What do you wear to jail?

By Shirley Bahlmann
Tonight I'll be in jail. Seriously. But it's not my fault! It's all because of my two youngest sons.
We have a new county jail, you see, and someone thought of the bright idea to let community people stay there overnight before it's officially opened for business. Bob thought he might go stay with 9-year-old Michael, but his available next weekend is booked solid, so guess who is the responsible adult? (Well, the adult, anyway. No, not 15-year-old Brian who is going, too, but me. Moi.) When I called to book the room, the dispatcher told me there was an open toilet in the cell. No walls, no door.
Okay. So now what? I'm not willing to do what needs doing out in plain sight, so what to do about it? Wear an adult diaper? No, too drastic. I've got to shield myself... ah, yes! Use my accordion cardboard fabric mat! It folds out to make a screen that reaches clear to... oh. My waist.
Hm. That's okay when I'm sitting down, but what about standing up? What to do, what to do? Aha! Did you know that Queen Victoria used to hold court while sitting on a toilet? She covered the porcelain throne with her voluminous skirts! What's good enough for her is good enough for me. I'm wearing my long black jumper that goes clear to the floor. I've also got on my fuzzy hoodie, and I'm bringing my pink bathrobe to put over my head if necessary.
Yes, I think I'll cope just fine. I've had nothing to drink all afternoon, so maybe I won't even need to use the potty after all! And since this is the only overnight jail stay I ever plan to make, then I'll drink all the water I want from tomorrow on!
I'll just call this whole adventure "research."
Shirley Whirley Jailbird Girly

Miss America Pageant

by Shirley Bahlmann
Well, we're home from the Miss America pageant, which was fun, putting aside the fact that Miss Utah didn't win. Still, the winner, Katie Stam of Indiana, sang a song about Jesus for her talent and also shows dairy cows at her county fair, so I'd say she's a decent pick for second place in my ranks.
It was so nice to have a week where nothing was expected except to go watch a show, take notes, turn down an invitation to have a cocktail, and hang out with three grandchildren. I never realized how down time can rejuvenate a person. I'm not talking down time as in feeling down because my publisher already signed all their Christmas books for this year even though January isn't over yet, or that another of my publishers has gone out of business, leaving some orphaned books behind. No, I mean down time without multiple demands crowding out my sanity. My life has gotten so busy that I have to look back and wonder how it got this way. Do I really need to do all that I'm doing? I don't think so.
I think I'll go put my feet up and eat some cinnamon lips (chewy candy with no fat and an intriguing shape). You'll just have to go get your own.

Heading for Miss America

by Shirley Bahlmann
I'm hitting the road tomorrow, heading for the Miss America Pageant in Las Vegas, Nevada, because our home town girl, Kayla Barclay, is Miss Utah. I'm actually accompanying my husband, who was asked the question, "Why does the Sports Editor get to cover Miss America for the paper?" to which he replied, "I have the best camera." My sister said I should dress up, so if you tune in Saturday, and the camera pans the audience, look for the sparkly gold dress. Maybe I'll even give you a wave!

Whizzzzzz!

by Shirley Bahlmann
Okay, I knew I was busy before Christmas. I canceled my writing class for the month of December. Then I had a two week vacation from Cub Scouts, cleaning the school, storytelling, elementary school skit rehearsals, and paraprofessionaling. When that month whizzed by, I tried jumping back into my routine, but now it seems the train is moving too fast, messing up my hair, and making me bite my lip in frustration!
HOW DID I DO IT ALL BEFORE?
Today, I got word that my awesome Uncle Ray died. He lived beyond Christmas, which was a small miracle. He had a great sense of humor and made me feel like he was always glad to see me. He helped with questions on how to raise my boys, having raised five of my rowdy, funny boy cousins.
Life's too short. It goes by fast. I want to live it happy like Uncle Ray, not running on a treadmill, trying to catch up, and by the way, what am I trying to catch up to?
Good question. Now I'll go to bed and wait for the answer, but I probably won't let you know what it is until after the funeral this weekend.

Eating eggs for the sake of Dragon Eggs

by Shirley Bahlmann - I have been SO GOOD since the doctor told me to eat a low-cholesterol diet in August. No eggnog, no ice cream, no sour cream, no eggs... until my son was in the market for dragon eggs. "I need to blow out some egg shells to make dragon eggs," he said. "Will you eat them if I do?" Well, how could I stand in the way of progress? So I ate two eggs. And here's a blurry picture of the resulting dragon eggs. I don't get points for sticking absolutely to my diet, or taking clear pictures, but may I please have a couple of points for fostering creativity?

A Legend in My Own Time

by Shirley Bahlmann
I didn't know I was a legend until last Tuesday when I sat in front of Snow College Professor Bruce Peterson at my son's school Christmas program. Between songs, Peterson leaned forward and tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up from my book (which I read between songs) to see him smiling down at me. "Do you know what I remember about you?" he asked.
Now that was a loaded question if I ever heard one! So many possibilities ran through my brain that I was dizzy when I answered, "No. What?" I wondered if there were any other seats I could move to in the jam-packed gymnasium once he revealed some terrible deed of my past.
"You were reading a paperback book in a college class. When the teacher called on you to answer a question, you looked up, answered it, and went right back to reading."
"Oh," I said, not specifically remembering the incident.
"The teacher stood there with his mouth open," Peterson laughed. "I was amazed. The whole class was. I didn't even know the answer, and I'd been listening. So now, every year I tell my students about you, and say that they can do whatever they want as long as they're getting the information. If they can answer the questions, then they can read or draw or listen to music or whatever. But if they can't, then they have to do it my way."
"You tell all your classes about me?" I asked, my eyebrows disappearing into my hairline.
"Yeah. I just thought that was so great when you did that. You taught me that everyone learns differently."
"Cool," I said. "Thanks for telling me." Then I turned around, my eyes falling on the sweet adventure of the written word.
It's really kind of exciting that you never know when you'll do something that impacts someone else. I just happened to find out because I was just being my weird self, reading books in my spare time everywhere I go.
Sometimes I'll sing a bit of song in the grocery store. Sometimes I do high kicks when I'm walking down the street. I don't know why. But if you ever see an urban setting and people on the street break out into a series of random high kicks, then you'll know that Shirley has achieved legend status once again.

Giant Red Gumball of Death!

by Shirley Bahlmann
It was evening, and I was puttering around the house, clearing away a little clutter here and there. I even cleaned out my purse, and that's where I found the giant red gumball of death.
I'm sure that my nine-year-old did not know it's true nature when he stashed it in my purse weeks ago. Neither did I when, in a mindless sort of way, I put it in my mouth and tried to chew. It was as hard as a jawbreaker. Ah, a challenge! I was up for it. I persisted, and finally broke through the outer shell to the tough sugary center that had the consistency of a super ball. I was surprised by some little bits of candy that fell out of the middle, and a blob of sugary moisture slid down the wrong tube in my throat.
Let me tell you, air does not travel well through sugar. My breath came in increasingly small amounts until I wasn't getting any air at all. My almost 18-year-old, Zackary, was passing through the room just then, and I grabbed his sleeve. He turned around, took one look at my fish face with my mouth going open and closed, open and closed, then dashed behind me, placed both fists under my ribs, and gave me several sharp squeezes of the Heimlich maneuver. The blasts of air seemed to loosen the sugar blob, and my breathing gradually got easier.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Yeah. Thanks," I said, then spit the gum out. It wasn't worth my life.
So, don't despair of your teenagers. Keep feeding them, because you never know - one day they may save your life!