Food Storage

It was our goal this year to get our year's food storage supply and we did it! We bought long-term storage stuff like rice, oats, sugar, flour, etc. we went to the dry-pack cannery in Ogden where we met this wonderful missionary:

who helped us can our food storage.

We were mild-moderately intimidated by getting our food storage. We didn't know what to do really but it was so easy! I'll take you through it step by step.

Step 1: Find hidden location of dry-pack cannery.
Step 2: Sign in and put on funny hat.
Step 3: Shake hands with service missionaries and do what they say.

Step 3.1: They told us to get a cart and put bags of rice on it. So we did (well, Whit did).

Step 3.2: They told us to open the bags and pour the rice into the cans. So we did. Well, Whit did.

Step 3.3: Seal the cans. (They helped). You can see the stacks of empty cans behind Whit - we didn't have to bring anything!

Step 3.4: Put labels on cans. So we did. This is something I can do.

Step 3.5: Then they told us to clean up. And we did! Well...

And after 3 simple steps and 5 mini sub-steps that even people who can't walk can take (when they have their own "Whit"), we took home boxes of long-term storage food that now live in our office closet!

Now I just need to master rotating through it...

Merry 2011 Christmas

I can’t believe it’s Christmas eve! I knew this day would come way, way, way too soon and it did! I taught seminary up until Thursday and it feels like this beautiful holiday is going to be over so quickly. I wish I could just lengthen out this night indefinitely. I love the lights and the unwrapped gifts and the anticipation the best.

I’ve done quite a lot of painting this month, which has been super fun. My family (mom, dad, sister, brothers) are in tradition transition because people have gotten married recently and we’re not sure what to do so this year we tried doing a homemade white elephant gift exchange. I think it’s a keeper. So fun. I have the most creative family. Ever. Here’s a run-down on the gifts:

Mom – hand-sculpted ornament

Dad – hand-crafted water tower for a model-A railroad

Sister Kat – hand-knit gloves and matching hat

Brother Blake – hand-made tool shelf

Brother Tom – hand-crafted mobile with beads and hemp

Brother John – hand-carved, hand-painted Santa Claus

Sister Mindy – hand-crafted Cowboy Cookie jar (doubly homemade because the recipient gets to bake them)

Husband Whit – hand-made juggling balls with homemade “how-to juggle” book

Nephew Cael – Hand-made, hand-carved, and hand-painted bird house

Me – Hand-painted ornament Nativity set

I’ve been really wanting a Nativity but I can’t seem to find one that really speaks to me. So it was my first thought to make one of my own when this family party came up and we decided to create hand-made gifts. I thought I’d make use of some white ornaments I’ve held onto for a number of years (I never have put them on the tree, I just thought they’d come in handy one of these days. I guess this is one of the small advantages of not throwing things away…). I had many ornaments, so I made 2 Nativity sets and gave one away at our family party but kept the other one for us.

There are 7 ornaments all tied together with twine (but spaced apart so as not to hit each other). The idea was that they could be hung on a wall or between a couple stocking hangers, but we just put ours on our tree and I like it.

It starts with the shepherds...

who bring their sheep...


and find Mary...


and baby Jesus...


and Joseph in the stable...


The star shines...

and leads the way for the wise men...


Here's our tree (with 3-year-old popcorn strings Whit made our first year). The Nativity ornaments are strung across the middle.

When we first got married, our tree was a little barren and the only ornaments we had were from my little stash I had collected through my life. My parents gave each of us kids an ornament or two each year so we'd have our own little collection to decorate our tree when we got married. I like my old ornaments, but they're mine, not ours, so we've come up with our own little tradition of making each other ornaments every year.

Our first year we each sculpted each other a giraffe (weird, I know). We didn't know what the other was doing. Our second year (last year), Whit was graduating with his MBA and so I got us both ornaments - an owl for him with a little graduation cap and purple tassel (Weber State, Weber State - great! Great! Great!) and a lion for me with a purple bow (I just liked it and I was feeling, well, rawr!).

We're trying to morph the tradition into the idea that we each give an ornament that symbolizes an accomplishment of the other person from that year. So this year, Whit sculpted me a book because I got a book published (it's being released next spring at Deseret Book and Seagull) -

He was so funny as we decorated our tree this year because he was making fun of the fact that my family writes the year each ornament was received (how else would you remember?).But it does kind of get out of hand when there are giant years written all over a beautiful glass ornament ALREADY engraved with "Baby's first Christmas 1982."

So he put a "2011" on my ornament.

I think I may write 2011 on the other side in Sharpie just to make sure future generations know that it really WAS received in the 2011 year...

My ornament I made for him recognizes his halftime entertainment business he started this year. Yes, my super smart, money-managing hubby has traded in his Excel spreadsheets and calculator for three basketballs and a unicycle. To watch the video, just go to www.unihoops.com - he's quite awesome.

Yes, those charms are a unicycle, a basketball, a music note (his song is, appropriately, "Play that funky music, white boy"), and (drum roll, please) a 2011.

Merry 2011 Christmas!

Essay

I love to get emails and letters from people who've enjoyed my talks but this is the first essay I've ever received. It's written by a sixth grader. I love the description of how I was paralyzed the best.

Meg Johnson Speaks by A. W.

The students from (school name removed) walked over to our school to hear a speech by Meg Johnson. Meg was very funny, and her story was very touching.

She was hiking in a place she thought was very pretty it had red rocks, red sand, and red dirt. When she came across some boulders that were squished together she decided to jump from one to the other. She got to the last boulder and when she went to jump for it she miscalculated the distance and fell. What she didn’t realize was that she was actually jumping from one small mountain top to the next, so when she slipped she fell thirty-five feet to the ground. She had to have a helicopter take her to the hospital, and now is paralyzed from the chest down.

That didn’t stop her for long though. She then showed us a crisp clean dollar bill, and got an assistant from the audience. Meg then asked how much it was worth, after that she had her assistant crumple up the dollar bill, spit on it, stomp on it, and jump on it. Then she asked what it was worth again. This demonstration was to show us no matter how down you feel, no matter how beat up you are, just like that crumpled, spit on, jumped on dirty old dollar bill you are still worth a whole dollar.

Then she goes on to tell us a ton of funny stories about being paralyzed, and how friends, family, and even strangers helped the best they could. I loved the assembly and I think most everyone else did too.

This story was written by A. W., a sixth grader.

No More Music

I am unsure how exactly to phrase my words for this blog. Most of you might know that Weber State University had a concert on Sunday where the director, Michael Palumbo, got angry and asked a noisy audience member to leave. He thought someone had brought in a child.

I understand his frustrations - when I give a talk, it's monstrously annoying when people talk or whisper. But I would never say anything. And never ask anyone to leave the room, that would totally kill the mood of any message given anywhere.

Anyway, Michael Palumbo stopped the music and turned around and asked the noisy audience member to leave...but the noisy audience member was a severely disabled girl who was reacting favorably to the music (though it sounded like a howling cry).

Michael Palumbo is a jerk but the real story isn't with him. I'm really kind of sure that he would have had a little more patience had he known she was disabled.

What's had me in tears today is the poll I read in the Salt Lake Tribune which shows that almost 81% of voters think that disabled people shouldn't be allowed to come to live music events.


Really? Is a quiet music hall so important that you're going to tell someone that they can't see it? I know that this poll doesn't really affect me - I mean after all, I'm not brain damaged. I can see any live music event I want.

But I'm finding now that I really don't want.

http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&sid=18110746&title=group-calls-wsu-concert-ejection-a-big-misunderstanding

Temple in Rome

I met with Elder Walker from the First Quorum of the Seventy for a seminary teacher interview (they check us out before we get hired). His office had really neat stuff - I guess traveling everywhere for temple dedications can create quite the cool office museum. But the coolest was the shovel (THE shovel) that broke the ground for the soon-to-be temple in Rome, Italy.

Very cool.

Pumpkin Time

We had a bunch of rogue pumpkins growing in our garden - leftovers from last year and growing despite lack of water and constant harassment from neighborhood dogs. I'm not really sure how they grew actually...

But I'm glad because I really just can't help myself around pumpkins. Those bumpy, lumpy, beautiful balls of canvas. I hate - scratch that - loathe feeling like I'm wasting time, so I don't read for fun or watch TV by myself, but I can't resist taking the time to paint a pumpkin.

And so, with dinner cooking/burning behind me in my kitchen, I sat at my table and painted through the week...

I always have the headband around my wrist and it comes in handy when I'm painting and needing to push hard on the brush. I just tie the paintbrush to my hand.

This little football-shaped pumpkin couldn't stand up on its own (hey, I understand...) so I just painted it on it's side and it's stem made the perfect side ponytail.

This is when I remind you that I'm not a "professional" pumpkin painter...just an avid one.


This one started out as a flower. Actually, they all start out as flowers... But this one turned into a cross between a gremlin and The "Count" from Sesame Street.

One...(muahahaha) Two...(muahahaha) Three...(muahahaha)


This one stayed a flower.

This one started out as two pumpkin friends but turned into a 70s-blonde-disco-superman and his fuzzy-haired red-headed girlfriend trying to hold hands above a blue heart. I'm sure there's meaning somewhere...


This fierce piece of pumpkin art started out as a flower (surprise!) but I just couldn't help myself. Go Florida Gators and all my friends from Jacksonville!

My husband calls this one "Dragon Horse."
I think it's kind of catchy.


And here they are, in all their splendor (sans football head girl because she's still drying on the table) for my 26 trick-or-treaters to see!

And I suppose I'll get started on my fall collection of fine-pumpkin-art. As you can see, I have my artistic work cut out for me:


Have a fabulous Halloween!

...all legit artists use the word "fabulous."

I'm so legit.
Too legit.
Too legit to quit.

...hey, hey!

The Cripple

I was feeling overwhelmed with all that I’ve been doing and all that’s left to do and I took myself to the temple to get some strength (it’s my spiritual gym). As I drove there, I was actually thinking that maybe I should drop something…which is totally unlike me to even consider, but I really just didn’t think I could keep up with everything I’d taken on.

It was nice there and when I entered, I actually felt a weight “lifted” from me and I felt so much better. All the self-deprecating thoughts were gone and my mind was blank. It was a great feeling…which is weird…I heard somewhere (I think it was President Eyring…?) say that when we die, we’ll be surprised how many thoughts weren’t our own. I apply this to good thoughts and bad thoughts.

Anyway, with my blank mind, I was changing in the dressing room – the big one for wheelchairs so we can shift around and stuff. All the other dressing rooms are tiny. I wore boots and couldn’t zip them up so I moved out into the aisle to find someone passing by to zip them for me.

The next girl who came walking by was very willing and we got them all zipped up. She was about my age. She walked with a tall walking stick and I asked her about it and she looked down at me and said, “Oh, I’m a cripple.”

My blank face must have said what I was thinking and she elaborated for me. “You know,” she said, “a maim. Maimed. Crippled. Halted. Whatever you want to call it.”

She continued to tell me how difficult it is being her and having to keep up with doctors and medications. She kept telling me how difficult it was to be her. She said it over and over.

I asked her several questions about marriage, hobbies, activities and stuff and they all ended with the same negative answer: she can’t because she’s a “cripple.”

It was quite the weird exchange and I left feeling very sad for her. As I rolled through the hallways toward the exit, I wondered what I was supposed to learn from this.

I remembered a quote I’d heard on the plane ride home from FL this past Monday: I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet.

I changed the quote to teach me what I needed to learn: I cried because I had no strength until I met a woman who had nothing to be strong for.

And the strength I came to find found me.

Good thing I’m not a cripple. I don’t think I could handle it.

Frisky Business

Tomorrow, I will be frisked.

Because, apparently, I am a threat to all airplanes and they must ensure I haven't been creating explosives with my paralyzed hands and hiding them in my seat cushion. Obviously the best, most comfortable, place to keep a handmade explosive is under your bum.

The second most comfortable - and convenient place - to keep them is in my shoes, which they will remove.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad for the safety of airplanes. I just think that their predictibility in frisking every wheelchair user is a little, well, predictable. Surely any conniving disabled person is smart enough to hide their treachery on an unassuming frisk-free able bodied accomplice.

Do I look that dangerous? Or is it that I look that unassuming and surely would accept any unmarked suitcase from a stranger if he asked me to hide its contents on my chair?

My favorite is when they tell me to raise both my arms and lean forward so they can swipe the back of my chair (for explosives, of course). I end up flopped over my legs like a rag doll, much to the surprise of the frisker, who seems to always believe that if I look like a normal, able bodied person who just happens to be sitting, surely I am. The lack of back muscles surprises them.

My second favorite is when they ask me to lift my legs so they can swipe the foot rest (again, for explosives). Lady, if I could lift my legs, I'd kick you.

Well, tomorrow morning I'll be frisked again as we head out to Florida to speak. Maybe I'll throw myself out of the chair and army crawl through the metal detector.

...but then I'd have to wait on the floor while they frisked my chair. Which, of course, was the culprit to begin with...

New Wheels

My one wheel went flat when we flew back from St. George a couple weeks ago and Whit has been pumping it up every morning. The leak is slow, but annoying, as you can imagine. It's harder to push and a lot harder to turn.

I guess that's what I get for not "scaring" the flight staff of the airlines when they take my wheelchair down below. Usually we take a picture of the chair just as the airline worker comes to get it so that he knows we're serious when we say "be careful" with it. I only haven't taken a picture of my chair in front of this guy (whoever takes it below) twice: on my very first flight when they broke off the brake and severely damaged the rim, and this last time when the tire went flat.

We're flying to Florida to speak at a Women's Conference this weekend and for sure we'll be photographing the chair...just to scare the person. It's dumb, why won't people just understand that super expensive and extremely necessary?

Oh well. As long as we know the "tactic" that works.

But for today, I have a different set of wheels on from a wheelchair someone gave me. The rims are metal, which is hard for me to push because I can't grip them. But Whit, my genius husband, got some rubber rims that just snap on and viola! I have new wheels, fully pumped, with rubber rims! The rubber on the rims is amazing and I've been cruising all over the house. I turned right and it was easy! I went straight and it was easy! I went over a little ramp in our house and, guess what - it was easy!

I;ve been paralyzed for 7.5 years and this is the first day I've ever had rubber rims on a manual chair - I don't know why I didn't think of this before. It's 100 times easier than the wheels I've been using because, even though the rims a re "rubber," they're a smooth, hard rubber, not a sticky, soft rubber like these magnificent pieces of sticky beauty.

Love them.