

The Great Gatsby (Redford addition) was filmed at Rosecliff and from the lawn you can look across the harbor to a stretch of land that is not East Egg , but I still wanted to wait until dark to see if a light was shining from the dock at Daisy Buchanan's house.

5. I found myself getting a little claustrophobic there. There are so many trees! You know how when you drive down the highway here you can see things. Not so in Massachusetts. You see trees. Nothing but tall, tall trees. I remember the first time I was back east I was mesmerized by this and now I think it's just weird. How am I supposed to spot a gas station? Is this my exit? I'll never know because the trees all look the same! I have a very strong sense of direction and it was thrown all akimbo because of those trees. Although the lack of billboards was refreshing. And, let's get real, they're gorgeous. 

6. Other things:

There's a statue of Thoreau at Walden Pond. I promised him that if he let me hang out in his cabin in the woods I wouldn't say a word to him. We could be loners together.

Along with a red coat the British soldiers were issued a fanny pack. I'm not kidding, if they had sold this in the gift shop I would have bought it.

I did not buy the tri-cornered hat but I absolutley should have.

And I should have bought this hat of Elegant Leisure in the gift shop at Rosecliff.

We had planned to canoe down the Concord River but this was our hottest day and we were kind of spent. Which means I'm just going to have to go back.

How to eat corn on the cob

At the Dodger game the other night a family filed into the row ahead of us somewhere around the 2nd inning. And the mom proceeded to pull out from her bag probably the most unorthodox of ballpark food:

Corn on the cob. 

She must have had 15 pieces in there. And everyone happily munched on it. Except for her. She would take a single kernel and twist it off and eat it. And she did this kernel after kernel, row after row until she was done. I get it, corn on the cob is tricky. But along with all that corn couldn't she have packed some toothpicks? Please tell me that one of you eats it the same way. Because that's just too kooky. And I would love you forever if you were adorably weird like that. She did not watch one minute of the game, she just ate her corn and kept pulling more corn out of her bag and handing it to her children. What a character!

Also at the Dodger game the guy behind us spilled his beer on Susie so he bought us all ice cream. Which I think is the only appropriate thing to do when you spill beer on someone. Beer spills happen at ballgames and it's basically the worst thing ever. And the only thing that could possibly make up for it is ice cream. And, I don't know, a thousand dollars because it's so gross. He was there with an Australian guy whom he met in the Uber pool over to the ballpark. They were both in from out of town and were going alone so they decided to sit together. That's cute, right?

We spent the day in the city since Camille, Sarah, and Pam were all in town. Incidentally, I think I came up with a good general route to take through downtown that hits a lot of high points and delicious food and does not require an outrageous amount of walking. I mean, you're going to get your exercise but it's totally manageable. I'll post it later. 

Once again I tried to meet the mayor. We walked into his office and the police officer at the front said he wasn't there. Guess where he was: Rio, putting in some work to get the Olympics here in 2024.  In general I feel like tax dollars are spent unwisely. But in this case I can't think of a better expenditure. 

There's this cool art installation at Pershing Square. We noticed it on the way to the Biltmore (note: if I take you to the Biltmore be prepared to sneak into the ballroom if the door is locked, which it often is. I say that if they don't want you in their gorgeous ballroom then they should put a lock on the service entrance that is hidden around a corner and behind a wall. If we get caught just say we were looking for a bathroom.)(Where was I? Pershing Square.) So this art installation is a giant kinetic sculpture made of thousands of mylar strips attached to a clear net that stretches across most of the square and it all sways in the wind like kelp in a current.

Photo Cred: Camille. Of course, because it's amazing.

It was so relaxing to sit under it. You should go see it and pretend you're an exotic sea creature.

Finally, as usual, we took them to the cathedral and we happened to run into a docent named Charles, who told us all sorts of interesting things. Like, that they baptize babies by immersion now. Is this for real? Or possible? Although we learned that questioning Charles or saying anything even slightly sassy (which was all the time with this group) would elicit a comedic eye roll and a "Dear Lord, please don't strike down these nice young ladies." He took us down to the mausoleum and showed us something special:

That's Charles pointing to his final resting place! He's going to be cremated and placed in that little box. It's already engraved. It says "Docent 'Just ask.'" Come on! That's the best.

It was only a minor heart attack

Well, we had a bit of a scare last night. Katie and I were sitting in the family room, watching an episode of the Great British Baking Show when a man walked into our home. Just walked right through the front door and into the family room like we we were expecting him. We did not know him and he would not leave.

This actually happened! Just last night! Holy cheese on toast it was so scary. We're fine, we were in no danger - although we did not know that. But it took an entire episode of watching the most charming British home bakers make frangipane tarts and vol-au-vents to calm us down. And also a quick google search to figure out what vol-au-vents are.

When I heard the door open I assumed it was Lindsay, even though we weren't expecting her. But she's the only person who would just walk in. The way the house is situated if you're in the family room you can't see who it is until they're inside the kitchen so it wasn't until the door was closed that I realized it was a man. He walked right into the family room, totally casual, and said hi. So I said, "Get out of my house!" I suppose I could have asked him who he was and what he wanted but friendliness did not cross my mind at the time. And he wasn't leaving. He just kept talking. He would say things like, "Oh, do you you want me to leave? How much are you going to pay me to leave?" and "Are you asking me to leave because I'm Mexican." Are you kidding me?! You're a strange man who just walked into a home that is not yours talking to two women you don't know who are clearly shocked and alarmed that you're there and this is what you say?! It would not have mattered if he were dressed like a priest carrying a puppy, I still would have hit him over the head with a cast iron skillet for strolling into my home. He wasn't threatening in that he didn't pull a gun or make a move that he was going to hurt us but like that matters. He didn't make a move to leave  either- even after we told him to many, many times - until after Katie called 911. That is threatening.

While Katie was on the phone I told him, "We're going to go to the door right now and you're going to leave," and he did. He walked out and on his way out said, "You girls should really keep this door locked."

Yes. Right you are, sir. Tomorrow we'll have steel doors installed.

It was as I was walking him out that I noticed all the cars out front and assumed that our neighbors were having a party and guessed that he had walked into the wrong home. And this was exactly the case. The police came (quickly, I might add. Thanks, Chino PD!) and found him outside and talked with him and our neighbors confirmed that they knew him. And then our neighbors came over and apologized all over themselves. They are the best neighbors and have lived next door for decades. Funny aside: twice in the next half hour the kids at the party kicked a ball over into our yard that they had to come and get and you could just tell from the mom's face that she was dying on the inside. I think I should make them a loaf of no-hard-feelings zucchini bread. They said he was a relative of a relative and that he was a little kooky. Which explains, slightly, why he was acting kind of weird. Except that it doesn't. Because this was clearly not a party and he didn't know us. I mean, yes, watching the Great British Baking Show is my idea of a night well spent, but there wasn't a streamer to be found. 

I wonder if he thinks we overreacted by screaming at him and calling the police. Like I care. He knew he was harmless but we did not and he didn't give us any indication that he was. All he had to say at any time was that he was there for a party, that he knew the neighbors, that he had made a mistake and then we would have nervously laughed and walked him to the door. But he didn't. He acted like he was settling in for a long night. And my only assumption was that we were in danger. All I could think about as he was standing there was how was I going to fight him off. Should I go for his eyes or his knee cap. What item of value could we offer him to get him out. We have the world's smallest TV, would that be enough? What if I threw in the $15 from my wallet? Does he just want to rob us? Rape? Kill? Is he mentally unstable? He doesn't seem mentally unstable. Or drunk. Should I try reasoning with him? What will he do to us? How quickly could I make it to the knife block if he went for Katie.

Ugh. 

We're safe. We're fine. We were in no danger. Except for a heart attack. 

Sib Fest '016

This past weekend all of my siblings were together for the first time in nearly 4 years. It started with this:

And turned into this:

Sam, Gina, Casey Camille, Lindsay, Rachel, and Katie

Every family should have such a picture, right? I'm going to blow it up and frame it and hang it over my bed. I think we had just finished dancing to Bohemian Rhapsody. You can't tell but we are doing our best Freddie Mercury power stance. This was at our cousin Jared's wedding but it was basically nothing but rock n' roll and good times all weekend long.

We did make a quick trip to the beach and a longer trip around downtown LA, and then there was the wedding. But the best part of the weekend was just sitting around and laughing together. On Friday night we made boysenberry ice cream and watched ridiculous YouTube videos and sat around and laughed for hours until exhaustion hit and it was one of the happiest times I've ever had.

I recognized that it's a rare thing to grow up in a family of 8 kids (remember Erin). And that to most people it seems like a ton. But here's the funny thing. When we are all together I always get a sense of: Is this really all of us? Shouldn't there be more? And I'm not talking about all the people who weren't physically there (Casey's family were the only non-sibs present). It just always feels like there is so much joy and laughter and love that it should take dozens of people to generate it all. We are all keenly aware that to have this kind of relationship is special and I don't think any of us takes it for granted. Thus, the thumb-mic, power stance, joyful picture.

Here, have some more:

Addie and Graham Bone were part of the fun. Here's Graham trying to convince Boe to love him. Boe was skeptical.

I probably should not have put this first because you've no doubt died from the cuteness. Believe me, you don't even know the half of it. Graham is 100% grade A sunshine.

Once you've come back to your senses, here's Addie dancing at the reception.

Before the dancing even started she grabbed my hand and said, "Let's dance!" So we did for a good 20 minutes before anyone else came out to the floor. She just twirled and twirled all night long. That reception was a blast. And I generally loathe wedding receptions. I think they're usually a drag with bad cake to boot. But this was too much fun.

We went to Cantors after the temple and Casey ate a giant meat sandwich.

We also went to Cielito Lindo for taquitos the day before.

Of course we did. This is what Knechts do. Other things Knechts do: talk about maps and routes. Within hours of my two brothers being together they had already discussed a route to circumnavigate the eastern states by boat and the proposed expansion of the Metrolink gold line. 

Here's Addie adoring a taquito.

On our trip to downtown we went to City Hall to check out the view but also made it to the third floor, which I had never been to. And it is a beauty! How have I missed it all the times I've been? The mayor's office is on that floor and Sam and I went in to see if we could meet him. Why not? He wasn't in but the walls were covered with enormous pictures of him in front of iconic places. Which cracked me up. He's a good looking man, sure. But it looked like it was straight out of his portfolio from America's Next Top Model: Civil Servant Edition

Speaking of America's Next Top Model:

We took advantage of not being in stretchy pants and had Kylea snap a few pictures. That's going on the piano for sure.

The confetti cannons bursting in air

The Fourth of July is the best, right? It's like Christmas but you don't have to shop. And it's warm so you can go out and play a heated game of croquet, which we did. And there's home made ice cream and fireworks and you're surrounded by some of your favorite people. And the whole day is infused with that warm glow of patriotism - even in these dark, dark days of a vile, hateful, badly coiffed rock and a hard place with her own email server. As I stood in the church parking lot at 8 in the morning and watched the scouts raise the flag and marveled at how everyone has Americana attire I felt cheery and blessed. It's a pretty great place we live in.

And I kept that feeling all the way up to about 10 P.M. when I turned into a super crank  and nearly yelled out the window, "ENOUGH WITH THE FIREWORKS! GO TO BED, YOU DUMB HOOLIGANS!" They have been going off in our neighborhood for about two weeks now and it was crazy town on Monday night. Like, until midnight. And someone shot off a confetti cannon right in front of our house and our lawn looked like Mardi Gras threw up on it. Now, no one loves a confetti cannon more than I. I am nothing if not a confetti cannon enthusiast. I am, in fact, a little sad I missed it. However, I've never had to clean up after one. I'm glad the neighbors had a great time. But what was I to do with all this confetti in the grass?

This is how I ended up vacuuming my lawn. I got out the shop vac and sucked up all the little pieces like a mad woman. Mr. Across the Street was out as I was doing it but I'm sure he did not think I was crazy because he rakes his lawn every single morning. I'm sure that he understands that desperate times call for desperate measures. It had to have been kind of a funny sight though. But I didn't want to leave it because for one thing it looked trashy. And for another thing, I didn't want our gardeners to have to take care of it. I really love our gardeners. All they're supposed to do it mow and edge the lawns but they do so much more. They weed my vegetable garden, they prune the palm trees, they even take in our trash cans. I really didn't want them to have to deal with confetti. So I vacuumed the grass. It worked like a charm. And what I missed the sprinklers should dissolve in the morning.

And because my neighborhood is still shooting off the odd firework I think it's fine to post a patriotic song. Possibly the greatest of them all.

The smoking barrel

Prepare yourself for what you are about to see:

Oh, that's just me shooting a gun.

I know what you're thinking.  That I was abducted by a duck hunting cult. But I wasn't! I can see how you would come to that conclusion considering my stance on guns. But I try to be reasonable about this, that guns are out there and plenty of good, responsible, not-dumb non-killers own them. And I should be less terrified of them because, to quote Fran from Strictly Ballroom, "A life lived in fear is a life half lived." Not that I'm going to go out an buy one, but I shouldn't cower at the thought of them.

So when Jim, a guy in my ward and a gun enthusiast, invited me and Katie out to go skeet shooting I thought I would be brave and go. Plus, it sounded like fun.

And it totally was! I get why people do it. Yelling, "PULL!" and then firing is kind of thrilling. And we went to the Olympic shooting range out at Prado. I shot where the Olympians shot! The metal podiums are still there! I can't believe I did not get a picture with me standing on them. I'm such a dummy. Next time. There's still a chance that the Olympics will be back in LA in 2024 (oh, please, please, please, please, please! Although shooting won't be at Prado. I know this because I just spent the last 20 minutes looking over the bid and then another 20 minutes imagining me being named #1 Super Star Volunteer of the 2024 Olympic Games.) in which case I can go to the shooting competition and chat with the athletes because I will be an expert by then. I was an okay shot for my first time. Not great, but I didn't totally embarrass myself. My goals was to hit at least one and I far surpassed that. I got bunches of those clay pigeons. Katie did even better.

I would like to say farewell to my right arm though. It was a good 40 year run with it but I'm going to have to have it amputated because HOLY CATS IT'S PAINFUL TO SHOOT. This was not a surprise. Everyone who shoots says this. But that doesn't make the pain go away. Or the welts. Or the bruises that will follow. But I'll carry them as mementos of this day.

Get out of my head, Charles Dickens!

1. I hate to break it to everyone but that Strawberry Moon everyone was talking about the other night may not have been special and rare for the reason they thought it was special and rare. We get a Strawberry Moon every June. That's just the name of the full moon in June. March is the Worm Moon. October is the Hunter's Moon. Any red or pink tint to it was just plain old pollution. Or in our case, smoke. What made this particular Strawberry Moon special was that it came on the summer solstice. That is the rare and special bit. Which means it was the perfect time to get all those pagan rituals checked off your to-do list.

2. I finally got around to changing two sprinkler on the back yard. I've changed one before and it was surprisingly simple so I figured I could do it in a jiff. And I would have, except that when I was unscrewing the broken sprinkler the thingy that it screws into that connects it to the pipe broke off inside of it, thus necessitating: 1. digging an enormous hole around the pipe and what remained of the broken thingy, 2. trying every wrench in the tool chest to get the broken thingy off, 3. driving down to Home Depot with the sprinkler and the broken thingy in a bag, 4. running into my home teacher and go-to gardening guy Rex IN THE SPRINKLER AISLE of all places and 5. having him point out all the things I would need plus getting some helpful tips from him on sprinkler maintenance.  After some minor issues with the new sprinklers (lesson learned: get the kind with the screw-on top) I was good and muddy and the grass is now getting plenty of water. Look at all the things I am learning! Six months ago all I could tell you about sprinklers was that you should avoid running over them with a law mower and now I know all sorts of interesting things. Like, for example, the thingy is called a riser and it is used to adjust the height of your sprinkler in relation to the pipe.

3. I finished Bleakhouse by Charles Dickens. This took my entire life to read. It was 850 pages of the smallest print imaginable. It's basically the size of the Old Testament. But I loved it and miss it because it has been my friend for many weeks. And also because I think I may be the reincarnate Dickens. And here's why. His character Esther said, "I sobbed a little still, but that was because I had been crying, not because I was crying then." THIS IS MY CONDITION! How many times have I cried because I had been crying? Hundreds of times! Crying begets crying. People who don't have this happen to them don't understand this phenomenon but Dickens clearly does. There were many, many times throughout the book where I would sigh and say, "Dickens just gets me." I suppose this is what makes a good writer. The good ones can tell a story far outside your realm and yet connect with you with feelings you recognize instantly. Geez, Dickens. Come back to life so you can be my boyfriend.

4. Joe Cocker's "Feeling'Alright" came on my iTunes this morning, which is always a treat because I love it, and for the first time I noticed the cover art for the album. Prepare yourself:

What is even going on here? There was a meeting, I'm sure. Producers and executives and agents and probably even Joe were sitting around a studio conference room and all of them were like, "I think we should go with the picture where he looks like a cross between Baby Huey and Dr. Frankenfurter." The thing is, this is a pretty accurate depiction of what he looks like when he performs. I always feel super awkward watching him. I won't make you. I'll just post this video of the song with some psychedelic visuals. Let's get your weekend started off right.

"And I can't stand him."

Greetings from Satan's Broiler. It is HOT here. If I left out a pan of fruit puree in the morning I could have fruit leather when I got home from work. Every time I step outside my mind starts screeching, "We're all going to diiiiiiiiiieeeee!!!!!"  And I can feel all the water in my body leaving the extremities for my core to keep my vital organs working. On top of this our mountains are on fire. Which makes for a very cozy armageddon, don't you think. Sometimes California is all, "You think you can tame me. Well, think again, darlings!" And then we are forced to recall that we live in a desert wilderness that's prone to fires and floods and sits on top of a fault line. Hey, come visit! We'll have the air on.

Remember how I last wrote about going to see To Kill a Mockingbird at the Million Dollar Theater and how it was so hot I thought the sweat pooling up on my back was going to soak through my shirt and ruin the faux-leather seats? Well, Lindsay, Susie, and I went to the Theater at the Ace Hotel, another glorious old beauty in downtown, to watch Singing in the Rain and mercifully, it had air conditioning. I mean, I didn't need a sweater or anything but I also didn't require an IV of fluids to rehydrate after the show. And it is so gaudy I could cry. Gaudy in the best possible way. I think the designers came in and said, "I'm thinking King Triton meets Liberace. Let's just filigree the heck out of this thing and go from there!" For the record, if someone compared my decor to Liberace I would think it was the highest compliment.

Ariel? Is that you swimming by? Your dad's pretty mad. 

Fun fact: at one point during its lean years a church bought it. Can you imagine?! 

Before the movie none other than Gene Kelly's wife came out and told us some stories about the movie. Now, before you start wondering how they wheeled a hospital bed out onto the stage because of her advanced age, let me tell you that he was 77 when they married in 1990 ...and she was 31. Which means that she wasn't even alive when Singing in the Rain came out. No judgement. Gene Kelly oozes charisma.

Isn't Singing in the Rain just the best? Don't you feel so happy when you watch it? This is actually the second time I've seen it in a fancy theater. I watched it several years ago at the Egyptian in Hollywood (sadly lacking in excess filigree) and I've watched it a couple times at summer movies in the park. Watching it with a crowd is the best because it really increases my love for the human race when I hear people laughing at parts I laugh at.

via GIPHY

More seersucker, please

Success of the week: I watched To Kill a Mockingbird and I didn't sob openly, as I normally do. I mean, I cried because I have a soul, but it wasn't my normal blubbering. This is probably because I was watching it in the Million Dollar Theater in LA which was built in 1918 and they didn't think about air conditioning back then so all of the moisture that would have gone to tears had been sweated out. I mean, I'm sure that they did think of air conditioning in the abstract as in, "Geez, this cotton petticoat is a killer. I wish that this gorgeous building had some kind of internal cooling system. Well, I'm glad I brought my fan from Olvera Street." As I assume Olvera Street was the number one source for cheap decorative fans back in Days of Yore as it is today. So there's no air conditioning in the Million Dollar Theater and you can really feel it when you're sitting on faux leather seats with a few thousand other sweltering saps. As we were herding ourselves out through the lobby into the cool night air there was also a very pungent aroma of marinating human emanating from us all.

And yet, while we were watching the courtroom scene I really got how those people must have felt sitting in there on a hot southern summer afternoon. So maybe there is air conditioning and the good people of the Los Angeles Conservancy were just trying to create atmosphere.  Well done, guys!

Also there for atmosphere: Atticus' seersucker suit coat:

I will say this forever, you just can't beat a seersucker suit and I wish that more men would wear them. They are so genteel.

Here's something funny, I got the idea that there were several people in the theater who had never read nor seen To Kill a Mockingbird. Because there were audible gasps when the verdict was read and when Bob Ewell attacked the kids. Does this seem possible? I know that my love for both the film and the book border on crazy but did these people not go to school? Isn't it required reading? It made me want to ask someone what else they had never read. And then I wondered what reading gaps do I have that would shock people. Watership Down? 1984? Animal Farm? The Hobbit? (Although I have really tried with that one.)

Before the show we went to the finally re-opened Clifton's Cafeteria. And when I say cafeteria, I'm not kidding. You walk down rows of food with your tray and pick up what you want. I had the meat loaf and apple pie because what else would you get at a cafeteria? This place has been around for decades but it closed for remodeling several years ago and took forever to reopen so I was excited to go. The food was good and plentiful, but pricey. I suppose you're paying for nostalgia and all the kitsch. It is Kitsch Heaven. And a place for all your taxidermy dreams to come true. We ate right next to a stuffed raccoon. We were running late for the show so we didn't get a chance to look around as much as we had hoped but I don't think it's going anywhere so I feel pretty good about my chances of going back. I've heard they have a meteorite there which I obviously need to see. And Ray Bradbury spent years hanging out there, writing and holding court, and you can sit in his booth. Confession: Bradbury was a gap in my reading until a few years ago when I finally got around to Fahrenheit 451. 

Summer of Culture

1. On a trip to Utah last weekend we got to celebrate Camille's birthday with fancy tacos at Oteo in Lindon and fancy ice cream at Taste in Provo. Look, I generally prefer cheap tacos and ice cream. In fact, once the price starts to go up on a taco you begin to wonder if people even know what a taco is. But these were gooooood. Even a great taco can be improved with a homemade tortilla. Okay, all of life is improved with a homemade tortilla. I should learn how to make them, right? But I'm not going to get a fancy taco press because I am opposed to kitchen tools that only do one job if that job can be done with a multi-purpose tool you already own. Avocado scooper/slicer? Junk, if you have a spoon and a knife.

2. Aside from Camille's birthday we were up in Utah for Tom's baptism.

This kid. There isn't a sweeter human being on the planet. He is loving and generous and funny.

3. Speaking of sweet kids, I went back to Upland last night to see the kids from my first seminary class graduate, to openly weep over them, and to refrain from bursting into an overly-dramatic rendition of Sunrise, Sunset. They're awesome. I mean, each and every one of them is just fantastic. I was pretty nervous to teach seminary and these kids made it (relatively) easy. Oh how I love them.

4. The summer of cultural events has begun. Don't you just love all the fun things that you do during the summer? Concerts and plays and outdoor movies. Winter Rachel is all, "Bed. Cocoa. Cozy nights in, please." But Summer Rachel is all, "Let's go out and be enriched in the sunshine and the cool evening breezes." Last week Katie, Lindsay, Susie and I went to see 42nd Street in Hollywood. I've seen it before but let me tell you, I would see it a million times because: tap dancing. It is packed with tap dancing. And there is nothing more joyful than 40 people tap dancing in sparkly outfits to Irving Berlin songs. If it comes your way you have to see it. Locals, it's playing at the Pantages for a few more weeks. Treat yo self.

5. And treat yo self to this picture of Ron Swanson and Prince Harry after a polo match with Prince William awkwardly waving in the background.

I wonder where polo ranks on the Swanson Pyramid of Greatness.

We all know what you're thinking, Mr. Whiskers

I desperately want this to be a real thing. But it is unnecessary.

Because we all know what your cat is thinking. And it is this:

"I hate you. You're dumb and ugly and you annoy me. If you weren't the one providing my food I would sit on your face until you stopped breathing. And then I would eat your face. I know you tell your friends that I'm the best cat and I don't walk on the counters but I totally walk on the counters. You think squirting me with a water bottle is going to stop me? Think again, bozo. You know I have poop on my paws, right? I go and stomp around in my own poop and then I walk all over you and your pillow. Or I lick my paws and then I lick some of the fruit in your fruit bowl. Not all of the fruit, because I'm playing with your mind. You'll never know which of your apples has my poopy saliva all over it. And I absolutely put that fur on your toothbrush on purpose. I've been planning your demise for years. Go jump off a cliff."

You know, a rally.

Well, the Russians are at it again. Those doping, low-down sneaks! Will they stop at nothing to win?! In a nutshell there was a whole clandestine government-sponsored switcheroo going on with urine samples at the Sochi Olympics. The guy who was forced by the Kremlin to run it and then forced to resign once it came out has had to flee for his life to sunny LA (do you think I could meet him?), which was a smart move considering that two of his colleagues mysteriously died just months after the story broke. There's been a call to ban Russia from the Olympics. I will sign that petition. Should we have a rally or something? Let's make t-shirts and have a rally. Stop messing with my Olympics, Russia!

Do you also think of this scene from An American Tail when you hear the word rally? I have literally only seen that movie once and yet it comes to mind every single time.


Plus, it's Madeline Kahn, which naturally leads me to think of this:


via GIPHY

Speaking of flames on the side of my face: I think my allergies are trying to tell me something, and that something is that they hate me and want me to be miserable and live the rest of my life as a sniffly, snotty, droopy-eyed zombie who doesn't have any friends because I've driven them all away with my constant nose-blowing and throat-clearing and awkward ear-scratching. It is the worst it has ever been, folks. If I were a cartoon character I would have a cloud of pollen over my head and beehives coming out of my ears.

I had a student in the institute a few weeks ago who had a bad cold and sniffed - and I'm not exaggerating because I timed them - about every 20 seconds. And I put up with it for an hour. AN HOUR!! Finally, I couldn't take it anymore so I went over to him with a box of tissue and said, "Darling Child, I know you're feeling miserable, but either you blow your nose or you leave the building because I can't handle your sniffing any longer." And he apologized and then DIDN'T BLOW HIS NOSE AND CONTINUED TO SNIFF!!! Only quieter but I could still hear him because I am a neurotic human being with mutant selective hearing. So I kicked him out. And when I pointed him toward the door he said, "Where am I supposed to go?!" I told him I didn't know but not to the library and not to class and not around any other human beings because he clearly did not care that he was gross and germy and totally unfit for society. One of my job responsibilities is to help these kids be functioning adults and one of the realities of adulthood is that when your nose is full of boogers, you blow it. I am absolutely going to needlepoint that.

Dole Whip It Good

Gina, Chris, and Levi came into town this weekend. As you might know, Chris teaches ballroom dance at UVU and his touring team was in town to perform at Disneyland so Gina and Levi tagged along and then I tagged along when they went to the park.

Some observations:

1. Levi was both apprehensive and thrilled with the day. Mostly thrilled. Autopia was a mistake because we told him that he would get to drive a car and he took that to mean that he had to actually drive a car and the look on his face as he was driving was just too much. Like at any moment he would lose concentration and they would crash and the day would be ruined. Gina eventually took over. I remember having the exact same reaction when I was a kid although that could have been because my dad would shout out, "We're going to run into those rocks! Keep turning!!" He also loved to tell us that those were actual cannonballs being shot at us on Pirates of the Caribbean. It took years to not instinctively duck. 

2. I saw MANY middle aged men roaming the park alone, most of them in Disney gear. Um, what gives? I know that plenty of people love Disney with a fiery passion and, as I discovered later that night, there is a bit of joy in being by yourself at the park - who loves a solo adventure more than I? - but don't these fellas have jobs? Maybe they're all independently wealthy eccentrics, in which case why didn't I befriend one in the hopes of finally finding a Wealthy Benefactor. Dumb, Rachel. Really dumb.

3. So you know there's an app that tells you the wait time for rides. But did you know that it also tells you the wait time for a Dole Whip? Technology has changed our lives in so many delightful ways. 

4. The Peter Pan line is always the longest. But it is also always worth it because Peter Pan for president, is what I say. 

5. Gina reminded me as we were in line for Small World that she was the first person I went on that ride with. The same could be said for most of the rides. I've spent more time at Disneyland with Gina than anyone else. We should get matching ears or something to commemorate. 

6. The rest of the gang went home to put Levi to bed but I wanted to see the parade and fireworks so I stuck around. The crowd had already gathered but I just made my way to a good location and asked whatever group looked the friendliest if I could squeeze in with them. I was between a elderly couple from Arizona and a cute little family from up north. We became fast friends. The beauty of Disneyland is that most people are genuinely happy to be there. They're tired, but they're full of good cheer.

7. A warning to people who take videos of firework shows: prepare to be judged! (Ahem) What are you doing with your life?! You're wasting it, is what you're doing. Fireworks are definitely one of those things that are better enjoyed in the moment and not through the small screen of your phone. And certainly not the next day on that phone. You miss what makes fireworks great: the flash of light on your face and the boom that you can feel in your chest. Taking a video of fireworks is like putting your uneaten french fries in a take-away box. Nobody really enjoys french fries the next day. And are you ever going to watch that video? You're not! And heaven help the poor sap you try to show it to. A fully grown woman who has probably seen dozens of firework shows in her lifetime was standing in front of me and drained her battery recording the entire spectacle. And guess what I just did right this minute? I looked up "Disneyland Fireworks 2016" on YouTube and found several videos of the full show. Look, do what you want with your life, but remember that while you're recording there is a short girl standing behind you, judging you as she jostles around looking for a better view other than through your phone. (End of Judgement.) (Who am I kidding. I will never stop judging you on this!)

8. Look at this face: