Reserved Seating Only

'That Famous Preston Night Rodeo' and summer has come and gone. Jeff & I often usher as volunteers. Last year was the first for electronic tickets. There were big-time computer errors and they had double and even triple-sold some of the seats in our sections. Ugh! It made for alot of irate buckaroos! We opted out as helpers this year to avoid controversy.
So, as per tradition, the family (minus the real cowboy in the Leonard bunch) rounded up blankets, boots, and hats and attended the Friday night rodeo. Once again, there was drama in the bleachers! On the east side in our 'reserved' section, there were still several scattered seats available even after the rodeo had started. Obviously uniformed, the usher had been telling people to "sit wherever you want in these two areas." WRONG! And he was soon to find out... When patrons with paper tickets started coming in with seat and row specified, thirty minutes of chaos ensued. The Rodeo fans had come a little late, but what was the worry? They had, after all, reserved their specific seats and rightfully expected them to still be unoccupied. Rodeo Committee volunteers tried to fix the problem by explaining calmly and rearranging the bodies in the many open seats still around us. Most people recognized it as an unfortunate mix-up and knew they hadn't paid the extra price or made the early effort to buy their seating ahead of time. They were willing to do the boot scootin' boogie to seats a few rows over, up, or down. But, one obstinate, bull-headed guy absolutely refused to 'cowboy up' and face it like a man! He loudly protested and shouted that it was his right to sit where he wanted because he "had gotten there thirty minutes ago"!!! Now, he knew full well that he had only paid the general admission entrance fee, but he was not going to move from the already reserved seat. He made a big scene and even the company he was with reluctantly but obligingly, moved to a very nearby section. I'm not sure how many beers the guy had under his belt buckle for the night, but he was determined to sit there-alone if necessary-to prove his point. And his point was what? That he could push and shove his way into a seat he did not pay for at the expense of the guy that had rightfully purchased a numbered seat with pre-planning and added cost? Sad to say, the workers gave in. It was the easy out, but they should've told him if he didn't move on his own they could find a police escort for him! He sat there alone in a section with people all around him that thought he was a jerk and a loud-mouthed bully. I don't know what kind of satisfaction he got out of it. I hope he enjoyed his moment of glory.
In Heaven, ("that big arena in the sky", as they say in the cowboy prayer) my family and friends will probably be known as 'the rowdy bunch', like on the West side at the rodeo. I want to be surrounded by people I love and am comfortable with and who have the same hopes & dreams and faith. And, I can't wait to be close to the "Announcer". I'm trying to 'pre-pay' and make my reservations early by living the gospel and being valiant as a mother and church member. My life is sometimes like saddle bronc riding though. Whew! It's a wild ride! Lots of ups and downs and jerks and tumbles. I'm holding on for dear life, but I still get bucked off and land with a thud-the wind knocked out of me. I dust myself off, pull up those boot straps and get 'back in the saddle again'. The effort comes at some extra cost and sacrifice, but I know in the end, I can't expect a chair if I don't pay the price now. I imagine the escorts up there will be the strong and noble-men like Captain Moroni or those 'Stripling Warriors'. Who is going to argue with them and shout, "But, I was here first"?
No matter what time I get there, early or late, I want to arrive at a full gallop, wavin' my hat and yelling, "Yee-Haw! I made it!" And, as I swing down from golden stirrups, I have complete confidence that my 'reserved seat' will be there waiting- just for me. But, only IF I have earned it! And I'm hoping there aren't any empty chairs around me-especially in "Section L".
Well, so long 'partners' and Happy Trails to you---until we meet again!

Best Foot Forward

It's time again...I hate to have to buy a new pair of gym shoes! There is nothing to compare with the comfort of a pair of old walking shoes. You know the ones---they conform to your foot and support you in all the right places from toe to heel. You slide your foot in and cinch up the laces and your foot says, "aahhh" as you take to the hills and flats. It seems like you don't get much time with that 'just right' feeling. It's only a few months and you look down and they are worn out and don't look as great anymore. You've washed the heck out of them, the tread has worn, the heels are uneven and the insides are crappy. It's time to cast them aside and get a new pair to break in. well, 'new' hurts. I have to start the whole blister-to-callus routine all over again. They just don't make shoes like they used to. I used to be able to get a comfortable pair off the shelf and wear them with no problem. I don't know why my feet take so much time to adjust to new shoes. I already want my old pair back! I get a little melancholy thinking about the miles spent together and it's hard to throw them out. Most of the time they spend a season being yard and garden shoes before they get tossed in the dumpster for good.
Although there are similarities, thank goodness FRIENDS don't wear like old shoes. Old friends always remain comfortable with time. They might slow down, but they never completely wear out. They are with you in all of life's hills and flats-the trials and laughter. When you're with good friends you always want to put your best foot forward and be your best self. Activites and outings with old friends lift you up like the arch in your shoe, but you just don't get much time in this busy life... Your conversations always feel 'just right' and nothing compares to their support. I hope I don't sound like a heel because new friends are good, too. It just takes a little time to get broken in to a new style of walk and talk. But, I'm hoping to keep my old friends around forever. After time, they might look a little worn and lumpy, but 'aahhh' what a blessing to my sole-er, I mean 'soul'.
(We loved our Spring Break Trip to Moab this year with our good old friends and some new ones. Cherished Times and Great Memories!)

Hey...they tricked us!

My granddaughter's school had a big 'promotion' going. Mrs. Bodily, kept telling her first grade classroom that Alvin and the Chipmunks were coming soon for a special assembly at their school. 6 year-old Kennedy talked and dreamed about it for nearly 4 months! She got her little brother pumped to see Alvin, Simon, and Theodore, too. The big day came and the school gym was packed with excited kids who had flocked to Bridgerland Elementary School to meet their cartoon heroes! Chipmunk chatter filled the air as anticipation had built to a peak. With wide-eyed wonder, the students, visiting siblings, parents, friends, and invited relatives all sat on the black metal chairs facing the velveteen curtains. The big event had finally arrived! A hush came over the audience as the lights went down and the curtains were drawn. Three lone figures stepped to center stage... and an audible groan swept the hall.
All eyes recognized the three school personnel clad in homemade 'costumes' (if you can call a large, yellow paper "A" pinned to the front of an old sweatshirt a costume). Disappointment deflated the crowd like a puncture to a latex balloon. Speechlessness ensued. The crowd had been duped! Months of anticipation gave way to disbelief. Even 3 year-old Mason recognized the wrongness of the whole event. In the silence of stupor still capturing the audience, Mason loudly and distinctly voiced what everyone else was obviously thinking: "Hey, they tricked us! That's not the real Chipmunks!" The months of build-up crumbled to a huge pile of disgust over the lousy imitation. It was hard to tell which group was more disappointed: 1)Parents & Adults at the obvious lack of effort made to make it special for the kids after so many months of hype or 2)Children in losing the sense of magic that accompanies events like Christmas and Easter because adults they trusted failed to deliver on a promise.
I have a pet peeve! PLEASE, when you accept a calling or an assignment, give it your best effort. Remember that others are counting on you to pull it together, follow it through, do it right-and with some element of finesse and 'magic'. It is so much more 'adult' to recognize and admit your limits. If you can't do something, don't say 'yes' in the first place! It's better to say, "I'm sorry, but I just can't help you with that right now" than to say you will accept the challenge and then let it slide and do nothing at all or do it poorly. That is so childish and disappointing AND it's a bad trick to play on others. Follow through with your commitments and promises. If you don't, you deserve being pointed at and 'boo'ed on center stage, while wearing a big yellow "A" on your chest - and it DOES NOT stand for 'Alvin'!

Iced Tea Memories

I gave it a year. I tried to be supportive. I was willing to let the voters have their voices heard. I, too, hoped for a promised 'change' for the better...

I had to give up iced-tea when I was 18. I was told it was necessary to qualify for a temple recommend. It was extra torment because I was engaged to be married in the scorching heat of the middle of July! You see, I was hooked. Iced tea was like the Mormon's Kool-Aid when I was growing up. It was the beverage of choice for a summer thirst quencher. It was even, as Tevya would say, "Tradition"! Towards the end of May, out would come Grandma Elna with her 4-quart glass tea jar. Along with the blooming lilacs, it was a sure sign that the school year was ending and summer was close. Grandma would almost ceremoniously place it in it's prestigious resting spot -atop the cement & bricked barbeque on the back lawn in the direct sunshine. We were forbidden to ever touch it. (For a woman of 4' 11" tall and 104# soaking wet, we always knew Grandma meant business! She was the object lesson of why dynamite is packed in small containers.) So, we watched and waited from the seats of the swingset and teetor-totter as the tea bags were allowed to 'steep'. Fresh lemons sliced, cups of sugar carefully measured, and ice cubes released from metal trays were our signals that the 'brew' had reached its peak of perfection! We'd listen for the sound of the back screen door and watch. Grandma, in her kitchen apron, would walk across the lawn, untwist the top of the jar, dip in her wooden spoon, and gingerly taste the concoction. She'd roll it around in her mouth and savor it much like a professional wine tester. All eyes watched for the approving smack of her lips and 'the nod'. That was the long-awaited signal to all of us grandkids. The race to the kitchen cupboard was on! The objective was to be one of the four lucky winners to reach the coveted tall, brightly-colored aluminum tumblers first. Nobody wanted to be stuck with the pale pastel, plastic ones. That meant last in line for 'the pouring' and left holding a much smaller container. It was nearly our family's right of passage to be first in the line for, through the years, the barbeque lineup usually went from oldest to youngest cousin. A few years later, Lipton made a store-bought version that made an 'instant' variety. After that, our tradition ceased. Iced tea was always ready in a pitcher in the fridge-just waiting for pouring. (Wouldn't you know it? Just as I was almost the oldest cousin around?)
I've not touched iced tea for 35 years, but in a restaurant, during the heat of a summer day, when I see a lemon slice perched precariously on the rim of a clear, ice-filled glass of it, my mouth still waters. (I told you I was hooked!) Floods of cousin memories and fun times fill my mind and I see my sweet Grandma Elna...The warm summer sun is hitting her iced tea jar and her beautiful red hair. And there I am...about 8th in line, holding a 4-ounce lavendar plastic tumbler reaching out for my portion of summer ambrosia.
So, you're asking: What's my point? Well, I am just wondering... do they serve the herbal type at the Tea Party conventions??? God Bless my dear America! We are going to need it!