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Friday, March 27, 2009


I just came back from a super grocery store whose name rhymes with "Chalmart." I got 10 things and went to a short checkout line because, in my mind, short is supposed to take less time. I decided to treat myself to an ice cream Snickers bar and added it to the conveyor belt. I was in line for about 3 minutes before it dawned on me the belt hadn't been moving. Looking back, I wonder if the line was short because everyone else was already aware of the situation. The situation was that the cashier was less-than-fast. He was less-than-efficient. He may have been less-than-awake.

George was a non-smiling older gentleman. He seemed undecided as to whether he wanted his lane light ON, OFF, or FLASHING. I watched him use all three options every few minutes, at least 3 times. It was like a Checkout Disco. (If only I had been wearing silver platform shoes and a gold polyester dress.)

I noticed George fumbling with the purchases of the person ahead of me and then realized he had been for quite some time. I saw conversation happen between the cashier and the customer. The light went off, came on, back off, and then flashed. I heard the customer say "I can just pay with cash." The light went off.

By the time it was my turn up to bat, I had had 2 birthdays and my ice cream bar looked softish. George clearly did not want to be there. I watched him fumble with my purchases. I asked him if he was looking forward to going home (he was) and asked when his shift ended (1 am, which was 6.5 hours away). My questions seemed to throw his concentration off, so I waited until he finished ringing me up before I nonchalantly asked how long he'd been working there (about 4 months).

I happened to have some cash on me so I paid for half of my total with cash and was about to hand him my debit card when George closed out my transaction and put my bills in the till. A less honest person could have said, "Bye! Have a good evening" and George would have totally let them walk out with half-priced groceries. But I pointed out, "I still need to pay the rest."

George seemed inconvenienced by this. He couldn't remember how much cash I had given him. He played around with the disco light again and got someone to help him. I knew Irma had authority because she looked stressed and she had a walkie-talkie. (I only know of three jobs that involve walkie-talkies: the police, the secret service, and the commander of grocery cashiers. Perhaps, my grocery store has an army? And maybe their aged greeters are actually trained ninja assassins.) George kept telling Irma I paid with less cash than I had given him, which kind of bugged me. She unloaded my purchases and re-rang them up. George walked away. Just like that.

"He seems to be having a hard day," I said.
Then, she said, "He's not a cashier."

Excuse me?

"He stocks shelves but when we're busy, we have him man a lane."

OK, I know that being a cashier does not require specialization like say, a heart surgeon or a ninja assassin, HOWEVER, shouldn't the person handling people's cash and credit cards know how to, at least, use a cash register? This falls just below going to the gynecologist's office and finding out that your exam was done by a bored janitor.

Had my baby not been fussing for dinner, I would have taken the time to make an a-gasped scene about my fake cashier. (Irma, thank the baby. Thank the baby.)

When I finally got to my car, I looked for my delicious ice cream Snickers bar. George had thrown it into a bag with some glass jars. I found my treat under a heavy jar of natural peanut butter. The package was flat. Had my baby not been fussing, I would have gone back in and gotten a replacement. (Chalmart, thank the baby. Thank the baby.) I drank my tube of melted ice cream, crushed chocolate bits, and peanut pieces. Hmph.

Well, at least George has their bagging techniques down pat.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Moving away from cake

I need to post about something else. Every time I go to my blog, I start craving cake. So, I will post about broccoli.

Broccoli. It's green and its hair is poofy.

Now, onto other things...

Poo. I've been seeing a bunch of blog posts and comments on Twilight get-togethers that happened all around me, and I feel left out. Sure, I've vowed to never read the books and the movie looks cheesy as all get out, but I bet you all had refreshments at your get-togethers. Perhaps, even cake.

[Posted song: "Mahna Mahna" by Cake]

Thursday, March 19, 2009

How to Kill a Cake

I was asked by the Relief Society to make one of the 10 cakes for their princess-themed birthday celebration last night. Here is what I learned.

How to kill a cake:
Wait last minute to make it.
Wait last LAST minute to make the frosting.
At the last last LAST minute, decide to add a fruit filling.
Don’t wait for anything to cool.
Watch the fruit filling bleed out.

Scream and put cake in the fridge in hopes of the frosting magically insta-setting.
Open the fridge door and look at bleeding cake in wide-eyed disbelief.
Add frosting over ooze in attempt to patch it up.
Put back in fridge and check on it every other minute.
Watch the cake bleed through the plaster.
Plan on telling people at the event that this is the rage in bakeries all over France.

Cake CPR:
Wish for duct tape.
Allow brain to engage in super-charged duct-tape dreaming.
Look through Christmas wrap stash and find ribbon to duct-tape the cake.
Wrap ribbon around cake.
Ignore the non-edible toxic glitter coming off the ribbon.
Add frosting stripes on top of cake to distract from the band-aid.
Convince self that what cake needs is pink as a distraction.
Freak out when adding too much red food coloring and making dark frosting.
Scramble for the last of the white frosting to hopefully tame the red into a light pink.
Ask spouse 3 to 5 times if the cake looks alright.
Jam tiara on cake.


But here are some other lovely creations from last night.
(Becky demonstrates her non-bleeding cake. Beautiful, eh?)

(Some other non-bleeding cakes.)

For the activity, we were asked to each bring an item that described us well.
Sarah drew a picture of a horse reading a book because she likes drawing, horses, and reading. She added, "you can't tell, but the horse is eating chocolate."

The deconstruction of cakes.

And who could turn down a tasty piece of this action?
Feel free to make your own cracks. (BWAHAHAHA!)

The end.

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Embrace your uniqueness

We have each been sent here with talents. When we align with our spirits and follow our passions (despite what the world has to say about us), our power cannot be denied.


Do you think he is still selling cell phones?

Friday, March 13, 2009


There are many things in this world I desire to sift through. Instead of trying to catch every grain, help me to let them fall through so that only the gems remain.

And from that pile, Father, show me which stones to polish and smooth out now.
And which ones to place on a shelf to be worked on later.
And which ones to let be in the rough and allow time, experience, water and wind round out.

Sunday, March 8, 2009

The Air

Wow! Time flies! I thought it had been a week since I blogged and it has actually been a mini-millenium!

I went to Phoenix for a week for business training and decided to also see Dave's grandparents out in the area while we were at it.

Dave's grandfather likes to stay up "with the times," so he has a cell phone. I say "has" as in he owns one and it has a service contract on it and it is in his house. Grandpa doesn't turn it on though. The cell phone is his palm-sized ham radio, and he keeps it off so the minutes don't accidentally slip away and cost him a fortune.

The day before our road trip to Phoenix, Grandpa wanted to make sure we found Arizona alright and said, "I will turn my cell phone on in the afternoon, so don't call until the afternoon."

We didn't mention that we could just call his home phone; that would ruin the allure of his fancy walkie-talkie. So, on our travel day, we had a 4-hour window when Grandpa's phone would be on, and by golly, we had to call it.

Half way through the drive, Dave made the all-important call. Yes, we're on our way. Yes, we're safe. I was disappointed that Dave didn't end the call with "over and out."

A few days later, during the visit, Grandpa saw David's G1 phone but didn't know it was a phone.

I think he thought it was an electronic organizer of sorts and to be hip and up "with the times," he asked about how to go about getting one for himself and putting the scriptures on it. Dave explained he could just download the scriptures right then and there.

Grandpa: You don't have to connect it to the computer?
David: No.
Grandpa: Where are you getting them (the scriptures) from?

Amused by this interchange, I piped in, "From the air."

Grandpa: From the air??
Me: Yes, just like radio waves are always present in the air.
Grandpa: How the heck will that work??

I smiled.

Me: Prayers travel through the air and they seem to work fine, don't they?

Grandpa thought on this, then asked, "well, how do I know they'll be right? What if there's a mistake?"

Clearly, if the scriptures are just coming from the air, they might get jumbled up in an air current, and then he would read a mixed-up scripture, and he would be led astray and his soul would be forever condemned.

Me: Read them and when you get to a mistake, call David.

Grandpa thought about what I said then his concerned face softened, and he chuckled. The granddaughter-in-law was pulling his leg.

A couple minutes later, David happened to say something about making a call and that's when Grandpa realized the contraption was a phone. "Lemme see that."

Dave handed the G1 to him.

"I don't see a phone," complained Grandpa.

Dave asked for the G1 back, opened the dialing screen, and handed the phone back to Grandpa.

Grandpa looked at this "thing." I could hear his brain whirring. What else could this futuristic device do?

"Can you put music on it?" he asked.

"Yes," said David, "but I haven't uploaded any music onto it."

I mentioned YouTube and Dave's face lit up.

He asked Grandma, who had been contentedly listening to the conversation from her recliner, what her favorite band was.

Grandma: Glen Miller. Glen with one 'n', not the new way they spell it now with two "n's."

Dave: What song?

Grandma: "In the Mood."

Dave pulled up a YouTube video of the Glenn* Miller Orchestra and passed it to Grandma who promptly put the phone up to her ear and smiled.

David: Grandma, it's a video. You can watch it.

She continued smiling with the phone against her ear.

Dave pulled the phone away and showed her the screen. She smiled then put the phone back up to her ear. She tapped her leg to the beat and drifted off to the 1940's.

Isn't it amazing what we can pull out of thin air these days?

[Posted song: "In the Mood" by Glenn Miller Orchestra]

* While Glen Miller was indeed born as Glen (with one N), his name was later changed to Glenn (with two N's) and that has always been the spelling of his orchestra's name.