Cumet de Fois

Got to be a part of my niece's wedding Saturday. What a spiritually moving event. Sitting in the temple I love to drink in the Spirit. It was a joy to spend time with all of my family--they are a treasure to me in every sense of the word. The wedding was in Highland, and I got to travel there with my brother, who had flown in from Denver, and parents. What a treat.

On the way (there or back, can't remember), my brother and I were discussing many things, and I don't recall what we were talking about when all of a sudden he said, "Cumet de Fois." I asked him, "What does that mean?" He looked at me funny. It was then I realized that he said, "Kewmit the Fwog." He really doesn't speak French. :)

Other hilarious moments included his retelling of my sister and me folding clothes as part of our chores, then pointing to a pile of freshly-folded linens and asking, "Is that Gomer's pile?" Jesse related that story and I burst out laughing, just at the pure silliness of it all, but then it got better--apparently we referred to Jesse as "Gomer" growing up, and it was his pile of clothes we would point to. I had no memory of that, but it still makes me laugh. Poor youngest brother who had nothing but older sisters to pester and smother him. I'm shocked he turned out so well.

Another was when Jesse used the term, "decidedly odd." If that doesn't tell you something about my brother, I'm afraid you'll never understand. I love that guy immensely.

Cumet de Fois!

Of bubbles and waffles

"Oh, I wanna eat and eat and eat and eat until I die!"

There's a lady here at my work whom I just adore. I can be in the dumps considerably, and after five minutes with her, life is rosy again. I don't know what it is, other than her bubbly personality and joyful outlook. That or she's in a constant manic state. Either way, for me it's infectious. Don't get me wrong--every manic episode seems to require a fall, and she does have those, as well, at which point we lift her back to her effervescent self. Frankly, I love being a part of it.

On another note (waffles), I'm waffling with a decision, and I hate that. Those are the tough ones. Usually my gut tells me right up front, and I'm pretty sure I know the answer with this one, but when I tell myself that's it, I get a little panicky. Not a fun place to be. Sigh. I had surgery five years ago, and now I've learned that some muscles have separated from my ribs, which will require another surgery to fix it. It's not urgent, but it would be nice to get it done. I'm just not looking forward to another surgery of any kind. So I'm still waffling. Writing it down hasn't helped much. :)