Last Sunday, my nephews came in town, after the rest of my family had gone to pick them up. My dad got sick, and it spread to several others of the family, but I have been spared. So far.
On Tuesday afternoon, I ran up Mueller Park Canyon. When I was two and a half miles up the trail, some people told me they had seen a bear! So I whistled the rest of the way to scare the bear away. It wasn't easy. But I didn't see any bears. I'm surprised anyone saw one, because that's a high-traffic trail, and I've never heard of bears there. I did, however, see some sego lilies.
On Wednesday, I was doing gospel study and I was amused at the psychedelic picture of President Kimball. I showed my mom and she said something like, "I wonder if that's what we'll look like when we're resurrected."
Then on Wednesday night, I made cherry salsa. Though I have an incurable sweet tooth, this salsa is my very favorite thing to make from cherries. It's the best salsa I've ever had.
Then on Thursday, I took my mom to an event for her birthday. I inherited my love of cats from my mother, so when I first heard of the Amazing Acro-Cats, I thought it would be a fitting birthday gift. So off we went that evening to see a cat circus.
It was a small venue with four or five rows of chairs and a stage at the front. The primary cat trainer said she had the idea to start the show when she realized that no one had ever made a show with trained cats. "Then I figured out why," she said. I expected the show to be cats doing tricks and sometimes doing their own thing, but most of the time they were doing their own thing and occasionally doing their tricks. They would jump from raised platforms, jump through hoops, climb poles, and other random acts. She started out by showing some of her cats with lesser talents. So I thought the rest of the show would have more talented cats. But not really. They just did other tricks with the same level of inconsistency. It's apparently very difficult to train cats, because they have their own things they want to do. One cat just wandered through the crowd.
For the end of the show, they had a "concert" with cats manipulating instruments. They had a cat banging on drums by using drumsticks on hinges, a cat pressing a keyboard, a cat playing chimes, and a cat banging a cowbell (again with a hinged drumstick). As you can imagine, it was mostly just noise. (In college, I once attended a super weird "experimental music" concert, which was mostly just an eccentric woman making noise on instruments, so the cats weren't much worse than she was.) They also had a fake saxophone and trumpet, and they would put food on the mouthpiece so the cats would lick it and make it look like they were playing it, then they would play prerecorded trumpet and saxophone sounds. That was dumb. I preferred it when the cats were making their own noises.
I had been following the story of Mackenzie Lueck, because it was so strange. I was shocked on Friday when I learned that the murderer had previously been in my ward! He had a family history calling when I also had a family history calling. He also had a calling to help set up sports activities for the elders, but he didn't really do it. I think I talked to him a few times, including a New Year's Eve party at a friend's house. I seem to remember thinking he was a bit troubled at one point—but only troubled in the sense that his life didn't seem to have much direction, not because I suspected him to be a murderer or criminal. I didn't know him super well, so it's not like I've lost a friend or anything. I hold him with the same contempt that I hold all psychopaths—dip him in boiling oil, etc. Sometimes I feel bad that Adele, Kacey Musgraves, and Taylor Swift are my age, and they've done much more with their lives than I have. But at least I'm not a murderer! Twenty One Pilots was right: "You'll never know the murderer sitting next to you."
My superiors at work might not want me to tell this next story, but it's an important part of my week. While I was sitting in shock at the news of the murderer, at least two ambulances and three firetrucks were driving through This Is the Place, which contributed to an eerie ambience. The park holds day handcart treks for youth groups (as opposed to long week treks) on a steep trail just outside of the park. A few of the kids had gotten dehydrated, even though there were at least a dozen full jugs of water. NBD, they were fine. I don't know who called the ambulances, or why, but it was overkill. It was a nonstory. But the EMTs told the youth that they couldn't bring the handcarts down.
That meant that we employees had to go get them ourselves. So we marched up the steep trail to retrieve them. (I ran up that trail in October, and it was quite difficult to run up. I was able to walk up it, but it was still hard, and it was hot.) The scene made it look like some disaster had happened, as there were abandoned handcarts, hats, trail mix, water jugs, and more spread out. I assisted with moving four handcarts (but not the entire length of the trail). My stake never did trek when I was a youth, so this was my first time ever using handcarts. It was difficult to hold on to the carts downhill without slipping. But we made it. I often question the wisdom of the whole idea of trek. I was super hot and thirsty when we were done.
Also this week, someone was using my debit card at a Puma store in Las Vegas. I hope a real puma mauls and maims them. Now I have to get a new debit card.
Then, as June is coming to an end, so is my obligatory month of pulling up goatheads. This year wasn't as satisfying. Somehow I didn't find as much time to seek them out, but I also didn't find as many of the plants. I think the cold, wet spring delayed them, and all the other weeds grew in their place. (Every other weed is better than goatheads, except for mayyybeee myrtle spurge. Maybe.) So here is my bag of goatheads from a gas station, right before I threw them away.
You might remember last year when I wore my America suit to church on July 1. I wore it again this year. But my friend Shane joined in on the action to celebrate July 1, Canada Day.
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