Jerk Sauce

Don't panic, I'm not kidnapped, I'm on vacation.

It's Fall break so my hub took his kids and his parents to St. George.

Oh, and he took me too.

And I took everything else, 'cept the kitchen sink. And Lulu.

Waaaahhhh! (I miss my puppy so much!)

But fer reals, I seriously dumped all the contents of my fridge and my cupboards into my car before we left home, just in case I had time to catch up on some cooking. But I haven't had time to do any cooking.

I also brought a dozen movies and books just in case I had time to live in someone else's head. And I brought my laptop just in case I had time to live in my own head. But I haven't had time to any reading or movie watching. And I haven't had time to do any writing.

I haven't even had time to hook up with friends.

Sorry friends.

I've just been too busy. Sitting here. Doing nothing. Nothing is all I've had time to do. And I've barely had enough time to do that. In fact I'm frantically trying to squeeze in as much time to do nothing as I can before we go home.

Why don't we do nothing more often? Inquiring minds want to know.

The great thing about doing nothing is that you're always free to do something when the opportunity arises. If you get an urge to swim or play tennis, you're free. If you get an urge to lay around with your daughter and watch Pretty in Pink, you're available. If you get the urge to stretch yourself out across the grass and let the October sun have it's way with you, you don't have to clear your calender.

My favorite thing to do when on vacation is to figure out how to prolong the vacation. Prolonging vacations is one of my hobbies. Especially vacations with my IL's.

You already know what it's like to vacation with my IL's because I've told you a million stories, but I can never quite pin it down for you exactly, how it feels, like say to drive in a car, down a street you've driven down a hundred times before. With my MIL. Playing tour guide in my ear. It's like deja vu.

"Okay, now this is where they used to have a Sorghum farm. Do you know what Sorghum is? The pioneers used to farm it. I may be wrong though, but I think I read that somewhere."

"And that path right there is the one they took to get the volcanic rock to build the foundation of the temple. I hope I got that right, but I think I've read that somewhere."

"And this is where the flood was."

"And this is the new bridge."

"And this chapel was just built."

"And there's a fence up there."

I always giggle through the whole tour and yesterday she said, "You're probably thinking I'm full of foolery, huh?"

"Full of what?" I said.

"Foolery!" she said. And then she spelled it out.

"Oh, I thought you said "bullery," I told her.

Going to the grocery store with my MIL is equally entertaining. Again, it's impossible to convey the experience with precision, but imagine me going up and down the aisles with Shirley Temple. Then imagine Shirley Temple doing a tap dance in the milk section and saying, "Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness! That milk just moo'd at me."

What are the chances, right? The milk mooing!? But she was right. It did moo. I heard it with my very own eardrums.

Now imagine Shirley temple trying to find bbq sauce but finding jerk sauce instead. Oh golly, I wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't spelled that out for me too. J-E-R-K sauce. But she was right. I saw it with my very own eyeballs. It was Jamaican Jerk Sauce. Maybe they have more jerks in Jamaica than we do in America. Who knows. But next time you need sauce for your jerk, you can pick some up at Harmons for $3.99.

(I bought a few bottles for anonymous.)

J/K peeps. I'm so over that whole anonymous stunt(s). All three of them. I only bought the jerk sauce in case YOU weren't over it yet. That's what writers do, we pretend to have issues in order to help you with your issues.

My favorite thing about sitting around doing nothing is the way my brain begins to hang loose. And I let it. I let it wander in any direction it so desires. Yesterday was my favorite bishop's funeral--and also Stan's funeral (my first magic quilt recipient)--so my brain was wandering around the complexities of lub sweet lub. And loss.

Do you guys ever get tired of my brain wandering around the complexities of lub sweet lub. And loss?

Me neither.

I've been watching my father-in-law all weekend. Closely. He's the only father I've had for the past twenty odd years (and I do mean odd). We've had our share of head butts because he's got a strong head and I've got a strong head. And both of us were used to being Charles-in-charge. Once we got into a fist fight while playing Trivial Pursuit. I was right and he was wrong, but my hub said it didn't matter. He says sometimes it's not worth being right. Sometimes it's only worth being quiet.

My FIL has made my eyeballs sweat on a few occasions while teaching me to play tennis. He's a very blunt teacher, and I'm a very tender student. But he has softened with age, and I have hardened with age, which has made for a perfect father/daughter relationship.

A few days ago I was watching him. Closely. Standing there in the jacuzzi, throwing a football to my boys in the pool with a feeble arm and a brilliant smile. I tried to commit the whole thing to memory--the way he would teeter off balance as he cocked his arm back, and clap his hands together when he'd call for the pass.

Maybe it will be the last time he will call for a pass, I thought. Maybe not, but I paid attention just in case.

Today I watched him break the sabbath at Chuck-A-Rama. (Anonymous, go ahead and alert the proper authorities if you must. It is what it is.) (And I am what I am.) He breaks the sabbath with such precision it's almost poetic--each bite of cake that he slides his fork through is like the stroke of an artist's brush against the canvas of his life. Or at least against the canvas of his wife, who was in the background telling us all the story of how her great grandfather chose his second wife. I marvel at her ability to tell each story as if our ears are virgins, even though her stories have been falling upon our ears for years and years and years.

My hub actually leaned in close to his mom and helped her finish her sentences.

"My great grandmother Eliza was opposed to the 2nd wife," My MIL said. "But one night there was a knock on the door and when she opened it . . ."

"There was an angel standing there," said my hub.

"That's right," said my MIL. "And the angel told her . . ."

"She needed to accept the 2nd wife," said my hub.

"That's right!" said my MIL. "The angel really did say that. And so Eliza let her husband take on the 2nd wife. Because of that angel. I have the whole story written down in a book somewhere."

My FIL kept sliding his fork through the cake as if he and that cake were the only two people on the planet.

And my MIL folded her napkin on her lap as if she had made her point.

But my hub wasn't about to let that angel get the last word.

"Do you wanna hear the ending to that story?" said my hub, looking directly at my kids. "I've read that book too. Eliza left her husband because she couldn't stand that 2nd wife."

"No," said my MIL "You're ruining the story. Eliza left her husband because she couldn't stand the 3rd wife."

"Of course," said my hub. "There was no angel for the 3rd wife."

"Right," said my MIL. "And he didn't ask permission for the 3rd wife."

SIGH!

Poor Eliza. I wish I had been there to offer her some sauce with that jerk.