Not Exactly on the Bucketlist

"Have you ever hitchhiked before?" I threw the question over my shoulder then fixed my eyes on my bare feet, carefully choosing the path of least pebbles as we walked along Idaho's Highway 55.

Jack responded, "No, but it is on my bucket list."

I jabbed my outstretched thumb toward the road and waited as gorgeous Corvette after gorgeous Corvette sped past us, seemingly with nary a glance.  "They're never going to pick us up," Jack said as we discussed the many and varied reasons why.  We continued to walk, swimsuits dripping and bright yellow life jackets shining like a beacon in the afternoon sun.

Finally, we spotted a man in a Bob Marley t-shirt, coming toward us from an RV pulled into a turnout.  "Do you guys need some help?" he shouted.

"We just need a ride to Banks," I responded.  "My mom got injured on the river, and we need to get a car down here.  Hers is parked at the rafting put in at Banks."  He invited us into the RV, introduced us to his traveling companions and his dog, offered us a beer, and welcomed us to sit anywhere.  On the short drive, we filled him in on the most essential details.

Shortly into our morning's river run, we had stopped at a rope swing that hangs out over the river.  After many of us jumped, my mom decided she wanted to try, too.  She expressed a concern over having enough arm strength, but decided she would like to go for it anyway.  She later told me that standing there, she had wished she could have done things like that when we were younger, but she had always been too anemic.  So in spite of her fear of heights, she climbed the jumping rock, grasped the rope, and swung toward the river.

It almost seemed like slow motion, watching as her grip slipped slightly causing one foot to drag on the ground.  That force pried her hands from the rope and propelled her upper body forward.  She slid down the rocky bank, her body just barely reaching the shallow water.  My dad and Skye rushed to her side just as the water near her foot turned red, much like a scene from Jaws.  Skye turned immediately to Adam and Alex (and friend who was with us) saying, "It's bad.  Don't look."

I asked a nearby family if I could borrow the phone they'd been using to take pictures at the swing.  Kirk hadn't come on the river with us, so I hoped he could bring a car.  When he didn't answer, it was decided that Jack and I would swim across the river and hitchhike to Banks, the procurement of a car being the number one priority behind the t-shirt tourniquet that had already been tied around Mom's foot.

Jack and I returned with the car, amused to find that Suman had been sent to make certain we didn't pass the spot on the river.  Apparently some discussion had ensued after our departure regarding the fact that they had sent the two least observant people on the errand.  Skye and my dad carried Mom up the river bank to the car, then continued to discuss whether it would be better to take her up the road to Garden Valley or down the road to Boise.  After one last gruesome look at the wound (we could see tendons and bones), the decision was unanimous.  Boise.

From there, it is hardly my story to tell, having heard it only second- or third-hand.  Mom went to St. Luke's on Eagle Road where they took her into the operating room to clean out the wound.  The doctors reported taking rocks and leaves out, but praised my dad for choosing to keep her wound in the cold river water as long as possible.  They equipped her with a wound vacuum, which constantly pulls the fluids away from the wound to reduce swelling and infection.  They assessed the damage and determined a transfer to the University of Utah Hospital would be necessary, because reparing the gaping hole in her foot was going to take the skills of a specialist.

She spent Sunday in the hospital bed, wondering whether the hospital would in fact be able to arrange for a portable wound vac.  With one, she could be loaded into her own car, and my dad would drive her to Salt Lake.  Without one, she would have to be flown; the risks of not having the vacuum on were too high.  At 4:53 on Sunday evening, in response to a brief "any news?" text from me, my dad reported, "Just arriving at hospital in 1 min."  The choice had been made, and my parents flew in to Salt Lake together.

At 10:31 on Monday morning, again in response to an inquisitive text, Mom responded, "I am out of surgery for today. I haven't seen the doctor yet, so I don't have any real information."  When I was able to get to the hospital last night to visit, however, she had been given a full projected timeline for her recovery, which she asked that I share here.

• Thursday, July 30th - Grafting surgery #1 - This one involves moving some muscle and tissue into her foot.
• FIVE DAYS of in hospital recovery with foot elevated 100% of the time
• Wednesday, Aug 5th - Best case scenario release date
• TWO TO THREE WEEKS of at home recovery in wheel chair with foot elevated nearly all the time.  She will be allowed to be in the school if she chooses, but will only be able to point at what needs to be done.  
• Wednesday, Aug 19th - Best case scenario date for Grafting surgery #2 - This one involves covering the huge exterior hole in her foot.
• FIVE DAYS of in hospital recovery with foot elevated 100% of the time
• Tuesday, Aug 25th - Best case scenario release date
• ONE MONTH of recovery - She will be able to put weight on her foot, but it will take about one month before she will be able to stand on it for an entire day.
• Monday, September 28th - My birthday.  :)  And also maybe a good projection of about when she will be returning to normal.

Mom said, "Tell people I am okay, and that there is really nothing that anyone can do except maybe visit to keep me company.  It is going to be really boring."  If you want information about her room number, text or Facebook message me.  I can also send you really gross pictures if you're morbidly curious.  

I don't know if Mom will read this or not, but if she does:

I would just like you to know how excited each of us kids was, watching you conquer your fears just to do something fun (and maybe a little stupid) with us.  We're sad you didn't get to enjoy the rest of the river run, and I am really grateful you wanted us to continue on without you because we had a really great ride.  Thank you for being the kind of Grandma who, when Alex visited, expressed your desire that he not be afraid of rope swings in the future.  You have always been and continue to be an example of strength to each of us.  I know you are feeling a little stupid, having a two month recovery from a dumb rope swing.  But we are all just happy that you wanted to be with us.  Thanks for coming on the river.

The Show Before the Show

My reasons for vacationing in Garden Valley, Idaho this summer were threefold:

1. See Michelle perform as "Mrs. Meers" in Thoroughly Modern Millie and as "Calamity Jane" in Calamity Jane

2. Get to spend time with my niece and nephew, Scarlett and Ryder

3. Enroll my kids in the Starlight summer camp, because they could do a week of theater before football starts

I easily accomplished these three items and so many more!  Around the campfire on our last night, I asked the kids about their favorite parts of the trip. After listening to their answers, I considered what my answer would have been and ultimately settled on a tie.

First, I loved watching my children enjoy the same things I enjoy.  Whether it was seeing their happy faces return to camp after a long three hour rehearsal, watching Adam "jump" off a 25-foot bridge (he says he fell...) or Alex during his first ever whitewater rafting run, it was so much fun to have them with me, so willing to do things that I find exhilarating.

Second, I got to sing with Michelle.  At Starlight shows, there is almost always a "preshow" - just a number or two the audience can enjoy before the real show starts.  Generally, it is planned.  But sometimes (like Monday night when Michelle came with us to sit in the audience for Seven Brides) Eddie calls Michelle out of the audience, explains there has been an anonymous audience request for her to sing "When I Look At You" from Scarlet Pimpernel, and starts her music.

Other times, he approaches me in the middle of a river run and says, "So what could you and Michelle sing for preshow tonight?" So we hustle back to camp, download music, get cleaned up, make dinner for the kids, practice for 20 minutes, hustle to the theatre to throw on mics and hand the tech table our soundtrack, and enjoy getting to sing together.  (We decided that this school year, we will work on a portfolio of awesome female duets so we will already have something worked up should the opportunity present itself again.)

Sidenote; look how I am noticeably taller than Michelle.  

Rescue Jake

“No, Jake!  Don’t jump!” I shouted to my dog as he hunched down and prepared to launch himself off the bridge.  Had he jumped closer to the center, over the river, I wouldn’t have worried.  But he had run close to the bank and from there, the drop would be ten feet down to a pile of large boulders.

I guess I should have known it would come to this three months ago on Jake’s first day in our family.  Having spent the weekend in a shelter, Jake was displaying some serious separation anxiety.  He hated to be in a different room than me, so when I prepared to take a bath, I was careful to make certain he was in the bathroom with me.  I went about my typical routine, shaving my legs and shampooing my hair.  I went under the water and began to swish my hair from side to side to remove the suds.  Suddenly, I was covered by one very wet Border Collie who had apparently felt the need to rescue me from the perilous danger of my bathtub.

I wasn’t the first to jump from the bridge.  Actually, I wasn’t even the second.  We brought one of Adam’s friends along for our Idaho adventure, and Trae was the first to make the 25 foot drop into the frigid river.  After Trae’s jump, Jake jumped in from the far bank, crossing the river easily and getting out only after it was clear that Trae was safe.  After significant coaxing, Adam went second.  Technically, according to him, he actually slipped and fell instead of choosing to jump, but I’m applauding even that.  Having promised to jump if he jumped, I went third, leaving a very anxious Jake atop the bridge.

I could hear him whining above the wind and the current, and I could see his nubbed tail shaking furiously at me for having jumped off a bridge.  I shouted up to him.  “I’m okay, Jake!” but he was less than convinced.  For a moment, I thought he would actually make the jump in after me, and I wasn’t too worried about that.  Then I saw him hurry to the bank and assumed he would climb down and swim in after me.  I laughed at his commitment as I swam closer to the bank, knowing I was completely safe and in no need of rescue at all.

I stopped laughing, however, when I saw his focus shift.  He was going to take a shortcut and jump onto the rocks.  I worried for his safe landing; not only was the bank steep and the boulders smooth, but Jake has genetically bad hind knees and limps most of the time.  Although we plan to have doggie knee surgery done this winter, for now he gets by on two pain pills a day and rests when his limp gets too horrible.

And so I shouted up at my dog, but he didn’t listen.  I watched him jump.  And I watched him land.  However, verbs like “crash,” “slide,” “roll,” and “bounce” may have been more accurately descriptive.  He found his footing as quickly as he could and navigated the rocks down to the river’s edge.  He jumped in and swam to me, accompanying me the rest of the way to shore.

It was almost funny to watch how little he cared for the safety of other jumpers at the bridge.  He never once hurried to the side of a stranger.  But each time one of his family (extended to include Trae for the week) jumped, he insisted on chaperoning them to safety.

And it didn’t stop there.  We changed locations from the bridge to a place the locals call Flat Rock.  This area features a small jump into a shallow, sandy pool – perfect for the younger kids we had with us.  For fun, I decided to make the three foot jump.  I was prepared to be startled as my feet abruptly met the sand; I was not prepared to have a dog jump right on top of my head.  Which he did.

In fact, he wouldn’t even let me swim to the middle of the river without him.  If I went into water any deeper than my ribs, Jake insisted on checking on me routinely.  Sure, he kept an eye out for the big boys, but he wouldn’t let me out of his sight.

And then the little boys (Ryder and Dylan) wanted to jump.  I stood in the pool ready to catch them with Jake circling me much like a shark.  He wouldn’t leave the water until the small boy had safely completed the jump.  I didn’t understand the height of his anxiety until he actually nipped at Dylan – not out of aggression, but in an attempt to grab him by the skin and pull him out of the water.

Jake may not be a perfect dog.  He may poop in my house on occasion, bark at my visitors, and eat the cats’ food every single day.  Sure, he needs expensive surgery this winter.  Yes, it is inconvenient to have to make arrangements for him when I go out of town.  But in only 3 months he has become so loyal to my family that he will drag my son out of a river and jump from a bridge to try to save his Mama.

Welcome to the family, Rescue Jake.

The Solemate Theory

Having watched Pixar's Inside Out this past weekend, my philosophical fire has been lit leaving me with an undying urge to flesh out an analogy.  I've been turning over the idea of soulmates ever since April's book club meeting as my friends and I sat around discussing our individual views.  "I don't buy in" was basically my view in a nutshell, citing General Authority advice that any two people living righteously can be happy together.  But the longer my thoughts have ruminated, the more I have been forced to acknowledge a few more variables.  So here they are, in what I am certain will end up being just a sample of the bizarre ways my mind demands that I make concrete from abstract.

First, before I can discuss soulmates, I'm going to have to break this compound word into its component parts.

Soul.  

A snapshot from Mirriam-Webster declares SOUL to be:

• the spiritual part of a person that is believed to give life to the body and in many religions is believed to live forever
• a person's deeply felt moral and emotional nature
• the ability of a person to feel kindness and sympathy for others, to appreciate beauty and art, etc.

LDS.org states that the scriptures speak of souls in three ways:

• spirit beings, both premortal and postmortal (Alma 40:11–14; Abr. 3:23)
• a spirit and a body united in mortality (Abr. 5:7)
• an immortal, resurrected person whose spirit and body have become inseparably connected (Alma 40:23; D&C 88:15–16).

But I have to go a bit rogue here and admit that this explanation is the most concrete to me, and therefore will have to be the basis of this particular mind-journey.  From an article outlining a Christian view on the difference between the soul and spirit:

• Our body functions to allow us to interact with the physical world and the things in it through our five senses.
• We can live our human lives in continuous contact with the Lord by using our spirit. (My own LDS views vary from this a bit, believing my spirit to be much more than a conduit for contact, but I'm not trying to define spirit here...)
• Our soul is basically who we are—our mind, our emotion, and our will. 

Mates.

Mirriam-Webster:

• either member of a couple and especially a married couple
• either member of a breeding pair of animals
• either of two matched objects

Hm... that one was a lot more simple, but I still have to decide which definition applies most.  For my theory, I'm going to go with two matched objects and introduce the linchpin of this analogy.  

The Analogy.

When I think of mates, I think of socks.  In theory, when the wash is done, each sock should have a mate, right?  

For some socks, this process is pretty easy.  Some socks were bought in a package of 10 identical pair of black socks with green Hanes across the toe, and their only goal is to find one of the 19 possible mates.

Other socks, however, would have a pretty tough job making sure they end up with the ONE sock meant for them.  I guess that's why I loved the fad that started 10 or so years ago with all the teenage girls wearing mismatched socks.  Yes!  I thought.  This is how socks should be.

Consider this sock:

I mean, this one has been given some pretty specific information about what kind of sock to look for.  Adidas brand.  Ankle sock.  Purple base.  Green stripes.  And yes, I guess technically this sock was in fact purchased with one EXACT mate, so I guess technically there's one SPECIFIC sock intended for this guy.  So for now, let's say he really does have a mate.  How many days is he supposed to hang out in the un-mated box waiting for purple-green-adida-ankle-mate?

Let's say he meets this sock instead.  Yeah!  If I was the purple striped sock, I would totally go out in public with that green sock.  And I'd feel all spunky and happy and unique and like I'd found a sock that didn't offer the exact same things I already had going for me.  I'd walk around thinking, "Wow, this green sock really brings out my green stripes!"  But I technically wouldn't be able to say, "I've found my mate."

In fact, I could end up instead with this sock.  We'd have tons in common, what with Adidas branded right across us both.  But I could have so much fun being purple where he was orange and green where he was purple.  Think of the discussions we could have knowing that we were so much the same and yet so totally different!

So maybe if I was a that cool purple sock, I'd have a few options.  And I really think I'd be a happy sock with any of them!

If I was a plain orange sock, I could see so many different possibilities.  So many great socks for me to choose to pair with.  (Please read that without innuendo!... Oh great, now you went back and read it with innuendo.)  I think that orange sock could live a pretty awesome orange sock life, even if it never, ever found its one-and-only orange solemate!

The Conclusion.

So do I believe in soulmates?  Sorta.  I guess I can buy into the idea that for every purple and green striped Adidas sock on the earth, there is at least one other purple and green striped Adidas sock.  I mean, I am not the only one that bought that pack of socks at Walmart.  So I guess I sorta believe they are out there.

But I think that if I was looking (definitely not... I already chose my sock), I would be looking for a SOUL mate, not a SPIRIT mate.  I'd be looking for someone who fits well with my mind, my emotion, and my will.

Do I believe that I was sent to earth to find the one SOUL that matches mine?  Nope.  I believe I was sent to BE the kind of sock that can match a lot of socks and with the AGENCY to choose what kind of sock I wanted to walk around with.

Do I believe that some green-and-purple-striped-Adidas find each other?  Sure do!  And I love to hear their stories.

So I guess maybe it's not that I don't believe in soulmates.

I just don't believe it's important to find 'em.

In fact, I think I'd be much more amused if someday I saw my purple-and-green-striped-Adidas-solemate walking around with the solemate of the sock I picked.

Yeah, I like that theory!

*No socks were harmed in the making of this blog, though as I found them by dumping the unmated box, many did find their solemates.*

Maslow, Locke, and Me

Before the Declaration of Independence listed the unalienable right to pursuit happiness, John Locke expressed his opinion that the government should protect life, liberty, and the pursuit of property.  Approximately three centuries later, psychologist Abraham Maslow introduced his Hierarchy of Needs - more or less his ideas of the road map to happiness.

Then, late in the 20th century, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints published "The Family: A Proclamation to the World" which outlines the responsibilities of both the mother and the father in the home.  "By divine design," it reads, "fathers are... responsible to provide the necessities of life... for their families."

With all these thoughts, philosophies, and beliefs floating around in my head one day, I suddenly realized that as part of a happy marriage based on the principles found in the Proclamation, I definitely take it for granted some days that Kirk will just provide.  I am incredibly grateful to feel like I am at the top of Maslow's pyramid pretty much every day, just looking around and thinking, "Wow, I have it pretty great."  But lest Kirk think his job is done, I realized that there 3 specific things that I look to him to provide.

Here it is: my earth-shattering, highly philosophical list of needs:

1. Safe and reliable transportation.  I need to be able to get to and from work.  I need to be able to take an injured child directly to the emergency room if necessary.  I need the freedom that a V-6 engine, four-wheel drive, and ample trunk space allows me.

2. Hot water.  To wash our dishes.  To wash our clothes.  To bathe in luxuriously.  Not only does my husband make certain the hot water flows from the faucets, but he even goes out of his way to make certain that it is always available in whatever quantities I desire.  He showers on Saturday night so I can fill our tub way too full with water that is way too hot, leaving none left for anybody else.

3. High speed internet.  To me, this may just be the very definition of self-actualization.  And if it breaks, it is somehow Kirk's fault (and definitely his responsibility to fix).

To be fair, I could technically provide these things for myself.  And to be honest, I do realize that this whole post needs to end #firstworldproblems.  And while I jest, it's really out of gratitude for all that I have.

When I announced this list of needs to Kirk in the kitchen one day, he laughed.  I told him he's required to provide them for me - it's in the Proclamation.  He laughed again.  Then he stumped me with a question.  "So, what are you required to provide for me?"

I couldn't answer right away, but finally responded.  "The kids' education.  Ultimately, it is my job to make sure they are receiving a proper spiritual and secular education."

In retrospect, I guess that's not really something I "provide" for him so much.  Rather something I do which means it's done.  And when I consulted the Proclamation, it turned out I was pretty much right.  "Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children."  And since I pretty much suck and hugs and soothing, I've decided to translate "nurture" into "education."

Hmmm... brief break as I go consult Mirriam-Webster on that one.

Nurture: "the sum of the environmental factors influencing the behavior and traits expressed by an organism"

Oooh!  I like that even better.  My job is the environmental factors that influence our kids.  That's what I do.

And to do it, I will definitely need a car, the internet, and a bath!

The Only Thing Constant is Change

In November 2013, I made a big, scary decision to leave the Empress Youth Theatre program.  At the time, it seemed super permanent.  I posted about it, citing my excitement over spending the last 3 weeks of summer with my own kids, needing to be sideline at football games, and all sorts of other really awesome reasons why I needed the change.

And then I had a super awesome 2014 summer.  I went to Puerto Rico with my family... right in the middle of EYT.  I spent 10 days with my sister in Arizona.  I relaxed.  I came and saw the EYT production from the comfy audience seats.  And the decision to leave still seemed super permanent.

During the 2014/2015 year, I traded my music room at school for the walls of a 5th grade classroom, a choice I have truly enjoyed all year long.  But one that means less music on a daily basis.  And one that I'm deciding to keep pretty permanent.

In December 2014, I announced another big, scary decision - this time to step down as director of the Dickens Festival.  Again, I posted about it, this time in silly poetic form.  As I look forward to my first Christmas in 5 years that won't be overshadowed by call times and news promos, it's definitely feeling permanent.

But I am quickly discovering that no matter how much I try to predict what I think I am going to want in the future, sometimes I just don't know until I get there!  So here I am now, staring Summer 2015 in the face and wondering...

Where did it all go?  

Somewhere in the de-cluttering of my life, I managed to clear my summer so completely that I have nothing to look forward to except endless hours of camping and traipsing around the country like a gypsy woman.

Oh, wait!  That sounds awesome!

And I'm totally gonna do that for June and July.

But while I'm on the road, my brain needs a project to chew on.  So much so that I have been chewing on this ridiculous idea:

ABC

(Andrea's Basement Choir)

In that daydream, neighborhood kids would come do a week-long show choir session in my basement.

Which is ridiculous.

Anyhow, when the Empress Theatre contacted me and asked if I would be willing to be involved in this year's EYT production, I knew that was a WAY better way to spend my mental energy than organizing show choirs in my unfinished basement.

And so here it is.

What I thought was permanent wasn't so much.  Instead, I'm finding myself in a whole new position, this time as Producer.

What does that mean, exactly?  It means I get to help this year's director, Chalese, make all the ideas in her head appear on a stage.  It means I get to spend at least a bit of time with the kids who make the EYT program so great.  It means I get to stay up way too late working on audition forms and typing blogs and feeling...

Happy.

Purposeful.

Confident.

Excited.

All the things that have honestly been just a bit beyond my reach lately.

So I guess I'm making another announcement, and this time I will fully acknowledge that I have no idea what is around the next bend.  But as for this summer...

Who are we?

EYT!

Just Call Me Addison

A fun little name generator ran on the TIME website earlier this week, and after running my own name, I was curious to see the names of others in my family.  Just for fun, here are the results:

	Andrea	Kirk	Adam	Alex	Dylan
Today	Addison	Cash	Colton	Elijah	Christopher
2000's	Mary	Alvaro	Vincent	James	Luis
1990's	Brittney	Tracy	Spencer	Robert	Travis
1980's	Christine	Ron	Johnny	Jeremy	Derek
1970's	Debra	Reuben	Henry	Thomas	Aaron
1960's	Carolyn	Elvis	Howard	Kevin	Roger
1950's	Virginia	Armand	Edwin	Donald	Carl
1940's	Marie	Major	Mike	Edward	Earl
1930's	Ruby	Dewitt	Maurice	Paul	Francis
1920's	Grace	Gustave	Sidney	Walter	Anthony
1910's	Beatrice	Asa	Horace	Harry	Theodore
1900's	Mattie	Son	Earnest	Walter	Elmer
1890's	Jennie	Seth	Dan	Walter	Benjamin

In other words, if we'd been a family in a different decade, you might stop by to have dinner with Ruby, Dewitt, Maurice, Paul, and Francis Fife!