The road to Utah . . .

. . . is paved with yellow bricks.  

And rumor has it if you follow it, while holding to the iron rod, you will find either your heart, your brain or your courage to say what you need to say. 

And if you're really lucky you might find your grail.   

I think I may have had a revelation that I'm going to find my grail in Utah.  I'm pretty sure it was a revelation because I was watching the BYU Channel at the time.  And also because I think the heavens opened and I think Gad spoke to me.  

I think he told me that in Utah the field is white and ready to harvest and that if I thrust in my sickle I might find my grail.  

I don't know the first thing about harvesting or sickles, but I'm ready to learn.  No longer will I be a teacher, but instead I will be a student.  

If master says Wax on! I will say As you wish, master.  If master says Wax off! I will say As you wish, master.  And if master says Wax poetic! I will say As! You! Wish! Master!

It's kind of exciting to have a mission.  And to be headed for the mission field.  

The first thing I need to learn is the language.  I've picked up a few words from the BYU Channel:  Neat and tons.  I'm not sure what they mean but I can use them in a sentence:  

"There are tons of neat things about Provo."

Another thing I've learned from the BYU Channel is that the people in Utah are great salesmen. They could sell me a testimony if I needed one.   I think it's because they understand the art of the intensifier.  

Random example:  (More effective if said with a Nacho Libre accent.) 

"Marriage is SOOOO neat!  It is the BEST!  It is the MOST bee-U-tiful thing EVER!  Marriage is FANTASTIC!  I am MUCH HAPPIER than you. For JUST 10% of your income a month you too can live happily ever after in perpetual blissfulness like me."

(Any similarities to actual conversations living or dead is purely coincidental.) 

I have also observed that Utahns are great motivational speakers and I'm SUPER excited about the possibility of living next door to a Chris Farley, (if Chris Farley didn't live in a van down by the river.  And if Chris Farley understood the commitment pattern and was a singles ward bishop. And if Chris Farley said "MOST bee-U-tiful thing EVER!" when he talked about marriage.) 

Anyways, here's hoping I find my grail in Utah.

 

Ba bye now

"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine, but a sharp tongue getteth things done!"--ancient CTD proverb

I testify this is true, particularly if you are having a moving sale and getting ready to pawn off all your earthly possessions.  

But once you make a fortune off your friends and neighbors it's pretty hard not to have a merry heart again, especially if, after they make you rich, they throw you a beach bash to say so-long, fare-thee-well.

Much mahalo my Hawaii friends and neighbors!   

How do I lub thee?

I lub thee with all my stone cold heart (unless you didn't come to my party or contribute to my recent fortune, in which case I only lub thee with half of my stone cold heart). 

And oh how I will miss thee, (and thy $$$) my Hawaii friends and neighbors.

I feel so much lighter now that half of my house is missing.  And quite honestly, it is comforting, in an almost giddy way, that our earthly possessions are living on in the lives of the people we lub--like we're leaving little pieces of ourselves behind.  The useful pieces.

It's almost like we're dead but our ashes have been scattered across the community.  If ashes were useful.   And if one day all of our neighbors were outside talking and suddenly someone looked up and yelled, "The sky is falling!  The sky is falling!" And sure enough when they all looked up our earthly possessions were raining down upon them.

I finally get that circle of life song from The Lion King now.  And that Reduce, Reuse, Recycle song that Jack Johnson sings.  And that part in the Three Bears where they're like "someone is sleeping in MY bed."

It warms my heart to think that Swirl will now be taking pictures of herself in my mirror and Anjeny will now be watching her Korean soap operas with my entertainment center.  

(Plus it felt kinda good to throw in a free origami book even though she doesn't read Japanese. You're welcome Anjeny, that my generosity is so multi-cultural and transcends language barriers.) 

So after we scattered our ashes upon our neighbors and then collected our inheritance, we went to the beach for an LDS BBQ.  (Not to be rude, but there was NO hard stuff to drink--just wimpy Hawaiian juices.  HELLO! Does anyone in the neighborhood read my blog?)  

But bless their hearts, they tried.    And even though the road to helk is paved with good intentions . . . 

JUST JOSHING Peeps, stop throwing tomatoes at me.  I LUB my neighbors and I sincerely appreciate all their meager efforts to dull our achey breakey hearts while still keeping the word of wisdom. 

Seriously, even though I didn't get any brownies, it was the best ba bye now beach bash ever! The only thing that would have made it more exciting would have been if everyone had gone around in a circle telling us who they were going to miss more, ME, ME, ME or my hub.  And then whoever got the most votes would get a brand new red front loader washer/dryer set.  

(And Martha's vote wouldn't count.)

Gots ta go.  I promised my hub a back rub to make up for my sharp tongue.  (A back rub doeth good like a medicine too, btw.)

Today four things happened that have never happened before

(Actually it was yesterday, but who's counting.)

 

1.  I read a book.  With two round pieces of magnifying glass perched to the end of my nose.  

And you wouldn't believe how much bigger and bolder and clearer the words on the page were. I didn't realize words could be that . . . focused.   

Which means I'm officially an old lady. 

2.  I found two cans of Code Red Mountain Dew hidden underneath the fish tank.  

Remember Juice Box?  

That student from my night class who gave me a whole case of Code Red back in March? Apparently I got through all my research papers before I polished them off and now I have not one, but two precious Code Red to help me numb my emotional root canal.  

3.  A former student dropped by my office to say goodbye, and btw, "thanks for changing my life." 

(Okay, I'll admit that has happened before, but never with a Brittish accent.)  

hee hee  

(Get your mind out of the gutter, Sandi, I inspired him to become an English major, for goodness sake.)

It's just too bad that he ain't a smokin' hot vampire (and that I'm an old lady with a Code Red dependency).

4.  My hub and I got into a tiff about a haunted house.

See I grew up in a haunted house.  

It wasn't blatant--like I never woke up at 3:15 a.m or saw a pig man staring at me through my bedroom window--but the creepy factor was through the roof, (and the basement.)  Let's just say the hair on the back of my neck would stand at attention whenever I raced past the fiery furnace and bolted up the back porch stairs.

I believe what happens in a house stays in a house.  You get me? 

Energy lingers, like dust  Especially intense energy.   And how do you wipe away energy dust?

So what would you do if you got a tip about a great house for sale where a violent act was committed?  

An extremely violent act.  The kind of violent act that makes you cringe every time your mind skitters past the thought of it.    

My hub doesn't think it's an issue.  "It's 5,000 square feet!"  He keeps telling me.  "In an incredible neighborhood." 

"BUT IT'S FULL OF PAIN AND SADNESS!" I keep saying.  "Every room in that house must be in shock and awe." 

It would take more than Mozart and pixie dust to clear the bad karma, am I right?  

Please advise.  You can't get to know a house at first glance, right?   So how do you know if it's haunted without dating it, taking it camping with you, or bringing it home to meet your parents?

  

No worries

This is a humor blog.  A pain free zone.  An escape from reality.  

That is why today I'm NOT going to burden you with my moving stresses.  I'll just disperse some helpful advice instead.

If you don't want to burden others with your stresses, alls you have to do is say but no worries, I'm good at the end of each troubling thought.  Or you can also say but no worries, it's not that bad.  

Anything to that effect.

For example,  if you're describing a major life change that feels like a chronic toothache gnawing away at your soul, don't forget to add but no worries, I'm good so others don't feel uncomfortable or think you're complaining.

As a rule, be cool, and try not to let your visiting teachers see you sweat (especially around your eyeball area).  If you have a choice between grumpy or weepy, GO GRUMPY!

Seriously!  Grumpy says I'm in charge.  I'm capable.  And strong.  And independent.  And don't even think about messing with me right now, particularly if you're my hub and I've asked you to run to the dump, is that TOO MUCH TO ASK?

J/K peeps!  No worries.  I would never get grumpy with my hub.  It's not that bad.

I did, however, ask him nicely to run to the dump for me yesterday because I cleaned out my children's childhood playroom--the playroom each of my children played in throughout their entire childhood. 

And while I was cleaning out their childhood playroom I was thinking of that song Iwa told me to add to my playlist I Miss You, My Hawaii by Na Leo and I was wondering why Na Leo didn't think to title it, I Miss You, My Legos or I Miss You My Lincoln Logs or my chubby blocks or my hot wheels.

I'm thinking of writing my own song called I Miss You, My Washer/Dryer and singing it to my hub who insists we bring our old washer and dryer to Utah even though he knows I've always wanted a set of red front loaders. 

But fo' reals all is good in the hood right now.  No worries.  We are taking care of biz-ness.  It's not that bad making important, life-changing, earth-shattering, mind-numbing decisions and tying up the loose end of one life, while opening a can of worms in the other.  

I didn't even break a sweat when Kahuku high school refused to let my kids attend classes for one day so they could say goodbye to their friends.   

"There are no visitors allowed during the first week of school," the helpful, friendly, courteous, kind Kahuku lady told me.  

"But they're not visitors.  They're actually enrolled." 

"Did they pick up their schedules?"

"No, because we're moving next week." 

"Then they'll have to say goodbye to their friends after school." 

Awkward pause to process incoming information.

"Sooooooo . . . does this mean they're not Red Raiders for Life?  Cuz that's what all your T-Shirts say."

Click.

"Just saying." 

But noooooooo worries.  I'm gooooooood.  It's not that baaaaaaad.  In fact, the only time I broke a sweat this week was when my son asked me to pour him a bowl of Frosted Flakes.  

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"  I sobbed uncontrollably.  "You're 13 years old and you can't pour yourself a bowl of Frosted Flakes???????"

Moving doesn't hold a candle to the challenges of motherhood.