"Pieces of Grandma"

Behind every quilt there is a story. This story has been nearly two years in the making, but I am finally able to share it.

After my grandma died a couple of years ago, I felt the need to create something. I knew I wanted to create a quilt with Grandma's old shirts. But I would walk into her closet many times after she passed away, run my hands over the fabric of her shirts, and would silently curse her for her love of slippery polyester fabric with outlandish color schemes. (For the love, Grandma, couldn't you just wear cotton?!) Many times I pulled them out of the closet, one by one, and then hung them back up and walked away. There was no way I was going to be able to sew on those fabrics, much less make any kind of a beautiful quilt with all those colors thrown together.

I watched as my mom and dad would little by little clean out Grandma's house. One day I noticed in the garbage her bathrobe that she always wore, and I knew it was time to act, or I would lose my chance. I went into the closet one more time, gathered all the shirts in my arms, and took them home with me, where I hung them in my sewing room. My mom, upon seeing all of her mother's shirts gone, suddenly became distressed thinking my dad had thrown them out. And me, wanting to stay on my dad's good side and not let him get blamed for something he did not do, told my mom that I had taken the shirts so that they would not get thrown out.

Grandma's shirts hung in my sewing room for months, and then a year, and then longer. I kept telling myself that I was going to make a quilt with them and give it to my mom for Christmas, and then it was going to be for Mother's Day, then for her birthday, etc... And so the cycle went on and on, and yet the shirts were left untouched.

I don't really remember what actually made me take them down and carry them over to my cutting table, but suddenly there I was one day, trying my best to cut 10" squares from the backs of Grandma's shirts as they slid all over the place; cursing her once again for her choice in fabric and yet shedding tears at the same time because each shirt that I would cut had a different memory attached to it. After cutting the shirts, I began cutting the smaller pieces of fabric for the quilt that had once belonged to my Grandma, that my mom passed down to me. And then I began sewing...

To make a long (and boring) story short, I finally got the quilt top done after many months, but still needed fabric for the back. I was showing the top to Mike when he said, "You should go get a sheet from your grandma's house for the back!" I thought it was a great idea, even though I later learned that he was joking. Unfortunately, my parents had adopted all of Grandma's sheet sets for their own use, so I did what anyone else would have done in this situation: I simply took a top sheet of Grandma's right out of their linen closet without asking. (See my mom's blog for the whole sheet story. She and Dad were beside themselves trying to figure out how they "lost" an entire top sheet.) My dear, sweet sisters, whom I adore, offered to help get it quilted professionally, and before long, it was finally done. I put the last stitch in only moments before everyone came for our Christmas Eve breakfast where we would give it to her.

My sweet husband was kind enough to catch it all on the camera. The photos say more than words at this point.

(This one was when Mom and Dad both realized

where the sheet went.)

We love you, Grandma, and hope that your heavenly gown of white is made of the silkiest polyester there is! We all miss you.

p.s. Thank you, Mom, for not wearing polyester.

"A quilt is pieces of love stitched together."

Proof!!!

Proof that they do get along occasionally.

My sincerest apologies to all who have taken the time to actually read my blog only to find nothing new. I have struggled to find time at the computer these months, and also the free time to sit and do it. Those who know me well, know that I am a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to writing, and it literally takes me hours and hours to get a blog ready to post--only to have me go back multiple times even after publishing it to continue to edit and correct. My goal for the coming year is to make every effort to keep my blog current. I have always enjoyed writing and look forward to finding crazy and off-beat things to blog about. The wheels in my head are turning already!

p.s. I really do love this picture!

p.p.s. I already went back and edited this post seconds after posting it. See what I mean?!??! I am hopeless!!!

October Memoirs

October has been my favorite month for as long as I can remember. There is something about the changing leaves, the crisp autumn air, the shorter days. And the pumpkins. How I love pumpkins. I don't know what it is about these bright orange orbs, but they make me happy. I fill my house with them. I fill my yard with them. I love to pick them. I make pumpkin quilts and table runners, pumpkin pie and pumpkin chocolate chip cookies. And I love to see them covering the Kiddie Kollege lawn as they await to be carved for the Pumpkin Walk.

As many of you know, the Pumpkin Walk is something that I have been involved with for many years now. It is something I look forward to every year. I was a little girl still celebrating single digit birthdays when my grandparents first started the Pumpkin Walk. They decided that there needed to be something for the neighborhood kids to do at Halloween who were too old to go trick-or-treating. They collected left over pumpkins from a neighboring farmer's field and set them out on the Kiddie Kollege lawn for anyone to come carve. As neighborhood kids, we spent many hours the week or so before Halloween carving these pumpkins, turning them into our own individual masterpieces. Our carved pumpkins were then set up all over the Kiddie Kollege yard and we lit them up with candles on Halloween evening and the night before.

People came from all over to see our pumpkins. Grandpa would always wear a gorilla suit and

would have the time of his life jumping out at people and scaring the daylights out of them. My grandpa was a prankster in every sense of the word, and sadly, I am only beginning to see that now, after he has been gone for so many years. Grandma always dressed up in black as a witch, and I must admit that she was the most realistic looking witch I have ever seen, even to this day. My brothers and their friends set up little displays like a coffin, complete with someone who would jump out at you if you looked in, as well as a snake display table (yes, they were fake). My job was to walk around the grounds holding a taper candle in my hands and relight all the candles that had blown out. I still remember the feel of the wax burning my fingers as I would tip my candle to light another. And the smell of pumpkins with candles burning in them, to this day, reminds me of these childhood memories and of my grandparents. It is an instant trigger, as smell often is.

The Pumpkin Walk grew quickly and soon there were thousands of people driving from all over the Wasatch Front to come and see the pumpkins every year. Newspapers came and did stories on my grandparents, and with each year the event grew both in attendance and in the number of jack-o-lanterns. We learned tricks of the trade from year to year. Grandpa decided that if we sprayed the insides of the pumpkin with Lysol, it would probably keep the mold from growing so quickly. He was right. To this day we still spray them. He also decided that lighting the pumpkins with candles was simply too much work, not to mention a fire hazard. He decided that Christmas lights would be much more effective. This is still how we light them today.

In the mid 90s Grandpa's health began to fail him. It was at this time that he passed the control of the Pumpkin Walk over to my younger brother, Sheldon, and his friend Jason. They were mere teenagers at the time, but they took the reigns with both hands and not only kept the Pumpkin Walk alive, but kept it thriving. They had it down to a science, quite literally. Then in 1996 Grandpa passed away. And it was then that Grandma decided that it was a good time to let the Pumpkin Walk die as well. We were all devastated, but knew that Grandma was right. The event had outgrown our meager facilities and we simply could not handle the street congestion, the pedestrians on the dark streets waiting in line, the parking. It was time. And sadly, we all knew it.

Five years later...

I was a fairly new resident of Syracuse and a new member of the Arts Council, which was trying to put together some kind of Halloween festival or event for the city. They had not had the success they had hoped for with their current event, and so I made the mistake of saying out loud, "Have you ever thought of a pumpkin walk?" I have since learned that this is NOT the thing to say if you don't want to get involved in something. They instantly put me in charge of the event for the coming year. I made a few phone calls, reassembled all of the original group, and, needless to say, we were all thrilled to be doing it once again. Even Grandma, who made the decision to "let it die" was thrilled beyond words to have it back. She never missed a single night from that point on and would sit right at the front entrance, no matter what the weather, greeting people and talking to everyone who would stop and listen to her. She passed away in February of 2009, just a few weeks short of her 88th birthday. Last year was the first year without her. So as a tribute to her, and as a healing gesture for us, we brought her coat and placed it in her empty chair at the front entrance. I know that her chair went unnoticed by the thousands who came. But it was our tribute to her, and to Grandpa, for having a vision and building it into a legacy they could not have possibly imagined.

So back to why this is my favorite month:

Yes, this month is filled with things that I love, from falling leaves to vibrant colors in richly muted hues. But my favorite part of the entire month of October is when everything is all set up for opening night of the Pumpkin Walk and we turn on all the lights for the first time. And then the magic happens. Suddenly I feel my grandparents so close, and I know that they are near and that they are smiling. I am so honored to carry their blood in my veins, to carry on this tradition they started so long ago. It gives me a feeling of satisfaction and gratitude for them that words simply cannot express.

The Pumpkin Walk is now part of Syracuse City. They have been more than generous in giving it

a permanent home and cradling it in their arms for the past 8 years. They fund it. They pick the pumpkins and help set up and tear down. They handle publicity and public relations. They are amazing. (Kresta, Tiffany, Hollie. We love you! We could not do it without you.) And a very special thanks to my committee, which is really just a fancy word for a group of childhood friends and family who are now adults. So a hats off to Mom (and sometimes even Dad depending on his mood!), Brian and Ann, Brady and Stephanie, Joanna and Chris, Sheldon and Wendy, Liseanne and Jeff, Jason and Joni, Nick and Heather, Mike, Mike, Justin, James, and Jared!! I am honored to work with all of you. ( By the way: Jared, Justin, and James are highly attractive, eligible bachelors if any lucky ladies are looking to marry into the pumpkin carving family). ;)

Life Lesson #12

I would just like to take a minute and thank my neighbor BJ for teaching me so many valuable life lessons. Today I actually put one into practice and it worked like a charm.

Life Lesson #12 from BJ-If someone is coming over unexpectedly, simply dump some Lysol in your toilet and, VIOLA! Suddenly your entire house will smell nice and clean, thus giving the illusion that you have been cleaning all day.

I love tips like this. They simplify my life in so many ways. Now Scott the Plumber thinks I spent all day cleaning toilets. Which, those of you who know me (no need to raise hands here), KNOW that I would never do such a thing. Ahh...the joys in simplicity.

"I hate housework. You make the beds, you wash the dishes

and six months later you have to start all over again."

~Joan Rivers

Wasatch Back 2009!

The Wasatch Back is a 188 mile relay race consisting of 12 team members that run along the back of the Wasatch mountains (hence, the name..Wasatch Back) from Logan to Park City. It was last June that I got the idea of how much fun it would be to put together a team of runners from our neighborhood and go for it! Only one of us had ever done it before, so the rest of us were virgins to the whole experience. And what an experience it was! Holy cow! Basically our team started running at 7:30 AM Friday morning and didn't stop until 2:30 PM Saturday afternoon. I was runner #3. My first leg was around 9:30 AM and was 5.6 miles. My second leg, which I hated because it was so HOT, was around 5:30 PM for 5.3 miles. My final leg, which was my most difficult by far, was my favorite. It started at 6 AM and was for 8 miles up past Jordanelle Reservoir. It was absolutely beautiful, incredibly difficult, and overwhelmingly rewarding. I have never had such a high as I did when I finally made it to the top of that mountain. (Maybe it was all those caffeine-infused gel packs I consumed or maybe just sheer runner's high... You never know.) Instead of writing so much about it, I thought I would simply let the pictures tell the story. Make sure you check out the beautiful scenery behind all of us. It was amazing (when we remembered to look up from running.)

The team, minus Angie who was running.

Although Mike wasn't on the team this year,

he showed up to cheer me on, like he always does.

Not only is he my biggest fan, but my greatest supporter!

He's totally running with us next year.

My friend Jen who was also Runner #3 (same as me) but was on

a different team. She was on Team Beaver.

(Yes, Team Beaver.)

Angie was always my favorite person to see because it meant

that my run was OVER! =)

Our favorite place was the back of the truck,

which was basically our home for 32 hours.

I think Rachel and I spent most of our time here when not running.

Van #2: The other half of our team.

The beginning of my long run.

I had to wear night gear until the sun came up.

Don't ask. I was sleep deprived.

I couldn't believe how beautiful the entire landscape was.

Jaren and Natalie were in Van #1 with us. Loved these guys!

Jaren hates running. Can you tell? His philsophy was to

run fast and get it over with. Which is exactly what he did.

Lisa and some of the guys from Van #2.

Rachel and her victory cheer after her 8 mile

uphill run up East Canyon.

She totally rocked this run!

Yes, the caffeine gel packs kept me alive for this long run.

Rachel was my water boy.

Eventually Natalie decided to brush her teeth.

Good call, Natalie! (Jaren, her hubby, is a dentist)

This is where we "slept" for a few hours in the middle of the night.

We actually just lied there and stared at the ceiling and listened to Chad snore.

Notice the scenery. Go, Rachel!!!

Waiting at the finish line for Lisa, our last runner.

Getting ready for my victory herky jump.

The prep looked better than the actual jump. ;)

The complete team, Jupiter's Dozen,

at the finish line with our medals,

which double as bottle openers. =)

"The greatest pleasure in life is doing the things

people say we cannot do."

~Walter Bagehot

The Hot List

Back in my high school and college years I used to keep lists: what homework needed to be done, which roommates were in charge of which household duties, and even goals that I had set for myself (back when I actually used to write them down). I had one list in particular, though, that was my favorite. And that was the list I kept in my 7 ring Franklin Planner (You all had one. Admit it.) that had all the names of every guy I ever went out on a date with. It didn't matter if he was my current boyfriend or just a casual friend who took me out once. If we went on a date, his name was on the list. I realize that many of you are probably laughing at this and wondering why I would do something so petty as to keep a list of everyone I dated, but truth be told, I did it after a seminary teacher told our class that we should date at least 50 people before we got married. What better way to keep track than to just write them down? It made things simple. I kinda expanded upon this list by adding stars next to some of those names. Those were the ones I kissed. The ones with two stars? The really good kissers. (I later learned that my youngest sister followed in my footsteps and kept a list like this also. I must have been a really good example to her because her list was covered in stars just like mine, although the number of her stars WAAAY outnumbered my stars...seriously. That girl put me to shame.) (My other sister might have kept a list too, although she probably kept it hidden from me. We might have had stars next to the same name. You never know.)

I have been thinking about my dating years, and I've realized how much my tastes have changed since then. There were things back then that put a guy on "The Hot List." In other words, they did something that made me swoon, drool, become weak in the knees, etc... You get the idea: something that made them "hot." Twenty years ago my list was made up of things like this:

1-Musical Ability-How could I resist those boys who could sing, or would sit and play the piano? It was WAY hot. MY future husband would DEFINITELY have to be able to play the piano and sing to me if we were to ever get along for eternity.

2-Dancing Ability- Back then, few things were really more important in life than a guy with the ability to lead a girl across the dance floor in the ever romantic country swing. If I had kept a list of good dancers back then, I would have put a star next to any guy's name if he could lift me off the floor and spin me around a few times in the air over his head before gracefully putting me down mid dance. (*Aaron) Dancing was definitely on The Hot List.

3-Creativity- In the little turkey town where I attended college there were not many places to take a date, so creativity scored big points. I dated one guy who could neither sing (gasp!!!), nor dance (strike 2!), but holy cow, did he take me on some creative dates. Canoeing, moonlit 4 wheeler rides (LOOOVED those...), and even horseback riding. Creative dates = The Hot List.

4-A good head of hair. By college you could tell which of the guys were going to lose their hair and which wouldn't. My future husband would definitely have a full head of nice thick hair....

Fast forward twenty years, and my Hot List has changed dramatically. Things that were once so important to me, are not so much now. Don't get me wrong. I still appreciate all of the afore mentioned things. But now my list looks something like this:

1-Cooking- A man who can cook demands my respect. Especially if he does it for me. And the kids. And cleans up afterwards. Holy. Hawt.

2-Every Sunday my hubby (who is definitely hot!) breaks out his box of fingernail polish, lines up his daughters, and paints their nails for church. We're talking a base coat, two coats of color, and a shiny top coat. Toes and fingers. A man who is good with children and does things that break defined gender roles: definitely hot.

3-A good sense of humor. Few things are more attractive to me than someone who can spontaneously make me smile. Two stars if you make me laugh. =D

4-Brains and proper grammar. Silly, but true. I am easily impressed with someone who is smart, knows the language he speaks, and speaks it properly. I'll add a star by your name if you use big impressive words. Two stars if punctuate and capitalize when you text.

5-There really is nothing sexier than a man wearing an apron with his hands in the sink doing dishes, except...a man who scrubs toilets! Be still my beating heart! The thought of a man on his hands and knees scrubbing crusty pee off the toilet is about the hottest thing I can ever imagine. Seriously, folks. It's like Melinda porn.

A couple of weeks ago I added something new to my Hot List after attending the Air Show at HAFB. As I stood there and watched these crazy, brave, daring pilots rip through the skies, I decided that "flying" definitely needed to be on the list. I don't know why I hadn't thought to add this before. I've grown up with the sound of F16s flying spontaneously overhead at all hours of the day and night. I think I may have even cursed at a few (PG rated, of course) as they would wake up my sleeping babies from time to time. But suddenly, that day at the air show, I was in awe and somewhat weak in the knees at what these fly boys could do with their jets and aircraft. They would tumble and turn, dive and flip, and do all kinds of circles. UH-MAY-ZING! And don't even get me started on the Thunderbirds in their fitted blue flight suits and the stunts THOSE boys pull in the skies. Holy Wowzers! Hotties. All of them.

So hats off to the boys in blue, and every other fly boy, fighter pilot, daredevil, thrill seeker who straps himself into a plane and travels at the speed of sound. Hats off to all of you, as well as to all of you dads who cook, clean, do laundry, paint your daughters' nails, scrub dried pee, and make your wives laugh. I applaud you. I salute you.

You are officially on The Hot List.

(For those of you wondering if I ended up

dating 50 guys before I got married....

My Mike was #51. True Story.)

My First Half

My sister in law Kathy has a plate in her home above her computer which simply says, "I can do hard things." Today I did something hard. I ran a half marathon- something I swore I would never be able to do.

The idea of running a half marathon was first introduced to me by a group of my friends (Stacie, Jen, Natalie, Rachel) who had signed up for the half marathon in Moab. They invited me to come along, but I told them that there was no way I would be able to run 13.1 miles, but thank you for thinking of me. Luckily for me, there happened to be a 5 mile run there in Moab, so I signed up for the shorter run and accompanied them on the trip. I felt like a baby (a.k.a. wimp) as the other girls stepped on one bus, and I stepped on another ( "The Short Bus") which took us to our starting locations.

It was on the way home from Moab that these girls talked me into running The Top of Utah half marathon with them this August, much to my insistence that I could not. I finally gave in, but only if one of them was the one to actually sign me up. There was no way I was going to go online, fill out the information, and pay $30 to kill myself coming down some canyon. If someone else did it, then I could at least blame someone else if I failed or couldn't finish. Rachel signed me up that night.

And so the training began. I found a schedule that worked for me and I taped it to my fridge. It is a 16 week training program which began May 11 and ends August 29, the day of the run.

As Memorial Day approached, a bunch of us had decided to run the 5K here in our home town. Mike and I were both ready to run the 3.2 miles with everyone else, but it was after my 7 mile training run on Saturday that I started to have these crazy and slightly insane thoughts of actually signing up for the half marathon on Memorial Day, instead of the 5K. I couldn't get it out of my head. I mentioned it to Mike and he was instantly my #1 cheerleader (sans the outfit), urging me to do it, even though it was only two days away, and even though I was only two weeks into my "real" half marathon training set for August. I thought of Kathy's plate. "I can do hard things." I thought of my friends who ran in Moab. And I decided right then that I would do it. That I could do it. It was my turn. (cue the "Chariots of Fire" music) (Can you find me in the crowd? I'm #328)

I will be honest and say that it was hard. There were times I felt like quitting or even just walking, but I somehow managed to keep putting one foot in front of the other. There were times when my legs ached terribly, times when my own sweat burned my eyes, and times when the pain in my side was so severe that I wondered how I could possibly run any farther. There were times that I prayed and pleaded for help to get through just one more mile, and then another, and then another.

It was when I had only a half mile left that I spotted Mike and my children waiting for me at the finish line. I picked up my pace so that I could run through with my head held high, even though my muscles screamed out in protest, and I felt like dying. It was then that 3 of my 5 children suddenly ran out to meet me for the last 20 feet of the course. I couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I completely lost all of my composure as the sobs swelled up inside of my chest; and my lungs, which had sustained me for nearly two and a half hours, suddenly gave way and succumbed to the waves of emotion raging through my exhausted body. I had done it. I gathered their hands up in mine, and we all ran--hand in hand in hand in hand--through the finish line.

"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start."
-John Bingham, running speaker and writer