Living Obituary

As promised, the obituary I wrote for my mother.  And no, I don't typically write obituaries for the living, but my mother had emailed around this obituary to her children and specifically noted that we could use it for a template for hers.  So in my defense, I was just doing what my mother told me to do. (Names and other identifying details have been changed to protect the innocent and guilty alike).

Sophronia LaDorn Knudertonsen, 1948 ~ present, Western Front, Utah - The Lake Effect Smog which so characterizes Salt Lake’s West Side thinned just a little yesterday, a tribute to the passing of one of its treasured daughters, Sophronia LaDorn Knudertonsen. It is fitting that Sophronia died in her own recliner located equidistant between the classic brown hot-tub in her perfectly manicured backyard, and the incomparable Honda Civic in her garage, which dominated the landscape of her life and which she faithfully drove to work until the day of her death. Sophronia was as strong as the steel with which the car had been built by factory workers in Japan and she never wanted to live in any city, state, or nation that could not provide her a hot soak in a snowstorm. Sophronia was born July 4th, 1948, the first of two children to Ernesto Heinz and Salina Epperstein LaDorn.  She attended local schools where she was the “E(1)” of the famed Western Front High Letter-Highs, sitting between the remarkably devoted “W” and “S”, sometimes between the "T" and "R" when E(2) was unavailable . On October 31, 1970, Sofronia married LaMar Knudertonsen who, with his Liechtenstein charm, swept her off her feet . . . three times over three consecutive years at the same annual dance before she politely reminded him they’d met before and he figured he ought to propose. She found her deepest trials and truest sense of irony in mothering four sons and a daughter, Abraham Lincoln Knudertonsen of Nashville, Tennessee, Albert Einstein Knudertonsen of Pocatello, Idaho, Marie Curie Knudertonsen-Rodriguez of Oak Ridge, Tennessee,  Pablo Picasso Knudertonsen of Orlando, Florida, and Orville Wright Knudertonsen of Waco, TX, who has felt short-changed since infancy. Her joy has been magnified in her senior years by watching the TiVo, and listening to her daughter's incessant prattle daily on the telephone. Her dog Amidala and her parakeet, Flippers preceded her in death. She is survived by the Energizer Bunny. Sophronia reluctantly served as president in all the auxiliaries of the LDS Church, at least twice, with perhaps her happiest years being those directly following each release. When she wasn’t visiting her grandchildren or talking on the phone, she served faithfully as an Accountant at a world-renowned tax firm in Salt Lake City near the LDS Temple where, after many decades, they’re still trying to downplay the embarrassment caused by that little episode on South Temple. The family wishes to thank the host of friends, neighbors and professionals who tolerated her crankiness and combed the back of her hair in her declining years. Special mention must be made of her husband, LaMar Knudertonsen, who washed her car nearly every day of her life, her psychiatrist, and the devoted employees of the local Joanne Fabrics. Her thoughtful grandsons Harrison Ford Knudertonsen-Rodriguez and Luke Skywalker Knudertonsen-Rodriguez repeatedly offered to just shoot her with various pieces of their personal arsenals in her final months.  Appreciation is expressed to the members of the Wards that attend the church behind her back fence for their faithfulness and compassion despite the raucous Sunday hot tub parties during their worship meetings. Funeral services will be held in that same backyard at 11:00 am this Saturday, as her final request was to be buried under deck by the hot tub.  Also at Sophronia’s request, there will be a clogging party and open mike poetry slam held Friday, from 5:00 to 8:00 p.m. in her garage. In lieu of flowers, please feel free to vote multiple times for any clogging group on all future episodes of America’s Got Talent, or to just do a little dance of your choosing, while thinking of Sophronia. Arrangements are made under the influence of lots of chocolate. Friends and family are invited to post comments about embarrassing moments in Sophronia’s life on her daughter’s blog:  http://image-jen.blogspot.com/

I've now posted explicit and personal details about my mother on two consecutive days.  I realize I've dropped off the blogging map for a while there, but I'm waiting to see when she decides to check in on my blog and whether she requests I remove either posting . . . anyone want to place bets? 

I lost that bet, but I do think the edited version may surpass the original.  

Liberty and Gayes

So today I went to vote in the run-off primary election.  How exactly does one choose a candidate for Sheriff between a guy with a mile long record of mostly stupid, but some rather questionable permanent administrative write-ups, and his opponent who has been accused of physically abusing his first and second wives?  And frankly, that was the easier decision since I'd rather vote for an idiot than a wife-beater.  In another race, how do I (as a moderate) choose between an uber-right-wing wacko, and his creepy slandering (but moderate) opponent.  I voted for the slanderer, but was kinda glad he lost.   I can't wait for the actual election where I don't have to pick a party and can just vote for the best candidate, regardless of party.  I digress.

What I really wanted to post about was my own case of wacko-ness, not actual political wack-o's.  So, I'm trying to find the polling location, and as I walk right past it, I ask a lady coming toward me, where the polling location is.  She points to the door I just passed (surely she was thinking, it's the one with the polling information posted all over the door--idiot).  So as I turned to head back, I see my friend (named Liberty) exiting the polls and walking away from me.  I of course wanted to make sure Liberty saw me there because, Liberty takes her name very seriously and strongly encourages everyone she knows to get involved in politics and vote, and I wanted to get credit in her score book for having shown up at the polls.  And by strongly encourages, I mean that she is a bit of a right-wing-wacko in her own right (and I mean that in the best sense of the term wack-o.  I really appreciate someone who speaks their mind--read:  whose filter is broken much like mine--but even more-so).

Back to my point about wack-o's.  So I see Liberty walking away, and like any reasonable person whose liberty is being taken away, I start to wave my arms and holler LIBERTY!! LIBERTY!! as I head toward the polling station.  The kind lady next to me (who already thinks I'm an idiot) now thinks I'm a wacko shouting for liberty at passing traffic as I head to the polls.  Just doing my duty to prove that it's mostly just the wack-o's that get out to vote.

So now for the more interesting part of my post.  My mother.  My mother is an amazing human being.  She is smart, capable and highly entertaining. I may very well have posted this before since it's one of the funniest true stories I've ever heard tell.  So my mother works in downtown Salt Lake City, Utah, and one afternoon she is trying to get some paperwork out to another company under deadline.  The woman from the other office, whose name was Gaye, said she'd come by and pick it up late that afternoon and my mother would come down to the street level to hand it off (surely you can see where this is going).   At the appointed time, my mother walks out to the sidewalk, filled with pedestrians making their way home for the evening, and looks around for the white sedan Gaye had described.  There were of course several white sedans double-parked along South Temple at that moment.  My mother simply walked up to the first, caught the drivers eye through the window and said loudly "ARE YOU GAYE?!"  The woman looked horrified at the question, waved her arms and shook her head vehemently, locking her doors.  Odd, thought my mother.  I want to say she approached another car or two with the same question before she realized the nature of her inquiry.  She did eventually find her intended rendezvous, then hightailed it red-faced, back to the office with a great story of solicitation on South Temple, Salt Lake City. 

I love that story.  Next time I'll dig up the obituary I wrote for her, because really, if a person can't enjoy their obit while they're still alive, what's the point?

You Know Your Husband's Health Is Improving When . . .

It's already the 27th of the month and you have to ask at the hospital information desk for the "new" monthly wifi password.  And not because you forgot it, but simply because you haven't been around to need it yet this month!

You Can't Win Them All

Although "some people" may say my spousal communication skills have declined in recent months, I must say that my bread making skills have significantly improved.  You can't make something out of nothing, so you gotta prioritize is what I say . . .

The one on the left is a roasted garlic and kalamata olive loaf and on the right is ciabatta.  Yes, I make ciabatta now, from scratch. If you don't know what a good ciabatta tastes like, you need to spend some time living in a dingy apartment behind a bakery in Italy.  Your life will never be the same. 

Will there be bread in Heaven?  It makes a difference in my day to day choices you know.  In so many ways.

Do Not Try This At Home

Just in case you were wondering . . . if your child cracks your dvd trying to get it out of the case, attempting to melt the crack back together with a lighter will not improve the situation. 

We've collected the Harry Potter movies over the years and finally Ethan has taken to the books.  He just finished the second one and wanted to watch the movie.  Desperate situations call for desperate acts.   But never let desperation drive you to use fire as a fix.  It won't end well. 

Let us all be grateful for Amazon movies on demand.

Pizza Night!

Sunday night was Pizza night (only because I ran out of time on Friday and Saturday) . . . I was having nostalgia for pizza al taglio in Rome.  They mak these big trays of pizza and cut you off a strip as big or as small as you like and charge you by the centimeter.  My favorites were always the potato and the tomato, both heavily seasoned with rosemary and oregano--the cheese was an atypical addition, but nice in a small amount.  The pesto was my own sort of mix with garden veggies and artichokes (I went a bit heavy on the mozzeralla on that one)  I think they're pretty, don't you?

le potate

le tomate

pesto e verdurre

tutti e tre

Thick and Thinner

Today's small mercy:  Thinning Shears.

I'm cheap. We all know that. And a bit over-scheduled.  The result is that I don't go get my hair cut very often.  Do you have any idea what the going rate for a woman's hair cut is these days?!?!  This habit of mine is fine in most climates, but in Texas, I constantly feel a need to be shorn.  I have very thick hair--on my head.  Once I had someone grab hold and comment--"That's not hair, that's buffalo hide!"  When I go and get a "trim", it's usually not the length that's been bugging me so much as the weight of it--the shear insulation factor alone causes great angst.  I have great empathy for wooly livestock in a warm spring and recurring nightmares of being pinned down by a burly cowboy and sheared to the nubbins in seconds flat while a crowd cheers--maybe I shouldn't have written that . . . Let's just say at this time of year, I steer well clear of alpaca farms.

So, back to the salon--I always ask for some serious thinning.  And I always leave the poor hair dresser and her broom to comments of "Look at all that hair on the floor!--most people don't have that much on their heads!"  I must admit, it always looks like I've left a small pet behind.  But, oh the difference the thinning shears make!!  So what took me so long, you may wonder, to go out and buy thinning shears of my own?  Excellent wondering!  Mostly the fact that I rarely frequent beauty supply stores, and when I do, I get in and get out without thinking much about what else they may have to offer (people like me drive away Sally Beauty's clientele so I'm usually not welcome to linger . . . and the feeling's mutual).  But, a few weeks ago, I went in and remembered, and I priced out thinning shears.  And I left with a pair (after paying for them first of course--perhaps it's the shoplifting and not my appearance that makes people nervous . . . I jest!).  At that moment, life just got a little better.  I went home and thinned and thinned.  I thinned my husband and children's hair (Matt has a similar buffalo hide, and heaven help my poor children who had both our genes poured onto their little noggins).  A whole new world of postponed haircuts and a little less summer misery opened up before my eyes.  Next I'm going to work on the cats!

About a month ago I went into a salon to have my haircut (I know! an actual salon and me!).  It had only been about six months since my last cut, but by early May, summer in Texas was in full bloom and I had a dire need to sweat less.  The stylist did a beautiful job cutting it short enough to use the clippers in back (LOVE THAT--how I wish I was a petite sprite of a person and I would live life with a pixie cut).  And she thinned the heck out of it!  Poor lady spent over an hour on my hair--and I'd gone cheap and asked not to have it styled--but I tipped her decently.  So now it's been 6 weeks, and I'm wanting to trim it back up--I've contemplated going back in.  Especially yesterday when we hit 100 degrees out (I think my head registered at least 120).  But then, I pulled out the magic thinning shears this morning and now I think I can hold out for August, or maybe late July . . .

A little of this  and ahhhhh . .  .