Spring has sprung, the grass has riz, I wonder where the flowers is?

One day last week, Doug and I took a walk around the yard to try to make some decisions about what to do with it. We want to plant a garden, and change some of the flower beds. Suddenly, we realized that there were flowers coming up everywhere.

I have had Spring fever so bad this year, so finding flowers already was a reason to get excited. As we are in a "new to us" house this year, it is fun to find out what is growing in our yard. Some things we want to remove, and in other places we want to leave it alone. I have a feeling it will take us a year to find everything in the yard so we know what to do with it all.

This is something that baffles me. We have a large piece of our yard that is grass. Randomly planted in the grass are different types of flowers. Here we have crocus blooms, with some sort of tulip (my best guess) growing in the grass. I am betting that the tulips are yellow, but I suppose they could also be daffodils. Guess we will have to wait and see. There are also some California poppies in the grass that bloom later on that are the same shade of yellow.

The thing that really perplexes me is this: How on earth do you mow around them? The previous owner told us how angry he was that the guy across the street that was helping him mow the lawn, just mowed over the flowers. Exactly how are you supposed to miss them? First of all, I am a big believer that if someone is doing you a favor because you can't do something yourself, don't get angry at the way they do it. Second, If you are going to complain about something like that, don't plant them randomly in the middle of the lawn! Speaking for myself, I am NOT going out there with a pair of scissors to cut the grass in between the flowers, and I don't think they make mowers that small......

This picture is another puzzling thing. We finally got an answer to why there are two types of grass here. The previous owner was proud to tell us that he was experimenting with "drought resistant grass". The yellow grass is the drought resistant, can you tell? Through much effort, we have discovered that it truly is drought resistant. No matter how much you water it, it always stays a yellowish-brown color. During the summer, it is slightly more green, but early in September, no matter how much water you give it, it will turn this color and stay that way, making any attempt to green it up completely futile. I am guessing it will be May before it shows any sign of green.

See this? I have been working on removing all the debris that I didn't clean up last fall. We made the foolish decision to wait until now to clean it up, owing to the fact that we were so busy remodeling. I pulled, and trimmed, and raked up all the dead leaves, twigs, and flower stems. I was hoping that Doug would want to use his leaf catcher on his yard tractor to help me clean them up. No such luck, it still has a snowplow blade on it. I had this brilliant idea to use Miriam's yellow saucer sled to help me carry it all to the compost pile. See all that stuff? I have figured out how to carry it all in one trip. Place as much of it on the sled as you can. Don't worry, I promise I can get it all in one trip.

Next, run around on it pretending to be a trash compactor. Making the appropriate noises here is helpful. Be sure to stomp to your heart's content. Feel free to add music to make the process seem more like dancing, as your neighbors peek out the window to see what you are doing. (It makes you seem a bit less cukoo, but only slightly.) Add more debris to the pile, and continue your best impression of Lucy stomping grapes as you run around in really small circles. Try not to fall over because you are now dizzy. Dang. Should have taken some Dramamine. Eventually, you will know you are successful when the neighbor now comes out to laugh at you. You can then attempt to save your dignity by showing them that you have successfully smashed it all down to a controllable size so you only have to make one trip.

I call it the "carrying in the groceries" concept. No matter how ridiculous you look, carry as many overfilled bags as you can, all at once. Never mind that your finger feels like it is going to fall off any second, or that one of the bags is tearing down the side. Hold it a bit closer to you and kick the door shut. Then hobble to the front door and try to open it with one finger. Try again. Finally give up, and put down the gallon of milk that is stretching your finger to the point that you wonder if you could pole vault with it someday, and open the door. Pick up the groceries, walk through the door and kick it shut. Good thing you learned how to kick at a young age, right? Drop all of the groceries on the counter, (or floor because the counter is just too high for this load) and sigh. Remind yourself about how clever you are for getting all of the groceries into the house in one trip, and pat yourself on the back. Don't forget to make an appointment with the doctor to check on that finger that wouldn't let go of the bag. This is the modern woman's way of doing things. Forget how crazy you might look, you should never make more than one trip. EVER.

Tag, you're it!

Cherie tagged me with the challenge to post my 6th photo in my 6th file. This is it. It was actually a movie that we took of our cute little puppy, Boog. I thought I would add some more pictures of him because that movie isn't so great.

He got the name "Boog" because he reminded us of the bear in "Open Season", but he looked like the racoon in "Over The Hedge". He was such a cutie. Doug gave him to me for Christmas last year. Here is the strange part: Miriam and I are terribly allergic to dogs. We don't seem to have as much of a problem when they are puppies, and some breeds are better than others. Years ago we had a miniature American Eskimo that I just adored. I still miss him. He was an arctic breed, and they don't have as much oil on their skin or fur which makes them easier to tolerate. That was the idea behind Boog. He was a pomeranian, like a little ball of fur. It didn't work. When he was about 8 weeks old, the itching and sneezing and watery eyes kicked in. We had to sell him. Miriam and Doug are still heart-broken.

This picture always makes me laugh. While it is really cute that Miriam is pretending to sleep while Boog was sleeping on her tummy, (Right, like she would actually take a nap during the day. In my dreams.....) all I can see in this picture is her bangs. A few days before, I had trimmed her bangs. At the time, she couldn't stand having them in her eyes, so I grabbed my shears and trimmed them. A couple of days later, I noticed some really short pieces sticking out as she was pushing them to the side. I walked over to check them out, thinking I must have been on medication, or something when I cut her hair, because I had done such a terrible job. How could I have cut them so short? I quickly realized that Miriam had cut them again on her own. When I asked her what happened, she looked horrified. Finally, she explained that she was mad that I had cut her bangs because she wanted to grow them out. WHAT?! Who gets angry that their bangs aren't as long as they want, and then chops them off even shorter, and extremely crooked? Where is the logic in that? I very calmly (meaning I was actually one step away from strangling her) explained that I only cut them because she asked me to. Her response was, "Oh."

Darcy's day.

Today, February 22, is my sister, Darcy's 44th birthday. We used to always say that there was something special about that number. We are both born on the 22nd. I am in January, she is one month later, but 4 years ahead. (2+2. Ok, we were kids when we thought that up.) I don't think we could have ever imagined at that age, how things would turn out in our adult years. We never expected her life to end at such a young age, or for her to have the problems that she did. Lupus was terrible on her body.

I will never forget the day Chris and Phil got married. We were in the Salt Lake Temple, and as I walked over to hug Darcy, I looked down at her hands. They were a dark blue color. I chuckled, and asked her if she had been dying levi's. She just smiled and said, "No. My lungs aren't working very well, and I don't have enough oxygen in my body". I was stunned. I didn't know that a body could be that blue.

After the ceremony, she really needed a little girl's room. Apparently, she was on a diuretic to reduce swelling, and she needed to find somewhere, fast. As we were being led back out of the temple, she saw a dressing room, and turned to tell us she would be right back. The matron guiding us said we were leaving, and she needed to go the other way. Darcy explained her situation, and insisted she would be right out as she started to walk into the dressing room. The matron ran over to her and said, "Sister, you can't go in there, that's a men's dressing room." As pale as she was, she blushed and apologized, and quickly ran back out as we all tried not to laugh in the temple.


When we were really little, I was probably 4 or 5, Darcy and I used to share a bed. She used to tease me every night. One night, I was tired, and she wouldn't stop talking. Suddenly, she said, "I bet you can't bite me and make me bleed." I turned to her and said, "Of course, I can." She said that I was too little, and my teeth were baby teeth. There was no way I could ever bite her hard enough to hurt her. I was totally insulted. I may be little, but I was not weak. I explained how sharp my teeth were, and that it would hurt her really bad. She continued to insist that she was bigger and stronger, and that I was just a little kid. I rolled over and tried to ignore her.

This escalated the situation, because she couldn't stand that she wasn't getting to me. She insisted I try to bite her arm. I told her I couldn't do that, I would get in trouble. She said she wouldn't tell. I told her that I could make her bleed, and she would get mad. I laid down and closed my eyes. "Come on, bite me." She kept prodding me, "Just do it. Go on, it won't hurt me. I'm tough."


She harassed me all night long, or at least for about 5 minutes or so. Time lasts forever to kids. Finally, I had had enough. I opened my eyes, and her arm was right in front of my face. I grabbed it and bit down hard. I still remember what that felt like. I can't see a vampire movie without remembering it. There was a sudden blood curdling scream. I looked down, and saw a red imprint of my teeth on her forearm, and 2 little marks that were barely bleeding. I have never seen her move so fast. She practically flew up the stairs screaming for Mom all the way.


"This is it," I thought. "I'm in big trouble, now." I waited nervously in my bed to await my punishment. This was gonna be bad, I could feel it. There was no way in the world that my Mom would believe that Darcy told me to bite her. After a couple of minutes, I heard my Mom coming down the stairs. "Here it comes." I thought. "I'm going to be grounded until I'm old, like 30, or something."


My mom came and sat on the bed next to me. She asked me to explain what happened, and I said, "She told me to do it." Her response was, "I hardly think that she wanted you to bite her." "Yes, she did!" I replied. I explained the whole story. Mom thought for a moment, and then said, "Do you always do what people tell you to do? If someone told you to jump off of a cliff, would you do it?" How stupid did she think I was? "No." "Well, next time someone tells you to do something that isn't a good idea, don't give in." Was I really off the hook that easily? I could swear that Mom was trying not to giggle all the way back up the stairs.


Darcy came back down a few minutes later, tear streaks on her cheeks. She was still trying to settle down. She was sniffing, and breathing unevenly. There was a damp washcloth that she was holding to her arm, and she wouldn't look at me. She slowly climbed into bed, attempted to cover herself up with her "injured" hand, and continued to try NOT to cry. My only defense was, "You told me to do it."

Darcy was always very proper. She didn't like to do things that made her look silly. At one point, she was in intensive care at U of U hospital. This was before either of her transplants. She was there for observation, and was joking about the nurse's reactions when she came to check herself into intensive care. (Not something that happens everyday.)


Doug and I went to visit her, and while we were there, Reed showed up as well. They were divorced by then, and she told us after he left how surprised she was that he came to see her. While we were all there, talking, Darcy decided that her bed needed to be raised so she could sit up more comfortably. She picked up the controller, and hit the button to raise the bed. As the bed was moving, it caught on some of the cords to all of the equipment. She was unplugged. All kinds of beeping started going off, and she started laughing.


Suddenly, she pretended to be flopping all over the bed like she was dying. Very out of character. We were all laughing with her as she continued to flop and moan, when a nurse walked into the room. The three of us suddenly stopped laughing, but Darcy did not see her. She continued in her death throws. The nurse walked over to her bed, trying to figure out what was going on, when Darcy suddenly caught a glimpse of her. Immediately, Darcy became serious, and said, "Oh. Sorry. I came unplugged." The nurse reattached everything, and left the room.

There was an immediate burst of laughter from all four of us. We laughed until we cried. I was glad that she could see the brighter side of things.

Darcy always thought that she should be my protector and my teacher. She did teach me many things, and we had some really good times. I remember coming home from school one day and Darcy had covered my bedroom door in hearts for Valentines day. She bought me a shirt that could glow in the dark, which sparked a new game for me and Trina. Trina had a glow in the dark Supergirl shirt, so we started playing "Glow in the dark-hide and seek". Darcy loved to get in on that one. She would jump out and scare us in the dark.


She was a good big sister at school. I remember my first time eating in the lunchroom in first grade. Darcy was in 5th grade, and called me over so I could sit by her and all of her friends to eat. I thought she was so cool. She tried to teach me how to twirl a flag. (I got much better at it later on.) She taught me to love the music of Amy Grant. I think of Darcy every time I hear her. I remember singing with her at the piano. I loved to hear her play the flute. I remember my first activity in Young Women's. We went sledding, and someone came down the hill on a giant tube. They ran into the bonfire we had going, narrowly missing my sister. One other girl was knocked in, but got out quickly enough that no serious damage was done. I remember thinking, "That could have been Darcy. What would I do if anything happened to her?"


The last time we were together, she mentioned that the one good thing about her lung transplant was that the anti-rejection medication she took prevented any symptoms of Lupus from bothering her. Talk about seeing the bright side of things. She definitely had a temper growing up, but life changed her attitude about the world. She wanted so much to help others. I admire that, and hope that someday I can be to others, what she was to me.