Keith, the UPS guy

I've told this story this weekend to anyone who would listen. Since it's still on my mind - and since you are a captive audience - I'm going to write about it.

I have a set of neighbors that don't seem to like me much. Maybe they think I'm wonderful, I don't know, but based on the two years they have lived next to me, and the fact that I've about given up on them simply waving "hello" to me and the fact that they'll see me coming and hurry and turn their backs to avoid making eye contact with me, I think it is safe to say they aren't fans of the Deason clan.

I guess that's okay. I miss my old neighbor. I used to love stepping outside and being pleasantly surprised to see Brit or Jake out. We would wave, say "hello", sometimes have a conversation, but they never failed to put a smile on my face. I was thrilled when they got engaged, cried when they got pregnant, fell in love with their baby boy and full out bawled when they moved.

I don't know why the current homeowners don't find me fabulous. The dislike is compounded by the fact that their house has a small basement that has been converted into an apartment. Those renters don't like me either. I haven't done anything to make them mad. I keep my yard tidy. We don't have wild parties on the weekend. We mind our business. But our "hello" waves are seldom returned.

Saturday I was weeding my flower bed that is connected on one side by their driveway. I was digging and weeding when I heard their gate click. I turned to say hello when I realized the neighbor-gal had walked right behind me and was heading back into the house. I was so mad but all I could do was laugh.

I shook my head in dismay and continued with my gardening. A few minutes passed when I heard the sound of a stroller nearing. I looked up in time to see a young gal approaching. I recognized her from church that my neighborhood attends. I smiled and said "hello". She looked at me and turned her head the other way and ignored me.

WHAT THE CRAP?

I have raised my family to be friendly and helpful to all they meet regardless of the color of their skin, their financial place in society, any political standings and especially regardless of anyone's religious preferences. I have always felt it was important to really see the human being behind all the facades we inevitably build around us and judge a person on their character. Where I go wrong is expecting the same treatment.

Sigh. I'll get off my soapbox and back to the story I intended to write.

Okay, so the weeding continued. I was angry, hurt, dismayed, astounded. You name it, I was feeling it. I was furiously tossing weeds into the trash can when I heard the UPS truck pull up. Out stepped the delivery guy without a package in his hand. He was walking towards me, so I pulled off my gloves, brushed off the dirt and went to meet him halfway.

A couple of years ago I was taking Hailey to feed the ducks. I swung into the bread store to get some bread and was chatting with the gal at the check-out when the UPS guy came to make a delivery. We all ended up talking for a few minutes, but since then, I see him regularly and we smile and wave.

The UPS guy walking towards me was THAT guy. I know I must have had a VERY confused look on my face. Because, well, I was CONFUSED! He stuck out his hand and said, "I see you all the time, you always smile and wave at me. I saw you out here and it dawned on me that I don't know your name. I'm Keith."

That random act changed my whole day.

The Thrill And The Agony

Oh how I love the Olympics! I have waited somewhat patiently in anticipation for the beginning of the 2012 Summer Olympic Games and have not been disappointed one tiny bit. I have watched interviews with past Olympians and remembered fondly their Olympic moments. I have felt the excitement of the current Olympians. I love that the world gathers together for this short amount of time to compete. I exuberantly cheer for the Red, White and Blue. Of course I LOVE when we win. I study the faces of the athletes as they raise OUR flag and play OUR national anthem. I see pride for our country and pride for the accomplishments. The camera will land upon the weeping faces of the family members in the crowd and they, too, are bursting. The family, the athletes and fellow attendees (and some of us at home watching) whisper the words to our national anthem and for a brief moment we are all united.

I remember watching the Olympics as a kid. I revered Nadia Comaneci. I stayed rooted in front of the television to catch a glimpse of her. It didn't matter that she was from another country. She was perfection in motion.

Maybe some of you are too young to remember the television series The Wide World of Sports. It was a sports anthology that ran from 1961 to 1998. It highlighted athletic competitions. It always began with:

Spanning the globe to bring you the constant variety of sport! The thrill of victory...and the agony of defeat! The human drama of athletic competition! This is ABC's Wide World of Sports!


I remember letting those words sink in...the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat. I would watch the athletes, scanning faces to capture a glimpse of their reaction to their performance.  I wanted to run faster, jump higher, tumble perfectly and perform fearlessly right beside them and feel that victory first hand. Of course, I'm not quick enough to get out of my own way, so...I watch.

I still scan the faces. I get so excited for the winner (even if they aren't from USA). The thrill of victory is tremendously contagious. I usually root for the underdog. Sometimes that works out pretty good for me and other times...not so good. That's when the agony of defeat rears its ugly head. You almost feel the disappointment emanating through the television screen.

The 2012 Summer Olympics will soon be something of the past. Athletes will begin training for 2016. There isn't much time for looking back. Their sights will be set on the future and the winnings and failures will soon become a memory. Maybe, as Miley Cyrus sings in her song, "it's all about the climb."

Emery County Spartans

One of the pretty-awesome-had-a-great-time events that I attended this summer was Mark's 30 year High School Reunion. Yup, the Emery County High School Class of 1982 gathered for fun and activities at the Carbon Golf Course. We golfed, laughed, gathered for lunch, attended a social and dinner.

I graduated in 1983, so I'm a year behind the "old geezers" that gathered, but since our High School was pretty small I knew everyone and had many memories with most of them.

Because I am younger, these were the "Gods" of the High School. You know, the older, more experienced, DEFINITELY cooler kids of the school. Ah, the Glory Days, huh?

During the social, my friend Dave Owens, had put together a tribute to those that had passed away. I was shocked to hear how many of our classmates were gone. 8 from the class of 1982. I'm not sure how many from my class. I know it will be too many.

It was fun to see all that attended. It was pretty cool to "reacquaint"ourselves with those we knew so well just a few years ago. We reminisced on the old times and spoke fondly of the "now times". If you have a reunion coming up, GO! We've ALL gained weight, lost hair, developed wrinkles, grey hair and saggy rear ends! It wasn't a beauty contest. It was a chance to renew and revive. To speak fondly of the days when we ran faster, hit harder, sang louder, danced ferociously, laughed hysterically, got in "big trouble" from teachers, gained an education and prepared for our future. We LIVED to see these people daily. And then, all too quickly, it ends. Responsibility slams us upside the head. Bills come, families happen and work devours our lives.

SO...go to your reunions. See your old friends. Talk about the impact teachers made in your life. Take a moment to think of those that passed before...both friends and teachers. Remember those that helped you become who you are - either by bugging the crap out of you or just loving you. Remember the good times and try not to forget the indestructible teenager inside of you.

Introducing the CLASS OF EMERY COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL CLASS OF 1982.

Back in the saddle

In case you've wondered where the crap I took off to, I've been out of commission for a while. Last month I spent a day with a bit of a stomach ache. The stomach ache eventually landed me in the Emergency Room where I was diagnosed with a terrible kidney infection. They fed me antibiotics through my IV, gave me some pain meds, slapped me on my butt and sent me on my way.

Two days later, I was right back where I started. OHMYGOSH I was in some terrible pain again. This time the Emergency Room did a CT scan and told me that I had three kidney stones about 1/4" big that needed to come out.

I was so miserable that they could have told me that they needed to cut my head off to help me and I would have readily agreed. Off I went into surgery. They found my kidney so infected that they couldn't get rid of the stones, so the doc put a stint in, gave me 2 weeks worth of antibiotics and sent me out the door.

I have been hobbling around for a month waiting for my kidney to heal enough for me to have the final surgery. I know my family was getting fed up with my whining and complaining about how "I can't walk", "It hurts to pee", "I can't lift that", "It hurts to pee", I'm tired", "It hurts to pee", "It hurts to pee", "It hurts to pee".  Did I mention that it hurt to pee? Well, it did.

I had to say goodbye to my longtime friend Pepsi Cola. Used to be whenever I needed a break from reality I would load up in the jeep and run to the local convenience store, see my friend Nik, and grab a Pepsi. By the time I made it home, I was rejuvenated a ready to conquer again. Sigh. Those good times are over now.

Somehow, my tiny brain has attributed pain to Pepsi. I think it's probably right. I guess that soda plays a big role in kidney stones, but I'm not kidding when I say that the thought of having a Pepsi makes me want to vomit my brains out. Yeah...it will be a long time down the road before I'll be able to stomach a soda again.

So, Friday I had surgery for the stones. Turns out I had 6 stones in my right kidney. One was the size of a pencil eraser. THANK GOODNESS for modern medicine. Doctor Platt went in there like he was playing Asteroids on Atari and blasted the crap out of them. Had some minor complications that landed me in the hospital overnight, but I'm home now and back in the saddle again. (Albeit, I'm riding side saddle for a bit, but I'm in a saddle nonetheless.)

Teaching an old dog new tricks

I have made many, many, MANY mistakes in my life. I don't know if I regret anything I have done. I'm not at the point in my life where I do the whole introspective search to see where I have fallen short. I'm pretty much the "it is what it is" gal. But, I do know and am very aware of some of my short-comings and have worked hard to better myself along the way. I'll tell you one thing for sure, there are many things that I have done that I will NEVER do again.

Recently, the old Linnette had opportunity to rise from the ashes. That certainly would have been the easy way out. I'm prone to over-react. I'm emotionally charged and can set fire to the whole universe if I feel betrayed or hurt. I am very much like the Tasmanian Devil. I can spin around in circles without regard to my surroundings nor the people in my path. BUT this time, I thought VERY HARD about what I wanted say. I took a long look at the person I needed to talk to and what it was that I really needed to communicate. Oh, I wanted to yell, holler to the heavens, cry, rip flesh, fling myself to the ground and start kicking and screaming, snarl, and gnash my teeth. I wanted to turn loose that Tasmanian Devil inside of me and have at the entire world!

I didn't do it. Maybe I have grown up a bit. I addressed the problem. I explained how I felt. I behaved like a big girl and together we SOLVED the problem.

You CAN teach an old dog new tricks. Especially if the old dog you are training is yourself.

Spitting In The Sink

Years ago, Marks grandmother came to visit me. Mark and I were divorced at the time, so for Granny to make it to my doorstep was quite significant. Grandpa Jack had passed away quite a few years before that, and I had not had the opportunity to meet him. His legacy lives on and on in this family.

I'm understanding that he was a good man with a good heart. He was honest, fair and walked a straight line. He helped to raise Mark and his brothers when Gerald and Linda were unable to take care of the kids. (That in itself, deserves angel wings!) He was a good father, a terrific grandfather and a loyal husband. It's more than fair to say that he led his family by example.

Granny and I were sitting in my front room, sipping on lemonade and talking about Grandpa Jack. She relayed a story to me. Grandpa used to chew tobacco and he would spit in Granny's sink. Man oh man, this really made Granny mad. They fought about it constantly. Granny sort of smiled while she was telling me about the arguments that they would have. Trust me, I could relate to the frustration. I'm not sure that Mark fell far from that tree!

Anyhow, we were in the middle of stories and laughter when Granny got really quiet. I looked over and I could see tears dripping from her cheeks. After a few moments, she composed herself enough to say "Linnette, I would do ANYTHING to have that man spit in my sink again."

I carry that story with me. It put so many things in perspective. That story played a significant role in the reuniting of Mark and myself. Suddenly, so much of what we had fought about just didn't matter any longer. My long haired, hippy, guitar playing man could stay just the way he was.

My Little Black Rain Cloud

The end of school is looming. There are signs at the elementary school displaying the date of the final day of classes, flyers are being sent home exclaiming in bold lettering "End of school!" and the kids are talking about it with excitement. Even our breakfast table is a bit jubilant. I have begun counting down with Jaden to keep him excited to go these last few days. He is sincerely looking forward to this break. 

So why do I feel glum?

Don't get me wrong, I do so love the summer. I have always looked forward to having my kids home with me. I love the noise and chaos, the fighting and laughter. I'm the mom that cries when I drop my kids off to the first day of class. I cry HARD. My neighbor, Britney, used to sit on her front porch and await my return walk home. I'd sit on her porch and cry and cry and cry. I know she thought I had lost my mind, but I missed them. I'm nearly inconsolable that first day of school.

My kids have all attended Franklin Elementary School. Man oh man, I love that school. The principal is such a solid man. He has a very supportive staff and I have yet to have any real problems with any of the teachers. 

The final day of school at Franklin is a dance festival. The parents gather outside around a basketball court and each grade performs a dance for us. Kindergarten kids usually dance to "Splish Splash" or to "The Chicken Dance". Ohmygosh, it's so dang cute. I get so excited to watch the dances. I don't allow the kids to practice around me. I want to see the WHOLE performance with the WHOLE group for the first time on the day of the festival.

I guess I'm trying to tell you that I'm not a TOTAL funsucker, I enjoy the little things that come my way. But it's like Sunday night to me. I hate Sunday night because I hate Mondays. I hate the Fall because I hate Winter. I know what's around the corner and it fills me with dread.

I will not have another child attend Franklin Elementary. Jaden graduates sixth grade this year and he's off to a gifted and talented program at the High School. You do know what that means don't you? No dance festivals, no fun runs, no more cute homemade Mothers Day gifts...sigh.

I'm proud of my kids and the adults that they have become. They are an asset to society and each child is an integral piece within our family. I love that they are strong, independent human beings. I know all the right answers to why I feel the way I do. But I can't seem to change my heart. I miss my KIDS. I miss the little moments of wonder that children provide. I have thoroughly loved watching them learn and grow and conquer and become stronger over things that would have brought lesser people to their knees. Yet, I feel melancholy when I reminisce on the alone times that seem fewer now that they are busy.

I remember putting all the kids to bed on Friday nights, then sneaking Tyson out of bed so we could eat popcorn and watch the Utah Jazz play. I miss homework time with Goose and walking with Tanna. I miss the alone time Shelby and I shared together while all the other kids were in school and she had half days in kindergarten. I miss holding their hands while I drive and cuddling on the couch. I miss yelling at them to "go to sleep" or "turn down your music" or "clean your room" or "what the CRAP were you thinking when you shot out all the windows in the playhouse with your paint ball guns?"

It's Sunday night in my heart. I know what "tomorrow" will bring. I'm going to blink and Jaden will finish High School, finish college, find a Diana or Daulton, get married, have kids, stay busy and I'll be the old lady on the street with purple high top tennis shoes, waving my hand and yelling "Hey! What about me?" There it is. I'm a selfish girl and it's ALL about me.