Wednesday, December 6, 2017

Email to my daughter Madelaine

What’s cookin’, good lookin’?

Does it count as insomnia when you wake up at 3:30 a.m. because of hunger? I didn’t have any dinner last night. I’d gotten a breakfast burrito at Rancheritos across the street from the DI store here in Provo and gnawed at it all morning and into the afternoon yesterday until about 3 -- they really stuff ‘em with potatoes, eggs, cheese, and bacon -- and so had no appetite for dinner. Now my stomach is growling, demanding the sacrifice of a toasted bagel with cream cheese or perhaps a steaming bowl of ramen noodles with 2 soft boiled eggs floating in it. But before I can have anything, there are several pills I have to take on an empty stomach, and then wait an hour before eating anything. I just took the dratted pills, so to wile away the time until I can stuff my face I can either go back to bed or write to you. Lucky you . . . I’ve decided to go back to bed -- no, wait! I mean I’ve decided to write to you . . .

I have lots of fascinating facts and figures about my declining health to share -- but strangely enough I find that people don’t hang on my every word when I describe in great detail my hemorrhoids anymore -- so I will skip the medical bulletin once again. Although I have several unique conditions that continue to baffle medical science -- they are probably going to name a bacillus after me.

Sarah and the kids are coming over for lunch today. Last week she was telling me how much she loves green beans and just doesn’t get enough of them. So I decided to create a green bean casserole for my slow cooker and have her over. It’s a simple recipe: a pound of fresh green beans, a link of sliced kielbasa smoked sausage, diced mushrooms, sliced carrots, a cup of cooking wine, and a can of diced tomatoes. They go in the slow cooker for 4 hours on high, and voila! You have a mess of soggy green beans and sausage to serve over egg noodles. What makes this upcoming meal so interesting is that Sarah’s in-laws are visiting for the Holiday, and she said she may bring her mom and dad in-laws along for lunch, too. Fine by me -- the more the merrier, says I. But since they’re Italian they may actually expect a decent meal, so I’m going to go over to Fresh Market this morning to get some artisan bread and fancy-schmancy goat cheese so they have something elegant to nibble on in case the green bean casserole goes south. Better get a bottle of those outrageously priced Kalamata black olives, too.

Sarah’s green bean casserole is the last meal for guests I’m making for a while. The obsession to cook for others has left me as suddenly as it came. I’ll let the slow cooker and the stock pot gather dust while I pursue my new obsession -- ordering a different meal every morning at Rancheritos. It is possible to eat 28 different combo platters there, all under ten dollars and including refried beans and Spanish rice, with lots of shredded lettuce. And they have a nice little sides buffet where I can get all the cilantro, diced onion, pickled carrots with jalapeno peppers, limes, sliced radishes, pickled prickly pear cactus, pico de gallo, and red & green sauces that I want. In other words, for Christmas this year I’m gifting myself with Mexican heartburn.

Since I’m rambling on about my absurd obsessions, I might as well describe the other one that captured my fancy yesterday.

As I was swimming at the Provo Rec Center it entered my head that I should send a batch of Christmas cards this year to the newspaper reporters who have consistently championed my light verse by sending me encouraging and complimentary emails. By the time I was soaking in the hot tub with a bevy of sagging blondes after our aquatic aerobics class, I knew I had to act on that impulse immediately, or die in the attempt.

So I took the #850 bus down to the Big Lots store for a five-dollar carton of 18 Christmas cards (as well as a small jar of capers that was on sale for $1.50.) I stopped at Macey's for a book of stamps (and to put some money on my Rider’s Pass for the bus -- I’m still paying $2.50 per ride because I can’t get the Senior discount until I turn 65 next September.) Then I stopped at the Dollar Tree for some Tea Tree Foot Cream (they were all sold out) and a wad of oversize play money. Then I went to Rancheritos and ate a third of my burrito there, wrapping the rest up in a plastic bag to bring back home. Then went to DI to buy a book (and also a cute little man doll for 75 cents that says things like “Honey, let me do the dishes tonight” and “Sweetheart, can’t your parents stay another week?” I’m going to give it to Sarah.

Here is the list of reporters I sent the cards to -- each card included some play money, and I wrote in each card “Hope you enjoy the Hush money.”

Matthew Goldstein. NYTimes
Michael Wilson. NYTimes
Maura Judkis. Washington Post
Corey Kilgannon. NYTimes
Tom Meersman. Mpls Star Tribune
Liam Stack. NYTimes
Ruth Eglash. Washington Post
Peter Baker. NYTimes
Janet Moore. Star Tribune
Jo Craven McGinty. Wall Street Journal
Amy Argetsinger. Washington Post
Penelope Green. NYTimes
Saabira Chaudhuri. Wall Street Journal
Joseph Palazzolo. Wall Street Journal
Donald McNeil. NYTimes
Patrick Coolican. Star Tribune
Andrew Ackerman. Wall Street Journal
Kathleen Pender. San Francisco Chronicle

It took me all afternoon to get the cards addressed, signed, and stamped, and by the end of it I keenly regretted giving in to my obsession. The arthritis in my fingers was killing me. I could barely turn the pages of the book I’m currently reading, Annals of the Former World, by John McPhee.

Oh well, it’s over and done with now. And I have no obsessions bedeviling me this morning -- except, of course, what to feed the High Priest Group Leadership this evening when we meet at my place for our weekly confab. I’m the secretary for them. And the host. And I’m obsessed with serving them something that they will eat up and then lick their fingers in appreciation. So far the most successful hors d'oeuvres I’ve served have been Cheetos and donuts. But such a plebian offering hardly satisfies my desire for elegance and a distinctive dining experience. I’m thinking about offering a variety platter of crackers with various toppings -- such as braunschweiger with sweet pickle chips; cream cheese with capers; Velveeta with pickled jalapenos . . .

Ah, the hour is nearly up -- now I can eat my breakfast! I’m beginning to lean towards a cheese omelette with a toasted bagel. I bought several bagels on Monday, having one for b’fast and saving one for my lunch and one more for my lunch guest Phil Hinckley. But he brought over a loaf of cornbread and wanted to eat that with his lunch, not the bagel I had gotten him. Yesterday I had the Rancheritos burrito so I didn’t have room for the bagel. And now it sits in the kitchen, growing staler and dryer by the minute. But it should still be okay if I toast and butter it.

Here’s hoping you avoid any Seasonal Affective Disorder. I feel a touch of it myself these days -- so I’m pricing light boxes with Storis. The Mayo Clinic website says they really help if you use them first thing in the morning.

May all your days be filled with emoticons, my little hellebore.

Amantis patris tui.

Monday, December 4, 2017

Headlines & Verse. Monday. December 4, 2017

The scallop sees with space age eyes -- hundreds of them

The scallop sees with space age eyes

And what it sees is no surprise --

Plastic on the ocean floor,

Oil spills common more and more.

Had I the eyes this bivalve bears,

I’d shut ‘em tight and say my prayers!

Pollution stops play at Delhi Test match as bowlers struggle to breathe

There was a young bowler at Delhi

Who found he got sick to his belly.

When breathing the air

He lost all his hair;

his legs turned to apricot jelly!

Steve Madden’s shoe obsession cost him his marriage

She married a man who thought pumps

Would keep him from down in the dumps.

His fetish with shoes

With hate made her ooze --

Her lawyer gave him some good lumps.

His Tattoo Said ‘Do Not Resuscitate.’ Doctors Wanted Another Opinion.

Directions, when done in tattoo,

Raise questions about what to do.

If upon my arm

Is writ “Funny Farm,”

Will they haul me off to Bellevue?

US military agency invests $100m in genetic extinction technologies

The Pentagon wants you to know

That they can destroy at one blow

All life here on earth,

And terminate birth --

If Congress will give them the dough.

America's response to school massacres? A booming classroom security industry

The teachers are loaded for bear.

The students have tasers -- beware!

A stranger who peeks

Through doors will get leaks

Throughout his dead carcass -- so there!

Google Pulls YouTube From Amazon Devices, Saying It Isn’t Playing Fair

When Google said Facebook was not playing fair,

Facebook grabbed Google and pulled out its’ hair.

Then Google retorted by drafting a thug

To corner poor Facebook and pull out its’ plug.

The next round was held in a dignified court,

Where lawyers did jabber and blithely cavort.

They knew that such lawsuits could last many years,

And make them much richer than all of their peers.

But Google and Facebook had too much at stake

In soaking their customers like a sponge cake --

They kissed and made up, and renounced all their vices;

They’re working together to raise all their prices.

Sunday, December 3, 2017

A letter from my Missionary Daughter

Hello everybody!

It was so nice this week hearing from a lot of you and seeing pictures! :) It really makes my day when I get to read about how happy ya'll are.

This week was one for the books, let me tell you! My companion Sister Stout, and I got assigned to be Sister Training Leaders over our group of missionaries. We welcomed the new missionaries in and went over a lot of the schedules and rules here at the MTC. But Sister Stout did most of the talking, so I wasn't complaining haha. There are other responsibilities that go with that, but we were pleased to be given the assignment. Also this week We finally started to teach semi-real investigators (members in disguise -__- ) but it was a really eye opening, and humbling experience. Here at the MTC they try to teach you how to teach with the spirit, which sounds a lot easier than it actually is. A lot of times it feels like there's an intense pressure on us as missionaries to do or say the right thing in lessons, but what I learned this week is that it's all up to the spirit. The spirit is the only one who can reach their hearts and let them know that our message about Jesus Christ is true. Often, we try to "cram" it into the hearts of the ones we're teaching, but " the Holy Ghost carrieth it unto the hearts of the children of men." ( 2 Nephi 33:1). I learned that in a lesson, it doesn't matter how well I speak or even what I myself have to say. But when I have the Holy Ghost as my guide, I don't need to be concerned about being charming or eloquent. All I need to be concerned about is that I'm ready and worthy to listen to what it wants me to say, and then say it. We only had the opportunity to teach our 2 investigators a few times, but This week we are getting two new ones.

I had some really cool experiences this week with our investigators. The first one was with an investigator named Daryl (a woman), who is from Las Vegas but moved here to attend BYU and become a florist. She was super nice and chatty about schooling and life, and as we got to know her she said she just wanted to know if there was a God out there. So we started to teach her that we do indeed have a loving Father in Heaven, and that he knows her and loves her. We taught about Jesus Christ and that he was sent here to Earth to suffer and die for our sins, but would live again. At first she was sad that that had to happen to him, but we told her how he was resurrected on the third day and that he lives today. When we had her watch a video called "Because of Him", I started to see Daryl coming to understand the Atonement and what Christ did for us all. She was visibly touched, and it was beautiful to see someone come to know Jesus Christ. We only taught Daryl a few more times and even extended the invitation to be baptized, but we didn't set a firm date. I do hope that she continues to meet with missionaries, though, and that she finds what she's looking for.

The other experience I had was with an investigator named Sadie. Sadie is going to school at UVU for journalism, and her aunt and uncle are members of the church. She had met with the missionaries a few times and wanted to know more about God and Jesus Christ and was interested to know more about the church. We taught her only a few times as well, but she really had a strong desire to know God and Jesus Christ. We taught her about the Atonement and about Joseph Smith being the first modern day prophet, and about the Holy Ghost and how it can help her in her life. But our last lesson was the best, I think, because we were really focused on her and how she was feeling. She has Celiac, which I believe is an auto-immune condition, and she wasn't feeling well. We sympathized with her as best we could and I felt that we should talk about the priesthood and priesthood blessings. The Spirit was so strong in that room as we started to explain that the priesthood had been restored to the earth, and that it's god's power to act in his name. We then explained that she could receive a priesthood blessing of healing and comfort to help with her sickness. She seemed to take it well, and even asked if her uncle (who is a member) could give it. We readily said yes, and committed her to ask him later that night. She also said the prayer at the end of one of our lessons, and I seriously almost cried because it was so simple but so earnest and beautiful at the same time! We were really sad to have to stop teaching her, but such is life here at the MTC.

Anyway, This coming week is my last full week at the MTC, and then I'll be shipping out to California on December 12th! I'm really excited to get out there and meet those people, love them, serve them, and share my love for Jesus Christ with them :) But at the same time, I'm going to miss all my friends that I've made here and I'll miss the spirit of unity and love that I feel all the time. I love the gospel and I love my Savior Jesus Christ. He is the reason that we can have chance after chance. He is the reason we can live with God again. He is the reason we can have an eternal family. I'm so lucky to be able to share His gospel and be His representative.

I love you all so much!

Until Next Time,

Sister Torkildson

***************************************************

Dear Sister Torkildson;

It was a delight to read your email today. I wish this kind of technology and communication had existed when your brother Adam went on his mission. He sent me a few letters and photographs, but they lacked the immediacy of your emails. Still, I could feel the fire behind his letters, just like your burning testimony. It comforts me to know my children are working out their salvation in fear and trembling (and laughing and singing.)

I’ve been putting up some new maps -- just got one of South America by National Geographic. It’s a real peachamaroo! I can look at it all day, just daydreaming of going down the Amazon or watching condors high amidst the Andes. I suspect my health has turned a corner, and not a good one, that will prevent me from ever taking any long journeys again -- but with books and maps and the internet I can still explore all the prodigies the world has to offer.

It’s good that you are giving a name and description to all the investigators you teach. I strongly urge you to keep doing this in your emails and in your journal. I failed to do very much of that when I was writing in my missionary journal; I mourn the fact that most of the investigators I taught are now just a wistful blur in my memory. Of course I did spend a lot of my mission performing as a clown, as you well know.

I worked under the auspices of the Thai Red Cross, doing fund-raising performances for them all around Thailand. I well remember appearing at a fundraiser held in the Wat Prasat Buddhist temple grounds in Nonthaburi. It lasted for 3 days, and I was just one of many acts appearing on the impromptu bamboo stage they put up near the massive temple gate. The walls of the ubosot were covered with gorgeous two-dimensional figures from the Indian epic The Ramayana -- and there were lots of depictions of Hanuman, the Monkey King. It was done with gold leaf and little bits of inlaid tile, plus regular paint. The murals were fading and crumbling pretty bad, so the fundraiser was for money to get them repaired. I did four shows a day, and in between I walked around doing ‘meet-n-greet,’ shaking hands (or making the traditional Thai ‘way’ gesture with the palms of my hands) and sculpting balloons for the kids. There was a vendor selling helium balloons there, so every evening I would fill up a bunch of my pencil balloons with the gas and twist them into a man shape, then announce I was sending an “astro-nut” into outer space. I tied it to a string and let it float up into the sky until it could barely be seen. Then I cut the string and the crowd would go mad trying to catch the “astro-nut” and bring it back down by the string.

It was a lot of fun, but with hindsight I have to wonder if all that clowning ever did much for our proselyting efforts. Still, it was what the Mission President wanted -- so I dood it.

Well, my little lobelia, I must sign off. I can smell my breakfast quinoa cooking with a piece of ham in it. And I must prepare a beef heart stew in the slow cooker -- I’m having friends over tonight to eat it over egg noodles. It’s the first time I’ve ever cooked beef heart, so I’m very curious how it will turn out. If there’s any leftovers I’ll have your brother Steve over to snap them up.

Ever thine, dad.

An email to my daughter Madelaine.

How now, my little larkspur?

Hope all is well on the homefront. I was just going to complain that Daisy hasn’t sent out her weekly email yet, but it just came through. My computer is so slow that in comparison ketchup out of the bottle breaks the sound barrier.

I have so many aches & pains this week that it’s hard to decide where to start. Perhaps I’ll just sweep them all under the rug this time and spare you the agony altogether -- that’s the kind of good deed that would get a Baptist into heaven, no doubt.

Excuse me a moment while I go trim my fingernails. I hadn’t noticed how long they’ve gotten until they started bothering me as I type this . . .

There, that’s better. I should have done my toenails too -- they really need it -- but I can’t manage to bend over and snip them anymore; my belly gets in the way. Sad, very sad. I just calculated how much I spent on my feet alone last month, November. It came to nearly fifty dollars -- what with a pedicure and then foot creams and oils and epsom salt baths. And I still can barely get to sleep at night from the throbbing and heat my feet give off. But that’s one of the aches and pains I decided to spare you from, isn’t it? So never mind. Strike that last statement from the record, bailiff.

I still manage to hobble over to the Rec Center most mornings to swim and stew in the hot tub. There is a virtuous feeling to grunting and sweating when you reach my age.

Steve asked me today why I haven’t written any long pieces lately, like a novel or a play. I had to admit that I no longer have the mental or physical stamina to tackle such a project. Instead I find ridiculous headlines in the newspapers and create limericks from them. Surely one of the most trivial literary pursuits in the long, sorry, history of letters. But I solace myself that sometimes I hit the mark in ways that are appreciated. Just today I got an email response to one of my limericks from Amy Argetsinger, a reporter for the Washington Post, who wrote me: “Do you know, sometimes I am actually learning about some bit of news because you've written a limerick about it. That's how crazy the news cycle is these days.” So that helped me feel like I am not completely wasting my time.

I had Steve and Doris over for lunch today. I made lamb stew in the slow cooker, adding a full cup of red wine to perk up the broth. It still tasted rather blah to me -- although Steve not only had 2 helpings, but also ate both his and Doris’ chickpea salad mixed in with it. That boy can eat, when he has a mind to. While we visited after the meal I decided I wanted a new map on my living room wall -- one of Brazil. The current map is of Germany; I put it up to get Virginia to come over and tell me all about her days in the Air Force in Germany, but now that she and Andy and Cici have moved down to Alamo Land I dislike that map. So I suggested to Steve and Doris, or ‘Storis” as I will call them from now on, that we take a little trip to the Utah Idaho Map World store in Lindon so I could get a new map. We had trouble finding one that featured all of Brazil on just one side -- the maps divided the country into 2 sections, North on one side and South on the other. That was not satisfactory, so I had to buy a National Geographic map of South America, which turned out to be a good idea. I posted a picture on FB of the new map, with Doris next to it, and I must say the new map is an improvement on the old one. Leaner and more centered. It gives my living room more focus. My next project is to review the hundreds of negatives I took of my last few years with the circus before I went back to Thailand in 2009; I believe I took some striking photographs of the circus tents and performers and the audiences on the bleachers, which would look appealing and be very distinctive if I had them developed and put in simple 8X10 black frames. Most of them are black and white.

Whoops. The timer I use on the microwave that Nathan Draper gave me years ago just went off. That means the washer is done, so I gotta go put fifty cents in the dryer. I’m doing my laundry tonight. Washing all the new clothes that Storis bought me this past week. Be back in 2 shakes of a dead lamb’s tail . . .

There we go, all set. I put in a Valu Time brand fabric softener sheet, spring sunrise scented, and then dumped in the soggy bundle of clothes to tumble merrily around and around for the next fifty minutes. I wonder what people did before there were fabric softener sheets? I don’t remember my clothes being especially itchy or irritating when I was a kid. We didn’t even have a dryer until I was in high school -- before that, mom hung everything out to dry, summer and winter. What I do remember is the endless ironing and starching my mom did. She ironed my dad’s shirts, his handkerchiefs, and even his socks! And sprayed his jockey shorts with spray starch before ironing them. Why? My dad was a bartender, sitting around all day with a bunch of drunks -- why did he have to look so dressed up? I think that working up a sweat at the ironing board was one of those virtuous chores that built strength of character in women back in the 1950’s and 60’s. They don’t do that anymore, and look at the mess we’re in now!

On the way back from the map store I asked Storis to stop at Fresh Market so I could buy some beef heart. I’m having a couple, the Uharriets, over for beef heart stew tomorrow night, Sunday night. I’m trying to duplicate a dish I had at a Peruvian restaurant some time ago. It was very rich and savory. I’ll serve it over egg noodles. And beef heart is very cheap. If it turns out well I’m going to try a steak and kidney stew -- I wonder who I can get for my victims? Storis is going out of town for several weeks on Monday; Sarah is really busy with her in-laws on their annual Christmas visit; Adam is on a special diet (when is he not?); and your mother is up in the Idaho tundra nursing her wounds. I’ll have to have my old pal Phil Hinckley try it -- he likes to come over and tell me how Obama sent the country to hell in a handbasket. He thinks Trump is doing okay. I don’t even try to argue with him. He’s really into fake news -- he believes anything that makes the Democrats and liberals look bad. I just nod my head and chew my food.

Somebody is out in the alley right now, singing Jingle Bell Rock. A woman’s voice. But it’s dark and I don’t feel like getting out of my recliner again until the timer dings, telling me the dryer is finished. There’s probably an interesting, possibly sad, story behind that woman’s wailing -- but we’ll never know what it is because I have become a human slug.

The ward Christmas party is also tonight, and you will understand to what low depths I have sunk when you realize that I am forgoing a free ham dinner because I don’t want to walk the four blocks to the chapel. If I could still do balloon animals I think I would force myself to go -- you know how much I love showing off and grabbing attention. But the arthritis in my hands forced me to quit doing balloon sculpting months ago. And I don’t relish sitting around like a bump on a log, doing nothing but exchanging banalities with ward members. Call me a crotchety old coot or a flint hearted iconoclast, but my fund of small talk is bankrupt. What I yearn for is a group of people who sit still and quiet until one of them thinks of something brilliant or innovative to say, then gets up to say it -- or to ask an intriguing question and then gets up to ask it -- and then we can all ponder and talk to one another in simple declarative sentences for a few minutes. And then go all quiet again until someone else comes up with something refreshing to share. But when is THAT ever going to happen?

So in other words, I’ve become a complete snob and think my thoughts and conversation are so far above everyone else’s that there is no use in me even trying to communicate with my inferiors. Sad, very sad. But in my own defense I have to point out that I do enjoy having people over to taste my cooking and am always eager to hear what they say about it -- good or bad. At such moments I am affable and attentive and do not try to overawe my guests with my sparkling intellect.

Well, good gracious me, I’ve run this email up to 1500 words! I guess I better cease and desist and start watching some movies until I fall unconscious into my bed. I’m starting with Hope and Crosby in Road to Rio from 1942, then on Netflix I’m watching Boss Baby and then Deep.

Say hello to Donald and Deisel for me. And save a lump of coal for me! Love, dad.

Saturday, December 2, 2017

Your Daily Horoscope for Saturday December 2, 2017

TODAY is a good day for waffles and fidget spinners. Don’t go near any cyclotrons or delicatessens. You have friends in high places who are about to fall on you.

AQUARIUS

January 20 - February 18

What happens in the next 48 hours will determine hardly anything at all for the people of Bemidji, Minnesota. So go back to bed and let the Lennon Sisters enter your dreams to guide you to a place that is not a bathroom, nor a living room, but resembles nothing so much as your old high school auditorium after ISIS gets through with it. Conducting business today would be both disastrous and a sign of belligerent against the Klingon Empire.

PISCES

February 19 - March 20

Your weekend will be taken up with accusations from Sesame Street characters about your misbehavior -- you know what you did . . .

Don’t change any plans after midnight tonight; and don’t let your left hand know what your right brain is doing. But above all else, remember the Alamo!

ARIES

March 21 - April 19

Your luck has run out for the present. Try to live on less than your earn, and earn less than you like -- it is the only true path to understanding your destiny and the Senate’s Tax Bill. You deserve more than what you’re getting, and less than what Matt Lauer is trying to hang on to. The cosmos is trying to tell you that you need more fiber.

TAURUS

April 20 - May 20

Keep your friends close to you this weekend; they hold the key to your prosperity in 2018, as well as the magic bottle of Tabasco Sauce that can grant your every desire -- if you lead a pure life and don’t spit on the sidewalk. The chances are good that someone you know only as a tree surgeon is about to show you how to double your life insurance premiums without getting any further benefits.

GEMINI

May 21 - June 20

Certain people are after your licorice stash. Others are about to introduce you to an otherworldly experience that can only be described as ‘meh.’ In order to differentiate between the two groups you must learn to pull yourself up by your own bootlicks and never give a lolipop and even break.

CANCER

June 21 - July 22

Beware of new projects in old clothes and of wombats in the bushes. No one knows the real you except your accountant, and some nerd working for Google out in California. There are reasons within reasons for your lack of success in romantic affairs; but always remember that no one eats their heart out without a drop of ketchup. Hold back on financial plans involving hemorrhoid creams.