I'm-Unna

In Spencer's interview with the Federal Reserve, the Stanford economist interjected, "Are you actually from Utah?"

Yes, it's hard for Easterners to concede that civilized life exists west of Chicago. Wrong they are, but I will say that there some things are creeping into Spencer and mine's dialect that could have been dead giveaways this last weekend that we were not from D.C. Namely I'munna, as in, I'm going to (Spencer). Or fer, rather than for (that was me).

And does anyone else in the world have trouble pronouncing Potomac?

He's Down with OCC

Spencer is going away. For the summer. To intern at the Office of the Comptroller of the Currency. So far, he's packed only a swimsuit.

We leave Thursday for D.C.

That Wonderful Mother of Mine

On such a holiday, I'm queuing up Lawrence Welk via YouTube, playing the song we heard—for the first time—just over a week ago. "All of you mothers in the studio come up," Welk invites, and they 1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3 around the dance floor with the boys in the band. Spencer, across from me, just perked up from his crossword, recognizing the tune; he's smiling.



Welk, her favorite, is playing this song, her favorite. It was sung a week ago at her funeral.

I can picture Wilma Janet Chapman selling freshly churned ice cream from a dairy cart in 1920s Rigby, Idaho. I smile at the thought of her words—"Not one for the womanly arts"—and that picture of her in sports uniform, made all the richer by the fact this, again, is the '20s. I think of her marrying Nile just two months after Pearl Harbor, dressed up with one beautiful orchid pinned to her dress, a flower the matron let her don during the temple ceremony.

"I up and found you a new daughter," Nile had written his own mother. He and Wilma would lose their first daughter, Claudia, at only 18 months old.

And I smile at the thought of Wilma holding Claudia again.

So a Month Ago

In the last month we've concluded that Niels, post mission, is mostly still fun.


He timed his mission homecoming perfectly, a day before BYU played its first two March Madness rounds in Denver and a week before work took me to Denver.

Not pictured, regrettably, are my sailing lessons with Grandpa. We hardly get our camera out.

The highlight of the week: fabricating Niels and Teika's story via instant messaging to Holly. Yeah, I miss you, Jace.

Oh, Provo . . .

A Blue and Orange Easter Morn'

Easter was lonely here in Utah; we didn't crash either of my multicultural extended families' celebrations, Samoan in Salt Lake City or American, Mexican, Tibetan in Woodland Hills. No, it was just bland old Spencer and me in a one-on-one egg roll, a Rogers family tradition. With no egg dye, we had to paint our eggs.



His BSU egg, inspired by this real live room in his parents' Boise home, won.