"I just LOVE these flowers!"

My birthday was yesterday, but since I celebrate it for an entire week, I won't likely write the blog post about it until later tonight or even tomorrow. But there is this one gift I'll tell you about right now.

Shulamith took her 4-year-old son Swen to the grocery store to buy me a present. He had thought he would buy me a Hot Wheels car (a red one because that is my favorite color), but when they passed by the florist kiosk and he saw fresh flowers, he told him mom that was what he wanted to get.

Shulamith: "You want to buy Her flowers for her birthday?"

Swen: "Yes. And when Her sees these flowers, she will say 'Swen! I just LOVE these flowers.'"

So they bought flowers.

When they arrived home, Swen came running into the house, a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand extended out in front of him, and nearly throwing them in my face, he said, "I got you flowers for your birthday!!"

...to which I immediately replied...

"Swen! I just LOVE these flowers!"

He was right.

Once upon a car wash

To most of us, a car wash isn't very significant. But to one little boy, it's everything. To say Shulamith's 4-year-old son is obsessed with car washes would be a gross understatement. They are on his mind nearly all the time. The imagination with which he creates car washes out of practically everything in his environment is nothing short of genius.

Take, for example, my kitchen sink. Methodically, he takes each of his Hot Wheels cars through the car wash, which includes several squirts from the liquid soap dispenser, followed by serious cleaning with a hand-held scrub brush, followed by the rinse cycle under the faucet, followed by drying with a dish towel.  After washing maybe 20 cars, he returns downstairs. Shulamith: "Are you all done up there?" Swen: "No, I just came down to get more cars."

Or consider as another example, my kitchen counter. On a much larger scale, he puts himself and his 2-year-old sister through a different kind of car wash. It consists of a large brown blanket, strategically placed on one side of our island counter. He and Kennedy roll round in that (mud) to get very dirty. Next they crawl around to the other side of the island where the "car wash" is. Several mops and brooms lie across the counter, hanging off the edge to represent the various parts of the car wash cycle, and Swen and Kennedy walk through, so their heads graze the mop strings that hang down. And do you think my broom is ever in my broom closet? Nope. Because when I'm not home, he comes up here and steals it in order to create this car wash downstairs in his own house.

Sometimes the car wash is less ornate; a boy can only work with what he has. In restaurants, salt and pepper shakers placed side by side, a few inches between them become the car wash. Even two Diet Cokes side by side or two straws or two ketchup bottles can work in a pinch.

On all too rare occasions, he gets to drive through a real car wash, and I can't think of anything that makes him happier. Not food. Not candy. Not ice cream. Not toys. Not even cars, though he likes those a lot. He rides quietly though the car wash--a true introvert he is--but you can see the excitement develop on his face and in his eyes, the further we get into the wash. And when those spin brushes come up against his window, well, the world doesn't get any better than that.

Once upon a car wash. And a little boy. And a brilliant imagination. 

Why do we have seasons?

Why do we have seasons?

This was a question from Eli, posed on our family text thread a few days ago. His geography teacher at BYU-Idaho told students to ask five people this question and record their honest, immediate answers. He said 95% of Harvard University students don't get it right. Our answers varied, but I think most of us knew that it has to do with the fact that the earth tilts on its axis.

That said, there is more to life than science. Last night, Seth and I went to McDonald's for an impromptu ice cream and Diet Coke run. As he drove, I read our nightly scripture, and then he talked to me about how much he loves the fall. The cooler temperatures, the changing colors, the best holidays--everything about fall is wonderful. I agree.

Maybe it's not all about the tilting earth; maybe it's about us humans and our need for change. Because as much as we all love summer, most of us are more than ready for a new season.

I sure am.

Especially this year.

These past few months have been been way more stressful than I would like, with one crazy problem right on top of the last one. There have been high points for sure: Eli's beautiful wedding, trips to Portland, Rexburg, and St. George, birthdays to celebrate. Still, it's been trying, and my anxiety has spun right out of control. Now I'm pretty sure you dear readers are beyond tired of hearing about my dumb anxiety (boring!), so I won't say much. Bottom line is I'm still alive and well, even though my mind loves to tell me otherwise.

So I, for one, was more than happy to turn the page on this lovely calendar. I can't wait to wake up tomorrow to a new month, and the start of my favorite three months of the year. The icing on the cake? Because October 1st happens to fall on a Saturday this year, tomorrow also begins General Conference, the two-day, semi-annual worldwide meeting of our church. And let me just tell you, General Conference is a "thing" at the Erichsen-Webster home. We plan for it carefully. Seth's last words before I dropped him off at work just now were, "Have you bought the General Conference snacks yet?" Not yet, but I'm headed to the store right now.

Between sessions tomorrow, we'll pull out our decorations and turn our home black and orange. Our environment will change, not only outside but inside. Change is good. It informs our brains that the future offers hope always. No matter how dark our current circumstances, the earth will continue to spin on its tilted axis, and seasons will come and go accordingly. I'm guessing the savior knew something about this. And I'm grateful.

My three words for the new month and season ahead: Bring. It. On.

GNO, peaches, and Eli

GNO, peaches, and Eli. At first glance you may wonder what those three things could possibly have in common. The answer is absolutely nothing. Except all three comprised my weekend, making it pure delight, so much so that it deserved a blog post all its own.

Friday night, some friends from our ward got together for a Girls' Night Out, in honor of our sweet friend Lacey, who will be moving soon and leaving the ward. She's not going far, but far enough. We will still get to see her, but not enough. We will miss her.

I will miss her.

We gathered at Lacey's favorite Chinese restaurant around a long table and ordered way too much food, which (minus the broccoli beef) was delicious. Broccoli is one of those things that I so wish I liked; it's on everyone's short list of the healthiest foods, but on my list, it's also the yuckiest. Eww. I can't really remember what all we talked about that night, but I know we mostly laughed. Lots. Moms need breaks from kids. Women need connections with other women. GNO cannot be overrated.

Following dinner, five of the nine of us headed to the Century 16 theater to see what would turn out to be the most depressing movie in the history of ever. Goodness! It was artfully created with beautiful scenery and decent acting, but I can hardly think how it could be any sadder. It reminded of the first time I read Jude the Obscure, okay the only time I read it, when after each page, I would think, "The only thing worse that could possibly happen is ____________," and then I'd turn the page, and it did. That's how it was with this movie, which was extremely slow moving, sort of like pain. When you're in the middle of pain, time creeps. It's like pushing through thick fog, and you can't see the end. This movie did end eventually, but every bit as sadly as it began. What movie was it, you want to know? The Light Between Two Oceans.

Saturday morning, after a yummy Waffle Love breakfast, Shulamith and I came home and tackled our out-of-control peach tree. A week ago, I offered peaches to whomever wanted them, and lots of people came and took some. Then I had a peach party and made jam, but still, there were so many peaches left on that tree. Most were getting old and rotten, and there were hundreds that had fallen to the ground, so it was a bit of a project. I dealt with the ones on the ground, and Shulamith picked the ones left on the tree, separating out the good ones from the rotten ones as she clipped branches. If you know her, you know how self-sacrificing that was, since she'd prefer not to be within 10 feet of a peach. Every once in a while, I'd get bombarded by peaches falling on my head like giant hailstones. In those moments I could only wonder, "Why would anyone in his right mind plant a giant peach tree in his front yard?"

We finally finished, and I went inside to do some school work, when suddenly the front door flew open, and in walked none other than Eli! I was so excited and surprised that I jumped right out of my chair and ran over to hug him. Amanda was spending a girls' day (which is almost as good as a GNO) with her aunt and grandma who live here, so we got Eli for all of the afternoon and part of the evening. He and I enjoyed long and delightful conversations, a nice walk, and then lunch with Seth and Isaiah, and dinner with Isaiah and Gerald.

GNO, peaches, and Eli. Weekends don't get any better.

It took over four years, but we finally arrived in St. George

Over four years ago, we decided to take a family weekend trip to St. George. Shulamith was eight months' pregnant with her first child, so the two of us planned to do very little other than lounge by the pool and drink Diet Coke, while Gerald hiked and Matt climbed rocks and the others did whatever they pleased. We booked a hotel, packed our bags, and planned to leave first thing the following morning.

Then this happened.

And we never made it.

And time went by.

And lots of other stuff happened.

But in the true Erichsen-Webster spirit of determination, though it took four years, we finally made that trip happen. Not everyone was able to go, but we are grateful for those who came: Gerald and I, Isaiah, Seth, and the four Monsters (Monson-Websters). We stayed in a lovely condo with a nice pool and hot tub and ate copious amounts of food.

Because for Shulamith and me, it's pretty much all about food. And since she and Matt have visited St. George a couple of times recently, she had a solid list of “must eat” restaurants, and I'm proud to say we managed to squeeze in every last one of them. Can I take just a second here and talk to you about crepes? Oh. My. Goodness. There is this place called The Crepery, which serves a variety of delectable crepes, both sweet and savory. Shulamith and I went there both mornings while everyone else slept (well, Gerald went hiking), and both times I ate the most perfect crepe with cheesecake filling, strawberries, bananas, and chocolate sauce. I'm not even kidding.

Then there was this pizza place she had told me about, with a thin, crispy crust and 4-cheese blend. I got one for Gerald and me with mushrooms, olives, and feta cheese. Mmmm. Then on our way out of town, we went to the Mexican place I'd heard so much about, and once again, I was not disappointed. Warm, miniature corn tortillas with grilled steak, chicken, or pork (okay, Seth got beef tongue because he's Seth), augmented by a salsa bar that included pinto beans and guacamole.

In case this is all making you too hungry, let me switch it up and share some memorable quotes from the weekend:

“It sounds like she's dying up there.” --Isaiah, in response to Kennedy screaming because she wasn't quite ready to go to bed.

“Of course I type in h, t, t, p, colon, backslash, backslash, w, w, w, dot, whatever. There are options other than http, such as ftp, so the browser needs to know which one.” --Gerald, trying to explain why he insists on typing all this every time he goes to a new website, even though we all know you don't have to.

“Why the eff are we trying to speak French?” --Seth, in a group family text chat discussion of the proper way to pronounce the word “crepe.” Which is of course with a short /e/, rhyming with “prep” or “strep.”  It's an imported word from French, and yes, we should honor its correct, French pronunciation. Duh.

“They took out my cocktail insert.” --Isaiah, when he and Shulamith and I ditched everyone else and went to an upscale steak restaurant because Shulamith had a gift card. As the host handed us our menus, he left the cocktail insert in Shulamith's and mine but deliberately removed it from Isaiah's. It's okay. He's only 25 after all.

“I TOLD YOU SO.” --Matt, when the only cupcakes left were one coconut, one pumpkin, four chai tea, and a few banana. So the cupcake place was yet another item on the “must eat” list, and if you go there after 7:00 p.m., cupcakes are half price. We are always all about a deal, but Matt kept warning Shulamith that if we waited until 7:00, all the good flavors would be gone. She didn't listen. That said, my banana one was pretty tasty, though I would have loved to try the chocolate raspberry.

“How many monkeys are too many monkeys? One or two?” --Dumbest Fibbage question ever, directed to poor Isaiah, who was utterly baffled by how to answer, leaving us all laughing uncontrollably. And....you probably had to be there.

“Why does Matt always peer pressure Seth into doing these crazy, scary, dumb things? Ugh, I hate it when he does this.” --Terrianne, as Matt attempts to convince Seth to climb up a tree, swing on a rope, and land in a pond of freezing cold water.

“Mom is about to mess her pants.” --Shulamith, while we watched Seth prepare to swing from the rope, and my anxiety was in the stratosphere.

Even though it took us four years to get there, our weekend in St. George was definitely worth the wait. We know that families are forever, and I'll gladly spend forever with these guys, as well as the ones who weren't with us. We are blessed indeed.

The color of peach jam, and other threshold concepts

What color is peach jam?

You may not think this a very significant question, but I beg to differ. If you dig deep, the answer might be richer and purer than you ever imagined. It might even speak to the heart of relationship, or of hard work, or of community, or of learning. In my freshman composition class, we teach about threshold concepts. We encourage students to think in new ways and to leave older, more traditional ideas behind, even those they have held dear for a long time. We ask them to allow and even welcome a shift of paradigm, as they examine their own unique experiences with rhetoric.

Have you ever walked with determination and clear purpose into a room, but the second you're there, you completely forget what that purpose was? "What did I come in here for?" And you have to turn around and go back through the door in order to remember? There's actually scientific research that helps explain this phenomenon. When we walk through a threshold, something shifts in our brains, and we leave the past behind, sometimes even the whole reason we walked through the door in the first place. The threshold informs our brains to focus forward, on the future, on something new. How fitting, then, is the age-old tradition of the groom carrying his bride over the threshold, as the two leave the past behind and enter into a new life together!

Threshold concepts are new and sometimes even troublesome ways of negotiating life, but that trouble is not a bad thing--in fact often, it's supremely helpful. It allows us to grow, to progress, to evolve. I encountered several threshold concepts yesterday, as three women came to my house to can peaches and make jam:

First, I discovered that a common goal unites people, even virtual strangers, in an effort to achieve. Of the three women at the peach party, only one was a close friend. The other two I knew only casually. But after five hours of sticky peach juice and sugar water and steam canner anxiety, we were connected. A relationship was formed, community established. And even if we never do this again, that community will continue to exist and endure. Threshold.

Second, I discovered that for some people, canning and jam making are more than just the work required to produce a result; indeed, for some, such activities are actually enjoyable. While my friend is a bit more like me and willing to put for the effort in order to achieve the goal (yummy jam), the other two are positively elated in the process, so much so that they would happily do it every single day, and in the fall months, one of them even does! Threshold.

Last, I discovered that the color of peach jam matters. After repeated comments by the other three women regarding the glorious color of this new jam, I finally caved and asked, "What color is it usually?" Because, to me, it just looked sort of bronze-ish, a bit like the color of a summer sunset, and not all that spectacular. I was told that it's usually just plain orange. And this is..... better. Threshold.

So the next time you walk through a door for a very specific reason, only to completely forget what that reason was, do not be dismayed. Embrace it! Leave the past behind, and welcome the shift in paradigm. The "new" you discover might awaken something inside you that, though troublesome at first, proves ultimately enlightening. Like the color of peach jam.

Sayler's Old Country Kitchen and Mo's Chowder House

Not to imply that everything is about food.

Except it sort of is.

I spend about 80% of my time on a strict, low-fat eating plan, dreaming about all the wonderful food I wish I could eat. I spend the other 20% of my time "off plan," eating all that wonderful food. And so is my life.

My three days in Portland were clearly "off plan."

The second night I was there, I ate dinner with my mom, my brother, and his 18-year-old daughter at Sayler's Old Country Kitchen, home of the 72-ounce steak. I'm not sure if it's the nostalgia or the food that makes this place so special, probably both. You see, growing up, the Country Kitchen was our "place." I remember going there many, many times with my mom and dad, Tom (Tommy), and my grandparents. I'm pretty sure we went there at least monthly, sometimes more.

And other than the prices, little has changed. It's exactly the way I remember it from four decades ago. Every meal begins with an iced relish tray filled with celery, carrots, and olives. This is followed by thick-sliced french bread with melted garlic butter and a green salad with choice of dressing. Finally, the main course arrives, which for us, means a beautiful Fillet Mignon steak, cooked to order. They have a 4-oz one for kids, and I remember my mom ordering one of those for Tommy and me to share. I was so proud when I eventually graduated to my own kids' steak, and eventually, I had to order from the adult menu because I was eating my own steak plus a good portion of my dad's. The end of the meal is ice cream, peppermint or spumoni.

The menu is shaped like their famous 72-ounce steak and is even the exact size of it. That is one huge steak (!), and customers who eat the entire thing in a certain amount of time get it free of charge. Tommy and I always tried to get our dad or grandpa to attempt it, but they never did (for good reason, obviously). Sitting there last Sunday evening, those three were close to my heart: my dad and grandma and grandpa. I miss them, but I cherish the memories.

The following day, Tom, my mom, and I headed to the Oregon Coast, yet another place of nostalgia. We spent time in both Seaside and Cannon Beach. Tom and I reminisced about the days of childhood and that one time we were riding the "Octopus" in the amusement park, and the operator forgot about us and left us sitting high up on the ride.

We walked on the sand, watched the crashing waves, and breathed the calm ocean air. But the highlight was, of course, the food. We ate dinner at Mo's Restaurant, famous for its clam chowder. We ordered fried clam strip as an appetizer and then fresh shrimp salads, followed by a large family-style pot of clam chowder to share. Mmmm, can't even describe how good.

I came home wondering if I gained five pounds in just three days, but whatever. It was worth it. Another trip home to Oregon is now history.