It really is a still, small voice

I had a premonition today.

As I prepared to go to the temple I thought about what assignments I might have, and this came into my mind. I would find my shift coordinator and she would say, "Oh, Carol, I'm making changes to your schedule because you're going to be an attendant."

That is what happened. Exactly. Almost word for word.

Another thing. I thought to put on some of my new perfume, although we're asked not to wear perfume. And I decided not to. Part of the premonition, I suppose, or else just me being obedient.

Good thing. The woman I acted as attendant to was Bobbi Hardy, who happens to be in my ward. But I have not known her because she is violently allergic to perfume and other chemical scents and sometimes can't stay in church. Often she sits in the foyer or even the primary room, just so she can listen.

I know her now. I'm glad of it.

Today is Pi Day

Because it's 3.14.

And I saw a recipe for pi pie. But I'm not going to make it.

All of which has nothing to do with this post.

Here is this post:
I did my income tax today. Thanks to TurboTax. Federal and State. It's done. Yippee!

Wonderful to have the weight of it off my back.

Now, let's hope it's right.

AND
I pruned the heck out of my Rose of Sharon. Which is not to say I knew what I was doing. Just to say that it's done.

Buicks

They're old people's cars.

And I was about to say, "Trust me in this, because I know."

Instead, I say, "You don't have to take my word for it. Just start looking for Buicks and see who is driving them. It's old people."

Or take a look at the Temple parking lot. Many Buicks there.

I have to say that I have thought about test-driving a Buick. Not sure why. They've started to look good again. Maybe that's it. Certainly not because I'm old.

I do have a history with Buicks.

• We used to joke about the holes in the sides--part of the trim--and say they were for the oars you would need when the car stopped running.
• Richard Wangsgaard drove his parents' big 1956 Buick on the few dates we had together. I know he was a nice boy, but I could not like him. I did kind of like the car, though. Quiet, smooth, comfortable, and it had a sleek, sophisticated interior.
  
• Back in the 1970s, I think, Wayne and I sometimes got a Buick Century as a rental car. First time it was by chance. After that by choice. I liked them. I don't suppose Buick even makes the Century anymore.
• In the 1980s my friend Sandy had a Buick. It was a lemon.
  
• And way long ago on a trip with my mother, I showed her the new 1959 Buick in a dealer showroom. That was one good looking car. Certainly not an old person's car. Google it and find out for yourself.

These days it's harder to like Buicks. It's the whole bail-out thing. I mean, GM took the money, so I think they should actually be giving their cars to the driving public. Clearly, they don't see it that way.

As to their being old people's cars, I think Buick knows it. They're making them look really good again, as I said before, no doubt hoping to appeal to younger drivers. Maybe that will work, but from what I've seen, it isn't working yet.

Wayne never got old enough to be an old person. He drove a Subaru.
Me? I like my Acura. If I bought a Buick, it would have to be a second car.

This is not about my thumb

My face hurts. (Yes, I know the old joke.) It hurts me, my face does. On the left side. I believe I have a sinus infection. I have been struggling with it for a few days now, trying to deny it, trying to just carry on. But today it really hurts.

I could mention the other ways I have of knowing this is a sinus infection, or believing it, but that would border on gross.

I suppose I could call the dr, but I hate doing that.

"Oh, you'd better come in." I can hear her little voice right now. But, of course, I don't want to go in just so he can tell me what I already know and charge me for it.

Wow, not a good attitude. Mine.

Anyway, after I finish eating the apple I just bought, I'll go up, take a bath, maybe take something--like aspirin--and climb into bed.

By the way, the apple I'm eating is a Jazz. Never heard of it before today. Don't know what they've put together to make it, but it was grown in Washington. Doesn't that automatically make it good?

Well, there you have it. A sinus infection and a Jazz apple.

Or there I have it.

* * *

It's after seven. I didn't do what I said I would do. Instead I ate, I read, I walked 31 minutes on the treadmill. I know. Thirty-one minutes is not much at all, but it's better than nothing.

Now I'm going

Have You Had This?

I thought I would escape this winter without it. But no.

It. I have it. The dreaded split thumb of winter.

It hurts. It makes most things difficult, because it hurts.

Tamales

Last night I ate two tamales for dinner. Two homemade tamales, a gift from Benny Garcia--he made them.

Benny and his wife Evelyn are friends of ours from Caldwell. Wayne spoke Spanish with Benny. A nice connection. Besides, Benny is one of those easy-to-like people. We liked him a lot.

Benny's wife Betty died. I sang at her funeral. He and Evelyn married a couple of years later--her third marriage. It was one of those things. He's a widower; she recovering from her second husband (enigmatic of me to leave it at that, but hey). And when they started being seen together, I said, "Yeah. That seems right."

I'm not sure, but they may have been married about twenty years now. She says they are crazy about each other. I believe it.

When I call there, Benny usually tries to put something over on me, and usually it works because I'm just not expecting it. Next time I will.

Evelyn gives me jalapeno (I've tried four times to get the tilde on that n) jelly. It's good, let me tell you. Now he has given me tamales. They're good, too.

So this is not terribly important. I just think of Wayne when I think of them.

So when don't I think of Wayne?

A Little History, Part 4

Sold

They didn't live long in Bramwell, only a few years. Grandpa sold the place and moved his family back to eastern Idaho, not to Bloomington but to Preston, because it was a town. Probably he farmed there, too, though Mama never mentioned it.

Eventually, they moved to a bigger town, Salt Lake City. Grandpa got a job as a night watchman in a mattress factory, and Mama said it broke his heart. That's the way she saw it. Always counted it a sacrifice her dad made and said it was all for her, so she could have the advantages of a city.

That is what Mama told me.