Wild, Wild West - Spring Edition

Babies abound here this spring. Besides the domesticated babies (human and other), I've been lucky to see many younguns' around here this spring including:

• A rattlesnake!!!!!! (My first ever)
• Mule deer fawns (including newly born twins)
• Bison calves
• Squirrels
• Lots of baby birds

Other wild animal sitings this spring include:

• a badger
• a beaver
• antelope
• several bull snakes
• a garter snake or two
• turkey
• horned (??) lizard
• skunk (not dead in the middle of the road, stinkin' to high heaven)
• lots and lots and lots of brine shrimp (went for a dip in the Great Salt Lake)

A Trippy Trip

"'Cause baby, there ain't no mountain high enough. Ain't no valley low enough. Ain't no river..."

"Uh oh. It looks like there might be an accident up ahead. Do you see the police lights? I bet someone hit a deer. Wait a minute, is that policeman signaling for me to pull over? I wonder what's wrong?"

So ended our crooning with the Temptations and began our trip to scenic southcentral Utah.

As it turns out, the police officer (who was very, very nice by the way) said I had not dimmed my high beams early enough and that he would let me go with a warning this time, but in the future I should be careful about my using my bright lights because "there are many old people that drive these roads and the bright lights bother them." I was relieved, to say the least, and very cautious (a.k.a. "paranoid") about my headlight usage from that point on.

Sadly, that was not my only brush with the long arm of the Utah law on this trip. On Sunday, as TC and I were traveling along lovely Highway 12 engrossed in a deep conversation about freedom and living outside of "the matrix" (oh, I was on a roll, indeed!), I failed to notice the speed limit change (a.k.a "tourist speed trap") through the "town" of Escalante. (Actually, we both failed to notice the entire "town"). It wasn't long before I saw the all-too-familiar police lights in my rearview mirror. $107 later, we were again on our way to the wilds of Bryce Canyon as I unsuccessfully tried to exorcise the voice within me that said "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"Ironic, isn't it?" TC posed. "There we were talking about how free it must have felt to have lived in a time when only nature (rather than human-imposed codes, laws, and schedules) dictated most of your life and "the man" stops us and tickets us for speeding."

Yep, it was ironic. It was also stupid, stupid, stupid!

Bryce Canyon was kind of a last minute decision and a change in plans. My original plans had us visiting Capital Reef NP instead. Several recent recommendations as well as time, convenience and a desire to go horseback riding caused us to alter my plans and go to Bryce instead. We still visited Calf Creek Falls (which was gorgeous, by the way - I highly recommend it!), camped at the campgrounds there (in overflow camping because it was so crowded) and saw spectacular views from Boulder Mountain and Hogsback Ridge, but we decided against the 3-4 hour (possibly??) drive along Burr Trail and Notom-Bullfrog Road.

Having grown up with horses, it's always been a bit difficult for me to justify paying money (and lots of it) to go on a slow, often boring, hour-long horse ride. However, I've been itching to go riding the whole time I've been here and riding horses into the canyon seemed like a good way to see the park and something that could be fun, too. So we did it. We rented horses for a two-hour ride into (and back out of) the canyon. Our guide, a very chatty cowboy from Texas, was quite the character and I, being right behind him in line, got entertained the whole way. He was on a mule that spent most of her life pulling a cart. I think he said the mule had only had someone on her back about 14 times before our ride. He also mentioned to me that she was a little skittish, so until they broke her of that, they didn't want to let anyone but the guide ride her. On the way out of the canyon, we got a good taste of just how skittish she could be.

Always on the lookout for wildlife (I had already racked up one snake, a raven, a hawk - being chased by another raven - a chipmunk, a butterfly, several jackrabbits, and a small flock of wild turkey to TC's one bee and one fish - not that it was a competition or anything), I noticed a small herd of mule deer off to the right of the (narrow, winding) path up ahead of us. I told the guide about them (thinking that he might want to stop so people could look and/or take pictures). He did stop and we all lined up and watched the deer, oohing and ahhing appropriately as we did. It wasn't long before the deer saw us too. As soon as they started to run away, ol' Peaches (the guide's mule) finally noticed them and freaked out. One second I was casually aiming my camera at the deer closest to us and the next second I was being crushed (ok, not really crushed, but close) by a 1300 pound mule. Having been on and/or near Angel (the devil horse we had on our farm) many times when she spooked at something, Peaches' behavior did not immediately panic me. My only thought was that I better get my camera back in its case before I dropped it. However, as Peaches pushed by me, flailing and kicking, I became aware enough to start worrying about everyone else down the line (as I mentioned earlier, we were on a narrow, winding path). "Hold on!" I yelled to TC (as if he wouldn't think to do that on his own) and tried to get my own horse out of the way and under control. Peaches finally calmed down. We all took a little breather (including the guide who was visibly shaken) and then attempted to go forward again. The deer were gone, but just like Angel used to do, Peaches refused to go past the spot where they had been. Again, she flailed backwards at us. Again, we tried desperately to move out of her way. Finally, our guide got off of her and walked her past the spot where the deer had been while we waited a good distance behind. When it appeared that Peaches was over her little anxiety attack, I led the rest of the line up the hill. We met our guide (who apologized profusely and kept asking me how my leg was - I guess it must have gotten smashed between the two horses, but I didn't remember that) and continued on our way. I have to say, that made the trip for me! It was a beautiful ride and I would have enjoyed it anyway, but that bit of excitement made it all the more enjoyable and worth the money.

It was already almost 5:00pm when we left Bryce, but we were tired, a bit sore, and just wanted to cap off our adventures with a bit of relaxation, so we stopped at Mystic Hot Springs on the way home. Mystic Hot Springs is a commercial, hippie-run hot springs spa in the little town of Monroe, Utah. It was a blast! We soaked in a communal pool with another family for awhile then moved to individual tubs up on the hill. From there, we watched the sun set, the steam rise, and the clouds of oncoming rain move in. It was great. When we finished soaking, we listened to a small band from San Francisco warming up inside while we drank a smoothie, then headed on down the road to home.

What a trip! A trippy trip! But I've come to expect nothing less from our little excursions together.

Daydreamin'

I thought Spring had finally sprung for good. The world seemed to erupt into color overnight - the mountains transformed from bleak gray to emerald; fruit trees, daffodils, tulips, and forsythia exploded with dazzling yellows, whites, pinks, reds and purples. Signs of new life were everywhere - foals nuzzling their moms in dewy pastures, mule deer replacing thick winter coats with sleek, fine fur, birds constructing nests from the remnants of winter. And I even shaved! Then winter came back with a vengeance. Temperatures dropped and snow dumped. I can't say that anyone I know here is happy about this. Enough already! I was starting to like it here again.

Yesterday's weather was so bad, no one was really able to do much work here. Poor visibility from the periodic heavy, driving snow made it impossible for L and I to survey, so in addition to doing work in the office and deconning sampling equipment, I daydreamed and planned my next getaway (sshh, don't tell my boss!).

My plans, in case you're interested, are to go to south-central Utah and explore the area around scenic Highway 12. Highlights of the trip will be doing some hiking in Capital Reef National Park and Calf Creek Recreation Area (to Calf Creek Falls) as well as doing some driving along what is purported to be some of the most scenic roads in the entire country - Notom-Bullfrog Road, Burr Trail, and Hogsback Ridge among others. Here are a couple of links to some websites that tell all about them: http://www.so-utah.com/hwy12/homepage.html and
http://www.scenicbyway12.com/.

My friend, a.k.a TC (traveling companion) or Mr. T (Testosterone Man), will likely go with me. I'm wondering what travails await us. Call me a cynic or a pessimist, but I don't think we've had an excursion yet that has not involved at least some drama. I am planning to rent a car, since my plans involve quite a bit of driving and much of it on backcountry roads. Hopefully, having a dependable car will bring us good luck and we'll have nothing but fun on the trip. I'm sure it will be eventful in any case.

Normal is no fun

What do dirty towels, algae, recumbent bikes, bison, a pony, Smith's Grocery store, Paris, and a trolley all have in common? My family's recent visit, of course!

A small portion of the ol' clan descended on my tiny apartment in the peaceful village of Springville on Friday, March 31st. My apartment, my neighbor, and my neighborhood will never be the same again.

I wasn't quite sure how we'd all do crowded in my humble digs, but I was eager for the company and craziness that would result. As with previous visitors (Amy and Lisa & children), I was very excited about their coming to see me in Utah. I really do love it out here and want to share what I'm seeing with everyone back home. I also knew that the visit would go too quickly and that I'd feel lonely all over again when they left. Still, I was eager for their arrival.

I met them at the baggage claim of the airport. Having received a call from my niece as they disembarked from the plane, I was all ready to snap a picture of them as they got within view. However, that never happened since I was in the wrong terminal (oops!). A phone call from my mom and a short trek to the terminal next door united us in no time and set the proverbial ball rolling. After picking up a rental car (van), we caravanned (no pun intended)the hour or so distance from the SLC airport to Springville, stopping along the way at Cafe Rio (voted by City Weekly as having the Best Burrito in Utah) for some food. The evening was spent getting settled in.

After a cozy night of semi-sleep (3 loud snorers in the bunch), we embarked on a trek northward to Antelope Island on the Great Salt Lake. A threatening storm resulted in gusty winds and very dark skies, but didn't dissuade us stalwart adventures from exploring the island (Aye, matey!) from (for the most post) the safe and warm confines of the van. We learned all about the island at the visitor center (or from asking questions of those of us who bothered to read the displays!), then drove around the island to look for roaming bison (which we saw in great number) and to enjoy the scenery. It really is a beautiful island. I had no idea (although plenty of people had suggested I go there) it was such a little treasure. I plan to go back to camp and hike when the weather warms up a tad. One of the highlights of the island is the Fielding-Garr Ranch. We could only imagine what kind of mettle a person must have had to have lived in such a remote setting on such a harsh land.

Our day continued with a visit to Temple Square in Salt Lake City. The annual LDS conference was in full swing while we were there, so in addition to learning a bit about Utah and LDS history, we got a good education about modern Utah/LDS culture as well. The trip home included a stop at the dinosaur museum at Thanksgiving Point and Cabela's which was, conveniently, located right across the highway.

Sunday saw us driving again - this time south to Moab. The scenery on the way down is so pretty and so different from anything out east that we were pretty entertained by it. However, music is a must on most roadtrips I take and so it wasn't long before the entire van was rocking with us bellowing "When I grow up, I want a pony" with Kasey Chambers. I'm not sure my mom knew the words, but I think I heard her even join in on the yodeling part. Woohoo!

Moab was warm, sunny and inviting. After lunch at the Moab brewery (thanks to a gift card from work), we spent the day driving and hiking around Arches National Park. We couldn't have asked for more perfect weather nor more perfect photo ops. Unfortunately, this seemed to be the time when all of our cameras went haywire. As a result, we didn't get as many pictures as we would have liked, but we sure saw some pretty great scenery. I've been there three times now, but I'm still impressed by the beauty.

We stayed at the Cali Cochitta Bed and Breakfast (again, thanks to a gift card from work), but were too tired from our day's adventures to take advantage of any of the amenities (e.g. the hot tub!) there. We shared breakfast (a grapefruit and some sort of crepe-like thing topped with berries and cream) the next morning with a couple from Philadelphia (who were very familiar with the place I worked last summer - Riverbend Environmental Education Center) and a couple from Minnesota (I think) who were feeling the pain of having biked through Arches the day before. They ride recumbent bikes at home and filled us all in on the virtues of recumbent bikes, eagerly answering our curious questions. It was obvious that they missed their bikes - especially the seats!

The day (another beautiful sunny southern Utah one) was spent exploring areas near Moab, including Dead Horse Point State Park (pictured above) and a very small portion of Canyonlands National Park. Whew! What amazing views! Kind of scary - especially if you happen to be the mother of a very adventuresome 10 year old - but breathtaking.

We had lunch along the Green River in...well...Green River, Utah, then spent the night at a Best Western in Price. It had an indoor pool, hot tub AND we each got our own bed!! Paradise. My niece and I walked to the local Smith's Grocery Store for goodies while my sister ordered pizza. It was fun to get a chance to walk and talk with my niece and hear about all of the things going on in her life. I feel like I really got to know her better - which is cool because she's a pretty cool 10 year old. A good old fashioned pajama/pizza party - complete with really good bad-for-you snacks and pop - ensued upon our return to the hotel. We watched Animal Planet and some show about little people and hit the sack.

Tuesday, their last full day in Utah, was spent pretty leisurely. Our return drive (accompanied by Beatles music from the I Am Sam soundtrack) was fairly uneventful. We stopped in Spanish Fork for lunch, then took a brief tour of Springville. Naps, "personal space time," listening to my neighbor sing (and trying to decide if she was playing her own accompaniment or if she had "one of those background tapes"), a trip to the very dirty, very slimy, very algae-filled hot springs in Saratoga Springs, and my sister's trip to the local Laundromat to wash (among other things) the pile of dirty towels that had quickly accumulated took up most of the afternoon. At 7:00, we gathered to watch American Idol (my sister and I have both become strangely addicted to the show) and to cheer on little Paris, my niece's favorite. Afterwards, we met my friend at a very fun little local restaurant (The Art City Trolley) which is housed (at least part of it is) in an old train trolley from Pennsylvania (of all places!).

They left the next day in one of the worst wind storms I've experienced since being here (wind gusts reached up to 70mph). I went to work. In essence, "things" got back to "normal". Sadly, sometimes "normal" is no fun.

So It Goes

"Your life, at least parts of it like this, really could be a sitcom, almost like Seinfeld" wrote a friend of mine (at least I think I'll still call him a friend) not long ago. He may be right, my life may be one giant Seinfeld episode. My fear is that it's more like a Jerry Springer episode (people enjoy viewing it because it makes their lives seem so much better in comparison!). Whatever the case, below are a few glimpses into my life here in Utah. (The last one happened awhile ago and is not new to many of you who may be reading it, but since it kind of fit the theme of this entry, I'm including it here again.)

#1 - As I think I've mentioned a few times and a few different ways in the past several months, there aren't a whole heck of a lot of single people over the age of 20 here in Utah County. Those who are tend to be suspect (even by me) and most have at least one child in tow. I have met two single women about my age here - one I considered living with and the other lives next door to me. The one with whom I considered living seems to be very normal and very nice (she reminded me of my good friend, Amy) - I just decided I didn't want to do the whole roommate thing again (I've come to accept that I'm more than a bit of a loner and need my own space). She also isn't much into anything outdoors and while I could have seen us becoming friends, neither of us pursued it. My neighbor is a different story. I've made a few (albeit weak) attempts to get to know her, but she doesn't exactly seem interested in speaking to me let alone becoming friends (although she has been pleasant when I've spoken to her). As far as single men go...I don't think they exist. I've just met one - my one and only friend (as in the only person I do things with) out here. We were drawn to each other as most outsiders are drawn together - we're the only ones like each other out here. We are both single, childless Christians over the age of 35 and both have appearances that clearly mark us as not being "from around here" - he is Apache/Spanish (looks Mexican) and I...well no one can ever tell what I am, but many around here think I'm Latina or Native American. That's about the extent of our similarities, but being an outsider seems to be enough. We enjoy each other's company and keep each other from feeling too lonely and odd.

There are two men who are working on the project with me (they are doing excavating) that might be single, but I'm not sure. They are brothers and their entire family has been working on this site in some capacity or another for many years. They are our "experts" on the site and because of that they have an air of "coolness" and "in-the-know" that none of the rest of us can muster. I must admit, it's kind of appealing. However, in the same way that I admired the cool kids in school from a safe distance, lest I do something completely foolish and reveal to all how completely uncool I truly am, my interactions with these brothers has remained on a completely professional level (Isn't it amazing how parts of us never really grow up!). I am friendly - smile and wave as they drive by, etc., but leave the joking and good-natured ribbing to "the guys" (i.e. everyone else working on this project). I get along really well with their father (of course!) and just think he's the sweetest nicest man that ever lived (and I think he likes me, too, because he's always telling my co-worker to take care of me and look after me, etc.), but keep a safe distance from his sons.

That all changed last Friday. My coworker ("L) and I had to speak to the brothers about something they were doing (I've forgotten what now). I guess I didn't have to go with "L" to talk with them, but I did. And I tried to play it cool (like one of the guys). I walked up to them (or rather sauntered - "guys" - especially cool guys - don't often walk, they saunter), with my hard hat on, hands in my pockets and a smug expression on my face that said "I'm so cool, I don't need to hurry or even walk to you. I'll just saunter over towards you and grace you with my presence and impress you with my wit." Just as I was about to give the ol' head nod (the official white male greeting that says both "Good Morning, How Are You?" and "I need to talk to you about something" while reserving precious energy for more important stuff like paintball, ATV-riding, or channel surfing), I took a step and sunk mid-calf into the worst muddy gunk I've yet encountered on the site. I tottered (hands flailing out of my pockets, hard hat tilting, eyes wide with surprise), regaining my balance only to land my other foot in an equally deep, equally squalid cesspool. At that point there was no more pretending to be cool. I grimaced, attempted to find more solid ground and smiled sheepishly as both "L" and the brothers laughed riotously, ensuring me all the while that they were laughing with me not at me. Ah-ha. Sure.

A little later, they caught me attempting to wipe off my boots in a snow drift. "Looks like you're getting most of it off" one of the brothers said in a congenial manner. "Yep, yep. Getting most of it off," I stuttered (a little too much like the Rain Man), too caught off-guard by the cool guy talking to me to think of anything original or witty to say. Ugh! "Can I ask you something?" the youngest of the two asked. I felt myself blushing as I tried to prepare myself for what he might ask me (fortunately my skin is dark enough to avoid the embarrassment of people actually noticing when I blush) and squeaked out a half-confident, "Sure." "How do you pronounce your name?" The thirteen-year old girl in me winced at the familiar question and for a moment I was back in middle school wishing my name was Kim or Debbie. "Myrna" I answered. Then, before I could adequately censor my geeky thoughts, I added "As in gold, frankincense and myrrh-na." They were kind and were mostly able to mask the puzzled look on their faces when they said, in unison, "Gold, frankincense and myrrh-na. Right. Got it."

I'm such a dweeb!



#2 I fell into a blue funk last week. After agreeing to continue to work here through the end of the summer, I had a huge argument about religion with my one and only friend. That set me to wishing I was back home around sane people who (frankly) think as I do. Enough of this stretching, growing, losing my arrogance stuff. I want to be affirmed, told I'm right, agreed with. Or at least disagreed with in an intelligent manner. Anyway...that started my slide. Dreary weather and my making a fool out of myself not once but twice in front of the "cool guys" on Friday (and giving a rat's fart that I did) sent me deeper. Then, on my way home from work, I stopped by the Forest Service office to get a map to the hot springs in Diamond Fork Canyon and to see what the conditions were like up there. A ranger met me in the parking lot (the office was closed) and told me that the road leading to the trailhead was impassable. Great! There goes the hike I had planned for Saturday! Now what would I do?? Frustrated, I decided to stop by the pound to see "my dog" after that. As it turns out "my dog" was in isolation because she had come down with kennel cough and I was informed that she will likely be euthanized because she is just too aggressive towards other dogs. Wonderful! I wanted to cry. Instead I went home, ate junk food, turned on the TV, curled up on the couch and watched really bad FOX TV until I fell into a fitful, bad-dream-filled sleep.

I awoke the next morning to a beautiful day and a phone call from my friend saying he'd be down in an hour so we could go hiking. Two hours later he showed up and I, grumpy for being made to wait, frustrated with not knowing the area enough to have a Plan B hike in mind, and impatiently eager to get outside and get some much-needed exercise, met him at the door with all the reasons why our day was ruined and how I must, must, must get outside before I internally combust. Fully displaying his Y-chromosomeness, my friend shrugged off the forest ranger's warning about the impassable road to the hot springs and said "We'll take my truck - we'll be fine."

By the time we turned onto Diamond Fork Road, I was in a much better mood. I had bought a Snickers bar at a convenience store along the way and, as the gooey chocolate goodness started doing its wonders, I determined that I would snap out of my crummy mood and make the best of the situation - and maybe even have some fun. To our joint amazed pleasure, Diamond Fork Road was dry as a bone - and paved! (Based on the the ranger's description, I was expecting a muddy, snow-covered gravel mountain road). "Woohoo!" we yelped as we cruised along, "I guess Mr. Smarty-Pants Forest Ranger didn't know what he was talking about after all!"

You'd think I would have learned a lesson or two about being smug the day before, but no, I'm not that quick. No sooner had the echo of our war cry faded when we zipped through a gate with a sign that read (I think - we were going too fast for me to catch the whole thing) Road ahead closed due to snow. "Did that sign just say that the road up ahead is closed due to snow?" I asked incredulously. The road was still dry and smooth, so we ignored the sign, thinking it was meant for some other fools on some other day. Right. It wasn't long before we started seeing snow creeping onto the the edge of the right lane. Soon, the road narrowed and became very winding. Being the cool and incredibly reasonable female that I am, I think that is the point at which I started suggesting (o.k. maybe a little loudly) that "Maybe we should turn around while we still can." Testosterone-Man (hereafter "Mr. T") would have none of that. "We're fine, it's just a little snow. Besides, the trailhead can't be much further ahead." Even after the road narrowed to one lane (the left lane) in which we had to dodge fallen rocks while trying to stay in the tracks of the few crazy people who had driven before us and while snow scraped the undercarriage of the truck, threatening to puncture or rip off whatever stuff is under there, Mr. T refused to stop (of course by that time , we couldn't stop - there was no place to turn around!). Never one to miss a chance for melodrama, I started to yell things like "Oh my God, we're going to die! We're going to get stuck out here in the middle of nowhere and no one will find us until the snow uncovers our decaying bodies in June!" My poise and level-headedness in a crisis situation knows no bounds.

Just when both of us had about given up hope of making it out of the canyon alive, we noticed a truck and then another and another and another pulled off to the side of the road up ahead. "That must be the trailhead!" we cried. Gleeful, we (o.k, "he") maneuvered around yet another pile of rocks blocking the one "passable" lane and drove on. Not only were there several trucks pulled over near the trailhead, but also several passenger cars! There were easily 20 vehicles parked along the side of the road. (So much for being stranded with no one finding us 'til June!)Neither one of us could believe how many people were there nor quite picture how they had gotten there, but we were relieved and happy to be at our destination.

The hike (5 miles round-trip) ended up being fantastic and the hot springs were the best I've visited yet. How quickly my anxiety melted as we flitted off down the trail! It was "just what the doctor ordered." I felt so much better after the hike. My depression was lifted and I had a renewed enthusiasm for Utah and all the many adventures that await me these next several months. All in all, it was a perfect day (minus the grumpy start and terror-filled middle).

Oh, and yes, I do appreciate my friend very much. I might behave just slightly irrationally from time to time and he patiently puts up with it all.



#3 My friend an I were on our way back from a fabulous trip to Zion National Park. My new cell phone (the second in two weeks) had been working swimmingly since I got it - no shut downs in the middle of phone conversations, good reception, etc. I was told to only charge it after the battery had run down completely, though, so I let it run down then plugged it into my charger in the car - just as the snow was really starting to come down and darkness was descending. My traveling companion (who from this point on will be known as "TC" for "traveling companion') was in the middle of a phone conversation with his dad (a woman from church had called me to say that TC's dad had been trying to get in touch with me the day before and then neither of us were in church, so she just wanted to make sure everything was ok). TC had spoken with his dad the day before, but I (worrier that I am) thought something might have happened in the meantime, so I made him call. The only thing that had happened was that there had been a snow storm and his dad didn't go to church because he was "snowed in." And then the phone died. And there was no reviving it. And the snow came down more heavily and it got darker. Much darker. In more than one way.

It was also during this snow storm that TC looked over at my dashboard and said, "Oh, that worries me a bit." Not exactly what I wanted to hear at 6600' ft in a white-out with no phone. He had noticed that the oil pressure had dropped to 0. I'm not a mechanic, but that didn't seem good to me, either. We were moving very slowly at the time and when I sped up, the pressure went up a bit, but I/we thought it might be best to check things out. So...I pulled into the next gas station that I could (the snow had started to ease up a bit, too), got gas and, while TC got something to eat (!!!), I said, "Well, I guess I better check the oil. "Yeah, I'm sure it needs it," TC said very calmly, "the oil cap is missing." "How do you know?" I queried. "I checked it while you were pumping gas....." I knew he hadn't checked it just then, so I asked, "You mean back in Spanish Fork before we left on the trip?" "Yeah," he answered, still very calm. "So you knew that my oil cap was missing before we went on a 5-hour road trip and you didn't think to warn/alert or even ask me about it?????????????". "I figured you knew. I meant to put a rag in it, but I forgot." I was beyond tears, beyond anger, beyond belief. I just sat in my car and waited for him to fix things and determined that he would fix and pay for it all - even if that meant putting in a new engine.

To make a long story short and to let ol' TC off the hook slightly...he filled it up with oil (it was completely empty), the oil pressure went back up and we left. Unfortunately, the worst of the storm was yet to come. We went about 10 miles up the road and the snow got so bad I couldn't see a thing. There were no cars in front of me, so I couldn't even follow taillights. I was a wreck. And, even though the oil pressure was up again, I was busy plotting TC's slow painful demise while trying to avoid my own very quick sudden (i.e.: plummeting over a cliff) one. My bowels were in an uproar, to say the least - both figuratively and literally. The next town with a gas station (and toilet) was 40 miles away. Thankfully, we made it there and beyond. Within about an hour, the snow had completely stopped and the roads were dry. Ol' Sue Sue Subaru made it the whole way back in one piece and so did TC (this time). Of course, that's only because he apologized profusely, took the blame for everything (including the weather) and had to tell his dad (a very good mechanic) what he had done, so he could get advice on what to do about it. His dad called him an idiot. Even though I was thinking the same thing at first, I felt sorry for him. And, honestly, I was glad I wasn't driving through the storm alone. I was very scared.

Latin American Christmas Creed

I wrote this back on January 30, but am posting it now 'cause I haven't written anything lately and because it seems like a good way to start my 39th year (yep...it's official, I've lived 38 of them already).

There are some Sundays when nothing of what I sing, recite, or read in church enters my consciousness. I speak or sing the words, but don't actually know what I’m saying. Often, however, a word or lyric will catch my eye or I’ll suddenly become aware that I have no idea what I’m saying and I’ll stop and really read the words. Sometimes I find that what is written is something surprisingly beautiful or poignant. The following creed was one that struck me while reciting it at my church several weeks ago. It was titled the “Latin American Christmas Creed” with the author listed as anonymous. About midway through the section the word “oppressed” caught my eye (as it usually does) and I had to stop and really read what was being said. I re-read it after we were done and again when I got home and I realized that this creed more closely reflects what I believe than any of the others I’ve recited (and even memorized) over the years. Now if only I could start living like I truly believe this.

I believe in Jesus Christ and in the power of the gospel, which began in Bethlehem. I believe in the one whose spirit glorified a small village, of whose coming the shepherds saw the sign, and for whom there was no room at the inn. I believe in the one whose life changed the course of history, over whom the rulers of the earth had no power, and who was not understood by the proud. I believe in the one to whom the poor, the injured, the oppressed, the discouraged, the afflicted, the sick, the blind, the injured gave welcome, and accepted as Lord and Savior. I believe in the one who with love changed the hearts of the proud and with his life showed that it is more important to serve than to be served and that the greatest joy is giving your life for others. I believe in peace, which is not just the absence of war, but justice among all people and nations. I believe that Christmas is strength and power, and that this world can change if with humility and faith we kneel before the manger. I believe I must be the first one to do so.

Wild, Wild West Revisited

Winter has been much leaner as far as animal-sitings go, but there have been a few impressive ones along with the more mundane.

As of April 6:

• Lizzards
• Pheasant
• Some sort of weasel - my instinct is to call it an ermine, but I think they may live further north than here. A quick websearch suggested it might also be a stoat or simply a long-tailed weasel. Not quite sure, but it did have a white coat and a black tip on its tail (and was very, very cute!)
• Elk - lots of them on the mountain. None close enough to photograph, but easily visible with the human eye.
• Chickadees
• Magpies
• Mule Deer
• Rabbits
• Dogs - two running around on the face of the mountain for several days (wild?) and one that wondered onto the site (and into my heart - ahhh!)
• Red-tailed Hawks
• Geese
• Tracks in the snow that looked like a fairly large cat (mountian lion???? bobcat????)
• Buffalo (ok, this is a bit of a stretch - they were on a ranch)

Highlights and Lowlights - Part II

Lowlights

• Anna getting a speeding ticket on the way back from Moab:(
• Going through 3 (yes 3!) cell phones and 1 battery in less than a month (ugghh!!)
• Getting caught driving in a blizzard at 6600' with no cell phone, a missing oil cap, plummeting oil pressure, and a friend I was plotting to exterminate (just kidding, of course!)
• Taking soil samples in the freezing cold rain one day and in the even colder blustery snow snorm the next
• De-conning!! (i.e. washing dishes)

Highlights

• A visit from Mom, Anna, Tom, and Sadie!!!!
• Sharing Utah with my family
• Soaking in hot springs on a cold winter's night
• Adam - fixed my car and wanted no money for it
• Zion
• Joining a women's book group
• Regularly seeing elk on the mountainside
• Lisa, Emma and Christopher's visit!!!!!
• Going home for Christmas
• Meeting Alberto and making a friend out here finally:)
• Amy's visit!!!!!
• Scalp massage at Mark Anthony's Salon - ahhhhh!
• Sunset over Utah Lake
  

Hey, I'm Alive!!!

Yes, I'm alive and well in Utah. I just haven't "blogged" much lately.

I could list all of my excuses - very busy at work, no internet access at home, no time to go to the library, etc., etc., but I think the real reason I haven't blogged is that I was feeling a bit guilty about the tone of some of my other blogs. I'm afraid I've given people the impression that I don't like Mormons and/or don't like Utah. The truth is that I have yet to meet a Mormon I haven't liked. (Well, maybe that's a slight exaggeration, but I really have found most people here to be kind and friendly.) They have their quirks and peculiarities (as people everywhere do), but I like - perhaps am even drawn to - quirkiness. As far as Utah goes...I think it's gorgeous! Every time I explore a new corner of it I am stunned by the beauty.

So, why the sarcastic remarks in earlier blogs? Why the poking fun? Why the 'tude about Mormon hypocrisy? (It's not like they corner the market on that one, eh?) The short answer is that I suppose I enjoy (probably a bit too much) slaying a few sacred cows from time to time (they make the best hamburgers, I hear). And darned if there ain't a crapload of sacred cows around. I suppose I also just enjoy laughing at the "quirkiness" in all of us. I guess I find it comforting to know I'm not the only "quirky" one out there.

The more thorough answer is probably best left for another blog. I don't want to get sidetracked here. I'm writing today to say that I'm alive and well and will soon post some writing I've done "on the side" these last few months.

A Utah Thanksgiving: Pickles, Duke and the Outlaw Café

by guest blogger, Amy

It’s 10:30 (MST) on Thanksgiving evening, and Myrna and I just returned from seeing the new movie, I Walk the Line, a biopic of Johnny Cash. We aren’t sure exactly when this movie opened—last weekend, maybe?—but it was packed. Apparently, we weren’t the only ones who thought a Thanksgiving movie night was a good idea.

Myrna was still full from our Thanksgiving feast (which we enjoyed with a group of folks from her church) but I decided to indulge in popcorn and cherry Coke. While in the concession line, we noticed the menu: popcorn, candy, nachos, pickles.

Pickles?

Is it just us, or is a pickle that least likely movie snack you can think of? Popcorn? Check. Junior Mints? Check. Chilled, garlicky, preserved cucumbers? Not so much. But the guy two people in front of us actually ordered one, so apparently, it’s popular movie food in Utah. In Provo, anyway. (We’re assuming this item wouldn’t be on the menu if this is the only guy purchasing them.)

I arrived in Salt Lake City late Monday night—sadly, my luggage did not. Myrna greeted me at baggage claim, where we left information with the nice lady who deals with lost luggage, then headed to Denny’s for a midnight snack (for me, anyway—it was only 10 here, but literally midnight where I came from).

Tuesday, Myrna went to work while I slept in; later, we took a drive into Provo Canyon—looked for Robert Redford at Sundance Resort (no sightings). We drove north to Salt Lake City again—went in search of the actual lake (which we found, but right at dusk, so not much to look at). We found our way to our ultimate destination: the Sugarhouse Barnes and Noble in the city, where former President Jimmy Carter was doing a book signing. We naively hadn’t anticipated the long lines that wound around the block to await entry into the bookstore, but quickly decided that going to dinner was probably a more useful endeavor than finding the end of the queue. So instead of meeting Mr. Carter, we enjoyed a delicious meal at Mazza, a Greek restaurant a few blocks away. (When we finally arrived home, so had my luggage. Woohoo!)

Wednesday, we headed south to Moab, but only made it as far Wellington, where we met Duke at the Outlaw Café. We ordered lunch and asked the waitress about Nine Mile Canyon, which was close by, and were referred to Duke, who sat at a nearby table, sipping coffee while his daughter finished up her meal. A self-proclaimed “font of useless information,” Duke at first joked that he wouldn’t advise a trip back there if we valued our tires, but he and his daughter agreed that it would be a more worthwhile trip than a visit to Canyonlands, which was our original destination. (That or Arches National Park.)

On Duke’s recommendation—and with his business card in hand, should we break down and need to be rescued—we decided to take a chance on the dirt roads of the 40+-mile so-called Nine Mile Canyon. (It was a nice gesture, but we did not end up needing his assistance, which is a good thing as we had no cell reception for most of our drive.)

So now it’s after 11:00 on Thanksgiving evening, and Myrna is reading the Entertainment Weekly article about the movie we just saw, and I’m typing to the accompaniment of Johnny Cash in the CD drive, and we’re still figuring out what tomorrow holds.

A Case of TP

Sitting on the middle of my living room floor right now is large box (a case) of Seventh Generation Bathroom Tissue. Why would one single woman need to buy a whole case of bathroom tissue, you might wonder. Well…That is a very good question. Of course, the answer is: “She wouldn’t unless she is expecting (1) a large number of house guests (2) a very bad winter (3) a very bad bout of …well never mind, she just wouldn’t under normal circumstances. She would, however, if she has a tendency to, on occasion, become just slightly neurotic about recycling. And, if she found herself plopped down in the middle of a county that is at least 20 years behind the rest of the universe (or maybe just the US) on environmental issues. And, if she got so fed up with the lack of recycling and/or recycled products available in said county that, after trying several times to purchase toilet paper made from recycled paper, she went on some neurotic binge and ordered a case of toilet paper from the one and only store in the county that might understand her only to be told by the boy-manager of said store that “That’s some expensive toilet paper!”

Now I fully understand that recycling is just one part (and the last, maybe even least important part) of the ol’ recycling triangle (reduce, reuse, recycle) and that there are certainly bigger environmental fish to fry, BUT (and it is such a big but – and let me tell you, I know a thing or two about big buts) I am convinced that there is a direct correlation between the amount of recycling that a person and/or community does and the level of environmental protection and activism in which a person and/or community engages.

Case in point…Utah County, Utah. There is no recycling program here at all (other than bins in the school yards for recycling newspaper – wow!) and I can see very little else being done for the environment, either. In fact, several big environmental issues seem to go unnoticed – such as the booming population issue (from having too many kids, not from people moving in) and the subsequent increase in sprawl, consumerism, and pollution and loss of habit, diversity, and open spaces. The desire for perfect green lawns and the contamination and waste of already scarce water is another issue. (I couldn’t believe how many people have irrigation systems in their yards here and I don’t want to think about all of the chemicals being sprayed on these lawns. It’s a desert, people, you’re not supposed to have green lawns!!!!!!!!)

OK, I’m starting off on a ranting tangent and that is not my point. My point is that I purchased a large quantity of very expensive toilet paper because it is the only way they’d sell it to me. I was told, “It’s too expensive and people just won’t buy it. We have some paper towels that have been here for over two years” (well, good, people should probably be using rags instead of paper towels anyway, but that’s for another rant). “I can order some Seventh Generation Bathroom Tissue for you, but you’d have to buy the whole case, ‘cause we can’t afford to stock things we don’t sell.” So I bought it. The whole case. To prove a point. To whom, I’m not sure. But buying this case of toilet paper felt like I was somehow taking a symbolic stand against all needless waste and all of the crappy things we keep doing to the planet. It was an expensive and probably meaningless stand, I admit, but, it felt like all I could do at the moment. At the very least, I’m now set for the winter or for any large group of guests that might visit or for any bout of … well, anyway, I’m set.

Bravo for Provo!

By Eastern Standards Provo is nothing more than a large town. However, by Utah standards, it is the second largest city in the state (just over 100,000 people). By my standards, it’s a godsend ! Home to Brigham Young University, Provo offers a good variety of food, entertainment and cultural events. Considering the very conservative nature of BYU and Utah County in general, Provo’s diversity is both surprising and encouraging. It’s not Salt Lake City (and certainly not Philadelphia, New York, or even Pittsburgh), but it ain’t bad either (especially since I’m only 5 miles from Provo, but more than 50 from SLC). Among other things, it has a fairly good-sized natural/organic food store (The Good Earth), a fairly well-stocked yarn store, a very yummy Indian restaurant, a large art supply store, thrift store, and music store and, of course, all of the regular mall shops, chain stores and restaurants of other U.S. suburbs. It also has coffee shops (tsk, tsk) and a bar (what’s this world coming to?) for those so inclined. There is also a fair amount of diversity among the people in Provo (again, keep that comment in perspective, this is Utah after all). It’s actually possible to see some variety in skin tone, hair color, and dress (although noticeably few people with very dark skin or very unusual clothing) including the occasional rebel with purple or multi-colored hair, piercings and tattoos! I’ve also passed Lutheran, Church of Christ, Congregationalist, Catholic, Unitarian, and Baptist churches in Provo and am told they are fairly well-attended. BYU has an impressive academic reputation and is said to have an excellent arts program with a top-notch art gallery and quality performing arts program. I guess it goes to show…a university town is a university town. Even the most conservative ones can bring diversity and richness to an otherwise provincial and staid region. I, for one, say “Bravo for Provo!” I’m glad it’s here.

Highlights and Lowlights

New highlights and lowlights will be added periodically in bold print.

Lowlights

• being in a minor accident (scratched the paint) in a rental car
• being chased by a bull moose while hiking
• finding out there is no recycling in Utah County (except newspapers)
• finding out I must pay $10 a month for garbage pick up (when I'd rather recycle most of my garbage!)
• moving a futon into my apartment by myself in the rain and dropping the mattress in a puddle
• shopping for a used car and missing my Metro
• trying to get a library card (I basically had to sign away my first born child)
• having a temporary crown fall off my front tooth while eating pizza in the laundromat
• losing my keys and having to break into my apartment

Highlights

• living with Kara, Bob, Cody and Alex for two weeks - what a great family!
• hearing Cody yell, "Myrna's home!" when I pulled up to the house and having him greet me with "What took you so long?" when I came into the house
• realizing that I had bought the rental car insurance, so the scratch on the rental car was covered
• being chased by a bull moose while hiking (it was kinda exciting!)
• finding Springville Community Presbyterian Church
• finding the Good Earth grocery store in Provo
• finding the Bombay House (Indian food in Provo)
• having a neighbor stop by and introduce herself, then come back later with her family and some pastries for me (yum!)
• having a couple from church lend me a bed, table and chairs
• realizing my little Geo Metro is "da bomb"
• becoming a library card carrying member of the Springville community
• meeting Drs. Brent and Kent Hansen (dentists) who like me and treat me well because my sister is a dentist
• finding my keys in the leaves along the side of the street outside my house
• finding a coffee shop that sells hot white chocolate (in Spanish Fork)
• buying a guitar for $20
• Arches National Park
• the drive to Arches
• Moab
• the view from my apartment
• having a neighbor offer me a love seat (they got a new one)
• working at a job with fun, interesting people
• working at a job in which I get to spend much of my time outside in a beautiful setting
• working at job that I can feel good about (helping to clean up the planet)
• meeting tons of new, nice, interesting people

A Land Not Too Far Away

If not Arizona, then a land not too far away. Where all parents are strong, and wise and capable and all children are happy and beloved. I don’t know…maybe it was Utah.
H.I. McDunnough, Raising Arizona

First of all, let me set the record straight – Salt Lake City, Park City, and Moab are not the Utah of which I am about to write. Salt Lake City is a city – diverse (for Utah, anyway), progressive (for Utah, anyway) and modern. Park City is the touristy, hip host of the Sundance Film festival and most of the 2002 Winter Olympics. Moab is the hotspot for extreme sports and environmentalism. They are not Utah. Utah is something different. Or maybe they are Utah, too, and THAT is what makes Utah so different, but they are not the Utah of which I am about to write.

One more thing before I continue…just for your edification… people from Utah are called Utahans. I’ve always wondered that. Well…not really. I’ve actually rarely thought about Utah or the people here at all until I decided to move here. But once I did decide to move here (or shortly thereafter) I started wondering what people from Utah are called. And that, of course, set me to wondering what people from Massachusetts and Connecticut and Illinois and Kansas are called. But I digress…back to Utah and Utahans.

Most of Utah is very rural and in many ways, rural Utah is not so different from rural PA or rural Delaware. The land is scenic and even downright inspirational. The people are friendly and helpful (if you’re white), politically and religiously conservative, tend to drive pick up trucks and to think of the first day of deer season as a national holiday. There’s the whole Mormon thing, though, that makes this place and these people just a little different from the rest. And I’m told (by Mormons who have moved here from other states) that Mormons here are different from anywhere else in the world.

Let me begin with physical stuff. The physical structure of the state is amazingly diverse. Directly to my east (about ¼ of a mile) is the Wasatch Range. It is a very rugged, narrow range that runs north to south for about 200 miles (from the Idaho border to central Utah). It was formed by the (still active and ready to slip at any moment) Wasatch Fault. Directly east and north of the Wasatch Range are the Uinta Mountains, home to the highest peaks in Utah (24 peaks exceed 13,000 ft.) and many trout-rich streams and lakes. Both the Wasatch and Uintas are part of the Middle Rocky Mountains. Directly west of me (about 3 miles or so) is Utah Lake. It is about 24 miles long and 11 miles wide, but only about 10 feet deep (on average). It and Salt Lake are what remain of the great prehistoric Lake Bonneville. West of Utah Lake are the Oquirrh Mountains. While not as steep or high as the Wasatch, they are nothing to smirk at (especially for us Easterners), with the highest peak well over 10,000 ft. Beyond the Oquirrh is the remote and uninviting land known as the Great Basin. It is a mixed bag of barren desert valleys (e.g. the Great Salt Lake Desert) and rugged mountain ranges. It is home to many ghost towns and most closely matches my image of the “wild west.” South of me is the Colorado Plateau. It is in this area where many of Utah’s world-famous national parks (Arches, Bryce, Zion, Canyonlands) are located. This is the area of great canyons, colorful rock formations, and golden-red sunsets. It has been the setting for many westerns and has great geologic and historic significance.

As far as the physical appearance of the people, well…I’m going to go way out on a politically incorrect limb to say that all Mormons look alike. O.K., not really, but there is definitely a Mormon look. Think blond Pillsbury Dough Boy. Of course, not ALL Mormons look that way, but so many do that it’s just plain weird. And, yes, there are a few people with dark hair (e.g. the Osmonds), but not many. Blond is definitely the predominate hair color here and round is definitely the predominate face shape (e.g. the Osmonds again). Many have a distant, almost vacant look to them, too. My co-worker attributes that to Prozac. He’s convinced that 90% of the women here are on Prozac because it’s the only way they can take being “forced” into motherhood to so many kids at such a young age (he might be just slightly cynical). I dunno. The men seem pretty subdued, too. Maybe it’s their special underwear or the green jell-o with carrots they all eat.

On the positive side (I think), I have yet to meet an outwardly cross, obnoxious, or crazy person here. No one has flipped me off in traffic, cut in front of me in line at the grocery store, screamed at their kids at the Wal-mart, pulled up beside me at a stop light and asked for my phone number, swatted at invisible (to my eyes, at least) objects while walking down the street, muttering “Leave me alone,” or yelled “No, you’re Diablo” to no one in particular in the middle of the night (all of which have happened in other places I’ve lived). In fact, people have been so darn nice and friendly that it has made me quite cross and nearly sent me over the edge on more than one occasion. On one sunny Saturday, shortly after I arrived, I became so stressed out by smiling faces and pleasantries that I had to escape to the mountains to be alone for a while. It was unbearable. I longed for someone to curse at me or at least cast me a menacing glare. Clearly, I have lived in the East too long. Or have I? Am I the oddball or are they? Can this many people truly be this friendly and nice or have I landed in some warped Stepford Wives community? Or maybe there are more than carrots in that green jell-o;)

As far as productivity, Utah’s highest yearly crop is children. Seriously. There are more children born in this state than anywhere else in the country. And they are all blond. (OK, not really, but it sure feels like it.) I used to like kids. Now…well…I still like kids, but in small doses. The doses here (if I may be so bold) are way too large. And noisy. Shopping, never one of my favorite things to do, is now a nightmare for me – especially on weekends or days when the schools are closed. I unknowingly made the mistake of going to buy a few things for work last Friday afternoon. It was rainy and slow at work – excavation had stopped completely due to the rain – and I needed to find something productive to do, so I went to buy supplies. BIG mistake. Not only was it a rainy day, but also it was a day when schools were closed. Every store I entered was full of unruly kids and their clearly exhausted mothers. I’ve often wondered why no one here seems to push the carts the extra three feet to the Cart Returns located throughout the parking lots. I now understand that even that little bit of effort is too much when you have several small children pushing, pulling, fighting, running, yelling, etc. at your feet.

I’ve been told that overpopulation and the resulting poverty and crummy schools that go with it recently prompted the LDS Church (THE Church as it is known in these parts) to declare that the number of children a couple has is between them and God (wow, really???) thus officially “lifting” the ban on birth control. However, big young families still seem to be the norm here. Sadly, even the strong arm of the church can’t hold these families together any better than the rest of us can. The divorce rate here is comparable to the rest of the country and drug abuse (particularly Meth and heroine) is at an all-time high (no pun intended) among teens. The devastation of divorce is compounded for many here since children are almost always involved and since many women find themselves completely unprepared, having married so young and, in may cases, having never finished college or entered the workforce. I used to think that the one thing Mormons seemed to really get right was the issue of family and it’s importance. I’m not so sure anymore.

Utah drivers are a whole other story. Perhaps because there are so many young people in this state and they have other things on their mind – like their impending nuptials and the brood of children they are expected to bear and raise – Utahans are some of the worst drivers in the world. Pretty much anything that is painted on the actual road (e.g. lane lines, arrows, stop signs) is completely ignored. Actually, signs in general (speed limits, stop signs, yield signs) are pretty much ignored. Maybe those signs aren’t really there. Maybe they are all in my imagination or maybe they are there, but only meant for us “gentiles” (as all non-Mormons - even Jews – are known). Whatever the case, driving here can be a real challenge. Not meant for the faint-hearted or the slow-reflexed.

Coming from a region of Pennsylvania that includes places with such unusual names as Moon, Mars and Slippery Rock, I should hardly be one to comment on the place names in other states. However, Utah has some doozies, too. While many names have Native American origins, others have ties to either the Bible or the Book of Mormon. They include Ephraim, Kanab, Lehi, Manti, Moab, Nephi, Panguitch, and Tooele. For some reason there are a great many places with “devil” in the name, too (e.g. Devil’s Garden, Devil’s Kitchen, Devil’s Slide, Dirty Devil Canyon). Hmmm. I’ve heard of giving the devil his due, but this seems a bit obsessive.

While I’m sure I’ll learn more about Utah and Utahans the more I explore and meet people, my first impressions include a genuine fondness for the people and the places I’ve encountered, but a reserved fondness. I’m just not sure what to make of the people quite yet and am pretty sure that the land could easily kick my green butt (green as inexperienced, not actually the color green) if I’m not careful – there is actual wilderness out here and lots of it! I look forward to all that I’ll learn.

Wild, Wild West

When I spent a week canoeing in Canada a few years ago, a friend and I had a bit of a competition going on to see who could spot the most wildlife. As I recall, he tried to include Canadians, but I wouldn’t let him, even though his “National Geographic”/ BBC voice explaining the natural habitat and diet of the native Canadian made the whole thing rather convincing. In my friend's honor, I will record all wildlife sightings while in Utah. The most interesting ones (to me, anyway) are highlighted.

As of October 31:

• 5 snakes (no rattlers yet!)
• tons of deer (too many to count) including at least three 10-point buck
• 1 large bull moose coming after us on a trail, 1 bull moose sleeping on the bank of a creek, 1 mother moose (cow??) and two small moose calves
• 1 badly injured 10-12 inch Tiger Salamander that L and I tried to rescue
• tons of squirrel (too many to count)
• several red-tailed hawks
• tons of magpies (too many to count)
• several small lizards
• scads of Box Elder bugs (swarming around our office door every day)
• chipmunks
• rabbits (not many, though)
• goldfinch (I think)
• lots of spiders (no black widows, yet)
• ants – red, fire ants, flying ants and wood ants
• wasps, yellow jackets, and (of course) honeybees
• lots of seagulls (the state bird) and a pelican or two
• carp
• crane or heron (i'm not sure i can tell the difference from a distance)
• pheasant
• mice (one inside, one out)

Don’t Desert the Deseret* Dessert in the Desert

(Note: This title has nothing to do with the text other than I mention the word Deseret in it. I just liked the play on words.)

Those of you who have known me well in recent years know my growing affinity for thrift shops. Much of that has come from my growing poverty, but a lot of my love for the thrift store comes from the fact that it just makes sense. Why pay $30 or more for jeans ever (I really have no clue what new jeans cost these days)? It doesn’t take long before some teen grows out of or becomes bored with her new jeans, donates them to the local thrift store and I pick ‘em up for a buck on half-price day. It’s beautiful. Someone else pays the price (often in more ways than one) and I get the goods. You just can’t get more American than that! And a person can get EVERYTHING at a thrift store. Need some jewelry for a special date? They’ve got it. Need an evening gown? A sweat suit? A winter coat? Underwear? (Yuck, I know, but they’ve got that, too!). Shoes? A lamp? A blender? Candles? Tupperware? Furniture? They’ve got it and they’ve got it cheap. And it’s not in some triple-wrapped package or “protected” by Styrofoam peanuts that you then have to try to find some creative way to re-use. Plus, any VOCs that were once present in an item have long ago been released and breathed in by some other poor chump and all that’s left to worry about are wonderfully natural body odors and household cleaning toxins. Of course, the most wonderful thing about shopping at thrift stores is that when you tire of an item you’ve purchased there (or anywhere else for that matter), you can stop by any random thrift store in the country and just leave the item there. No questions asked and no form to fill out (unless, of course, you’d like a tax deduction). It’s reducing, re-using and recycling at it’s very best.

Deseret* Industries (the Mormon answer to Goodwill) takes thrift store shopping to a whole other level and has, I admit, taken away some of the joy of thrift shopping from me. First of all, the stores are huge. Secondly, they’re packed (I’m not kidding). Thirdly, and this is where they really start to lose me), they’re expensive. I paid $6 for jeans there! And it’s not like the stores smell any better than any other thrift store. (Apparently, Mormons have B.O., too.) The closest and only (that I know) thrift store to me is in Provo – less than 10 miles away, but just off the BYU campus. It is always packed with college students and young families. I keep going there hoping that their prices will change or that they’ll get in a sewing machine or a cheap end table or lamp, but I am disappointed every time. It really bums me out. It’s like shopping at Wal-Mart only stinkier. Oh, how I long for a Salvation Army, Goodwill or even a Red and White.

*The word Deseret comes from the Book of Mormon. The Jaredites carried it with them as God led them from Babel to the Americas. Joseph Smith (first prophet of the LDS church) translated the word to mean Honeybee. Utah is now known as the Beehive State and the beehive is the state symbol.

All Washed Up

I’ve always disliked Laundromats. It’s not so much the people (we’re all in the same low-income boat, so I can’t very well make derogatory judgments about the “type” of people who use them) or the fact that I’m pretty much held captive in the Laundromat for fear that my clothes will be stolen (why anyone would want my dirty thrift-store-purchased clothing is beyond me, but I’ve seen it happen to other people) or the fact that I have to schlump all of my dirty clothes in and out of my apartment, then in and out of my car every week or so and in all kinds of weather (I really hate that, actually). It’s ALL of those reasons AND the fact that it costs an arm and a leg to wash the darn stuff and another arm and a half if I actually want to dry a few things (and I am one that air dries as much as my apartment can handle). Plus, Laundromat dryers are notoriously slow and rarely dry all of the clothing completely. If you ask me, Laundromats are just one more way that poor people get the shaft. For a few short years during my marriage and off and on while I’ve lived with other people, I have had access to a free washer and dryer right inside the place I live. Ahhhh. Those were the days! For those of you who have never had the Laundromat experience (I, myself, can hardly imagine that such people exist, but I know you’re probably out there – and college laundry rooms don’t count!), count your blessings.

I’m learning that, like most of the things I tend to rant about, if I stop my ranting long enough to really think about the other side of an issue, I find that there actually is another side to the issue. So it is with Laundromats. Having inherited my mother’s propensity to talk to total strangers, I rarely have a trip to the Laundromat where I don’t end up conversing with some one or another. I’ve learned, as one tends to learn after riding public transit, frequenting Laundromats, walking through city streets, etc., which people want to talk, which ones don’t, and which ones might want to talk, but are better left to themselves. I find the busier the Laundromat, the better. There are more people around for safety, more people to talk with and, if you choose, more of a crowd to get lost in (if eschewing human contact suits your mood). I’m at a Laundromat now and a Latino man with very kind-looking eyes saw me struggling to figure out how to use the dryer (it was confusing, trust me) and came to my rescue. He barely spoke English, but he showed me what to do and smiled. It’s encounters like that and having time where there is nothing to do but knit, read, write, or converse with total strangers that make me re-think the whole “Laundromats suck” philosophy I’ve held all these years. I still think they are one more way poor people get the shaft – let’s face it, few are very life-affirming or inviting and I’d not have to go too far out on a limb to say that all of us using the Laundromat tonight would have preferred to have been doing it in our own washer and dryer in our own homes, BUT… I guess, like all experiences in life, trips to the Laundromat are what you make of them. And, if now and again they provide a setting where a kindly Hispanic man and a befuddled white woman can enjoy meaningful human interaction without words, then maybe there’s some good in them after all.

The Oasis

Lest you think that I've taken to a life of boozin' it up down at the O-oasis, let me start by assuring you that the Oasis of which I write does not involve alcohol (or at least not regularly that I know of). It's my church.

I love my church. Love, love, love it. It has definitely been an oasis for me in this Deseret Desert. I came upon it partly by accident. Having done a quick web search at the library one day, I knew there were at least two non-LDS churches in the town (one Baptist and one Presbyterian). I thought I'd probably prefer the Presbyterian one, but I wasn't sure what either would be like based on the social climate of the area. I also wasn't exactly sure where it was located, but thought I remembered it was on the east side of town (where I am). So...The first Sunday I was in my apartment, I set out to take a walk and explore the town. I left in time (I thought) to catch an 11:00 service if I happened to walk by the church, but wasn't sure that I would (the town isn't that small).

The town is set up in a grid (as are all of the towns in Utah), so I kind of criss-crossed the grid a bit and looked up and down the streets for large parking lots and/or areas where large numbers of cars seemed to be parked. I found a few of those, but they were all LDS churches (of course). I then saw a small number of cars parked in a group (a larger number than would be normal outside of homes, but not quite large enough to be an LDS church) and went towards it. Pretty soon I saw a small white steeple rising up in the air and a small white church beneath it. It was such a pretty little thing. I knew it was too small to be LDS, so I figured it must be the Baptist or Presby Church. As I got close enough to read the sign, I saw that it was the Presbyterian Church and that the minister was a woman.

Wow! I was excited. So excited that, although I had also read that the church service had begun at 10:30 and it was now 11:10, I went in. I snuck into the last pew and got there in time to catch the sharing of joys and concerns and the benediction. Everyone seemed to be dressed rather casually (unlike the LDS churches I had passed) which was good since I had on jeans and a fleece. As soon as the service ended, I was greeted with warm welcomes by the man and woman in front of me. His name was Kent and, when he found out I was from Pittsburgh, he told me that he was originally from Akron, Ohio and that some of the other members of the church were from western PA. As it turns out, the minister's husband was from Ellwood City and the former minister and his wife (who retired to the area after she had a paralyzing injury in the Peace Corps) had gone to Pittsburgh Theological Seminary and had been campus ministers at Edinboro University. Another woman had a very close friend who lives in Titusville, PA. Small world, eh?

The church holds a fellowship hour after church every week. The first week I went, I was kind of dragged there by a wonderful older woman who introduced me to everyone and sat and talked to me the whole time. I've gotten to know her a little better since then and have found out she's every bit as spunky as Mrs. Luzier (from my church in DE). As it turns out, she had been raised LDS, but "couldn't imagine that only LDS members were going to heaven" and started attending a Presbyterian Church soon after she married. She is a widow now and, despite her age, is still very active. In fact, she is about to go on a trip to Italy with the Springville Art Museum.

I met so many interesting people there. The man who had been the minister at the church earlier had retired from the ministry, then he and his wife entered the Peace Corps. They were living in Mauritania when she fell from a roof she was repairing and broke her back. That was six years ago. She couldn't move anything then. She can now stand and walk with assistance. She still can't use her hands or arms, but is beginning to feel tingling in her fingertips. Another woman I met there has one daughter who is in Mali with the Peace Corps and another who is studying environmental studies (with an emphasis on sustainability) at Ithaca College in New York. One man who I met (a long-haired, ear-pierced, married hippie type) is a professor of religious philosophy and Mormon Studies at Utah Valley State College. He is Mormon, albeit currently a bit "nomadic" (as he put it). At least one other woman that I met was raised LDS and several members are married to Mormons. Several other members are from out of state and have found this church to be their Oasis, also.

I started to attend a newly formed adult Sunday School class there and have loved that, too. We are currently discussing some of John Dominic Crossan's work on the historical Jesus. The emphasis is wholeheartedly on Social Justice!!! The minister's husband facilitates the class and it is turning out to be quite a radical little group of people. The act of tithing was even brought into question by the group with the suggestion made that Jesus would not likely support tithing because it hurts poor people more than the wealthy (scandalous!!!). Tithing - a type of regressive tax??? I love it!!!! I think I have found my home here:)