Friday, September 7, 2012

Stupid Things That Make Me Feel Bad

I have a bookmark right at the top of Safari for FunkPonies. It's very accessible, right next to my calendar, but I never want to click it because I know I haven't written a post in a long time. Likewise my journal, which sits in my bedside table, HAUNTING ME. It has been over two years since I cracked that thing open. What's worse than not writing is a reminder that I'm not writing. Like a dried up houseplant that just sits there, drooping, waiting, silently reminding me that I'm a lousy caretaker. (am I the only one who can't bear to water my houseplants?!) I hate that plant.

So instead of sitting here glaring at the link on my computer, I'm blogging. And I plan to do it again and again because I think it's good for me. Plus, if I do it, then maybe Linz will write, and then maybe she'll even post some ridiculously cute baby pictures once her little cub comes around. Maybe!

In the meantime, this made me want to craft a really bad sentence.

When I "see" people making dumb grammar mistakes, it makes me think there heads not on write.

You're turn! 
(I added another one just for fun)

Monday, May 21, 2012

Reading with Real-Deal Moms

I was super-crazily honored to be part of the "Listen to Your Mother" reading series in DC a couple weeks ago. Here's a link to the website:

Cousin Stacey (the other Funk Pony mistress) was instrumental in providing feedback (i.e., red pen edit), and I trusted her completely because she is both brilliant and a gorgeous cream puff. Quite the combo.

Here is my essay from the May 6, 2012 reading:

The Door of Insanity
By Lindsay Félix

You may not be familiar with the term “Door of Insanity.” So, let me provide some background. The Door of Insanity is mentioned in the rarely-spoken second line that follows “It takes a village to raise a child.” That is, “It takes a village to keep mothers from answering the insistent pounding coming from the Door of Insanity.”

Knock. Knock!

My three-year-old, Angeline, is napping in my bed. As I tucked her in this afternoon, she asked, “Are you going to clean your room?” Hmmm… Even a three year old knows that a pile of t-shirts, panties, and sweat pants don’t belong on top of great grandma’s antique hope chest. Touché, little one. Although, she’s the one who chewed up her carrots and spat them on the carpet this afternoon. Knock. Knock.

My youngest daughter, Isadora, is napping after about 14 attempts. She just recently moved in to a toddler bed, so the novelty of getting up and adorning her hair with flocks of ribbons, or slamming the rocking chair into the wall has not yet worn off. She’s persistent. Tell her “No” too many times and she’ll march over to anything she can get her hands on and slam it on the ground. She’ll look at you with steely eyes, her lips pouted out as if to say, “How you like me now?”  Knock-knock-knock!

My friends’ laughter and commiserating about their insanity quells my own parenting anxiety. The knocking subsides.

But the knocking on the Door of Insanity was quite loud a couple years ago when I miscarried in a throbbing rush. I was at home. I actually held in my hand the dime-sized collection of cells that had been. In the end, I dug a tiny hole in our garden, and buried it beneath perennials that bloom in the earliest of spring days. The Door of Insanity swung open.

Over the phone, I told my cousin that I didn’t want to get pregnant again. I was mad. Petulant, even. I didn’t want a different baby. I wanted the one that I had lost. My cousin waited a moment, and asked, “How do you know that a new one wouldn’t have the same little spirit?” The Door of Insanity quietly creaked, inching toward closure.

Yet another dear cousin, on hearing me say that I was “trying not to be excited” about being pregnant again, said, “If something happens again, it’s not like pretending not to be excited will have helped. Just be excited now!”

My mother also talked me down. “Lindsay, you have to let yourself enjoy this. It’s a gift.” The Door of Insanity silently shut.

As I type this, I’m gazing at the cover of a magazine featuring the puma-sleek body of the lead singer from the Pussycat Dolls. I am jealous of her honeyed skin and clavicles. I am orbiting farther and farther away from that hot-girl world. I know what is inevitable. You see, I am currently “knocked up,” “with child,” “expecting.” As the weeks-old embryo divides and divides its cells, I will grow immense, and drift far off from hotness like a looming parade balloon. I’ll dance ponderously to “Don’t You wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?”

Knock. Knock.

However, when I’m standing at the kitchen sink, and my husband walks by and pinches my pregnant derrier (because everything looks pregnant), the knocking at the Door of Insanity stops.

The village keeps parents from flinging themselves over the threshold of the Door of Insanity. This was evidenced when my sister was diagnosed with leukemia when she was six years old. She passed away when she was nine. My parents were only 37. Not that they could have handled it any better if they had been older or wiser. The Door of Insanity blew open and engulfed everyone.

Without family members to pick up my parents from the dregs of grief, without friends taking my brother and me for a couple hours so that my mom could linger in my sister’s bedroom, without the village’s faith in the remote possibility that happiness and love might yet return, my family would have been lost. Over the years, the Door of Insanity closed millimeter by millimeter. It is still not shut, but only a sliver of darkness seeps through the gap.

The village that saves us sometimes includes our children themselves.

One of my proudest parent moments was when Angeline called me “Poopy mommy.” “Angeline! That is not nice!” I admonished. She quietly assessed me. Pondered. She pointed her toddler finger at me and declared, “Tinkle mommy!”

In the moment that followed this declaration, there was no knock on the Door of Insanity. Instead, I was downright giddy. Inside, of course. I dutifully furrowed my brow. But my husband, standing behind her, held his stomach in a painful, silent laugh. How clever she was! What moxy!

Yet, we truly fear her teenage reign of terror.

The pounding on the Door of Insanity will grow louder, tomorrow, or next week, and over the years, but my husband and I will depend on our precious village to hush the knocking and attach a child-safety lock to the Door. 

Sunday, April 29, 2012

Impressions of New York

I went to the ASJA Writers Conference this weekend in New York City. I've been to NYC a half dozen times as an adult and I always love it. The energy, the lights, the accessibility, the people watching, the ability to booze at will without having to think about driving.

This time around, I learned a few things:
* When the cab drops you off at your destination, make sure that you are actually at your destination (especially BEFORE you give him a tip!). After exiting a cab on Saturday night, my friends and I were a bit disheartened (er, pissed) to discover that we were still over five blocks away from the hotel. I don't know if was our company, the time of day, or my story about suspicious cab drivers who might kidnap you, but this guy wanted us out.

* It's okay to order a platter of food if you're doing it at an Indian restaurant. At Denny's, a platter of food will earn you an extra five pounds on your rumpus, but at an Indian restaurant, it gets you lots of vegetable options. Tasty ones.

* Hotel guests in NYC apparently don't need as much shampoo as the rest of the human race. Nor do their bodies require body lotion. I lube'd up one appendage per day. (Oh, get your mind out of the gutter. Arms and legs! I'm a woman, not a 12-year old boy!)

* I still can't understand how a talented street artist can capture your absolute likeness with pencil for $25, while some other guy hires assistants to paint dots on canvas and he's celebrated all over the world. I'm not sure what's worse -- that this dichotomy exists, or that I haven't taken advantage of it. (I'm extremely good at dots. Caricatures, not so much.)

In all, I love New York for all its glamour and crazy. But I'm glad to be back in Utah enjoying the sunshine, towering trees in the yard and the sweet smell of lavender and freshly-cut grass. And my humungous bottles of shampoo.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Doing Hair

Every morning in our house, we do hair. A cosmic and genetic formulation imbued my children with ringlets that, left untamed, resemble the rough street urchin cast in Annie. Spray, mousse, brush, then pin, bow, braid, or pony. At two, the youngest understands this ritual, and stands quietly between my knees. The only time of the day that this occurs. Otherwise, she is whirling and unsuccessfully hopping; although she exclaims “Hop!” only one foot leaves the ground. Her other foot firmly prevents her from flying. She yells “Wook!” and points at the passing garbage truck. Yells “Wohm!” and thrusts her cupped palm toward me, featuring an overly-squeezed, dead worm. As I work a wide-toothed comb through my eldest’s thick layers of curls, I realize that my back is no longer bent, and that it’s becoming more difficult to part her hair because, as I sit behind her, I can no longer see the top of her head. As she gazes at some interminable cartoon, I comb my tears into her hair, in hopes that it will stop her from growing. But they will just make her stronger. And her hair will grow longer, more lovely, and when I’m finished, she will face me, see my tears, and ask whether I have a boo-boo. Yes, my dove, but you make it all better.

Monday, April 9, 2012

Gap Casting Call AKA Personal Ads for Kids

Here's the link:

I'm not sure if it'll work forever, but right now it points to the Gap's current casting call for the new face of the company. How outstandingly exciting!! I was reading through the boys' postings and couldn't help but feel like they're a bunch of personal ads.

"Mason is always smiling! Everyone loves him! He can't fail at anything!"

"Zack is playful and athletic and always happy! The smiles are never ending!"

"Boston is the best human being ever! He has never experienced pain or disappointment, so he should win this competition today! And he smiles all day, even in his sleep!"

(I'm paraphrasing here)

I think there's something wrong with me, because I'm THIS close to adding this photo of some random internet kid pic and this description:

Max is a sullen, arrogant little boy who hates to lose at board games. He refuses to take pictures, hides when it's time for school, and last week he pushed a toddler face down into a snow-covered sandbox. While he lacks all charm and his personality leaves much to be desired, his soulless eyes will inspire hoards of people to purchase GAP clothes.

Your thoughts? Am I trending toward evil now?

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Girl Power

I wrote an email full of links today, and I thought I'd just go ahead and share. They're important and heartbreaking and powerful and will make you angry. But check them out... for the sake of all the females in your life!

Photoshop Makeup Parody commercial: 

Miss Representation Film:  (Watch the trailer on the right hand side. So compelling...)

Sut Jhally's Dreamworlds 3 (his most up to date movie. I saw Dreamworlds 2 in 1995, where they juxtaposed the Jodie Foster movie rape scene with music videos)
Incredibly distrurbing. 

I know the woman who started Holding Out Help ( It's a great organization with an incredible start-up story. If you ever run into someone trying to unload a bunch of women's clothes or kids clothes, this is a good local organization to give it to.

This is a great parenting blog that I read on the New York Times: Beyond the actual blog entries, the commenters are usually very well-versed and have unique points of view. Here's are a couple on raising girls: (this one is particularly annoying to me, as I was raised with two brothers and essentially thought that girls' things were embarrassing and bad -- no pink! no barbies! -- and boys things were to be desired -- gun play! riding motorcycles! be tough!. It wasn't until I met a very put-together, smart, scarf-wearing professor in college that I realized you can be smart AND beautiful! Successful AND wear lipstick! So when I read these kinds of posts where mothers are forbidding their daughters from enjoying "girly" things, it makes me crazy. Everything in moderation and for the right reasons. 

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Science Day at English-Major's House

I attended the Women In Science and Engineering (WISE) Symposium in Columbus, OH ( Fantabulous. The keynote speakers --  Dr. Julie Gerberding (President, Merck Vaccines) and Dr. Rita Colwell (Distinguished University Professor at the University of Maryland Center for Bioinformatics and Computational Biology) --  were utterly inspiring. They inspired me to extend myself intellectually and, when considering what they have crammed into their lives in order to learn and help others, made me ask, "What can I contribute?" I gotta marinate this question for a while longer.

BUT, what doesn't need further marinating is...a panel discussion about the still-lagging numbers of women in science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM) careers--for the long term--worried me. The data shows that girls narrow their career choices beginning around 4th grade. Of course, they don't know that they're doing it, but it happens. The situation stems from the fact that girls develop socially earlier than boys. Girls want to emulate what they see other women doing, and build relationships with role models. Therefore, because of their social development, girls rule out careers first based upon gender. "Do I see my mom or another woman doing xyz as a career?" If not, then that's a field that a girl is typically not interested in. The second determining factor is race. "Do I see someone who looks like me doing xyz?" If not, shut that door, too. Scary.

One speaker talked about choosing just one thing in order to make a difference in one's life. It can be a simple thing. We do plenty of reading and coloring/drawing/painting around my house, but my girls need to see me actively discovering new things about the world. So, guess what? Every Monday when I'm home from work it's going to be "Science Day!" We're going to do experiments in the kitchen, or collect bugs outside, or tie a key to a kite and get electrocuted. OK, maybe not that last one. The point is, my girls are going to see me "being a scientist" -- and, maybe one day, they'll be one.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Imagery That Will Haunt You

I enjoy a good sense of humor on anyone, even my OB/GYN, however there are some things that you just. don't. joke. about. I'm going to put pap smears and pelvic ultrasounds at the top of that list. Here is a truly tasteless postcard I received announcing a new doctor at the practice I go to. All I did was remove the names of the doctors. The rest of the disaster posted below is for reals.

At first glance, it was the "Captain Jelly Fingers" that grossed me out. But now that I've had a chance to really inspect it, I think the worst parts are the speculum in the hand of the yellow crusader and "the wand" (as I affectionately call it) ultrasound attachment on the hip of Ultrasonic Man. 

Now, I've been known to throw down some crass humor, but I just can't get behind three masked men cavorting around with gynecological equipment. My mother thinks I should call the office and register an official complaint. How exactly, would that conversation go?

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

E for Effort

I managed to maintain a verrrry calm demeanor all day long. Even as the kids were doping around before school, I was cool and collected. Soft voices. Even when I found a huge dry-erase board broken in two in the basement, merely a quiet "come. on." escaped. Even when I found the bathroom soap dispenser (new as of yesterday) de-topped and dumped out, the mirror apparently wiped down with a soapy hand towel, I held a very meaningful but even-tempered discussion with the offender about how this special soap keeps us from getting sick so please don't dump it out any more. Through dinner, lounging, homework and bedtime stories, everything went as planned. Yet in the last three minutes, I succumbed to grumpy lady while granting access to yet another bathroom trip and a bedtime banana snack. In that moment, I felt like I undid the whole day. WHYYYY?? Why is it so hard to hang on for those very last few moments?! And what's more important, constant cool-the-day mom or someone who can end the party on a high note? I think I'll try a 20-minute decompression period just before bedtime. Is that why guys take 20-minute post dinner dumps? Are they in there just so they can reset to normal? I think I'm on to something...

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Cleanliness is Writingness

I've been awake for a while. I'm now showered, blow-dryed, mascara'd (but still in my robe). I'm in a holding pattern until everyone is awake, fed, dressed, and combed. After I drop them off at grandma's, I'll go to work and begin my second life.

While waiting for the little ones to wake up, it occurred to me that it would be the perfect time to do something. In effect, I'm alone and I have free time. I can't leave the house in my robe, and I can't work out because I've already showered (convenient excuse), so what do I do? My exciting choice is...

Clean up.

It seems that piles of papers, six coloring books, 4 plastic play-kitchen plates, 8 pieces of broken chalk pieces, 3 dollhouse figures, 5 ponies, 6 hairbands, 18 crayons, and folded laundry piles bar me from concentrating on real life until they are organized and out of my way. Please don't get me wrong. I am not OCD. Even after having cleaned up, a normal person would walk in here and still think that it could use a bit more help. Nothing is perfectly organized and hidden away.

Why is cleaning up the number one activity during free time? I bet if Marvin were in the same spot, he'd practice his golf swing in the family room, or watch Sports Center, or strategize about ways to improve his real estate business. I bet you that a different mom/wife/worker would paint her toenails or brush through her hair 100 times like we were told to do in Sweet Valley High books. Why am I cleaning?

In grad school, I wrote several poems with the theme of marraige. And in one of them, the lady cleans in the midst of feeling bewildered by marriage. During the workshop in which the poem was critiqued, a gentleman said, "That is so sad. She cleans? These people just need to talk to each other." I wasn't allowed to say anything while the poem was being workshopped, but I couldn't help but snort at that.

A dear friend of mine would claim that my Taurus nature influences my desire to clean up. I need my home to be aesthetically pleasing. We're all agreed that leaving rotten meat on the kitchen floor is a health risk and that it should be picked up. But, I'm pretty certain I'm the only one in my house that thinks emotional and intellectual well being is tied to, well, tidyness. 

Frankly, the process of cleaning is a mental massage. If I'm feeling frazzled, and I take 10 minutes to clean up a room, the thought processes required in thinking, "A goes in that drawer, B goes on that shelf, C is dropped in the trash, D belongs in my bedroom, E needs to be donated" allows my mind to reorganize itself. While one part of my mind processes clean-think, the other parts are allowed to wallow in creative juices. I think of new ideas. I solve problems. I resolve issues that have been cycling through my brain while I was too busy doing something else.

And, the space is usable again. The space is not distracting. The space has space.

With my physical and mental space clear, I now find myself at my dear Funk Ponies. Hmmm...perhaps this is the problem that I was trying to solve while putting away puzzle pieces: When can I write again? Now.

Friday, January 27, 2012

An Opportunity

It's time to get serious. A dear friend of mine sent me a link to a potential writing/reading gig. Cool -- a way for me to buckle down and get focused! Well, this is not just going to require focus, typing away on my laptop. NAY -- this is a full-blown audition and attempting to make the cut, and then rehearsing, and then doing a full-on reading/entertainment piece in front of an audience! YIKES! But also, AWESOME! Here is the website: I'm signed up and have a spot for an audition! For the first few moments of savoring this upcoming experience, I fantasized not about the piece I am going to present, but about the outfit that I need to buy for the audition. Then, reality began its soft and steady knock on fantasy's door: the written piece that I will present is still just a random collection of words swirling in the ethers. It's time to get serious.

Thursday, January 26, 2012

Beauty in books

There are some books that are so poetic, they give me equal parts joy and despair. I love these words!/I will never be able to write such things! That jealousy thing is always right under the surface. I just finished "Let The Great World Spin" by Colum McCann. There's one line that I haven't been able to get out of my head for over a week:

"For a moment, it wasn't like I was entering water at all; it was more like I was ferrying buckets of blood away from my own body, and I could feel them slap and spill as I moved."

What's your favorite line from a book you've read recently?

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

State of the standing ovation

Okay, this is not about politics. But really, the line "equal pay for equal work" doesn't get a standing ovation from BOTH sides of Congress? I find it ridiculous that we're still having to talk about this.

Okay, now I'm ready for some Modern Family.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Feeling guilty about my verbal assault on the magazine subscription company representative

Okay, here's the back story: About two years ago, a very nicely dressed man rang my doorbell and charmed me into buying a magazine subscription. It never showed up. A few months later, another salesman rang the bell and I dispatched him quickly, saying it's too bad someone else didn't do their job right. Then six months ago, another salesman rang the bell, this time getting Shane to buy a subscription to Men's Journal. (These were very nice men, telling us they had big goals in life and what advice would we give to someone trying to turn their life around, etc.). This time I was ready. I saved the receipt and waited three months to be sure there was no magazine. I called the number, complained, and the lady assured me she would process the order. Three months go by and still no magazine.

So yesterday, I start doing a little research on the company and discover they have an F from the BBB and the owners of the company have a history of hiring ex-cons who have literally KILLED people while going door to door:

Now I'm irate. Being the very reasonable person I am, I look up the owner's address on the white pages so I can call them at home. The address is the same as the one on the sales receipt I have, so I'm not feeling totally stalker-like. A woman answers the phone with the name of the company, "New Beginnings Enterprises..." I (very calmly) say that I'm calling to get a refund of my $40. She launches into an explanation that she works in HR and can't help me, that I called the wrong 800 number, that she wasn't even in Ohio but Michigan, etc. I tell her, no, I did not call the 800 number but a private home number in Ohio and I very much believed she had the ability to help me. A not-so-calm exchange ensues with her telling me that she just started working there anyway, how dare I call her, and then I said you shouldn't work at this company because it's no good, and then she hung up on me.

I reconsider my approach. While I could calling that home phone number daily (tempting) I decide to submit a claim with the Better Business Bureau and then report the company fraudulent to my bank, which then reimburses my $40 into the account while they research the check and the company. Satisfied, I go about my day. Heh heh heh.

This morning, I go to the mailbox to retrieve yesterday's mail, only to find a brand new copy of this month's Men's Journal. oops.

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Guilt vs. vineyard

Grandma is coming to pick up the girls so that they can eat junk food, stay up way too late, watch tv nonstop, *spend the night*, and revel in grandchildness....meanwhile, Marvin and I are going to a winery and are going to a fancy restaurant! I don't know what I am going to wear. I have mom clothes and professional clothes, but no hot date clothes. I need to rectify this situation! When I think about not having kids around for a 24-hour period, I get a little butterfly action in my tummy. But then, like right now, I'm watching them play and I think that they're my best inventions, and I feel like a turd for looking forward to being alone. Dear brain, why the double-edged sword?????

Friday, January 13, 2012

Wiiiiiiiinnneeee. It is my truth serum. I love tv. More specifically, I love the real housewives of bev hills, and I love The Office, and I love Up All Night. The latter is Christina Applegate acting the part of MMMEEEEE. I didn't know that NBC had been following me on my nonexistent blog, or on nonexistent cameras in my house. Big, nay, HUGE opportunities for growth at work...but I still want my Mondays with my daughters? Yup.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

Now you're just somebody that I used to know

Sometimes when I'm humming songs out loud, Avery will ask me if it's "stuck on my brain." Yes. Here's the one today: Gotye -- Somebody That I Used to Know

I heard it in the car yesterday and looked it up on youtube today. Ugh, I can't stop listening to it. It's so intense, yet I have no personal experience to attach it to. I think it's because I never dated some emotional artist type who didn't want to be with me but was irritable when I disappeared. I almost texted the name of the song to my dearest friend from college who I never get to talk to anymore, but then I thought she might think I'm disowning her and calling her "somebody I used to know." Certainly not the case.

One time, when we were playing Loaded Questions with my parents, the question came up, "What is the WORST thing that someone could say to you?" (This is my favorite game. Who comes up with these questions!?) I don't remember what anyone else's responses were, but I think they were along the lines of  "You were never there for me." or "You have no talent."

My mom, the ever bright and cheery lady who can still throw down some darkness, answered, "You're dead to me." -- The table responded with silence. Disbelief. Then laughing. --  To this day, it cracks me up. Because, WHO SAYS THAT? Certainly NOT my mom! It's just so ridiculous. If someone said that to me, I don't even think I could muster being offended, because clearly they've lost their mind. Either we're not close enough for them to threaten "deadness" OR we're tight, and we'll find a way to work it out.

What about you?? What's the worst thing someone can say to you? I think "You're just somebody that I used to know" is high on my list, and now that I'm thinking about it, it's sounding very much like "You're dead to me." Just without the dead part.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

What do YOU do?

I think a lot of people have romantic notions about being a writer. I know I do, especially when it comes to people who write things that are different than what I write. Novels, children's books, Time magazine columns, self-help books. Their professional lives MUST be quite fascinating and awesome. Mine, not so much. I thought I'd share a few of my activities this week to highlight how unglamorous my life is. And no, there will be no tales of dog poo or body fluids. Those are a given.

* I had to email an editor to see if the two stories I submitted over a month ago will in fact be published. Upon viewing the magazine's January issue online and not seeing my byline, I sent an email to the publisher to confirm that she was going to use the articles. If not, I'd be happy to take them and try to sell them elsewhere. I was thinking the local newspaper. She quickly responded saying that she DID want the articles, WOULD use them, MISPLACED one of them in her system but had found the original version in her emails, and yada yada. This pleased me to no end, because really, who likes to work for no reason whatsoever. I did spend a morning in a pretty foul mood before she responded however. I'm thinking I'll finish the next article that she ordered up, now that the publication is off my shitlist.

* I applied to two freelance jobs. One is for a part time content editor for a web site clearly produced in another country. The job ad was riddled with poor grammar. Um. It pays. Let's just say that. The other, was for a temporary reporter position, which would require me to work 40+hours/week in an office for 18 weeks. I'm into that, sort of. Finding childcare under those circumstances gives me the hives, but the prospect of working like that TEMPORARILY is appealing. It would definitely make me appreciate life as a mostly mom.

* I contacted an editor I did some work for this year to see how life was, and more so, to see if he wanted to give me MORE work. He assured me there would be some crappy paying gigs to come in the future. I like working for him because he swears a lot in his emails and because he's brutally honest. Anyone I can call suckahead is good people in my book.

* A writer friend of mine asked if I was going to any conferences this year. I found out the ASJA 2012 conference will be in April. I would LOOOOOVE to go to NYC for that conference again this year, but I gotta justify it to my hubby. (Mr. LooksAfterTheChildrenWhileIUseHisMiles) I had a great time last year at this conference. It was so incredibly stimulating to be learning about the industry while simultaneously existing in NYC.

* I've resolved to wake up at 5:30am to dedicate some time to writing whatever I want to write. Monday and Tuesday were banner days because of this little arrangement. I'm floating on a writer-high and caffeine just as the kids are getting up for school. Everyone benefits.

So that's it. I know it seems like not much, but it's something compared to nothing. I just hope there's even more something in 2012.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

I hope people like this are around when I wreck my car in an icy river

Another amazing rescue story in the paper this morning about some passersby who leapt to action to save children from a crash that left their car submerged in an icy river. They literally flipped the car over to get them out! I'm not sure if this is usual news elsewhere in the country, but it happens here quite a bit. These are just some stories from this past year that I can remember:

Passers-by rescue children from car submerged in Utah river
Man arrested for attacking woman in Target parking lot -- this guy was caught shortly after he attacked a woman, she screamed and fought back and others came to her aid.
Bystanders lift SUV off man in wheelchair hit at Salt Lake crosswalk
Heros save man from fiery crash -- this amazing video got national attention
Among the rescuers -- members of a nearby construction crew and college students
So what's the deal? Are people in SLC crazy boy scouts or does the news over-report these stories? Whatever the case, it's really inspiring. People always ask me what it's like to live in Utah, and this is one of those things that you just can't help bragging about.