See John write

Saturday, I was performing some minor repairs to our sprinklers. As I tested the system, I discovered a leak in a burried line in our front yard. Unfortunately, the leak was somewhere right in the middle of three quaking aspens. The twisted mess of roots made it nearly impossible to even find the sprinkler line, let alone find the leak.

After a considerable amount of digging and investigating and enduring being sprayed by the sprinklers as I turned on the water and looked for any sign that might help me dig in the right direction, I found the broken line. It was directly under a large tree root. I didn’t have a lot of time for the project. All the time I did have was eaten up by this difficult process of finding the leak. And now that it was found, the hole was completely filled with water, meaning even if I had more time I would have to wait until all the water soaked in so that I could see what I was doing. And so I had to leave the project for another day.

This morning I was bemoaning how difficult it was going to be to try to fix a sprinkler line in such a twisted mess. Then one of my coworkers asked me if I was going to use the flex pipe. Not being particularly experienced with sprinkler repairs, I’ve never used flex pipe. But as my coworker described it, I suddenly realized that this job is not going to be nearly as impossible as I was dreading. In fact, with a piece of this flex pipe and two hose clamps, I could be up and watering again in no time.

Life’s funny like that. Sometimes all we can see are the twisted messes that make the job more difficult. Then someone puts a new idea or a new tool into our hands and everything changes. Impossible barriers shrink. Confidence rises. And before you know it, you’re sitting in your lawn chair sipping lemonade and watching the grass grow.

Sitting just two rows from the back, I could feel the stranger’s eyes burning into the back of my head. I wanted to turn around and scream at him, but my stomach was in knots and I felt almost paralyzed.

When the bus stopped in front of the supermarket, all three women got up from their seats and exited the bus. I tried not to show any outward sign that I was nervous or uncomfortable. If this guy was indeed my early morning porch visitor, I didn’t want him to think that I knew anything. Not yet, anyway.

Finally, the bus pulled up in front of the oil, lube, and filter place where Ed works. Ed hurried down the steps and off the bus. I stood up and immediately the stranger stood up too. I slowly made my way up the aisle with the stranger following tightly behind me. I could almost feel his breath on the back of my neck. I knew I had to do something.

When I reached the front row, I stepped to the side, right behind the driver. “Hey, Bob,” I said to our driver, “I’ve got a question for you.” Bob glanced up in his mirror to look at me. The stranger hesitated for a moment, glanced at me once, then stepped down the steps and off the bus.

“Yeah, what?” Bob said a little impatiently.

“I think I’ll just ride to the next stop, if that’s OK.”

“Whatever,” Bob said as he pulled the lever and the doors shut.

I watched the side mirror intently to see where the stranger would go. He paused on the sidewalk, looked up and down the street a couple of times. Then he turned and started walking slowly away. I leaned back in my seat and rubbed my eyes.

When I finally got to work, my boss yelled at me for being late. I didn’t even try to offer an explanation. The restless night and the adrenaline of the morning left me feeling completely exhausted before I’d even started to work.

The orders for the day were to replace burned out light bulbs on the second and third floors of the building. I grabbed a box of flourecent tubes and the ladder and headed for the elevator.

Some of you have let me know that for some reason your password is no longer working to allow you to post on this blog. That really stinks, because half the reason I do anything here is in hopes that someone will make a comment or two

So if you’re having trouble, just call me or e-mail me with what you want your password to be. I can reset it in a couple of seconds and get you back to posting your witty comments.

Thanks,
John

Have you ever noticed that there is this great smell in your room after someone has been in the shower in the morning? I love that smell.

And this time of year, with the windows open in the morning and the smell of Spring flowers and fresh grass mingling with that great clean smell from the shower—it’s heaven.

So this got me to thinking about other smells that I love:

Newborn babies

Freshly baked bread

Clean sheets

The baptistry at the temple

Boat smell

Pine trees in the mountains

Freshly cut grass

Anything cooking in a dutch oven

Jessica McClintock perfume

Ripe grapes still on the vine

Spiced cider simmering

And, of course, turkey roasting in the oven

What are some of your favorite smells?

Tiff’s comment on the last post made me realize I hadn’t written about this little decision we had made.
So you may recall that I posted a few weeks ago about another job that I “almost” got. Before we had heard back from them, I told Janet that if the deal breaker was my salary, then we really only had one choice. I need to get an MBA so that in the eyes of potential employers I will be qualified for the kinds of positions I have been seeking.

Well, it happened just as I had guessed. So when we returned home from Disneyland, I began in earnest checking out possible MBA programs. It has been the strangest experience. Though it is a monumental undertaking, I have felt very calm. Though I’m not sure how we’re going to finance it, I haven’t panicked. Though I’m not certain that I’m going to survive the GMAT, I feel strangely confident that it’s all going to work out.

So, what little life-changing decisions have you made lately?

I was studying for the math section of the GMAT on Saturday night. Now, I’m not a math idiot. I remember much of the basics from algebra and geometry. But this GMAT thing makes you try to do it all very, very fast. So I’ve been studying tips and tricks to help.

It was about 10 p.m. and I decided I had to tryout the new tricks I’d learned. So I popped the CD-ROM into my laptop and started a practice test.

I was cruising, feeling very confident and grateful to the Kaplan people for sharing their wisdom with me. Then I came to a simple algebra problem. The instructions were simply, “Solve for D.”

“Easy enough,” I thought and went to work. I quickly isolated D and looked down the list of possible answers. But my answer wasn’t there! Before I could get really exasperated, I remembered the tip. If you don’t have any idea what you did wrong, just guess and move on. So I guessed and moved on.

Then, when the test was over, I started reviewing the problems I got wrong. I came to the “solve for D” problem and of course I had missed it. I looked at the explanation only to find that it showed that solving for D yielded the exact answer I had reached. But then the explanation said, “Obviously this answer does not match any of the answers provided.”

WHAT!?! If I were inclined to use foul language, I certainly would have used it in that moment.

The explanation went on to show that using some algebraic gyrations, you could substitute AC over AC for the number one in the answer and then simplify to reach answer B.

AGAIN, WHAT!?! Why on earth would I solve for D and then manipulate my answer to reach some other (albeit, equivalent) answer?

AHHHHG! This test might kill me. Seriously.

I turned the water colder than usual in the shower to try to wake up. I needed to start putting things together. Someone out there knew that she had talked to me. Someone out there knew my phone number, which meant they probably knew my name … and my address.

I dressed as quickly as I could, not taking time to shave or comb my hair. Glancing out the window, I could see the storm had finally passed. White clouds dotted the brightening sky. I grabbed a jacket just in case.

It was already 7:30 and I needed to get to work. Opening a kitchen cupboard, I pulled out two Pop Tarts and stuffed them in my pocket. My keys were on the counter. I scooped them up and hurried out the door.

As I locked the deadbolt, something on the cemet of my front porch caught my eye. I froze. Below each of my front windows, I could see wet boot prints. I spun around, looking for anyone walking away. The prints couldn’t have been more than a few minutes old.

My heart skipped a beat as I hurried to the corner of the house and looked in the bushes. Then around to the other side of the house. Nothing. No sign of my recent visitor. The whole street was quiet. Not a sign of anyone.

I went back to my front door and double-checked the locks. My head was spinning now. I slowly backed away from my house, looking for any further signs. I checked my watch and knew if I waited any longer I’d miss my bus. The bus stop was only a half a block away but my legs felt like lead. Each step seemed to take enormous effort. I felt a little dizzy when I finally reached the stop. I leaned against the metal post for support.

The bus was later than usual. I fidgeted nervously and glanced down the street at my house. I stared, expecting any moment to see someone dart down the street. Finally, the bus arrived. I climbed aboard and turned down the aisle.

There were only five people on the bus. In the very front row sat Ed, who worked in the oil, lube, and filter shop next door to where I worked. Three older women sat in three separate seats on the left side. They all stared out the window. I had seen each of them on the bus before.

But on the very last row sat a stranger. He wore dark glasses even though the sun had yet to rise above the mountains. His face was emotionless and his arms were folded across his chest. I hesitated for a moment and the bus lurched forward knocking me off balance. I stumbled toward the back of the bus, catching myself only after I was past all three women. I pulled myself up and found myself looking the stranger right in the face. He didn’t move or flinch or say a word. I quickly sat down.

It was early fall of 2000. Our lives had just changed forever. Diabetes and all that goes with it had entered our lives. It was still new. Our docotors and nurses had done a great job giving us confidence that we could adjust to this change in our lives. We were learning and fumbling our way through new daily routines.

That next Sunday, our home teacher paid us a visit. He was kind of an awkward man. But genuine and faithful in his visits. At some point during his visit, he thrust out a paperback book and held it for me to take. It was titled When bad things happen to good people.

I never read the book. But I remember being touched by the intention of this good man to reassure us that we were “good people” and that somehow this would all be OK.

Today my thoughts are very much stirred up in rememberance of that time in our lives. The facing of something so much bigger than yourself or your family. The uncertainty of the immediate future. The uneasiness with every decision, second guessing, hoping for the best.

I also remember the great swelling of support all around us. I remember the smallest gestures of kindness extended toward us.

The whole experience changed me. And I hope to always be part of the great swelling of support anytime someone I love faces adversity too.

Yesterday, during my daily routine in which I check in with my favorite blogs, I noticed a link on Tiffany’s website called Pandora Internet Radio. I was intrigued, so I clicked. WOW! This is the best site.

Just in case there’s one or two of you who haven’t discovered this wonder of the cyberworld, let me tell you about it. It’s like having your own personal radio station. You type in an artist or song that you really like. The website has cataloged tens of thousands of songs, identifying each song’s “genetic” make up. Then the site simply picks songs for you that match the attributes of the song or artist that you put in. You get streaming songs, one after the other, that match your taste in music. IT IS AWESOME! And a great way to discover artists you’ve never heard before but that feel like they already belong in your music collection.

This might even be better than iTunes

Saturday was gloriously sunny and warm. After a frantic morning of running to three different soccer games, we returned home to begin some much needed work in the yard.

I spent three or four hours digging, weeding, pruning, and fertilizing the yard. It was wonderful. I even got a little sunburned.

But in the midst of all this yardwork I found myself missing our old house a little bit. Not for the yard or the blackberries or grapes. What I missed was the friendliness of everyone who passed by our old house. Being on a cul de sac, we didn’t get drive by traffic. Everybody who drove by our old house was someone we knew. OK, maybe not precisely everyone. But pretty darn close.

While I do love almost everything about where we live now, it was awkward to spend so much time in the front yard and not know if I should look up and wave at each car that drove by. I did look up quite often. Sometimes I even waved. But most of the time, I did not recognize the person in the car driving by. And most of the time they didn’t wave back, they just gave me one of those “do I know you?” looks and drove right on past.

So chalk one up for cul de sacs and fond memories and friendly neighbors.

It was raining even harder when I climbed into bed that night. I was exhausted from turning the events of the day over and over in my mind. Her bulging bloodshot eyes. The coldness of her voice. The mystery of the underground.

I didn’t want to get involved. I hardly knew her. I had only met her brother a couple of times. But I couldn’t explain why she had been in my dreams. And when she asked for help, it was like I answered before I even heard the words.

It had been at a party, the first time I met her brother. She came up behind me and grabbed my arm with both hands. She was giggling. Her wild hair brushed against my shoulder and I remember I smelled a hint of her perfume. “Come meet my brother,” she laughed. I had wondered if she’d been drinking.

Her brother was nice enough. Tall and lanky. His dark complexion matched his dark eyes. A flash of his white teeth when he smiled and nodded at me. We spoke only a moment—something about his job. But then a man wearing dark glasses and a black leather jacket caught his attention. The man subtly motioned with his head toward the door. With that, the brother excused himself and was gone.

What was his name? Had she even said his name today? Or had she only called him brother?

Sleep eventually overcame me. But I found no rest. A constant sinking feeling haunted me. Hands reached out to me and faces appeared from nowhere. None of the pieces fit and my mind struggled to make sense of it.

At first, I thought the ringing phone was in my dream. But by the fourth ring, consciousness began to return. I lifted the receiver to my ear.

“Hello.”

“His name is Pervis.”

“What? Who is this?”

“The situation is … beyond hope.”

Click.

I wanted to take a moment to celebrate blogging.

In all the busyness of our lives, it’s so nice to have a way to feel connected to the people I love the most. I love that even though James and DeDe and Leslie and James live hundreds of miles away, I can find out what’s up with them with the click of a mouse.

I’ve been thinking that we should just set up a Crowley Family Blog. We could post our latest news, the time and date of the next FHE, share photos, whatever!

Thanks to Tiffany for bringing blogging into my life. Let’s all blog now!

In catching up on all my blog reading, I discovered I had been tagged to write five things you don’t know about me. So here goes.

1. I am an incredibly slow reader. I like to digest writing rather than just skim over it. When I read Dickens, I find myself rereading sentences for the sheer pleasure of the language. If I go too fast, I’m always afraid I’m missing some meaning, some intonation, some inferrence.

2. For reasons unknown to myself, I keep my circle of close friends very small. I like people, I really do. I don’t find it hard to be friendly or be interested in other people. But over the years, I have only formed deep, lasting friendships with a few people.

3. Even though I make a living as a writer, I am not a very good speller. In fact, I think Elizabeth can spell circles around me. But I work on it all the time, and I think I’m getting better (but with spellcheck, it’s hard to tell).

4. I bring my lunch from home almost every day. I love to eat leftovers and hate to spend money on fast food.

5. Sometimes I still think about the first time I stood at the finish line of a marathon, watching the runners cross the line, and I feel the twinge to want to try one. It is an amazingly emotional experience to see people accomplish such a feat. However, that twinge has never blossomed into full blown desire. And the truth is now my knees may not be up to that kind of mileage. But I still think about it.

So now I tag James, Josh, Leslie, and Elizabeth to write 5 things.

OK, I’ve known how bad Utah drivers are. I live with it every day. But then after a week in California and coming back here—Yikes! It is so unbelivable how stupid and rude Utah drivers are.

In fact, as we were cruising along northbound on I-15 between LA and Vegas, we were in the groove. Slower drivers were staying to the right, faster drivers to the left. As we were somewhere in the middle, we would occasionally approach a slower car. I’d flick on my blinker and generally if there was a car approaching on my left they would give me room to change lanes and pass. Then I would quickly change lanes back to the right and everything would flow. But about 40 miles from Vegas, I flicked on my blinker to pass a slow truck and checked my mirror. To my shock, the car approaching on my left accelerated to ensure I had no room to change lanes. I had to brake, slowing way down, and wait to be passed before I could pass. As I slid in behind the RUDE driver, what did I behold? Yep, Utah plates.

So I’ve assembled a few driving tips I gathered on my California trip.

1. Be nice. C’mon, how hard can it be? Don’t cut people off. Let people merge. Make room.

2. Get off the bumper of the guy in front of you. Even in the heaviest traffic, if everybody leaves room between their car and the next, amazingly people can merge, change lanes, and get to their exit without having to bring the whole freaking freeway to a halt.

3. Get on the accelerator. Coming back from Disneyland there was a wreck on the 91. Traffic cautiously slowed down (from 70 to 55 or 60). But the second we were past the accident, everyone jumped on the accelerator and we were back to