Uh, brrr.

Today, my sister invited the girls and me to Ogden to watch the Polar Bear Plunge. It's an Ogden first and a highlight of its WinterFest, which dragged thousands of people downtown to watch horses pull skiers, human bowling (sit on a disk and head for the pins), snowmobile races and more.
Forget that Ogden's been buried in snow. Today, most of it melted and it rained a cold misty rain most of the morning. They had to truck in snow by the huge load. Nevertheless, it was fun.
By the time we'd left the house to travel the 30-odd miles, Jen had decided she was going to jump with her cousins into the freezing-cold Lorin Farr Park swim pool.
After we stood in the brutal rain for a bit, Al decided to join her.
I figured someone would chicken out, but I figured wrong. The only chicken (sane person) among the three of us was me.
Beaux had to work. Here's what he missed.
Cheers.



Weird family shot. The shot's not weird. The family is.


Lined up, in the rain, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.


Wish we were still waiting. CCCCCcold, huh Avery?


Thanks, Mr. Polar Bear, for the very nice cups.

Open sesame!

I had a little car repair need so freakish that the dealership folks looked at me blankly when I pulled in. Then proceeded to tell me they'd never seen such thing. Followed by billing me for such a princely sum that none of us will ever forget it.
Sunday afternoon, I went out to my car and discovered that the driver side door would not open with a remote or with the key. I could lock and unlock the other doors. But to get into the driver side, I had to drag my pudgy middle-aged butt and bum knees and hip myself over the console, bend parts that no longer do to clear the steering wheel and then scrunch in.
At that point I discovered another way the driver's door would not open: from the inside.
Beaux and I nearly killed ourselves maneuvering in and out trying to change fuses and try other tricks because this couldn't be real, right?
Monday, I started my day at the dealership, which is never a happy thing.
The very nice manager looked at me blankly , clicked the remote and tried the key a few times and couldn't figure it out, either. I got one smile out of it when he went and got the littlest, youngest worker to climb in and try from inside.
A few minutes later, he told me that no one had ever seen such a thing, but they'd called around and found one Ford guy who said he had. Sounded like the latch and motor had gone busto. Swell. And it was going to get better. The conversation went something like this:
"The good news is I have the latch in stock, but it's $183. From there it gets tricky. We have no idea how we will get the door panel out, since we can't open the door. And labor is a flat $115 an hour. Plus, if he damages the door, the door panel goes for $243. And we might have to take out the seats to maneuver. This could get ugly. We'll do the best we can."
It's not like I had choice. I really can't drag myself in and out two or three times a day when I go on assignment. So I told him to tell the kid doing the repairs to be careful, work fast and if he ruins my door, I won't get it fixed, but will live with it, so there's no money to be made there. So don't ruin the door panel.
Then I sat down in the waiting room and tried not to watch the clock, which felt like watching the rolling log on a fundraiser. One half hour! $57.50! Whoohoo!
Finally, they came back to tell me the good news -- job done, door panel intact. And, he added quietly, "You took quite a hit on the labor costs. Sorry."
Final cost for the repair: $459 I don't have. The assurance the repair is fully, completely guaranteed for a measly peasly two weeks?
Priceless.

Love you, Osc! RIP.

Oscar P. Scruffy, 23, died Jan. 30, 2010. Love you, buddy!

Strong feet to follow

Alyson's almost beside herself with the joy of today's encounter: She met — no, she talked to! — Helen Thayer, the first woman to cross Antartica on foot.
In the past three hours, I've heard about the day Helen encountered three separate polar bears and what a brave dog Charlie she had.
I've heard the details of her trek across the Gobi Desert.
And I've heard the sweetest words from my youngest child's mouth: "She's right, Mom. You can do anything. I can do anything. She said you just need a plan."
In a world that seems sadly lacking in role models, I've tried hard to expose my girls to different people and ideas and the concept that you can accomplish a whole lot if you make it a priority.
I've emphasized, I think, strong women, because I want my girls to be warriors when they are convinced that something matters. And I want them to feel, like me, that equality is a given. They are bright, they have the world to offer the world and they should be surprised if someone expects less of them because of their gender.
But I want them to have great respect for all people of accomplishment, regardless of gender or other factors.
So I took Jen a few months ago to hear Daniel Schorr and Roxana Saberi, the freelance American journalist who was imprisoned for a time in Iran.
I remind Jen that I knew, although not well, Rosa Parks. I interviewed her years ago. That my mother started a correspondence with Coretta King after her husband, Martin Luther King, was killed. The two women found they had a great deal in common, starting with love of family and passion for country.
There are many things that will discourage my girls as they grow up. But today, Helen Thayer lit a fire in Al and sparked a conviction that everything truly is possible.
What a lovely thing to give a child.

Little faces

Sorry I've been gone so long. It's been a very, very weird month or so. More on that later.
For now, enjoy the beautiful faces of some of the Haitian children I loved when I was there a few years ago. This is a little school at an orphanage in Haiti near Port-au-Prince. The little doll on the left is my lovely Bela, who was 4 -- the same age as my Jeni at the time. For years, they thought she was "Haiti" when I talked about the place.
Say a prayer, send a gift, be mindful in some way of the suffering.

Give me three days

In my three days off work, I managed to:
-- Shovel Al's bedroom, which in fairness to her, was a hybrid problem. Jen moved downstairs but left a mess behind. We moved Al into a partially cleaned room, because we are shuffling everyone around for the day when Beaux can't do stairs anymore. We know it's coming.
-- Install a bargain price but high-security router (took 10 minutes, including playing online to see that it worked).
-- Sew the curtains I've been promising Jen for her new room. Did I mention I hate to sew?
-- Cook a real meal every night. No microwave. Ta dah!
-- Turn the room that used to be Al's into a storage/work room.
-- Do a ton of laundry. Ugh.
— Organize the computer room.
— Take the girls grocery shopping at 10 p.m. just because it seemed like an odd thing to do.
There's a lot I didn't get done. But I made a dent. Hoo-ah!

Boo! I want my mommy

The porch light's been extinguished, the friendly ghost that howls "Happy Halloween" silenced, and I am approximately $40 worth of penny candy lighter, but I love Halloween.
I think it's because of my mom, Mary. She was born blind, but loved the costumes and revelry of Halloween. I grew up in more innocent times, when you could hand out homemade treats. And my mom would get up really early to pop lunch bags of seasoned popcorn to give to the kids who came to the door. They loved it. In her later years, when store -bought was the safety decree, she switched to penny candy, too, and I felt bad about that because the popping was a service she performed for love.
She had a little metal counter that she'd keep on her hand and as she dropped the candy in to the bags she'd click away, then gleefully tally it at evening's end.
I use the counter now. And I inherited her delight in opening the door, though I can gaze at the pirates and princess and scary goblins, while she had to say "what are you this year" as she directed them to hold their bags out where she could feel them.
I like to open the door with a loud, "What did you bring me?" Sometimes, the littler ones shyly offer me my pick of their treasure and I laugh and give them triple the candy.
We live now at a crossroads, the only actual house on our side of the street, between two neighborhoods. We get children from both. And because Beaux decorates like crazy and the ghost yells "Happy Halloween," we sometimes have kids 20 deep on our porch. Seriously.
I remember living in an apartment in college and being disappointed I only had about 20 trick or treaters. I have friends who say no one stops. Tonight, we got 268 before 10 and a few stragglers after. The teens, to my surprise, were the ones most apt to say thanks. The littles told me repeatedly my house was "pretty" with its graveyard and zombies, pumpkins and ghosts. Their parents stood at the end of the drive (except the ones that carried their own trick or treat bags -- what's that about?) and took photos.
It was not the biggest crowd; I once clicked 371 on a spooky night. But I feel sorry for the folks who don't bother to stay home and greet the kids with treats. A lot of houses are dark because both parents go out with their children. They miss the part about giving, although they do the receiving part okay. Me? I could care less how much the girls bring home. But I love the excited buzz of children on the porch, the surprise of "You're Jeni's or Aly's mom!" from classmates who live further away, the sheer pageantry of the evening.
And I think my mom would have liked this house on Halloween. It draws the kind of crowd she craved.
Happy Halloween, Mama.