Springtime!

Listening to the NPR music podcast while jogging through the park this morning I had the most pleasant of surprises.

On came "Poisoning Pigeons in the Park" by satirist Tom Lehrer.



My dad had a Tom Lehrer record that pleased my young, twisted mind to no end. "Poisoning Pigeons" was always a favorite. But may I humbly suggest "I Hold Your Hand in Mine"?

It's a showstopper.

Suspicious behavior

Yesterday all the Mormons in the South had a "Day of Service." My congregation did a donation drive to collect household items for homeless people as they move into apartments. One of my friends dropped empty bags and instructions on the doorsteps of her neighborhood earlier in the week and yesterday morning we drove around collecting whatever donations people left on their porches.

We looked pretty suspicious, I'll concede, inching down the street, scanning every doorstep and jumping out periodically to snatch something.

But two women and three kids in a minivan are hardly thief material.

Someone called the cops on us anyway.

When we saw the flashing lights in our rearview mirror, we figured maybe one of our tail lights was out or something.

The policewoman took one look at all the outdated kitchenware and sheets and bath towels in the backseat and waved us on.

I bet the person who turned us in didn't even donate. That can't be good karma.

Hau'oli lā hānau

She's a looker, my Grandma Jan. Always wearing her puka shell necklace, her big, bold laugh ready to sneak out at the first glipse of a gorgeous tropical flower or graceful dolphin, her soft white wash-and-go hair, her dark eyes flashing and and that sly little grin she pulls when she thinks you're not watching her make a trip to the freezer for some Heavenly Hash.

Happy Birthday Grandma!

Supercalifragilistic

Today I bought a ticket to see Mary Poppins the musical in August. It was very expensive, but I don't care because it's MARY POPPINS. Loved the film. Love Julie Andrews even more. She's not in the musical, since she can't even sing much these days due to a tragic voice condition.

I'm sure there'll be some equally lovely young actress flying around the stage and teaching Jane and Michael Banks to mind their manners.

I don't go to many of the traveling Broadway shows because most of them are like Wicked or Phantom (ie. LAME).

South Pacific was swell though, and I'm betting Mary Poppins will suit me just fine.

Horsing around

Some little girls dream of ponies. I never did. The only time I find horses even remotely interesting is at the rodeo. Although, I do remember being quite taken with Man From Snowy River. I think that was more about the man than the horse, though.

Now my boss is making me go to this new horse show thing coming to Charlotte. People who love horses (aka people who love blueberry pie and motherhood and puppies) are all whipped up about this show. Larry King says it's the MOST EXCITING SHOW HE'S EVER SEEN!!! Oh boy, if Larry liked it, well then sign me up! BLECH.

One of the cofounders of Cirque de Soleil has created Cavalia featuring freaky acrobats in elf queen costumes riding horses. From the photos, it looks pretty weird. I'm trying my hardest to pawn the job off on someone else. Maybe by next week I'll succeed.

Doing the 'Dew

I drink more Diet Mt. Dew than is good for me, but as long as the negative effects remain invisible, I manage to pretend one can a day isn't doing me any harm.

This week I had a scare that nearly made me swear it off, though: my urine turned fluorescent yellow -- the exact hue of Mt. Dew.

My first thought was that my body had finally absorbed all the yellow #2 dye and artificial sweeteners it take and had resorted to just passing the lemony-lime soda right on through without a second glance.

Before I poured the half-empty can on my desk down the drain, I consulted an expert just to be sure I wasn't overreacting.

Google quickly informed me that while glow-in-the-dark pee is not exactly normal, it's also not that big a deal and usually caused by too much Vitamin B.

I immediately remembered I'd started taking a new multi-vitamin this week and when I skipped it the next day (while still drinking Mt. Dew) my urine color was back to normal.

I'm so relieved to know I can keep on pickling my insides with carbonated, artificial beverages. Definitely gonna stop taking the vitamins, though.

Say what?

Years ago my dad went into a coma and came out a changed man. But thank goodness he woke up still speaking English!

Not like this Croatian girl who now only speaks German and needs a translator to communicate with her family.

The brain is a weird and wild thing.

I couldn't avoid it forever

It's been about 10 years since I last got one of these bad boys, so I guess I was due. Blech.

The bright side is I happened to be on a tour of the court house a few weeks ago and notice the jury waiting room is VERY posh. They play a movie on big screens and serve free popcorn. There's a cafe and free wi-fi and comfy tables and chairs. There's even a balcony area with a pool table and some old school video arcade games a frat house would be proud to own.

If I'm really lucky, they won't need a jury the day I'm due to show up. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure they'll set me free pretty quickly when they find out what I do for a living, but I plan to stuff my face and pockets full of free popcorn before they do!

Sunrise on the accordion

Several years back I got it in my head to learn the accordion, so I put my Christmas money toward a few lessons with an ancient accordion impresario who was more interested in talking about his enlarged prostate than teaching my to play the polka. I picked up enough to know I like playing the accordion but will never be any good at it.

Still, I bought an ENORMOUSLY heavy old mother-of-pearl squeezebox from the grandson of a guy who used to play bar mitzvahs and weddings in the 60s. It still smells like old man. When I play it, I feel like I'm driving a classic old Cadillac with great lines but a bit of a wheeze in the engine. Tragically, I don't play it enough and it takes me a few good hours to remember the little skills I once had.

What I need is a goal to work toward. Atleast that's the only way I can explain signing up to play at our upcoming church talent show at the end of the month. I've been practicing almost daily for the last week and a half. My neighbors surely hate me. I figure it's payback for all the heavy-heeled clomping the upstairs lady does at 2 a.m. She must be an insomniac. And thanks to me, she's probably got "Matchmaker, Matchmaker" from Fiddler in the Roof stuck in her head. I know I do.

Once I work the number up to performance level (which means not having to stop every few measures to find the right notes again) I'll try to record it and post a video here. Then you, too, can have Fiddler on the Roof stuck in your head!

Pollen!

For at least a week now, my daily prayers have included something along the lines of: "Heavenly Father, thank you that I don't have allergies."

There is ten times the normal amount of pollen in the air right now. Literally TEN TIMES. They count these things. Everything is a yellow haze. Look at this photo from the newspaper:



Apparently the cold winter we had made the trees bloom later so they're all pollinating at the same time and many seem to think my car is a fertile spot for their reproductive efforts. It's covered in a film. I keep washing it. The yellow film comes right back in less than an hour.

Thank goodness it's raining tonight. This is a shot of the curb in our parking lot. See how the pollen looks like someone spilled lemon yellow paint in the gutter? Amazing.

Southern climate

Mostly I complain about how humid or cold the weather is here in Charlotte. I'm prone to climate complaints in general, I guess.

But right now - for this one brief month, if we're lucky - I have not a single weather-related reason to whine. This is a magical time in Charlotte. While it's snowing in Utah, we've had 80 degrees and sun for the last four days. The infernal Southern bugs haven't hatched yet. The humidity has yet to sink it's wet fingers into the air. Allergy people have trouble with the pollen that leaves a yellow film on cars and sidewalks, but that's not me.

I can sit on my patio and read without being eaten alive. I can sleep with the window open. I can take long walks without overheating. I'm trying to savor every moment and hope the memory will propel me through another oppressively humid summer and cold, damp winter.

But I do have a pretty selective memory, so no promises that you won't see me complaining about the climate here again very soon.

I love you, Dad!

My Dad turns 62 today, which I find kind of strange because I have such vivid memories of my grandparents turning 60. In my head, they're still that age, which would make my dad 40 something and me a teenager. I still feel like a teenager, too. Age is a strange thing, isn't it?

One of my favorite things of late is to check my email and find some sort of message from Dad. He'll randomly check my work website and send outsized praise for my genius and skill. He's totally biased, but it always makes me feel good. It's because of his steady encouragement throughout my life that I believe there's nothing I can't accomplish with a little hard work and support of those who love me.

That's the other thing his emails always say: "Remember who loves you."

And thanks to Dad, I always do.