Below Freezing

Winter used to inspire thoughts of snowy landscapes, sledding and snowball fights with forts and fun and excitement.

The only thing winter inspires now is thoughts of hibernation. Well, that and a big ole whopping tube of Icy Hot.

Most nights, when the thermometer callously and indifferently dips below the freezing mark, I slip into the bedroom ahead of bedtime to begin the nightly ritual that ensures I will be able to move at all the next day.

Clicking the control with my foot, I turn the electric blanket on my bed up to 'barbecue'. By the time I slide between the sheets, I can feel the waves of heat soaking into my aching joints. It makes a difference most days, I promise. Sometimes, I can go through the morning without making 'old lady' noises.

Other days, the heating routine can't compete with my schedule that propels me out my door into the relentless cold that literally freezes my legs into Popsicles...or leg-sicles. Whatever.

It's time for the invention of a lifetime. But lacking the skill to sew up what I am seeing in my mind, I will require a design team with both the skill of a seamstress and the mechanical and electrical know-how of an engineer.

It's time to slip into some 'electric pants'. Yep. if we can make electric blankets then why not 'electric pants'? The gentle heat produced by the electric pants would enable my aching body to enjoy the day instead of dreading the sunrise during the brilliant but cold mornings that are part of the winter.

They could be made of stylish materials that would look decent while going out, yet be fully washable in the average home. They would be equipped with a waterproof plug system that hooked to a lightweight rechargeable battery that offered overnight charging while you were tucked in under the electric blanket on the bed.

I realize this would have a limited consumer appeal. But I can apply for a grant to pay for my start up, production and advertising costs to the same branch of the government that pays for the study of cow farts and the long term uses of manure. I'm quite sure they would pay. This seems just as frivolous...uh...NECESSARY.

I am quite sure there are other people on this planet who feel like their teeth are chattering before the door is quite open and for whom winter is an unkind reminder that their legs are slowly turning into human stalactites. They would appreciate the soothing warmth of electric pants.

Nursing homes and care facilities could be filled with people clad in waterproof and comfortable electric pants that would help keep them warm and possibly healthier during the cold and flu seasons.

During the winter months, attractive patterned stirrup versions would be worn by church-going women who are sick of freezing to death while worshiping at the congregation of their choice.

People who had outside jobs requiring them to suffer in the cold or bundle up like Nanook of the North could benefit from the adjustable heat settings and keep comfortable regardless of the outside temperature. They could be rated for different climates and altitudes.

Bib overall style versions would be appreciated by the farmers on the go as a way of doing their work without as much chill. As a special benefit, a pocket could be created on them which would gently toast sandwiches for consumption during their day of activity away from home.

The possibilities are endless!

In any case, our local weatherman cheerfully informed me it was going to be colder tonight than it was last night. I am ready to slip into my bed beneath my soft, fluffy and WARM electric blanket. I can just read until bedtime. Or I can lie there and stare at the pulled plaster ceiling and see how many cute little animal shapes and faces I can see in the pattern... see, hypothermia is already setting in!! Quick, to the electric blanket!

If I had electric pants, none of this would be happening.

Please send your contributions to me. They won't be tax deductible yet, but they will be most appreciated.

Dig Deep

There is a shovel in our camping trailer that is old, somewhat worn by life and looks every bit like it helped with the hand dug portion of the Panama Canal.

While that is more than likely not true, appearances and a powerfully inventive mind can create something where nothing exists.

My day to day struggle with trying to read, study and ponder over the words of scriptures, lessons and gospel thoughts, habits and actions can in some respect be likened to the old shovel.

Some days, I read and study. Other days, I poke at the effort like a child using a stick in the dirt.

I was somewhat heartened in the Stake Conference talk by Julie Beck about reading and studying. She talked about the need to 'just be in the scriptures everyday'. That seems to be a more understanding approach about the realities of trying to understand and accomodate the life that can tidal wave-like overwhelm my abilities to cope from time to time.

Yet, that doesn't free me up from the necessary obligation to actually do my reading and studying.

Why is it that a novel can grip my emotions and imagination for hours but I don't always have the same feeling in the scriptures.

It's choice.

I can choose to be excited about the latest novel, but studying my Sunday School lesson is a drag.

I can choose to search and struggle through the layers of explanations through the scripture chains and receive the light, or I can remain in the dark and wonder why 'everyone else' is feeling the Spirit.

Using the shovel requires work. It means I'll have sore muscles and eventually, I'll develop an ability to apply its purpose in a meaningful way.

Spiritual effort takes that same determination to achieve the climb up the rungs of a personal spiritual ladder.

I can't start at the top with a full-flowering testimony and epic faith.

Like the shovel and the digging, I have to start by scratching the surface. I have to reveal layer upon layer of all that has gone before and gain an understanding of just how I can apply it.

I remember as a child deciding that I wanted to dig to China. It couldn't be that far, I reasoned.

But as the hot summer day wore on, I realized that the cold lemonade and cookies inside sounded far better than the continued effort with the shovel, which was by now creating a healthy blister on my hand.

Abandoning the effort, I was simply satisfied to say 'I tried'.

Older but not neccessarily wiser now, I wonder if I am using the same justification to prevent the deep and pondering digging required to truly gain the kind of resolute and profound testimony that can exalt.

Allowing the things of the world to intrude upon the most important matters?

Time to dust off the gospel shovel and dig in...

High Fashion Low Budget

While looking online at the various options of stores which are desperately seeking my money, I got to thinking...if a store can cut prices by up to 90% and still make a margin, doesn't that mean their stuff is priced too high?

I digress.

The thing that interested me was that for what appeared to be a mere pittance of the former inflated value, I could possibly walk away with some pretty dang good bargains if I can just get the right fit and the right look.

I am not flamboyant by nature in my clothing. My favorite color is blue and up until a couple of years ago, various shades of blue were the regular mainstays of my wardrobe.

The only thing exotic about me is the collection of tacky and tasteless slogan t-shirts I own.

But I started thinking, wouldn't it be nice to have a couple of things that would make me look reasonably turned out for a reasonable price.

Welcome to the world of thrift store shopping and clearance rack bargain hunting. By the way, 90% off isn't a bargain if it's something you really won't wear or use. That's just finding a cheaper way to waste the moolah.

I got a lovely gray striped women's two-piece suit for which I have some nice blouses and for which I plan to get a small array of solid color shell type tops. And no, they will not all be blue.

Tempting...but no.

I also need to find some black shoes that are actually comfortable to walk in that will look dressy enough for church or going out but not kill my feet during the attempt.

Sadly, this is one area where thrift stores need not apply.

I may borrow the bowling alley clown shoes and watch them spray them to a faretheewell with the fungicidal spray, but I seriously doubt the thrift shop is doing the same. You just don't know where they have been! And they most certainly aren't hosed off with anti-whatever sprays and detergents.

So, I hunt the shoe stores once in a while for a sale that can fit within the budget and on the oddly sized feet I happen to possess. The shoes might fit one foot but drown the other... so I feel an almost sporting obligation to buy them regardless of color or style should they happen to come reasonably near fitting BOTH feet.

Which would explain the reason that I owned half a dozen pair of tennis shoes at one time. I have pared it down to a couple of pairs at the current time.

Athough people who are not fans of Madonna generally don't put their lingerie on display, that is also a money spending opportunity. Women want to make sure that what they have in the line of more 'personal attire' is decent looking and in good repair. While we don't wear it as dinner wear nor show up at the PTA with our bustiere outside our clothing, shopping for something tasteful that does the intended job is also required.

In my case, I do all of my shopping with a jaundiced eye squared situtated over the balance line in the checkbook. I can't afford to bankrupt the family just to be well-turned. Plus, for those who truly know me, it would be ridiculous to suddenly expect me to become a clotheshorse prancing around in designer gear when I am vastly more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt.

Daddy used to say most people spend like they have a champagne budget.

Count me in with the balogna crowd.

While I may have champagne type ideas, they are most assuredly tempered by the saltine and balogna reality that we face daily.

And I truly enjoy saving money.

The question comes down to 'just how much do you have to have?'. And the older I get the more that answer is becoming 'less'.

So maybe a low budget is a blessing that should be considered a precious commodity.

Meanwhile, my catalog looking and web surfing doesn't require any monotary contributions. And, as Martha Stewart says, "that's a good thing".

Petty Distractions

Church today was good. Until I found my sister staring at me oddly.

It was then I realized that shiny objects, conversation and life in general had once again interfered with alleged normalcy.

I had only applied mascara to one eye.

Sure. Go ahead. Laugh until you fall off of the side of the bed, will ya...

Truth be told, she peered intently at both eyes and said "Are you SURE you put any mascara on EITHER eye?"

And I cannot honestly answer.

My attention was diverted.

I'd like to say my attention was diverted by some heroic lifesaving moment where I pulled an entire orphanage from the fire and stared down the flames.

Or that I was swayed from my stated task of making myself resemble an adult female dressed for church by some phone call of a pressing international crises that needed my personal touch to resolve.

It wasn't even as mundane as toast needing to be rescued with a fork.

Nope.

Just stray thoughts and conversation is enough to send my thoughts and purpose fleeing from me like rich people from a slum.

Face it. Pinpoint thoughts and straight line actions are not at home in my brain. They are unaccustomed to the lack of focus, the squalid conditions of odd bits of emotion and strange ideas tossed about in haphazard fashion and the complete lack of a mental road map.

Sadly, I honestly must report to you that I have left my house in a nice pair of slacks, attractive sweater, face full of makeup and cheetah skin slippers.

What a fashion statement!

I don't mean to forget what comes next in the path from A to Z, but I am a lot like the pathetic story of Tootle the train who can't remember just why it is that he must stay on track.

Funny thing is, I recall hearing that particular phrase a LOT in my childhood. Blatantly attached to the 'Train to Nowhere' phase of my life, my teacher reminded me that if I didn't/couldn't/wouldn't stay on track that I would become a dreaded 'Caboose' in life.

Bringing up the rear in a dizzy confusion more than likely with only one eye made up and wearing my cheetah slippers, I am a caboose.

I used to be ashamed of that notion.

Today I'm not so sure.

When was the last time you heard people say that crazy people had stress?

Sign me up for the nut house. I'm ready for a reprieve on stress of all kinds.

But would some kind and focused person make sure I look decent before the men in the white coats come to take me away...?