The Book Thief...and other endings

It has been an emotional week for me. As I've pondered the passing of a friend and as I've finished reading a book written with such weighty brilliance that it's been credited by many as "changing their lives", I find myself quick to cry and slow to...well, anything else. In other words, everything else has slowed down to a speed more prone to contemplation and appreciation.

That, by the way, is not the speed that our world is spinning at right now. Our RPM is currently set at FRANTIC. Cunningly so by the author of all unhappiness, Mr. Devil. Our sobriety is dependant on being 'present in the moment', so in order for him to maintain our dis-ease, we must not be allowed enough time to even know the moment existed in the first place, until that is, the consequences of the moment are seated insistantly at our feet.

Breathe in. Wait. Breathe out. Listen for the lilt in someone's laugh, look for the playful in someone's eye.
Take the time to say no. Take the time to let someone else adjust..learn..merge.

When I speak of sobriety, it's almost impossible to do so without thinking strong drink as well. But in The Book of Mormon, sobriety is admonished with no referral at all to wine. According to Elder James J. Hamula "Being sober means being earnest and serious in assessing your circumstances, and careful and circumspect in weighing the consequences of your actions. Soberness therefore yields good judgment, as well as measured conduct."

But enough about that.

So, as I put down the 560 pages of Markus Zusak's "The Book Thief" I have to ask myself; how can Mr. Zusak live with himself? Knowing a creation of such magnitude came out of himself? Wow. Good job Markus. Stay with us.

Other endings in my life have happened or are about to happen in the form of serving in God's kingdom. Church callings are changing hands. This happens almost every week so why do the most recent ones seem to have affected my heart strings this week in particular? Probably because I have witnessed Andy and Jim and Randy all give their hearts in their service. Their families as well have sacrificed. How do you put it down then, and move on? How do you redirect dedication? By definition you shouldn't be able to. By experience, it's known to be hard, as Christopher and Evan will discover in two years when they return home from their missions abroad.

I know that I too, will soon be released. Dismissed. I'm lost trying to figure out how that's going to work. They (the sisters) are in my heart, so it can't, can it? But somehow it will have to and it will be, in it's own way, glorious. Because for me, I can't help thinking that I have let the cancer and the calling become entangled in one. I hope to find out that upon my release, I can finally let go and put the disease behind me and be done with it. (well...the moving plan didn't work...I've got to try something!)

Now on to Howard and death. Same problem but bigger question mark. How is that going to work? He's in our hearts, but our opportunity to serve him and learn from him, at least here on earth, have now passed.

We may be uncertain as we wonder in callings as in relationships "could I have done more?" but today in church, I was overcome with such an overwhelming feeling of "well done, though good and faithful servant" that I think it's safe to just smile and let that one go. I know that I loved all the sisters in my ward and that I loved Howard as well, so what more could I have done?

From My Journal - 1988

"I feel so alone for the first time in my life; like a has-been Nike swoosh, like a new kid at school, like a cream soda in the fridge, like a word stuck in a pen."

That was from my journal in 1988. If you're from the 80's, you will remember that for a while, Nike was huge and you had to have that swoosh on your shoes. But by '88, the craze was pretty well over, no one had thought of "just do it" yet and other tennies like Adidas and K Swiss had stolen the market, at least as far as a journal writer in St. Louis at the time was concerned. And I apparently wasn't too fond of cream soda.

I guess I was feeling alone at the time. I wrote my best poetry as a lonely teenager and as an in love teenager and as a hyper teenager and as a trying to win free stuff teenager and as a contemplative teenager....you get the point. My career as a poet hit it's peak right about the same time as my hormones did. Juvenescence makes a riotous muse if captured properly.

One of my favorites is called "Why Do Lovers Walk So Slow?"

Why do lovers walk so slow
Don't they know I've got to go
They walk so slow that I can't stand
To be behind those hand in hand.
The bells gonna ring
And I'll be late
Just because two people date.
I try not to be tardy to class,
But lovers walk slow...
And are hard to pass.

Technically, that is a sonnet, but not intentionally. It just sort of happened that way.

So this is it. Mothers Day 2011 starts at 4 am. I don't know why, but apparently I'm supposed to be up right now. Breakfast in bed? Nope. Try breakfast in a dark kitchen when the house is so quiet, you think that cracking an egg is going to break the sound barrier and when did the keyboard get so dang loud!?

A bowl of cereal would have been easier, and possibly quieter, but some lousy idiot discovered that carbs aren't as good for you as we once supposed (how could something that makes you so happy be good for you!?) and that eating them will give your body a reaction opposite to what you're going for at 4 am...namely more awake, less asleep. Ignorance really is bliss ya' know. Get your stinkin' lab coat away from my bliss!

And when did my job, which was supposed to be a source of mad money, or fun money, become so darn essential? How come now I cannot imagine how we'd get through the next month without it and how "fun" has nothing to do with it? Did God know that our entire sprinkler system would blow up today and seem so hopelessly expensive to fix? Did he trick-bless me into getting a job so I'd be ready for this, quite possible $1,000 repair. Which came first...the chicken or the egg?

It happened. Sometime within the last 24 hrs, our MLS listing slipped quietly and peacefully away. After a year of "house on the market" angst, it just ended. Almost without our knowledge. If it wouldn't have been for the first, of I'm sure many, phone call from a realtor/vulture, ready to jump in and be the answer to all my real estate problems, I probably wouldn't have even known.

I love my house. I love my neighbors. I just don't love where they all come together.
Goodbye dream of moving. Please go away.

Still with the Yay! Thing

Yay! Yay! Yay! is still on my mind. This may have something to do with the fact that yesterday I forgot to come to ward council with a spiritual thought prepared and had to wing it by trying to use my most recent blog piece. Hm mm. Questionable move on my part. I vaguely recall getting lots of blank stares.

I'd like to think that behind those stares were thoughts of: "Wow... I am moved so much by the deep insights of Sister Jarman that I find myself rendered speechless. If only Heaven would open up right now and take us all home so we could praise the good Lord in person for this bestowal of wisdom and light."

But what they were probably thinking was: "Dude...she totally forgot to bring the spiritual thought."

Nevertheless...I am still led to believe that there is some deeper reason why this little boy's reaction made such an impact on me. Which has led me to reflect on the scripture; "Men are that they might have joy". Ever notice how it comes right after the verse "Adam fell that men might be"? The single most enfeebling, disruptive and bruising event in the history of the world, yes the very Fall of Adam itself, is followed by the declaration that...it's all about our happiness?

Men are that they might have joy. Go figure.

So if all this learning and hurting and growing and nitty-gritty life stuff is really so good for us, and I think that it is, and having these adversity laden days are really what it's all about...then those Mormons really do know what they're talking about. I think members of the LDS church may be getting a bad rap for the whole "Gods and Godesses' in embryo thing" because when you think about it...it's quite spot on. But do we ever think about it? Eternity that is?

Has it ever occured to anyone that sitting around eating grapes or plucking harps for eternity would quite literally be it's own kind of HELL? So why would we get on someones case when they talk about progressing eternally? To dam something is to stop it, correct? Do you want to be who you are right now...forever? Would you be happy if you were still the same person today that you were 10 years ago? I know I wouldn't. Ever heard someone be grateful for a past trial? "If I could do it over again, I wouldn't change a thing."

So, yah. Maybe if you progress and learn and change FOR ETERNITY...you might just eventually pick up a few attributes here and there that are...dare I say it....Godlike. He is our Father you know, and a perfect one at that. Matthew 7: 9-11

"Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?
Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?
If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?"

Don't worry. The Mormons don't believe they have the potential of being your God. That job is already taken. But do know, that Yay! Yay! Yay! happiness is the object and design of our existence (Who designed our existence and Who is perfectly happy?) and will be the end thereof.

So, you're gonna have to find something else to get upset over the Mormons about...because being upset because they understand that God is their Father and wants them to have everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, that He has is a little on the naive and short sighted side. It would be more appropriate to be upset at them because they actually have that knowledge and so much more, yet they so often do not live up to their potential, or as Brigham Young said it "far beneath our privileges."

Yay! Yay! Yay!

This is what a little four year old boy said today when I handed him a simple yellow balloon at the Thanksgiving Point Half Marathon. "Yay! Yay! Yay!" as he hopped away on both feet, like Tigger.

He was the highlight of everyone at the booth today that witnessed his reaction to this seemingly simple acquisition of helium and latex. Hundreds of yellow balloons tied to hundreds of little wrists this morning, but none were as appreciated, loved, or delighted in quite as much this one was.

"To become like little children..." as Christ beckons through century and verse, apparently includes rejoicing and delighting in blessings of every size, color and unremarkable ordinary-ness...even to the point of becoming "hopping happy".

The Omen and It's Possible Meanings

I almost didn't recognize it at first. In fact, I readily dismissed the lone earring that lay in that last bit of diminishing snow as someone elses's problem. I only picked it up to lay it in a more conspicuous place in case it's owner came back.

I guess my plan worked...because I quickly realized that I was the owner! If not mistaken, this was the earring that I lost a long time ago! I probably lost it while raking leaves at our apartment last fall. Sure enough, I took it home and compared it to the one in my jewelry box and it was a perfect match!

Considering the size of the earring and the time and conditions that had passed since it fell out of my ear, this was really quite amazing to me. Mark says it's an omen. I am all for that. Now all I have to do is decide what it's an omen for.

I know, how about the return of my hair! We could really work the whole fall/spring analogy thing.
Or...I certainly wouldn't mind the return of my strength and stamina. You would have thought that by now, I'd be back up to par...but I'm still the biggest wimp I know. My short term memory would be nice too. But then I think I'd trade it all for the return of the cute, cuddly little friends my two youngest daughters used to be to each other. The fighting....the drama...the hormones...really girls?

If you need some omen, just let me know. I'll share some with you. I'm sure there's plenty to go around, but you should know one thing. I went to grab the earring to take a picture of it for this blog and I couldn't find either one. Yup, now they are both missing. I may have to check with Mark first, but, I think it's an omen.

New Holiday

We went to Subway last night for Family Home Evening, to claim our free "Tax Day Cookie".
Going so late in the day, we were prepared for them to be all out of cookies, but the guy behind the counter said we were the ONLY people ALL day to come in and get a free cookie. So I guess the Free Tax Day Cookie turned into Free Cookie for Me Day. I like that!

#1 Facebook Wish List

If the facebook genie would grant me one friend request I know exactly who I would wish to find! 23 years ago I spent a magical two weeks with an adorable boy name Franklin, at his parents elite Old Town Alexandria townhome. These folks went furniture shopping in Europe, and car shopping in Sweden. They matched their placemats to their food ("Which one of these goes best with chicken? The checkered or the damask?") They were O L D M O N E Y and they wanted ME to move in with their son!

I would love to find out what happened to Franklin not only because of the bright future and high expectations his family demanded of him and would surely provide for him, and not only because our parting was so heartbreakingly unexpected and emotional...but because...he was only six months old the last time I saw him.

I was a nanny. Franklin's nanny.

Franklin Black was the son of Elise Black and Mr. Black? I can't remember his name. Just that he was the economic editor of US News and World Report at the time and his wife was a lawyer for the United States Justice Department. (She used to work with Rex E. Lee) They were both raised by "white gloved nannies", had graduated from Ivy League schools, traveled the world, loved Linda Rodstadt, and by age 40 had decided that they owned everything in the world they could ever want except one thing...an offspring.


That's where I come into the picture. My mother wrote an elegant cover letter to accompany my resume and they fell in love with me instantly. Well...they fell in love with my mother. Who wouldn't...I'd pay her to raise my kids too.

Anyway...my first night there, sharing a penthouse suite with little Franklin's nursery, I fluffed up my pillow and sat up in bed to write in my journal when C R A S H! The 150 year old antique bed that they had set me up with, falls apart. To their credit, they were more worried about my safety than the furniture. But perhaps the most memorable part of the evening for me was the look on their faces when they saw what I wore to bed. Let's just say...NOT satin jammie tops and bottoms. More like...white trash reject something or others.

I did become extremely homesick extremely fast. Mostly because I was in culture shock and had no way to relate to the posh surroundings or foreign childcare theories that were being thrust upon me. Franklin's toys came with instruction manuals so that I could introduce the right toys to him in the right order so his brain would function at genius level. I had to play Spanish lessons during his morning nap and German lessons during his afternoon. I had to sterilize his toys on a weekly basis, dispose of every diaper in a zip lock bag before throwing it out. I had to boil everything that I used to prepare his bottles, including the tongs, funnels, can opener, and the top of the cans themselves. I had to check the air quality report before taking him on his morning stroll. But the most baffling thing was...I was not to nap while he was napping.


That was difficult because several times a week I would go out at night with the other nannies and young single adults in the area and stay out usually until 1am. Mr. and Mrs. Black did not like this either. It made them worry about my safety. Bless their hearts.


So, two weeks into the deal...I guess they got sick of hearing me cry in the shower every morning, and of my staying out late at night because they fired me. I got a healthy severance package so I moved in with another nanny whose employers were on a two week cruise. I looked for another nanny job and played around the greater DC area. But in the end I caught a flight home and found a nanny job there, where I could live at home and stay out as late as I wanted to without my boss ever knowing. So whatever happened to Franklin? Did they find another nanny, like a professional nanny from England? Did they tell her horror stories about me? Did Franklin meet all his parents expectations or is he in prison somewhere? Facebook.....the ball is now in your court!

Too Much, Too Little

You know you're depressed when...



1. Snow in April makes sense and



2. hunger pains are good, 'cause at least you're feeling something and



3. you wonder why you don't know the words to Moon River.



You know you're bored when...



1. You can't wait for Tourettes Awareness Month so you can wink at total strangers for no reason and



2. you wonder what food goes best with The Eagles.



"So put me on a highway, and show me a sign...." (I'm leaning towards grilled cheese, but I could be wrong)

More from my bouquet...

Imagine coming home from school on your birthday and being met halfway up your driveway by your neighbor who is wearing the biggest grin you've ever seen. "Wow...my birthday surprise is so incredible that even the neighbors are excited!" I imagined. Then to my surprise she pulls this cake out of nowhere that must have taken her hours to create...a beautiful pink cake with a fancy white poodle on the top complete with coconut flake fur.

Guess who has never liked coconut flakes? Guess whose mom was lying sick in bed, thus inspiring this kind woman's attempt to save a little girls birthday? Guess who cried and sulked off into her room, without so much as a "thank you", thus leaving this poor Samaritan holding the cake?

(Guess who just burned dinner because she was blogging? I thought the tears were from remorse...nope, try smoke.)

In the end, however, this kind lady should take solace in one thing. And that is knowing that her cake, although rejected as it was at the time, is the only cake from my childhood that I can still remember.