Politics

Just got home from another pool project committee meeting where we talked in circles around each other.

THIS DRIVES ME CRAZY.

The committee has been working for several months trying to come up with something that will meet our community's needs - that it can also PAY for - and a few individuals keep putting the brakes on the project.  We can't fundraise in earnest until we have a real plan; they won't agree to a set plan until we have better funding in place.  I understand where everyone is coming from, but still, it's getting ridiculous.

One person in particular is disregarding everything I've done to find out what people (his constituents!) want. I get the impression that he thinks he knows what's best for them regardless of what they say, regardless of any evidence to the contrary.  For the first time I'm witnessing an influential person who is literally out of touch, and it's unnerving.

But what really gets me - more than this standstill we've been forced into - is the actual dialogue during meetings.  All the hemming and hawing!  I'm an efficient person, a concise writer and a straightforward speaker.  I truly believe that if you can say something in five words instead of twenty, you should.  These meetings take me back to former work situations where I sat listening coworkers thinking, I could convey the same message in less than half the time....

This is what I get for venturing into politics.

Boring

"Your blog's been pretty boring lately," my sister Emily told me.
("Because no one comments anymore, MISSY," I told her, "and that's your fault as much as anyone else's.")

But then I got thinking about it, and well, my life is just pretty boring lately.  The things I'm most excited about are the Roosevelt Wellness Center Project (which is just getting off the ground), the roman shades I hung up in my bedroom this week (which I now need to redecorate but HOW?), and getting my house in order via my extensive list of New Year's Resolutions (which I am trying my best to keep).

A small sampling of my extensive list

I checked last year's resolutions and surprisingly completed all of them but two, namely, the last two.  Sometime during the year we decided that we don't really need a bigger car until we have another baby, and since that also didn't happen during the year, the car was put on hold.  As for exercising, well, I ran that 5k and never went running again.  Have I told you that I am lazy?

This year I'm motivated though, without excuses like a newborn/6 month old+broken wrist/pregnancy/job (years past, you like how I did that?) - I'm embracing my inner Type 2 and making plans that I can actually follow.  It's made me happier already.

And if that makes me boring, well, so be it.

Some Things I'm Really Excited About Right Now

• This book.  Deseret Book sold out online so I called the store in Salt Lake and they shipped me two (one for the MIL) that were signed by the artist.  They came today and made me super happy.  It's a beautiful book.

• Dressing Your Truth has a Pinterest page with boards for each Type! Oh dear.

• These boots I bought for Liam for Christmas.  After scouring the internet for a week I got them on Cyber Monday for $25 and BOY HOWDY I can't wait to give them to that kid.  They look awesome.  Sheplers.com, folks.

• Liam loves Vicks vaporub so much he puts it on himself.  Behind the couch, when I'm not looking.  I'm really super excited about it.

• This girl's birthday is TOMORROW.  And she's learning the piano already!  My little prodigy.

• Singing the Messiah.  It's that time again.  Which also means it is my sick time again.  I'm sick pretty much every year for the rehearsals and/or the performance, except last year when I was in the hospital recovering from childbirth ....

Small-town living: healthcare edition

I was already thinking about how nice my hospital stay was when I heard the hullabaloo about the baby switching.

Now, it's a rare thing to live in a town as small (/insert-your-own-word-here) as Roosevelt is, and to have health care like Roosevelt does.  Our Medical Center is the pride and joy of this community - and for good reason. It's a nice combination of good quality and low pressure.

I was especially grateful for this during this labor/delivery/recovery.  As I've mentioned before, I know my Dr. on a personal level, and I've called him at his house with any questions I had.  When I arrived at the hospital at 4:00 a.m. in advanced labor, he got there pretty quick-style (although he wasn't on call).  He was very supportive of my birth decisions, as were the nurses, most of whom I also knew.  I was pretty much free to do whatever I wanted.

Switching babies? Hardly possible.  If there were any other babies born during my 48-hour stay there, I didn't know about it.

I don't know how other hospitals are, but I didn't have to change rooms or wear a gown or shower in nasty bathrooms or ask the nurses to let me keep my baby for the first hour(s) after birth.  I could have come home after 36 hours, but chose to stay an extra night.
We also came home with a pack of diapers, two pacifiers, two baby shirts, mittens, a crocheted baby hat, formula, pillows and egg-crate foam pads, among other things provided by the hospital.

BUT next time around I am definitely taking my own towels.

A door closed, a window opened

When my family moved to Roosevelt ten years ago, the only family in the area we could claim was my aunt Lana, her husband and their daughter.
To our great astonishment and delight, less than a year later, my mother's parents followed us.  They bought a house next to Lana - a few doors down from us.  And the partying commenced.

We had family reunions, birthday parties, circle parties, holiday meals, lunch outings; you name it, we celebrated it.  Even when there wasn't anything to celebrate, we celebrated.  While I was away at college Grandma supplied me with McDonald's gift cards to keep me from starving.  (You should see what she gave Kiana!)  We've had some jolly times, I tell you.

But things have changed, and Grandpa's health is not what it used to be.  One thing our town can't provide is the kind of care that he needs.  He and Grandma decided to move back to the Salt Lake Valley, closer to their other children (and most of the population of Utah).

AND .... they bought a house in Glenmoor!  Our old neighborhood!
(Severn Circle, Laurel & Linnea?)

We moved them out last week.  Dann & Angie bought their house - you know how we keep things in the fam - and are in the process of moving.

Meanwhile, a cousin of Slice's found a job in the Basin and relocated here.  He and his wife (and two young ones) are living in Vernal, the first extended family of Slice's to move to the area.  We're pretty excited.
Let the partying commence!

Home

When I went away to college, I pined for home - and everyone knew it.  One day a boy I worked with asked me, "Who would want to live in Roosevelt, Utah?  What's so great about it anyway?  I drove through there once and I thought it was pretty ugly."
I responded with something awesome like "The people there are the best people in the world!"

Every once in a while I think of the exchange and it makes me smile again.  I'd like to tell that 18-year-old a thing or two, but I just can't do it.  She was so full of confidence and love and loyalty that I hate to clue her in.

Every once in a while, though, I think she might have been right.  Like this Thursday, when Slice and I drove to Vernal to join the Welcome Home procession for the first Uintah Basin military man killed in action since Vietnam.  It was quite a sight.

photo kifed from here

We got there early (and it was a little late), so we had plenty of time to take pictures, which I will be posting over on the photoblog.

I love that my community rallies for things like this.  Businesses closed for hours - in the middle of the day - and people of all ages flocked to watch the procession without candy or scantily-clad dancers.  It was solemn, short, and, in my opinion, beautiful.

I just kept thinking that I would want the same for my son.

Wherein the dregs of my bitter cup are flung into the Internet, and then baked into cupcakes.

Perhaps a decade ago, a dimpled young Slice started hanging around the Roosevelt City golf course.  He picked up balls that were on the driving range, hit them, picked them up again, and took them into the pro shop.  (With permission, of course.)

He's been there ever since.

Nearly three years ago, Slice and I were newly engaged, and we went to visit Slice's boss-friend.  This boss-friend said to me, "Are you sure you're ready to be the wife of a golf pro?"  And I said, honestly, "I really have no clue what I'm getting into. Maybe that's a good thing."

Ha!

Now it's 2011.  But this here is Duchesne County, where "progress" is a bad word, and "nepotism" is pretty much synonymous with "politics," and by the way, the politics at that golf course are worse than any other workplace I have ever seen.  (Even our school district!)

Things have been ugly at times; accusations, proposals, late nights and pride.  Don't think I haven't tried convincing my Slice that perhaps this is not where we want to end up -- you step on the wrong toes, you're outta here -- and now I don't have to say that I told him so.

And as if losing a 10-year job wasn't bad enough, it comes three months after we signed papers on a house.  Four months after I quit my job at the school.  Two months after we decided to "stick it out" until March, when Slice's winter job fell through and I broke my wrist and I didn't think I could handle being at home alone with my 6-month old.

So for two months we've been living on savings and my jobs and other miraculous sources of income, just waiting for March to come.  It's not coming.

Thanks, guys!

If this is Tasting the Sweets of Success...

I have to believe that "losing a job" because of "downsizing" or unfortunate circumstances or whatever is different from being (pardon the expression) intentionally screwed over by the one person who knew exactly what it would mean to you, and had the power to make it a little less painful but didn't.

Not that it really matters.


(There's a difference, right?)

UBIC 2010

Last weekend we did it again.  But this year there was a tennis tournament organized by Dann.  Slice played both singles and doubles; I took pictures and cheered him on.
(He didn't win.)

Saturday morning parade, complete with pictures of Sam, Liam slept until the noisy trucks drove past.  Then he was fussy the rest of the time.

That afternoon we had a Class Reunion, which was fun until we got rained out.  Some of us decided to go on a BH reunion cruise next May.  Then we went bowling.

Saturday night was the Patty Loveless concert and grand fireworks at the park.  Liam was asleep again, so Slice and I left our families on the front lawn and ran -RAN- to the same place we always watch the fireworks, only to find that of all our friends who pledged to come to the same spot every year, none of them actually did.
(Doesn't that sound so like second-grade girls?)
At least the baby stayed asleep.

Recap:
tennis
Liam sleeps
cruise
awesome fireworks
Jean runs for the first time in probably a year, and pays for it the next day
no friends

Any suggestions on a cruise?

For the Money $$

High School: L & L Motor Co., Inc.

Details: After applying and interviewing for a library internship which I did not get (it was a horrible interview), I was hired as an “Accountant Clerk” for a local car dealership/repair shop. It was October of my Junior year.

Thus began the most dramatic two years of my life.

I did whatever the Accountant wanted me to do – data entry, titlework, filing, reorganizing files, picking up/mailing out license plates - while we listened to internet radio in a dusty upstairs office with window air conditioners and stuffed ducks on every surface. He didn’t talk much.

Everyone else did, though. And since I was the only female employee (and, I’m pretty sure, the only one unrelated to the rest) out of twenty or so, they teased me about boys and flowers and my little Hyundai. They also told me to bring cookies, which I did a few times, and almost always got a raise shortly afterward.

Why didn’t I take them more often??

To The Boss I was a particular target. After Junior Prom, my third date with the same boy, he decided to start a “fund” for the first boy who’d have enough guts to kiss me. He called it The Pot … then talked about contributing to it every time I was within earshot.

Word gets around in a small town! Within a few months every boy in town had heard about The Pot, and my kissing chances all but disappeared. I knew it was just a joke, so I rolled my eyes and shook my head anytime someone brought it up with me. This went on for another year.

Shortly before I left L&L - and Roosevelt - for college life, I was talking with Bill about The Pot once again, telling him how ridiculous it had been to drag the lie on for soooo long. He promptly pulled me into his office and moved a mug from part of his desk. Behind the mug was a wad of bills. About $150 worth.

At least I got good at 10-key.

small town living: I Am Speechless

I'm sorry to be politicking, but I've just been laughing so hard at this comment that I had to share.

A little background first:

Roosevelt's city pool is so old and rundown, it is literally a safety hazard. The managers of the pool have been saying so for years.
Said managers have been working tirelessly with the residents and political officials of the county to get a new pool built. They've taken polls (we want an indoor/outdoor facility! the people said) and gone to the City Council (we need the whole county in on it! the Council said) and gone to the County Commissioners (we won't do anything about this until the next election because we want to be re-elected! the Commissioners basically said). It's been such a run-around, you wouldn't believe it unless you lived here.

I KNOW times are hard right now, especially in our oilfield community. I KNOW no one wants to pay more taxes, even $30 a year which is like ONE meal "out on the town." But seriously? There's nothing else to do here, especially in the winter! We've got over 1100 signatures! Can we just agree and move on??

Apparently not.
I found this gem of a comment on the oh-so-scientific poll of the online UBStandard this morning. (It's comment #2.) And the "logic" has me completely baffled.

What the .... I just ..... how do you respond to that?

Why should I force my neighbor to pay for the roads that I drive on?! After all, I don't pay taxes. I'm still renting. What if everyone actually drove on the roads? We'd all have to ration our driving time! Or worse, build more roads!

The cost is your LIBERTY, people.

(At least the writer's English skills are acceptable, a small miracle in itself.)

Seriously though, how would you respond?

could be worse

Well, it's not last year's spring break, but I'll take it.

At least we don't have any snow!

(PS Bella is still a doll.)

small-town living: where is that?

Once upon a time I lived in South Jordan, Utah.
We went sledding on Glenmoor golf course and in the gully during the winter; we played night games every night on the greenbelt in the summer. I went to a middle school that was only six years old (I guess Jordan School District had money back then), there was a Wendy's three minutes from my house, and also, daisies bloomed year-round.
I didn't even know where Taylorsville was. It was a charmed life.

Then I found out that my family was moving ... to Roosevelt. For this eighth-grade girl, the news was shattering. I had spent seven years working to make and keep my circle of friends (a post for another day!), and now I had to start ALL OVER. In a town that no one had even heard of.

If you didn't know, Utah is simultaneously one of the most "urban" and least densely populated states in the nation. This means that anyone not living along the Wasatch Front is basically living in OUTER DARKNESS. Worse than the mission field. We were moving to Outer Darkness.

As I tried to explain to my fellow SJ-ers where "Roosevelt, UTAH" was, pictures formed in my mind. Pictures of tiny church groups with no piano players. A 20-piece school band. (It WAS that small.) School colors: black and yellow. No Wasatch Mountains or Copperton Park or Ensign Peak. No mall!

Many things didn't occur to me back then, of course, but have surfaced over the years since. For example, did you know that big mountains get in the way of spectacular sunrises? And that in some places, you can't get a decent shake after 9:00 at night?
(Sorry, have I mentioned that before?)
For better or for worse, my pre-conceived notions were waaaay off.

For nine years now, I have come home to a town that's "On the way to Vernal."

What - you don't know where Vernal is?

Where do YOU live, a bubble?

small-town living: crime edition

You know it's a bad sign when the only two people in the [church] meeting who recognize a name are the two attorneys.

go Lady Cats, and all that jazz

Last Friday Slice and I attended a high school basketball game; my first in years. I figured we should probably go since it was a State game, at home, and we get in free.

(Our girls team is so awesome this year (20-1?) that they moved the boys Varsity games to 5:00 and the girls to 7:00. 'Cause everyone wants to watch the girls.)

Um, I forgot how loud those games could be.
I pondered wearing earplugs - the Dr. told me I should protect my hearing better from now on - but didn't think they would be necessary.
I was wrong!

I had to plug my ears almost the whole time.


Slice went all camera-happy during the game, snapping literally hundreds of pics while I buried my left ear in his shoulder, trying to get comfortable on those horrid bleacher seats. I'm pretty sure it annoyed him. Also, I love seeing who goes to events like that, often I am surprised. My parents have never gone to school games unless my brothers were playing. They are still uneducated in small-town community etiquette.

Anyway. We won! And the team won again last night at UVU, maybe because of the two packed student buses that didn't get home until the wee hours of the morning.

But if they keep winning, Lana will be gone Saturday during our marathon dress rehearsal.
(Center Stage shows next week!)

I'm torn.

"getting through"

So I keep reading these blog posts about "getting through January"
and "how to survive February"
as if winter was such a drudgery, it's a disappointment to wake up every morning.
As if we were better off dead.


Maybe it's just me - or maybe it's the two family funerals in six days that helps to put things in perspective - but if you are living life just to get through it, aren't you missing something?

Like LIFE?


And on a related note:
If you think winter is miserable and you live somewhere that gets ABOVE FREEZING temperatures during the day, or where you can go to a museum/swimming pool/restaurant/Target/non-school arts performance less than 30 miles away, or where you can BUY A SHAKE PAST 9:00 ON FRIDAY NIGHT, don't complain to me. Your woes are falling on deaf ears.
(Literally.)

Thank you.

Unexpected Calls

It's that time of year again.
(What time of year? You ask.)

Tax season.

I know it when my phone starts ringing/beeping/vibrating several times a day and I don't recognize any of the numbers - because my cell number is one digit off from our local H&R Block.
(H & R Block, how much do you pay your secretaries? I ask.)


The calls don't bother me much, but I am always intrigued when I get voicemails that go something like this: "Hi, my name is _______________ and I was calling to set up an appointment to get my taxes done. You can call me back at ___________."

Because what part of "Hi, this is Rachel's phone, sorry I missed you" is hard to understand?



Also.....

The Mayor (a former co-worker of mine, nicely enough) called me Friday to ask if I would like to be on the Housing Authority Board for the City. "You must have impressed somebody," he said.
(Or 210 people, I thought.)
(Kidding.)


I think I'll do it. Even though -or maybe because- I don't actually own a home here. Yet.

December

Last week I was hating winter.

Hate is a strong word, I know; I try to use it sparingly. But I was seriously hating winter last week.

Everything here was bitter cold, ugly brown deadness - and my body hasn't adjusted to the cold yet.

My to-do list was five miles long (still is...) and somehow the days were both too short and WAY too long.

We're still putting our house together, moving furniture and reorganizing everything. We ate mostly chips and salsa for a week.

Outside happenings were taking over inside.

I dropped an Xacto knife, point down, on my foot.

Blech.

Then Saturday night, as I slept, I was whisked into a Winter Wonderland.

In this Wonderland everything was beautiful.

I found the Mormon Tabernacle Choir station on Pandora.

My husband made delicious cheesy potato soup (from scratch of course) and surprised me with a candlelight dinner.

We sat in the glow of our Christmas tree and listened to the First Presidency Christmas Devotional. And the choir sang Handel!
I could see pictures on blogs, even at school.

I wore two pairs of pants to work.

That two-pairs-of-pants thing was the best idea I ever had. You should try it sometime.

Stirring

The weekend was great. I cleaned at home and Slice went to work, while we both battled jet lag. We're almost back to normal, I think.

Friday I took pictures for some friends (I have no idea how they found out I could...) and they kept me laughing the entire time.

Saturday we watched THE football game on delay: homemade pizza + DVR + starting the game 2 hrs. late = the only way to go. You can skip all the commercials and boring stuff. Slice rooted for the U while I rooted for the Y, which I thought was awesome.
And Max Hall, blah blah blah, I don't really want to talk about it.
That pot has been stirred enough.

Sunday we had a super-packed sacrament meeting with one missionary leaving and another coming home. The one coming home asked me to sing "When All is Said and Done," a song I performed a few times right after I graduated from high school. Emotionally charged doesn't even begin to describe the experience ...
It wasn't my best performance ever.

Now some things are happening here in the Roos that have a direct influence on my life, my Slice, our not-so-distant future. I could easily say it will determine our future.

We just keep stirring....

Weigh In

I agonized over this all day Friday and dreamed about it for the rest of the weekend...

Today's UB Standard article is the closest thing we'll get to a debate, and I was anxious to see where the other candidates stand on the issues.
It looks like there are 2 yeses for the school proposal, 2 nos, and the swimming pool needs to be paid for by NOT the city. Hmmm.

Election's in a week!

(Still cracking up over my photo, too. Compliments of Slice.)