We need a little Christmas, now!

Shulamith loves to prove me wrong. I think if you asked her to name her top 10 favorite things to do, proving me wrong would be near the top of that list. So a week ago we began to discuss when we would decorate our houses for Christmas. I mentioned that, although I start listening to Christmas music on November 1st, I never decorate until after Thanksgiving. She was certain that was not case, that at least once, I had decorated for Christmas prior to Thanksgiving. I didn't believe her.

That night she was up at midnight giving Swen either sugar or insulin, depending on whether he was low or high, then waiting for his numbers to correct before going back to sleep. So what did she do while she waited? Search my blog to find evidence to prove me wrong. And of course she found it: right here! I can't even imagine her joy, in the wee hours of the morning, knowing she had proved me wrong yet again. Eli and Amanda and I all awoke the next day to a link to this post.

What prompted this discussion originally were the many decorated homes we see throughout our neighborhood on our multiple daily walks: Trees in windows, lights on houses, spotlights creating shining snowflakes on garage doors. It's all quite beautiful, so it didn't take much to persuade me to decorate last weekend, rather than waiting 'til after Thanksgiving. Because really...

We need a little Christmas, now!

Shulamith's daughter Kennedy helped me with both nativity scenes. She is so talented artistically! She even drew the manger scene that will appear on the front of my Christmas card this year; you can be excited for that. She also likes to make silly faces in pictures.

Eli loved showing his baby daughter, Jane, her first Christmas tree. She was dang impressed too!

Shulamith's son Swen helped hang ornaments, both upstairs and down, not to mention cleaning my house from top to bottom before we decorated.

My history with Christmas trees is long and troublesome. There was this one that was seriously possessed! I ultimately donated it to Amanda and Eli; they can deal with a Christmas tree that hates Christmas. I'm done! Then there was last year's tree. This one wasn't willfully belligerent, but it was covered in glitter, which meant my house was also covered in glitter. Ugh! It's sort of like with Waffles. It's not his fault he sheds all over the place, but he still sheds all over the place. As we decorated last year and I tirelessly vacuumed and swept, vacuumed and swept a million specks of glitter, Mathew mentioned that I would "never get it all." Challenge accepted! It took a while, but the glitter is gone. And it's not coming back. Because you see, this year, I'm donating this lovely glitter-covered tree to the Webster-Monson Family. Bahahaha, Matt is gonna be so grateful. 

As for me, I bought two new trees this year, one for upstairs and one for the basement. I'm thrilled with both of them and delighted with how all the decorating efforts turned out. As for Shulamith, good thing she's the best friend a girl could ever have (even though she loves to prove me wrong). Just look at her here twisting and tying ribbon on my tree, something she learned to do from an instagram influencer. 

Okay, here are the finished products. You ready???

I've grown a little leaner,

Grown a little colder, 

Grown a little sadder,

(This next line: Not a chance!)

We need a little Christmas, right this very minute.

We need a little Christmas, now!

A Goofy Poem about a Man in a Nursing Home

When I was 15, I spent my summer charting and dispensing medication, giving insulin injections, and irrigating catheters at my job as a nurse's aide at Glendoveer Nursing Home in Portland. Anyone else find that alarming? At the time, I was too immature to be alarmed; now, I'm just so thankful I didn't kill anyone! The rule was one RN was required to work each of the three shifts. The RN on my shift was a lovely woman named Corbin (her last name, and what she preferred to be called). She really was a sweet lady, but sadly, she struggled mightily with obesity and was too heavy to make it up the stairs to the east end of the building, where the men's ward was. So she taught me to do all things she did.

With no computers, we used physical books to chart patients' medication and treatment. Corbin taught me to look at the chart, determine all the different meds each patient required and at what time, then take the proper pills out of pill bottles and put them in little paper medicine cups and deliver each patient his medication. We had three diabetics in the ward, so she also taught me how to give them their insulin injections, and at 6:00 p.m., they would line up at the nurses' station door for their shots.

I thought I was the absolute coolest doing all this stuff, and I have many crazy memories of my experiences there. One in particular I chose to memorialize in a poem.

Recently, my mom was cleaning out her bookshelf and came across a literary magazine from when I was an undergrad at Willamette University. In it is this poem. I have zero idea what possessed me to submit this poem to the magazine and less than zero idea why they chose to publish it. 

All the other poems in the magazine are serious, heavy, deep, and meaningful, the kinds of poems people discuss and argue about as they seek for hidden connotations and interpretations. Mine is just a goofy poem about a man in a nursing home. It's a true story, embellished just a bit (the FBI and private spies). For the sake of family history, one of the goals of this blog, and also just for a good laugh, here's the silly poem:

I once worked at a nursing home

Its name was Glendoveer.

I had a rare experience

I'd really like to share,

One night when I was working hard

My friend came in to say:

"Has anyone seen Mr. Brown?

I fear he's run away."

"Oh me! Oh my! Oh no!," I shrieked,

"Not dear old Mr. Brown.

He said he had to meet a man.

I'll bet he's gone to town."

We searched the east; we searched the west.

We searched that nursing home.

We searched in every single place

We thought that he might roam.

Mrs. Brown, his faithful wife,

Who lived just down the hall,

Was frantic and hysterical

Which didn't help at all.

We couldn't find him anywhere.

We called the F.B.I.

They begged us please to have no fear;

They'd send a private spy.

We waited not so patiently.

It seemed to take forever.

But finding one so small as him

Is quite a large endeavor.

Finally after hours and hours

We heard the telephone.

They'd found him sitting on a bridge

Quite wet and all alone.

While I can't remember a thing about his wife, all these years later, I can still vividly picture Mr. Brown. A tiny, frail man with osteoporosis, a cute bald head, and glasses, he was one of my favorite patients. By now, he is most certainly dancing with Mrs. Brown in heaven, but I will always remember that night, waiting with Corbin and my coworkers for news of this sweet man, about whom we had grown to care so much.

The Christmas tree that hates Christmas!

In case you've forgotten about my creepy Christmas tree, let me refresh your memory right here. It's seriously possessed! Last year, as we disassembled the thing, I promised myself I would not deal with this stupid tree one more year.

But look! Here we are trying to figure it out again.

This time....... without Seth.

But lest I start getting all wimpy weepy about that, enter Eli and Amanda to the rescue. They are so smart. And helpful. It's a dang good thing they moved in here a month before Seth left on his mission, or things could be really bad.

We decided to pull out the tree extra early to see if a pre-Christmas miracle might occur and the thing could behave like a normal, non-possessed Christmas tree.

But the thing about miracles is they don't happen all the time; that's part of what makes them so miraculous, after all. And so it was with this haunted tree. The second we set it up, random loose branches began to fall on top of each other, just like last year. Luckily, Amanda had this brilliant idea to use zip ties to hold the loose branches in place. Okay, admittedly, I didn't even know what zip ties were (remember how I was napping in Heaven during the distribution of talents?), but she and Eli were sure this would work.

And they were right! Here's Amanda strategically tying up all the lose branches, one at a time. Zip ties for the win!

Could it be this easy? Could our troubles be over? Of course not! Next began the saga of the lights. I always thought a pre-lit Christmas tree would be so easy. You set the thing up, fluff out the branches, plug in the cord, and voila! From top to bottom, the glorious tree lights up, shining forth in the darkness. The symbolism of Christ bringing light to a dark, desperate world warms your soul yet again. It's the magic of Christmas!

Except this tree doesn't seem to understand its role in all of this.

"It's the Christmas tree that hates Christmas," Amanda remarked, and she and Eli spent hours searching up and down, inside and out, over and under branches in attempt to connect the cords in the right order and bring forth light.

"Oooh, I think I found it right here. Now I just need the other one."

"You need a male or a female?"

"A male."

"Dang, I only see a female."

"Try switching these two."

"Hooray, we have the bottom half lit up! Halfway there."

"Okay, now try plugging that one into this one here."

"No! now the bottom lights are off again."

On and on it went, the painstaking process of lighting this stupid tree. I suggested multiple times that they give up. Really, this isn't fun. Go do something fun. They persisted.

In the end, we could never get the entire tree lit at the same time, and I'll likely need to buy a short string of lights to go in the middle, but whatever. It's fine.

I'm just happy to be dealing with it now, not late in the season (you know, like the night before my annual cookie exchange party, or worse (!) Christmas Eve). We'll get it all worked out and have a lovely tree.

For now, we have this:

Christmas is creepy

So it feels like just yesterday people were telling me it's way too early to listen to Christmas music. "What are you thinking? It's barely November. Wait at least until Thanksgiving." Blah, blah blah.

But Christmas is creepy. It creeps up. Fast.

It's been sorta hard this year with all that's happened recently. I keep thinking of Dolly Parton's song "Hard Candy Christmas."

Maybe I'll dye my hair

Maybe I'll move somewhere.

Maybe I'll sleep real late

Maybe I'll lose some weight.

Maybe I'll learn to sew

Maybe I'll just lie low.

Okay, that sewing one, never in a million years. But the others? Maybe.

Regardless, my motto has been "fake it till you make it" because this is potentially Seth's last Christmas with us for two years, so despite my melancholy, it dang well better be merry! 

It's creepy, though. How can it be Dec.10th already? I feel like I'm walking through water; everything feels hard and slow, and the days keep creeping by. 

And then there's my possessed Christmas tree. Two weeks ago, Eli and Amanda were here, and they, along with Shulamith and Seth, set it up, decorated it, and got out all my other beautiful decorations. I mostly just watched. That night, we noticed one of the branches was loose and lying on top of the one underneath. What?? Shulamith carefully tied it to the tree trunk. Problem solved, we thought. Then the next day, another branch, same story. She tied that one up as well. Then next day, another. So now I have three branches tied up. I'm not even kidding.

Then all the lights went out on the top half of the tree. Then they came back on a day later. Then out again. Amanda discovered it had something to do with the electrical outlets, and all the lights are on now. Whew!

A week ago, one of my favorite events of the season happened, The First Presidency's Christmas Devotional. If you didn't get to watch, here is the link to President Uchtdorf's talk. Stop now, whatever you are doing, and watch this talk. Wait....you're reading my blog. Yes, stop reading, and watch this talk. Then finish my blog.

You're welcome.

Thursday night, another of my favorite events happened, my Christmas cookie exchange, the third annual. It's really the only social event I host in the entire year, and it's pretty fun. Stats: My tree stayed lit. Check. My lemon bars failed. Replaced with store-bought orange sticks. Eleven fun women came. So great! But then, then... I forgot to get cookies. The way this whole thing works is everyone brings a couple dozen of her favorite cookies to share. We eat some that night, and before everyone leaves, she puts together a heaping plate filled with samples of all the different cookies to take home. Except I was so busy hostessing that I forgot to make a plate for myself. When everyone was gone, I said to Shulamith, "Where are all the cookies?" 

"Did you not make a plate for yourself?" she replied.

Hard candy Christmas.

And creepy.

I am so far behind with everything. I only have maybe 1/3 of my shopping done; our tree looks awfully empty. Usually my cards are delivered way before now, but I'm still struggling with my holiday letter. I think I just about have it, so cards going out soon, hopefully.

The other thing I've been doing is watching Seth sing all over the place with his performing choir, vocal ensemble. That is pure delight.

I have a feeling the next ten days are going to creep past even faster and less obtrusively. I may not even notice. 

Because Christmas is creepy.

What Rexburg means to me

Last night, I rode a shuttle van for five hours to arrive in Rexburg at 7:30. As we approached the town, as evidenced by the glowing temple on the hill, it occurred to me, through the paths and turns of life, how much this little place in southern Idaho has come to mean to me.

My first ever visit to Rexburg was in the summer of 2002. Shulamith was approaching her junior year in high school, and we were starting her college search. We traveled from Washington to Rexburg to show her Brigham Young University Idaho, hoping that maybe she would think it a good fit. Compared to Whitman, where Luke would go to college the very next year, BYU-Idaho was practically free! We toured the campus, met with admissions counselors, and discussed options.

It was not to be. Shulamith liked the campus fine and the atmosphere, but she was resistant to the many rules, some of them admittedly ridiculous (no shorts or capri pants or flip flops allowed). More than clothing, though, she balked at being told what to do. "I've never been told what to do in my entire life. I've never had a curfew. So when I'm a freshman in college and technically an adult, I don't think I'll be interested in having one then."

Touche. She wound up at Westminster College, where she (and we!) paid literally ten times more than we would have at BYU-Idaho, but she received a great education where she got to wear shorts and flip flops and not have a curfew, and ultimately met her husband, so it's all good.

Nevertheless, I have the fondest memories of that first visit to Rexburg 15 years ago. We stayed in a motel with an outdoor pool, and through the course of the weekend, Shulamith taught both Isaiah and Eli how to swim, while I played in the shallow end with my baby, who was just two years old. This was before the Rexburg Temple was built, so one night Gerald and I left Shulamith with the three little boys at the hotel with money for pizza delivery, and we drove up to Idaho Falls to go through the temple there. Such a good weekend.

I would not return to Rexburg for another eight years in January of 2010. Newly engaged, Shulamith needed to go through the temple to receive her endowment in preparation for her wedding in February, but she was living in Salt Lake City, and we were still in Billings. We decided to meet in the middle, and where would that be? Rexburg! Gerald and I met her and Matt on the campus of BYU-I, where we all changed clothes and then drove up to the beautiful Rexburg temple, shining brightly on the hill. After the temple session, we had a quick, yummy Mexican dinner (where was that restaurant?) and sent Shulamith and Matt back to SLC, while we went the opposite direction back to Billings.

My ties to Rexburg were still fairly weak at this point, despite two lovely visits. But then, not long after, my best friend Lindsey moved permanently to Rexburg with her husband and family, and that kind of changed everything. Shulamith and Matt were married and living in SLC, and Rexburg became my overnight stopping point when driving to and from SLC to visit them. It was about the most perfect arrangement, because each time I passed through for a night, I got to hang with Lindsey, whom I missed so much anyway.

I have to admit it: Rexburg was growing on me. Enough that as Eli approached college age, I strongly encouraged him to consider BYU-Idaho. He was a chill enough kid that I knew he would be able to look past the silly rules about shorts and beards and curfews, and I thought it would be a great fit. Turns out I was right (moms usually are). In the fall of 2011, I brought Eli here to college. It was my fourth time dropping a kid for his first year of college, and I remember telling myself that this time, I would not cry. Fail. I sat in the parking lot of the Hinckley Building as the tears flowed. My Eli. In college. Once I pulled myself together enough to see, I drove straight to Lindsey. She didn't tell me I was being crazy. She didn't tell me to grow up and get over it. She didn't judge. She and David welcomed me into their home as they had done dozens of times before, and we played multiple games of Phase 10 (which I lost, as always), and they made me laugh and gave me Diet Coke, and I felt better. They are such good friends.

During that semester, I made several trips to Rexburg to visit Eli (and Lindsey), but when I wasn't there, she took over the "mom" role in my absence. She and David brought Eli over for dinner every Sunday and let him do his laundry at their house. They got to attend his first choir performance in "From the Heart," and she drove him to several pre-mission medical appointments. I will always be grateful for this service.

In the fall of 2014, home from his amazing mission, Eli returned to BYU-Idaho, and my Rexburg adventures continued. That was nearly three years ago, and here I still am, in Rexburg. Eli is now married and living here full time, not even home during off track semesters, so yeah, I have to come visit pretty often. Lindsey and family are also still here, so there's always an added bonus to my trips.

This weekend it's super cold here, currently about one degree. In a way it makes me nostalgic for those seven frozen tundra winters I spent in Billings. I came this time, partly to meet their new kitten, Ramsey, so last night, Amanda and I watched Downton Abbey while Eli was at work, and Ramsey (who is a possessed kitty) ran and tumbled and did somersaults all over the house.

Today, we play! Not sure yet what the nature of the "play" will be, but I know it will be fabulous, regardless. Tonight, I think we'll go to dinner at Wingers, to see Eli in action at his new job. Tomorrow I'll get to visit their new ward and relax with them on the Sabbath. Monday, I get to hang with Lindsey until my shuttle leaves at 2:00.

Whether it's sitting at McDonald's watching Lindsey's cute kids play, or staying up until way too late in the middle of the night talking to Eli and Amanda, or playing in a pool with my baby Seth so long ago, Rexburg has come to be a special place for me.

Faith. Family. Friends. That is what Rexburg means to me.

The Power of Intermittent Reinforcement

Psychologists tell us that intermittent reinforcement is the strongest of all types. Indeed, it keeps the casinos in Las Vegas thriving. It keeps the convenience store in Malad, Idaho, just over the Utah/Idaho state line, in business, with Utahns eager to buy lottery tickets, which cannot be purchased in Utah. But since I don't gamble or buy lottery tickets, I never fully understood the power of intermittent reinforcement. Until now.

You see, I own this "possessed" computer. It turns on when it wants to. When it doesn't want to, sucks for me. It doesn't matter if I have a set of grades to enter, or an email to write to my missionary, or my bank account to balance, or a blog post to upload, or some simple Facebook time to waste; if the thing doesn't want to turn on, it won't. And just how long will it be before it comes on again? Who knows? It might be a couple minutes. It might be a couple hours. It might be a couple days. But always, at some point, it comes back on. Yep, intermittent reinforcement, aka "hope."

Intermittent reinforcement provides hope. It worked before. It will work again. I just need to keep trying. I won before. I will win again. I just need to keep playing. I totally get it now. Twice in the past few months, Gerald has texted me, "It's totally dead now. Forever. Seriously." But both times it has mysteriously resurrected, and yes, it is the very computer I am typing on right this second.

This is SO frustrating. I need a computer that works, not some of the time, not most of the time, but all of the time. And were it not for intermittent reinforcement, that is if I didn't know it would eventually come back on, I would have replaced it months ago. Earlier today, I nearly tossed it out the window with the sentiment "WOULD YOU JUST DIE ALREADY?!"

So Saturday, Gerald and I went to Best Buy to look at alternatives. I'm drawn to the new tablets that convert to laptops. Way cool! We looked at the Microsoft Surface Pro, but Gerald also thought I should check out the Asus Transformer T-100, which is brand new. Best Buy had received stock but had not yet set up a display, so I have to wait a couple days to try it.

It's okay. Because for right now, my computer is working. Until it decides not to.

Intermittent Reinforcement - clearly the strongest of all types.

When the Two Webster Women Cook...

...let's just say the outcome is not usually good. Not at all. No two people have ruined more recipes, wasted more ingredients, or created more culinary disasters than Shulamith and I. Yeah, it's that bad. I was shocked that after a week in our home prior to their engagement, Mathew was even brave enough to propose. So why on earth would we attempt to bake Christmas treats? I have no idea. None. But something possessed us to do so, and last week we decided we would bake a different dessert each day. We mapped out a plan and bought all the ingredients, both of us hesitant but certain we'd be positively delighted if even one of these recipes turned out.

But Christmas is all about miracles, even the tiniest. You are not going to believe this, but ALL FIVE RECIPES turned out great. Even as I write this, I'm still stunned. Most of the goodies are already gone. That never happens. People actually wanted to eat what we made. Not to boast or anything, but I can't help myself. I'm going to show you just a little of what we did:

On Monday, we made Chex mix, two kinds (!), sweet and traditional savory.

Savory!

Sweet!

On Tuesday, we made fudge. Okay, it was just microwave fudge, but give two girls a break. We were afraid to try anything that involved cooking candy on the stove. But hey...we made two kinds: chocolate and peanut butter. Both were good, but the chocolate was especially tempting, so much so that Kitty, our year-old Boxer pup, decided to eat just about all of it. We had left the room for only a few minutes. I returned first to find the entire container of fudge gone, and Kitty looking up at me, sheepishly. Ack!! We all know chocolate is not good for dogs. Gerald got online to get information, and Shulamith called a 24-hour vet. Both confirmed that Kitty is big enough that the amount of chocolate she consumed would not be toxic; however, she would likely get sick. Oh yes indeed. She spent much of Christmas day throwing up in various places. Okay..no further details needed.

On Wednesday, we made sugar cookies and even enlisted Seth's help.

On Thursday, we made gingerbread people. This was the scariest day of all. The dough had to refrigerate overnight, and it didn't look very good. It smelled very strong, not sweet like cookies are supposed to. We were pretty scared. But with Diet Cokes in hand, we faced our fears...

And voila!

 We're feeling pretty awesome about all this; yes we are! A little like those food bloggers you see on Pinterest with pictures of delicious food, with step-by-step instructions. Okay, not really. But it was another tiny Christmas miracle.

(Christmas, 2012 - Part 3 of 3)