End of an Era (for us)

When Greg was at BYU he always planned to come to Poland “to help build the church”.  2 1/2 years into our marriage and soon after his graduation, he quite suddenly and unexpectedly got a job in his homeland. Nine days later, we moved to the other side of the world.

There was no branch of the church anywhere near our little city but it was kind of fun catching the early morning bus for the 3 hour drive to church in Cracow every Sunday.  Attending our little branch was such a different experience than I'd ever had in the church.  A missionary was the branch president and there were very few priesthood holders of any other sort. 

For probably 7 months we went.  Same routine, every Sunday.  It was a great experience.  Greg didn't get a calling.  Just about the time I started thinking that this seemed like quite a waste of resources (yes, I like to call my husband a resource), he was called as the branch president.

A few months later David was born.  On our first trip to church after his birth when he was 4 weeks old, a kid sitting in front of us on the bus vomited all over.  I gave his mother a handful of wipes and a sympathetic look and vowed to myself to never take my infant on a bus again.  

So we got a car.

We'd only had the little red Fiat for about a month when the new Mission President asked if we could drive to Katowice to meet with him after he held a fireside there.  So we went.  

The drive felt like forever and ever.  It was winter and it was very dark and we were very inexperienced in driving in Poland.  We'd never been to Katowice.  We got lost.  Over and over.  What should have taken us 3 hours took us more like 5.  We missed the meeting but were still able to meet with the Mission president.  

That night Greg was called into the Mission Presidency.  He was to oversee the branches in southern Poland, 2, 3, and 5 hours away from where we live.  And he did.  And he loved the President and his fellow counselor.

About a year later a District was formed and he was released from the Mission Presidency and called as the Katowice District President.

That was nine years ago.  Today he was released.

That nine years (10 1/2 if you count the time in the mission presidency) feels like our whole life.  

We drove and drove and drove.  We stayed in lots and lots of hotels some very scary, some quite nice and most completely serviceable.  We ate lots and lots of plain rolls and cheese (and fast food).  

Our family grew.  Our testimonies grew.  The branches grew.  We spent lots of time with wonderful members of the church.  I spent hours every Sunday talking to the missionaries while Greg had meetings and the kids played on the keyboard in the chapel or wrote on the white boards.  

It was our life.  We loved it.  It changed a little as the family grew, but it was pretty much the same routine for all that time.  

And we were blessed.  David proved to be a baby and then toddler who just loved being in the car, even for long, long drives.  The other kids never minded much either.  Greg was blessed to work with some really wonderful men and I had the pleasure of spending time with their even-more-wonderful wives as we waited for them to finish their meetings.  

We learned a lot.  We overcame some of our weaknesses.  We discovered new weaknesses.  We worked to make everything fit (suitcases in the car, school and church trips in our schedule etc.).  We struggled and we thrived.

Our kids grew up that way.  It's all they've ever known.  

Now they'll have dad sitting by them at church (I don't believe there is a single branch in our district where there is a row of 6 chairs together in the sacrament meeting room.  Hmm.  We'll have to work something out).  They'll maybe even have a Primary teacher.

We'll have new adventures.  We'll learn what regular weekends are.  We'll sleep in our own beds.  We'll eat fewer plain rolls with cheese (and fast food – glory be!)

It will be wonderful.  And we will always, always be grateful for the blessing of these past 9 (or 10 1/2) years.  

About Kuba

I've known Kuba, Greg's best friend since elementary school, for just about as long as I've known Greg, although I didn't actually meet him until we'd been married for almost two years (meet Kuba, not Greg.  I both heard about AND met Greg before we got married.).

Back in the early days when I was just getting to know Greg, he would tell stories about his exciting life back in Poland.  Because he'd only been a member of the church for a year before going to the states (for his mission and then school), most of his memories were from before he joined the church.

Buddhism, poetry, , tai chi, hitchhiking, and wandering the Polish countryside with nothing but a little food and some cigarettes.  It was such an exotic life, and so different from my own youth.  I ate up every detail (except the cigarettes.  I spat those out), and asked lots of questions.  I couldn't get enough.  My very favorite stories were those of his adventures with Kuba. In some of our more peaceful and happy moments before and while dating, I would request "Kuba stories".  


Stories of teasing the girls and various pranks in school, eating sandwiches together after school, adventures with their Syrian friend, and many, many adventures (and misadventures) in foreign countries (most notably Berlin) while hitchhiking.  Kuba was like a brother to Greg growing up, so I kind of thought of him that way, too.  


Greg was with Kuba when he met the missionaries in Vienna.  Later Kuba invited Greg to his baptism, which was the real catalyst for Greg investigating the church.  Which lead to him joining it.  Which eventually lead to him marrying me.  I sort of owe Kuba a lot.


When I was heavily pregnant with Ewelina, this mystical, magical personage left Poland and came to Utah to attend BYU.  We picked him up at the airport.  He even looked like Greg's brother..  They were very happy to see each other.  They laughed a lot.  I enjoyed it.


It was a little hard for me to believe that this kind of quiet, thoughtful, though usually smiling, person was the prankster I had heard so much about, but the more time we spent with him and the better I got to know his sense of humor I realized that he was probably capable of all I had heard.  :)  


It was wonderful for Greg to have his best friend back for the next year or so before we moved back to Poland.  I was happy to get to know him on a more personal level, to add to my "Kuba story"-based understanding of him.


After he finished school at BYU he moved back to Poland and we have seen him now and again while visiting Greg's parents in Łódż.  He and Greg have had a few more adventures wandering and hiking (this time with fewer cigarettes and less alcohol--although good Kuba never smoked)   


And now, we are having the worst adventure of all.  Kuba went back to Utah for a visit last month and, after being there for a couple of weeks visiting with friends, he just disappeared.  No trace.  His things were left at the home he was staying in, but no other trace of him has been found since last month.  We are searching.  Greg is still hoping that this is just his biggest prank yet.  We want him found.  


It seems to me that the more people hear about this, the greater the chance that he WILL be found.  


If anyone would "like" or share the following links it would help his story to be spread.


http://www.heraldextra.com/news/local/central/provo/article_fea13635-4249-5125-8486-d2e3c78973ef.html#.T-N9ExB2Dpc.facebook

http://utahcountysouth.fox13now.com/news/news/74280-missing-person-jakub-gorowski#.T-Nar1sGYUo.facebook

I don't have a picture of Kuba, though there is one in the above links, but here is a picture that he took years ago of us with his parents one time when we visited.



His dad passed away last year, but his mother surely wants him found, too.  I'm constantly praying it will happen soon.

UPDATE!  A friend has created a website to organize efforts to find him.  Find it HERE.  A search party is being organized to meet on Saturday, June 23rd at the north end of Rock Canyon, behind the temple at 8:45.  All volunteers welcome!!

The Person Who Took Me Out On Valentine's Day

While visiting my in-laws in Łódż a couple weekends ago, we decided to take advantage of the free babysitting (not that we ever pay for babysitting...) and go on an early Valentine's date.  

On the way to our destination Greg snacked on a bag of hazelnuts.  He's a lover of all nuts and has always eaten them.  Quite a lot.  As he drove and ate I asked, "Did you eat that whole bag!?!"  

It was really only 100grams (I think), but I could never eat that many nuts in one sitting.  He replied, "It was a small bag!" while tipping the last few nuts into his mouth."  

Within less than a minute his nose started running like crazy.  He had to pull over to take care of it.  He felt very weird and congested and couldn't believe how suddenly the feeling had come on.  Although he'd never experienced anything like it, we realized it must have been an allergic reaction.

I was a little worried it would get worse and suggested we go back home.  Or maybe to the emergency room.  He said he'd be fine and we continued to Manufaktura.  When we got there we bought a box of tissues and he took some essential oils and we headed to a neat little cafe and ate cake.

It was hard to talk about anything but his reaction.  Especially because I got in the car with a man that was approximately this dashing:

And then found myself sitting across the table from an alien man that was approximately this dashing.

Yikes!  Poor guy.  The swelling was gone by the next afternoon, but unfortunately he won't be eating nuts, probably ever again. Or seeds, as he learned when he ate bread with sunflower seed in it.  (or "shine seeds" as Aaron calls them).

After reading on the subject he learned that sometimes it is just a matter of the amount you eat.  You could eat, for example, 90 grams of nuts and be fine, but if you ate another 10 grams you might have the reaction.  He wishes he'd stopped eating when I asked about it (although I was only a little surprised, and didn't mean to criticize).  Seriously that last 5 nuts probably made all the difference.  He swears he'll start taking what I say into greater consideration.  :)

Give It Up For A Wonderful Husband

I used to be a wearer of heels. Not like every day or anything, since it wasn't really such a big thing back then, but I almost always wore high heels to church. I always felt so feminine, so sophisticated, so much taller than usual.

I used to dance, too. Oh, how I loved to dance. I would dance and dance and dance at any opportunity. As a teen I was a highly skilled dancer of the Bobby Brown and a hundred other moves (the names of which escape me now, thankfully) that made younger teens, and some humble older ones, crowd around me and my sister at tri-stake dances for lessons on how to look as awesome as we did on the dance floor.

Oh, how I loved to dance. I gave up most of those specific dances that immediately shout "EARLY NINETIES!!!" when I went off to college (because by then it was almost mid-nineties and those dances were so last season), but I still loved to dance. There were few things that made me feel more happy and free than moving to music.

But one of the things that did make me feel more happy and free was when I was hanging out with my friend Grzegorz. Man, I loved that. So much so, in fact, that I thought it would be worth it to give up some of the things I loved for the privilege of hanging out with him for the rest of ... ever.

I don't wear heels anymore. Grzegorz is not a fan. Although I may have felt feminine and sophisticated (and taller) in them, he thought it just looked awkward and impractical. Bye-bye, pumps. (I did get to wear them for my brother's wedding a couple of years ago and learned that it's just like riding a bike: if you haven't done it for ten years, you're bound to be rather wobbly at it.)

I don't dance in public places anymore. My enjoyment of dances and the frequenting of dance clubs came to an abrupt halt. Grzegorz doesn't dance. I don't go dancing without him. The end.

And I'm okay with that. Of course there are times I resent it a tiny bit, but only when I forget that it's worth it. So worth it. What was that definition of sacrifice? Giving up something good for something better? Yes. That's just exactly how I would define my "losses". Something good for something WAY better.

"Please Refrain. . .

. . . from using profanity while I'm in the vicinity."

My sister, Anne, and I were probably 13 and 14 years old and at the height of our cleverness when we came up with that little gem. What a perfectly polite and intelligent way to let those around us know our tender ears were being defiled by their undiscriminating vocabulary. I'm not sure we ever actually used it, though neither of us was reticent when it came to making our displeasure at the sound of foul language known to those who used it.

On one of our trips to Disneyland we heard some profanity and lots and lots of "Remain seated please. Permanecer sentado por favor", which was our inspiration for a little addition to our catch phrase, "Please refrain from using profanity while I am in the vicinity. Exit to your left and thank you for your support."

Oh, my. It really is a wonder we had any friends given our level of dorkiness. Sure we didn't actually say this to anyone but the very fact that our brains came up with it and we thought it was awesome are clear evidences that we probably did not deserve any.

Once in my 10th grade Spanish class we were taking turns reading some dialogue. When it came to me, instead of "Dios mio!" I said "Ay, caramba!" My teacher did not appreciate it and asked why I could not just read the text as it was printed. There is a slight chance that I was one of the few who understood her extremely dry and harsh sense of humor and the only one who responded with sarcasm, so she did not especially like me. When this incident happened I explained that I do not take the Lord's name in vain. She assured me that this is perfectly acceptable in Spanish. I assured her that I would not say it in any language. She stared at me in silence for a long while before moving on.

I grew up in a home where there was very, very little swearing. I remember running to my parents and tattling that one of my older brothers had said the f-word. My dad asked what he said, and I whispered in his ear, "fagot".

When my mother was at her whit's end she would say things like, "Oh, fiddlesticks!" or, on a really bad day, "Dang, dang, double dang!" I believe my dad swore on the very, very rare occasions he got really angry.

I remember the first time I ever swore when I was about 13. I had a friend who used mild swear words occasionally. She was at my house and we were sitting there chatting and I said, "What the he**" in the conversation. I stopped suddenly, in shock. My friend laughed and told me it was okay! I... started crying and never swore again until after I had children. (no more about that later)

So the concept of using bad language just to color your normal sentences is one I don't get. It seems so very jr.high and high school to me. Some of my old friends from high school still use language like that occasionally on facebook and I feel like, "did you never grow up?" The answer, of course, is "no". I mean, the answer is that they just live in a different world than I do. And also a different country.

And speaking of which: I love living in Poland. I never hear any swearing here at all. This is not because this is the only country in the world that doesn't have or use swear words, but because I don't know any of them. The only way I ever know that someone is using bad language is when my husband or children say something about it.

Teenagers over here live in the same world as teenagers (and former teenagers who became adults and still use obscene language all the time) in America . We were reminded of this one day when Greg was planning to wait in the cafe area of our grocery store while I did the shopping. As always, there was a group of teenage boys hanging out and being extremely cool. Their language was awful. Greg sat there for awhile and then told me that he could not stand it. I told him I was sorry for him and left to shop.

Forty-five minutes later I paid for the food, returned to the cafe area with my loaded cart and saw that the boys were just leaving the area. As they walked past Greg they gave him the "sup?" head tilt (what do you call that?) I asked him what in the world had happened.

He told me that one kid saw him looking at them in disgust and the kid asked Greg if he had a problem. Greg asked him if they had to use that kind of language. The kid was insolent. Greg explained that some people simply do not want to hear that kind of talk. The kid said that it doesn't bother them. Greg explained that he was sure it didn't but that it did bother many of the people who had to listen to it. It was as if this kid had never heard such a crazy thing.

The boys kept cussing but had somehow come to respect Greg for expressing his difference of opinion. They seemed to understand that he was living on a different planet than them and could respect his alien culture. Not enough to give up their swearing for a few minutes, but still.

Mea Culpa

You know how you sometimes do something you shouldn't and then, soon after, something bad happens and you are sure it's your fault for having been so evil?

Well. I have a tale to tell.

It's a good thing Greg has seen On the Way Home so many hundreds of times because today while we were. . . On our Way Home from church we got a flat. Greg was able to change it in his suit and dress coat, (his stylish scarf blowing in the breeze) on the side of a very busy freeway between Katowice and Krakow. I'm sure this is because of his having seen that girl (the one who says "Maybe she's WRONG!!") change that flat tire so many times. However, we did not have great 90's music playing in the background while he did it. I guess that is not built into the process.

So I know why Greg was able to change the flat so quickly and efficiently but I wish I didn't know why we got the flat in the first place.

I was not aware that I had committed a sin until last night. As a matter of fact, even then, I thought it was just funny.

At the hotel, just after turning off my light, I hit "random scripture" on my scripture app. As is often the case when I read by this method, the scripture was incredibly relevant to my current situation.

It was Proverbs 13:24 "He that spareth his rod hateth his son: but he that loveth him chasteneth him betimes." That is a good one, but it was the one right after, and the last one in the chapter that hit home:

"The righteous eateth to the satisfying of his soul: but the belly of the wicked shall want."

With my stomach growling from want of carbohydrates I laughed out loud and read it to Greg. I decided to repent and quit my diet the next morning.

But then we went to breakfast and I skipped the DELICIOUS crusty rolls that I usually eat two of with 4 or 6 helpings of butter and had cottage cheese and a slice of ham instead.

Sinner am I. Which, of course, is why we got a flat tire.

We were safe and everything. I mean, if it had happened a half an hour later it would have been dark and very difficult to change. If it had happened last week it would have been below freezing and snowy. It could have been much worse. No thanks to me, though. It wouldn't have happened at all if I had satisfied my soul with those peanut butter brownies last week, making me righteous again.

At least Greg's righteousness (i.e. having church videos memorized) saved the day! Thank goodness we really do balance each other out with our strengths and weaknesses in marriage and make up for what our spouse lacks. (Although, come to think of it, I wouldn't be on this diet if it wasn't for him, since he succeeded at it and set the example, wicked man.)

I think I will print out that scripture and post it on the fridge.

Just Now

15 minutes ago:
I cut the kids each a piece of fudge (Chocolate orange fudge tastes like Christmas and I can't stop myself from eating it. Which is neither here nor there, but I said it anyway.). After she finished hers Evie asked if she could cut herself another (I was feeding Spencer). I said yes. She asked, "A sensible piece or what?" I looked over her shoulder at where she was holding the knife poised to cut and I said, "Yeah, that's a sensible piece." She replied, "So. . . bigger than that?"

20 seconds ago (as I typed that last paragraph):
David screams "SPENCER'S UPSTAIRS!!!" A minute ago he was down here with us and then suddenly he was upstairs in my bedroom. He "learned" (i.e. started trying, a few days shy of 11 months old. I tell you, my kids are not overly adventurous) to climb the stairs two days ago. We are vigilant (obviously. . .) about not letting him. Our stairs are terrifying: hard wood, foot-wide gaps between the rails (you can see in one of the pictures here), even all around the landing at the top. We need to do something about it. Like get a gate.

10 minutes ago:
Looking through David's books for homework I noticed they were all covered in crumbs. I helped him clean out that nasty backpack on Monday and today it's all full of crumbs and wadded papers again, so I very calmly and patiently (ahem) ask him what on earth happened. He replies, "It's not my fault, mom! I did not put ANY crumbs in there!"

Then I look through his English homework (they're learning how to tell time, or rather translate it "It's a quarter past two.") and see that probably 40% of the words he's written are misspelled. This is awful and much worse knowing that he was copying off the blackboard. As I point out some mistakes one by one, he says, every single time, over and over, "That's how my pani (teacher) wrote it!" He's such a punk.

This afternoon/evening:
Greg is gone. After getting home from driving back from Germany on Sunday, Greg decided to make a 4 hour round trip journey on Monday to visit a church leader who's having some life struggles. Today, Wednesday he is making a 6 hour round trip drive to a training meeting/fireside. Tomorrow he's agreed to participate in a discussion with investigators: 4 hour round trip drive. On Friday he drives 5 hours to Wrocław for a meeting and from there flies to Prague for an area meeting on Saturday. Sunday he conducts a training meeting back in Wrocław and Monday teaches a class on church history at the Jagiellonian University in Krakow, before coming back home. (Hours given are just the drive, not including meetings.)

That's some driving/meeting/teaching/etc.ing. A good way to spend the week after spending a week at the temple.

Right this minute:
I quite love my family.

Hypocritical Housewife

I think we have a pretty old-fashioned marriage in many ways. I do 99 % of the cooking, maybe 85 % of the cleaning and 100% of laundry* in our relationship. I regularly treat my kids to cookies and milk (of course I hardly touch the things myself. Ha!) I consider the home my domain and recognize it as largely my responsibility to create the proper atmosphere here. I don't feel at all offended at the concept of a distinction between woman's work and man's work. As a matter of fact, I occasionally tell Greg to leave the woman's work to me (like when he's doing a bad job of something).
*I'm including the kid's help with hanging laundry and doing chores in my percentage

I love this. I've chosen it and I really love it. I spent all my early life wanting to be a wife and mother. Wanting to care for my husband and our children.

This is why I can never watch Father of the Bride without being a little baffled by Annie's reaction to the gift her fiance gives her. A blender!?! What kind of message is he trying to send!?! I've always thought, "I'm so the opposite of her. I would have loved to get a kitchen appliance and been thrilled to be able to use it to create delicious food for my dearly beloved husband."

But it only takes thinking back a little for me to see my hypocrisy.

It was only a few days before our wedding. We got out of the car at the grocery store and held hands. It was December and freezing so he put our hands in his coat pocket. I could feel that the lining was torn and commented on it.

"I know! In just a few days you can sew it up for me!" he said, with the most charming and affectionate smile.

Based on all my previous thoughts about homemaking and wifely responsibilities and the honor it would be to fulfill them, I should have been as delighted as he seemed to be a the thought. But I wasn't. Not at all.

For some unknown reason I had this sudden rush of horror that he expected me to be some domestic goddess, doing anything and everything he wanted me to; that suddenly our relationship was going to change dramatically from the moment we said the proverbial "I do". (or the less proverbial, "yes". Or was it "I will"? It's been awhile. Note to self: do sealings during temple trip this November)

I'm sure he was as surprised by my reaction as I was. (I didn't quite know what my deal was either). But we made it through that trial and still said our proverbial "I do"s.

After we were married I assured him that, though I lacked skill or practice, I was very happy to sew his pocket for him, despite the fact that I had seemed rather repulsed by the idea only a few days before.

Still, he chose to sew it himself. And from that time till now, Greg does probably 95% of all sewing for our family.

Which makes me wonder if Annie ever ended up using that blender after all, or if maybe he didn't do all the blending from there on out.
This post inspired by Melanie's post today.

A Prince and His, um, Horse

As a young teenager girl I dreamed of my Prince Charming. While I dreamed, this is the noble steed upon which my Knight in Shining Armor galloped:

He's in the passenger seat (it was his friend's car). I would like to say that I have no idea how he even got in there, because it sounds good, but the fact is, this is the exact same model (and color!) of car we drove for a few months while I was all the way pregnant with David, before we got a real car, so I know very well that it is possible to get in and out of one, even when you're Very Large.

It's pretty shocking how different the streets look today when compared with this picture ('91). Well, truthfully, you see the same number of pedestrians and kiosks, but now the streets are busy and full of new cars.

But what's really crazy is that they are also rather full of this same car. Still!

And I'm not sure when they started painting center lines on the streets, but they have them now. (and fine, they probably had them then, too, just not on some streets, such as the one pictured above. I'm glad, because it helps contribute to the sense that the street as wide as the Mississippi compared to this microscopic car)

Two jokes Greg tells about these cars:
1. What's the quietest car in the world? A Fiat Maluch (MAL-oo-h) because when you sit down in one your knees cover your ears.
2. This is the only Vatican endorsed car because, um, for reasons of chastity.

Even though this car looks like something we would have been required to build for our final project in my Beginning Auto class in high school, I love it. Partly because I have memories of my own in one (including trying not to go into labor one time while riding over an extremely bumpy road through the forest), but also because it's part of what got Greg where he is today. It was part of his journey. This picture was taken not too long after he was baptized, and the driver/friend was his branch president.

It's kind of funny that in a world where many people feel that it matters what gets you from A to B, this picture inspires so much more affection from me than if my knight had been driving a shiny BMW. Or riding a glossy-coated, black stallion.

Greg's Dieting Willpower is Strong Enough for Both of Us

I can't imagine going weeks upon weeks without bread of any sort, with no potatoes, no rice no PASTA!!! I should be able to though, since I've watched Greg do it for the past few weeks.

He's weird, is Greg. He's wanted to lose weight for awhile now and when we went to drop the kids off at his parents' house a few weeks ago he saw that his sister had lost weight. She told him about the Dukan diet and two days later he had bought the book. Another two days after that and he had turned his back on carbs in favor of protein, protein and more protein (alternating with days he could also eat vegetables).

So he's awesome, he's losing weight and I can't really believe he's doing so well. His also-dieting sister came to visit and when I made cranberry white chocolate scones (thanks, Kim!) she took a bite of one. Just a bite. And Greg didn't. He hasn't sampled any of the brownies, chocolate chip cookies, Boston Cream Pie, peanut butter brownies, blueberry muffins etc. I've made while he's been on this diet (I know I'm cruel, but I am not on a diet yet and I can't yet live without these things. Plus the kids and I eat them in the kitchen when Greg's not around and I bake everything in the downstairs kitchen so he doesn't smell it too much, either.).

That's another weird thing about him. He "doesn't get" why people go on a diet and then cheat. If you're going to diet, DIET, he says. If decide to do something, just do it. It's that all or nothing perspective that I respect so much about him. It is his major strength or a great contributor to many of his strengths, I think. (It's also the hardest thing to deal with in other ways, but that is another post for a never day.)

Making dinner is proving to be very time consuming these days. I'm not really the type to just switch right over to feeding the family on Greg's diet. It's heavy on dairy and fish and I'm doing low-dairy-nursing and I don't like fish. Still, I try to adapt our dinners for him. It means making most things twice.

For example on Sunday it was sweet and sour chicken. His chicken had to be marinated separately and breaded in only corn starch -- no flour, like ours was. It had to be "fried" without any oil. His sauce couldn't have regular sugar (or pineapple juice) in it and I am anti-sweetener, so the sauces had to be made separately, too.

When Greg came home in the evening and saw sauce and vegetables on the stove I could tell he needed it. He looked about dieted out and I could see the fear in his eyes that this was not a diet-friendly meal. He sat down in front of The Sound of Music with the kids and I brought him his riceless version of the dinner. He ate. He enjoyed.

Then he said something that very clearly illustrated his near desperation. He said, "If I hadn't been able to eat that dinner I would have broken my diet."

Woah.

And I have to thank him for more than loving the skimpified versions of favorite meals I'm making for him. I also seem to have dropped almost three kilos since he started his diet. As I have not been eating any more healthy than before I can only attribute it to the strength of his dieting. He does it SO hardcore that even those around him are losing weight. Now there's a diet I can handle! (the kind that requires you to be around your dieting husband. Period.)

If You Grew Up During Communism

A popular Polish comedian, Drozda, visited America in the 80's. When he returned to Poland he shared some of what he had learned about that admired and idealized country and its citizens in his comedy acts. For example, he explained that Americans are very stupid: they go to the store and pay for light bulbs when every single elevator had light bulbs in it!

This is quite hilarious because of how true it is. In Poland most elevators simply didn't have light bulbs in them. If they did, they were encased in a little cage to try to keep people from stealing them.

For the same reason, to this day, in many public bathrooms the toilet paper sits outside the stalls next to the woman you pay for the privilege of using the toilet. You take as much as you think you'll need and the rest stays under the watchful eye of the bathroom lady; because why on earth would they leave it in the stalls where anybody could (and anybody did) just stick it in their coat and walk away? (this restroom set up is much less commonly seen than when we first came to Poland 10 years ago, mostly only in old train and bus stations and farmers' markets etc., and all gas stations have better bathrooms than in American gas stations.)

If you grew up during communism you would have a very different mentality than you do currently. Take what you can get whenever and however you can get it. That may be stretching it a little, but not much.

Greg's parents came to visit a few months ago and brought a nice paper coffee bag. I assumed it had their coffee in it and was surprised when they left it behind. I then found out that it was full of home dried mushrooms they had brought for us (they spend hours every week in the forest in the fall collecting mushrooms in a wicker basket, just as you imagine Europeans would). But there was something about that bag. . .

The writing on it was all in English and seemed so familiar. Then I remembered where I'd seen it before. When my in-laws came to visit us in Provo 12 years ago they did a lot of things I did not understand. One of these was this: when we went shopping they were excited to see a selection of coffee and a grinder where you could choose, grind and bag your own coffee. They ground some and put the bag in the cart and then. . . picked up a stack of the empty paper bags and put them in my mother-in-law's purse.

That was 12 years ago and here sat one of those bags on my window sill. Craziness, I tell you. At the time I was a little shocked. To tell the truth, Greg isn't all that excited about me sharing this story but really, I totally get it now. They were free, right? There was no sign saying not to take them or anything. And they would definitely come in handy, so why not take some? (And come in handy they did, as illustrated above.)

There is nothing embarrassing about it, really. When you spend decades in survival mode you just do things like that. As a matter of fact, it was this same mentality that brought Greg the best blessing he's ever enjoyed.

The independent, hitchhiking 18 year old Greg and his best friend were in Vienna in the city square. There they met two missionaries, one of whom happened to be Polish, who were offering a free book. A free book. For free. Did they want one? Of course they wanted one!! Greg and Kuba gave their contact information so missionaries in Poland could get in touch with them when they returned home, and then the missionaries asked if they had any friends that might want one of these free books, too. Greg couldn't think of anyone who wouldn't want a free book so he gave them the names and numbers of every friend and acquaintance he had on hand.

We all know how that ended. Not only was Greg's life completely transformed, but so was the life of a girl he hardly knew at the time (but had her info with him), who is now the head of the translation team for the church in Poland.

So although the system caused people to put themselves before others and take what wasn't theirs (because they almost had to), it also created a curiosity and well, not greed, certainly, but awareness of what is around to be had that had some amazing effects. What's a few "stolen" paper bags when compared with a life and generations to follow blessed for eternity?

A Father and His Kids (Sunday Edition)

Ewelina:

There is a tradition among Polish kids that they take a little journal to school and have their classmates sign it or draw in it or write little poems. It's not at the end of the year or anything, just any old time. Evie asked me and Greg to write in hers and here is what Greg wrote for her:

Dawno, dawno temu, za wieloma górami
Mieszkało w niebie dziewczę z braćmi i siostrami.
Jej Ojciec był bogiem - nic więc dziwnego, że chciał
Dać wszystko swej córce - nawet wszystko to, co miał.

Stworzył więc ziemię piękna, dla drogiej swej córy
A na niej morza, lądy i skaliste góry.
A w górach tamtych leży Szczęśliwa Dolinka;
I tam właśnie przyszła na ten świat Ewelinka.

I odkąd tu żyje - nie przestaje się uczyć
Pomagać, pracować, przebaczać oraz służyć
Zło od dobra odróżniać i zawsze się starać
Wybierać to, co dobre a co złe obalać.

Bo wie i też rozumie, że sprawa to słuszna,
Gdy Boga nie widać - nadal jest mu posłuszna.
I tak dziewczynka ta i wszystkie Boga dzieci
Powrócą kiedyś do tego, który dał im życie.

I tam żyć będą z Bogiem - wesołe i szczęśliwe
Bo podczas tej próby wybrali, co właściwe.

I can't translate the poetry of it (which I love), but I can sort of capture the content (the author was unavailable to help me translate).

Long, long ago and far, far away,
A girl lived in heaven with her brothers and sisters.
Her Father was God, so it's no surprise that he wanted
To give his daughter everything, even all that he had.

So he created a beautiful world for his dear daughter
And placed on it seas, lands and rocky mountains.
In those very mountains there lies a Happy Valley
And that is where he sent Ewelina into the world.

And as long as she lives here she will never stop learning
To help, to work, to forgive and to serve;
Distinguish good from evil and always try
To choose what is good and avoid evil.

Because she knows and understands that it's right
That although she can't see God, she still obey Him.
And that's how this little girl and all of God's children
Will return one day to the One who gave them life.

And there they will live with God - happy and joyful
Because during this life, they chose what was right.

(signed "Earthly Father")



David:

One Sunday when we weren't able to go to church Greg asked everyone to bring in their Book of Mormon* so we could do some scripture study. David said, "I don't know where mine is."

Greg replied in a mock angry voice, "See David! That's the difference between you and Joseph Smith. He found the Book of Mormon and YOU lost it!"

Aaron:

A few Sundays ago Greg put Music and the Spoken Word on the computer for us to listen to in the background while we all went about our business. I was in the kitchen, the kids were drawing or something but this is what Aaron was doing:

Notice the straight back. He sat this way through the whole program and would not let us talk to him or even kiss him on the cheek. He is very serious about his Sabbath day observance.

*I will not spark controversy by inserting an "s" to pluralize "Book of Mormon". I personally consider it a title and put the s after Mormon, but you're welcome to put it after Book in your mind if you so desire.

Answered

I woke up at 4:30 to give Spencer his once-nightly feeding (very nice baby). As I had suspected it would, this feeding perfectly coincided with when Greg had to wake up to get ready for his 4 hour drive to Warsaw for a church correlation meeting.

As I sat in bed nursing the baby, listening to the water run as Greg showered in the bathroom next door I started thinking my usual thoughts when he has a lot of driving to do on not enough sleep: "I hope he'll stay awake okay. I hope he'll pull over for a nap if he gets tired." etc. etc.

From there I started thinking about what if something happened to him. Just technical, unemotional things like how would the police know to contact us. What is the protocol. I began to feel that this was a kind of dangerous trip. Greg does tons of driving and is very responsible about being smart and not driving when he's tired, but I felt rather worried.

I decided to stop myself from worrying and pray. I prayed earnestly, certainly more sincerely than I ever have about safety during travel. I reflected on how I need to always be doing my best to be worthy of important blessings I may need to ask for, in order to have the confidence and faith to have my prayers answered.

Greg came into the darkened room, kissed me and the baby good-bye and headed off.

Four hours later he called. He had arrived at the chapel safe and sound. Prayer answered. Then he explained exactly how that prayer (which he wasn't aware I had offered) had been answered.

At one point during the drive Greg's mind wandered, causing him to miss his turn off. Fortunately he noticed it right away and got back on track, losing only a minute or two. Later on in the trip his own premonition from reflections he'd had earlier in the drive lead him to recognize the men on the side of the road waving through the thick fog for what it was: a warning to slow down because of an accident ahead. The road was extremely slippery and visibility was very poor but he was able to stop within inches (or possibly inch) of the car in front of him, which had stopped right behind an overturned car in the road. That accident had happened approximately one or two minutes before he got there.

Heavenly Father loves me, and I love him, too.

You Might Too

This postpartum period has been the best one for me, ever. It has also been the worst. I have had the most support from Greg this time, taking shifts every night for the first 6 weeks (I wouldn't allow him to with the first three kids since he had to go to work and all) meaning more sleep than ever and he's given some good help around the house, too.

On the other hand, I have visited the hospital no less than three times (I think I know all the doctors there now) and visited my OB/GYN once, and still haven't been for my regular 6 week check-up (though I'm two weeks late). I've only thought "it was something serious" about 14 times, but I never died even once.

Spencer took a few hours to get the hang of nursing but has done very well since then, unlike most of the others. However, I have had other nursing related problems which are what have had me in the hospital (nothing serious, just urgent-ish after hour visits to the doctor, with plenty of physical pain and emotional stress for me).

Despite the (sometimes serious) stress and worry I've had off and on, the depression I feared would envelope me after the birth has never made an appearance. I am so grateful.

I have spent the weeks since the birth doing as little as possible. Feeding people has been my main activity and cooking and baking and nursing (when I'm not crying in pain) are things I love/don't mind doing. Besides that I have only been keeping the house tolerably clean with Greg and the kid's help, and having good food and a clean-ish house has made me very happy. Oh, that and having a SUPER sweet newborn around.

***********

So I wanted to share two recipes that I absolutely love and have made waaaay too many times in the last two months since just before the baby came. This first is a pasta dish that is so easy to make it's unbelievable. My family cannot get enough of it and I have made it once a week since I got it in a recipe exchange (these weeks super fast and easy AND delicious is EXACTLY what I need). It might not be your cup of tea but I would feel terrible if I didn't share it just in case you love it as much as we do and you never had it to resort to for those last minute meals we all sometimes have to throw together. It's made of foods that I personally have on hand at all times (pretty much). I've changed it from the original recipe but here's how I make it:

Thai Peanut Noodles

1/4 cup peanut butter (crunchy or not)

1/3 cup soy sauce

3 tablespoons water (I take it from the water the chicken boiled in)

1/3 cup firmly packed brown sugar

1/4 cup sesame oil

2 garlic cloves pressed (or minced)

1 teaspoon ginger powder

1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (I leave this out since I can't handle heat)

1 lb chicken (I only use one small breast since we eat very small amounts of meat around here)

3/4 lb. spaghetti noodles

Bring water to boil and boil chicken (I first cut into even sized pieces, otherwise my chicken is tough on the thinner parts). Remove to cool and cook noodles in the water. In a separate small pan whisk soy sauce and peanut butter together. Stir in remaining ingredients until smooth. Shred chicken and add to sauce. Keep on low to warm sauce while noodles cook. Drain noodles and toss with sauce.

***

Then there's this dessert which is lower fat so I think I've convinced myself it's good for you. Also, there's no eggs so it's great for snacking on the dough. I tweaked this one, too by melting in chocolate, which you don't have to do. The original recipe only uses cocoa, just add a couple extra tablespoons if you omit the dark chocolate for melting.

Cocoa Fudge Cookies

1/4 c butter
5 T cocoa
25-50g dark chocolate (maybe 1/4 c chips?)
1 c sugar
1/3 c plain yogurt
1 t vanilla
1 c flour
1/4 t baking soda
1/8 t salt
milk or semi-sweet chocolate chips (1 cup? less?)

Melt butter and cocoa. Stir in dark chocolate to melt. Stir in sugar then add plain yogurt and vanilla and stir. Mix in dry ingredients and chocolate chips. Bake in the usual way (350 for 8-10 minutes)

These cookies are much better quite undercooked (as are all chocolate cookies, IMO) and pretty much not worth eating, or at least not worth the calories, if cooked through (as are all chocolate cookies IMO).

*****

Maybe you don't care about recipes, but maybe you're like me and you try almost any recipe that's recommended to you. I just wanted to share because I reeeeally like these recipes and I thought You Might Too.

Spontaneity

Last night while listening to a classical music station Greg heard something that changed our plans for the weekend.  Well, our plans only included being home until going to church on Sunday in Krakow, but also finishing off the other half of a cake in the fridge and --  and this is important -- having vegetarian borscht tonight with the rest of the crescent rolls from last night (yesterday I neeeeeeded chinese chicken salad with crescent rolls and tonight I neeeeded borscht with them).  Oh well.  Plans change.  Apparently.

Instead we'll be taking the other half of the cake and the crescent rolls with us to Łódż (pronounced Wooch, sort of) This is where Greg's parent's live.  This is where we try to put a little culture in our lives when possible (we went to a concert last time, opera, and it's also where we almost went to the nude version of The Magic Flute) And this is where the concert will be tonight that Greg heard about last night.

Łódż is the third largest city in Poland.  It's not the prettiest of cities, as it was a manufacturing city.  Textiles.  The ooooold factories have been standing in their glory (really) unused with broken windows for decades until someone had an idea.  They turned it into this:

Isn't it pretty?  Like a really nice factory from the oooooold days that's been revamped? (they only sandblasted the brick, it was always this pretty, just sorta blackish)  Okay, so you can't really tell what it is, but they turned it into a mall.  It's cleverly named "Manufaktura" and apparently it's in the running for "Best Mall in the World" or something.  It's amazing, though none of the pictures I found really do it justice.  It's huge and there are buildings on all sides.  We go there almost every time we're in Łódż.  There are these fountains the kids can run through: 

and in the evening they dance and light up different colors to the loud music that plays in the courtyard.

In the summer they set up "beach" volleyball in the courtyard, and in the winter there's an ice skating rink.

Well, so back to the point.  In this very courtyard:

it was announced last night on the radio, there will be a concert tonight.  Not just any concert, though.  The Łódż Philharmonic will be playing the soundtrack LIVE to 2001: A Space Odyssey, which will be playing on a huge screen.  There will be 2001 seats and the show starts at 8:01 pm.  (I translated that for you, since you guys don't use army time like we do over here.  In Polish it starts at 20:01)

So Greg said "Drop everything!  Forget about your Borscht tomorrow!  We're going to Łódż!"  Then he called his mother and said something like, "Sorry it's such late notice, but some veeeeery important business has come up for us in Łódż and we'll be there in 20 hours or so. . ."  

So we'll go get the kids from school, eat some lunch (school ends at 12:15 today, 1:10 most days) and head off to Babcia and Dziadek's house (4-5 hour drive).  

I'm really excited except that I've never seen it and we recently watched 2010 (the sequel-ish)and I thought it was the most boring movie I've ever seen.  But being outside with the live music it will be awesome.  Without kids.  With Greg.  

A word about that cake.  If, of a Wednesday afternoon, you realize you reeeally want to make some special dessert, like a cake, since you've been craving a big layered one since you saw Pollyanna a few weeks ago (remember those HUGE pieces of cake they get at the fair?), and one with cream cheese in it, you might be extremely happy to stumble upon this cake.  Then you might make it, only double instead of triple layers because you have not three 8" rounds, not two, but zero.  Only a 10" springform pan.  So you bake half of it, wash, butter, repeat = two layers.  And you find that it is a veeeeery good cake.  And your son requests it for his birthday.  And your husband proclaims it delicious.  And you think it's a little sweet but exceedingly good.  So, anyway, those are some things that might happen if you are thinking about dessert on a Wednesday afternoon.  And then you might end up taking half of the cake to your in-laws with you.  Because your husband might be pontaneous.  (my S diet update is coming in a week or two. . . bet this post made you wonder how that's going)

Love and Hate

Hate:

I don't actually hate writing articles, exactly.  Sometimes they're a breeze and I can whip out as many as four in an hour (that's 2,ooo words - this happens rarely, though)  Three an hour is more like it.  But sometimes, like yesterday, I can't even do two.

What I hate is at dinner time being only halfway through my article writing because they're mostly about cappuccino and espresso makers and my research on the subject necessarily begins with this search: "What is cappuccino/espresso".  You know it's going to be slow going when you have to ask for definitions of the keywords. 

Then I hate finally allowing my starving self to go make my favorite dinner ever (Skillet Ziti with Chicken and Broccoli, so simple but I cannnooooot stop eating it) for a break, only to find that I can't start cooking until I wash about every dish in the kitchen and clean up, too.  

I also hate when I've finally got the dishes done and look down and see the SAME crushed pretzel lying on the kitchen floor that I have not been sweeping up for two days because I've been on the verge of vacuuming any minute now (for two days) and I decide something MUST be done about it right this minute, as I slowly waste away in my hunger.  Instead of pulling out the the dustpan and little broom I get out the vacuum and proceed to vacuum the entire downstairs.  Then I decide to mop the entire downstairs too, before heading back into the kitchen to finally get dinner started.

Love:

I love sneaking away from my writing occasionally to read excellent posts about good friends meeting each other for the first time and their adventures. 

I love when I'm stressfully trying to wash those dishes quickly so I don't pass out or die of starvation before I can get dinner made, and Greg comes in and tells me something that cheers me up/horrifies me.  He's been really sick and he had to go see his accountant in town.  When he went in the office he told her right away, "I'm not going to shake your hand because I haven't been feeling well since I returned from a trip to Mexico."  She literally pushed off away from her desk and started stuttering.  Greg, being the evil person that he is, wanted to continue and pretend he hadn't heard about swine flu, but thought better of it and told her he was kidding.  What a terrible joke.

I love freshly vacuumed and mopped floors.  

I love eating Skillet Ziti with Chicken and Broccoli.

I'm Old and I Have No Partner in Crime

I am planning sometime next week to respond to Erin's post about our twinnishness (which was a response to Melanie's post about our twinnishness) but for today there are just a few more overheards.

Over breakfast I said something and David stopped me and said, "MOM!  That is just what I was thinking!  Woah!"  I paused and then did the Twilight Zone theme (probably from having read Melanie's title so recently).  Both of the kids stopped chewing, looked at each other and burst out laughing.  Like almost blowing milk and peanut butter cookie crisps all over.  This continued for quite a while and then, through his laughs, David said, "Oh my gosh mom.  You are so weird!"  So I explained about The Twilight Zone.

Later in the day I went to pick up Evie and David and Evie's friend from school.  From the front door, as I was getting in the car, Greg told me that I'd have to have one of them sit in the very back and I said that I'd just have one of the girls sit in the front.  He asked, "Is that okay?  Are they old enough?" I told him I thought it was okay just for a short drive.  

He replied, "Well, I'm not going to bring you any food in jail."  I didn't hear him the first time (or didn't get what the heck he was talking about) so I asked him to repeat it. He said it again and then closed the door.  

You know how people say, "What if anything happened to you?"  And worry about your last words and how you should always say "I love you." when you are going somewhere?  I must say, I think I'd treasure Greg's kind of last words more than the hearty-heart love one's.

Overheard

I realized recently that I haven't been talking to the kids about U.S. Presidents like I should be this time of year, so last night over dinner I told them a little about Abraham Lincoln.  I gave them each a penny so they would know what he looked like and told them what I remember about him (far too little).  Then I told them about Melanie's post about the contents of his pockets on the day he died and how the box they were in was opened in the 1970's.

I told them what I remembered of it and then Greg piped in with, "And I heard -- this is really weird, but -- I heard that they also found an ipod in there."  Followed by a  l e n g t h y explanation of how the ipod (nano) was used and what materials it was made of etc.  I rolled my eyes and waited for him to finish.  But then someone else chimed in with, "And there was a cell phone in there!"  "No, it was an mp3 player!"  

I was blocking this all out as I dished out seconds until there was a break and Evie said, "Actually, they found out that it was an mp1 player."   And I burst out laughing.  Because that was funny.  

********

The hallway on our main floor is very long and fairly wide (it's very Polish so it's not an open plan and there are doorways off the hall to the playroom, living room, kitchen, bathroom and down stairs.  You can sort of see part of it in one picture on this post) and it's David and Aaron's domain.  They race their cars there, play their wrestling games there and, most recently, play soccer there.  That hallway is always full of loud, usually happy, noises.

Last night before bed David followed me up the stairs saying, "Mom, you wanna know what a cute sport Aaron is?  And what a nice sport?"  (can you tell he doesn't live in a country where he ever really hears the term "good sport" ?)  After I caught my breath again after the darlingness of the question, he told me that they had been playing soccer and every time David had scored a goal Aaron had raised his hands high above him and shouted, "GOOOOOOAL!"  ("DOOOOOOH!") and then clapped and said, "Bravo!"  ("Dah-doh!").  I don't know for sure which I loved more, David's question or Aaron's cheerleading.

********

Then, while I was changing his sheets and he was putting on his pajamas, David got all confidential and started telling me lots of interesting stuff, not the least of which was the fact that his teacher had told him that he should have Evie teach him how to read.  

Evie is a very good reader.   Her speed, comprehension and elocution* is really a pleasure to listen to.  In second (or first?) grade her teacher referred us to a something or other where Evie could develop or display or something her talent for reading.  We didn't do anything about it, though, because we're lame (and didn't really know what it was about, as you may have gathered).

I thought that was a pretty good idea for Evie to help him with his reading (she's helped him some in the past).  All last year and all summer long I read with him almost every day for practice, but his progress has been kind of slow.  With Evie, I taught her what sound every letter makes and she pretty much started reading the next day.  

I asked him, "Does your teacher know that I read with you every day?"  And he told me that his teacher just suggested that he read with Ev because she reads "reeeeeeeeeally well" (David's teacher used to be Evie's) and that he shouldn't read with me or dad.  

Of course I was a little curious about that.  "Really!?!  She told you NOT to read with us?"  Finally he sighed and said, "Okay, fine.  You're asking me so I'll tell you the truth.  She said that I shouldn't practice reading with you."  I found this to be very humorous.  

This makes perfect sense, of course.  I mean, she knows that every single time I talk to her I am not confident in my Polish.  It seems obvious that I might not read well in Polish.  But I think I can confidently say that I am not a bad reader in Polish.  It's very easy, actually, because each letter or set of letters only makes one sound.  You just memorize them and you can read.  But his teacher has no way of knowing how I read.  

But of course I had to say, "Tell your teacher that I'm the one who taught Evie to read."  Because I did.  And also because Come On.

*Thanks for the word, Heidi!

Something Romantic and Something I love

Before I was married I bought a framed poster of a painting on a white background with the artist's name under it in capital letters.  When I bought it I don't think I was aware of who the painter was, or had ever seen the painting before.  I blame this entirely on the American school system.  Later I found out that I had heard of the painting  from the Don McLean song which is playing (or might not be).  The picture looked like this:

And I really loved it.  I took it with me when I went back east as a Nanny and hung it on the wall in my living room.  Or actually I think I meant to hang it on the wall but never got around to it.  Which is why it dwelt against the wall behind the couch while I lived there.  

Unfortunately, it continued to dwell against the wall behind the couch after I lived there, too.  Meaning that I left it there when I moved back west.  I was sad.  I mourned the loss of that poster for years.

Then one year for my birthday Greg presented me with a hand painted copy of that same scene. He had his sister's friend, who is a painter and often paints copies for people, paint it for me.  He hadn't told me anything about it and it was a huge surprise.  I love it.  And I love him.

And I also love that my sister gave me a magnet of that painting to go on my fridge because she knows how I feel about it.

And I also love that yesterday Aaron brought the magnet off the fridge and into the living room and kept pointing up at the painting and then at the magnet, over and over.  Then he got me to lift him up to the painting and he tried to stick the magnet to it repeatedly, with a little grunt at the effort.  They just seemed to belong together somehow to him.

(I wish I had a photo of my painting for you to see.  Really, it looks so much like the original that most people would not know the difference.)

How Boring Can You Get?

Annette tagged me for this tag, which should be at least somewhat interesting and insightful, but really mine is NOT.  The reason is because I do not take pictures and I currently have not a single picture saved on my computer (husband recently emptied everything off of here so that I could continue to blog without it shutting down every 3 minutes).  

For this reason I asked Greg to follow the instructions on his computer so that I could:  Post the sixth photo in [my] sixth folder.   He said it was actually the sixth in the sixth in the sixth, which I do not understand except that I know that it probably has something to do with the fact that he takes loads of pictures.  So aren't you dying to see the photo?  Well, here it is!

Wow!  Fascinating!  This is the shot of one of the bodies they're making for a client (it's called a puzzle car, I assume because it is made in pieces and then welded together? And I am unaware of exaclty what part this is.).  I will say that it is quite beautiful, as you can see the aluminum is most excellently well polished with that stripe sanded down the middle.  Plus you can see the awful glass cubed wall (with many of the cubes missing) that lines the side of the shop at Greg's work reflected in it.  (for more pictures, and especially if you're interested in buying a Cobra -- and YOU KNOW YOU ARE -- go here.) 

How exciting!  Well, speaking of exciting things, we found a way to make a little extra money, thanks to a good friend of ours, and I have spent Monday and today frantically typing up articles.  20 of them at 500 words each.  I still have three to go, so I'd better sign off.  But first let me say that typing up ten thousand words about pendants is not my idea of a good time.  Yes, that kind of pendant.  For each article I am given key words such as "opal pendant" and then I write about it, with that much information given as direction.  What a joy.  What a blast.  Let me stop blogging so I can get back to something FUN.

 (and I really hope to catch up today or tomorrow with you all!  I've been missing you, especially since I've had you right under my fingertips this whole time!  But look how disciplined I am!)