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Show Wednesday, October 24, 2001 The Park Record A-15 Sunday in the Park By Teri Orr :D Stevie Wonder had it right... : . 'Isn't she lovely?' wT. Che is, blessedly, perfectTen perfect slender O fingers. Ten perfect slender toes. And unlike the little butterball babies I gave birth to, she is del-Jicate. del-Jicate. Long thin arms and longer thin legs. A rosy J complexion without those birthing red marks. And hair, my goodness, so much blonde hair she arrived J with a mohawk going on. Last Sunday, my first J grandchild, the daughter of my first-bora son, came J into the world and we are all now forever altered, rl Izabelle (her father's spelling) Paris (her moth-er's moth-er's choice) Poison (old Danish family name - they J dropped all the extra U's when they hit America) 'decided to arrive earlier than her anticipated due date. Three-and-a-half-weeks early to be exact. Early enough... I spent the entire time my daughter-in-law was in labor in a kind of mental labor of my own. While the kids were down in LDS hospital with Liz hooked up to fetal monitors, my son mentioned men-tioned they hadn't had a chance to pick up any of those uttie gowns witn the built-in mittens, ould I mind shopping shop-ping for them? It was 'a good diversion for ,me. I hit the Factory Outlet Stores and soon realized all the other - little things they needed. need-ed. Receiving blankets and burp pads and socks and snowsuits and finger puppets 'and, oh yes, diapers. That little girl would come home to an entire 'wardrobe. Because, of course, her aunt had . been given the same directive. Jenny, too, bought ; gowns and blankets and sleepers and bibs. And she gave that great gift of sacrifice. She went over and cleaned their house top to bottom - making it baby ready. We waited all day long. My son would call with updates but the kids wanted to do this quietly on their own. So from eight in the morning when the first call came, until 10:30 p.m. when the "She's arrived!" call came, I did what I do so well. I worried wor-ried a lot and prayed a little; I didnt even try my old standard deal-making with God. "If you'll just do this one thing, I'll do all these other things for the rest of my life." God and I are both beyond that. So I tried to reason with God. Reminded God (as if God needs reminding) what good kids these were. How they waited and planned for this child. How they were well prepared (other than the clothing cloth-ing part) to care for her. I lit candles and put on angelic music. I made chicken soup. I shampooed the carpet and scoured the bathroom. I called my daughter and asked, how the house cleaning was going. I have never waited well. . The next day when Jenny and I went to the hospital hos-pital to welcome our newest family member, I reminded myself that newborns most often resem held her, I couldn't help but cry at the absolute miracle mir-acle of her perfection. It is a clichl to talk about the miracle of birth, of course. It is a cliche' because it is true. It is wondrous that the union of two people create yet another human being,, programmed to blink and wiggle and cry and suckle right away. I am, undeniably, smitten. And while either sex would have been great, the gentleness of a girl seems well-suited to these first-time parents. My friends started leaving me messages. "Hey, Granny!" "How's it going Grandma Teri" "Doesn't the word grandmother just sound awful? Ugh!" That was the one that stopped me. No, "grandmother" "grand-mother" sounds like music. I had my children early in life, too early really, but we managed to raise each other. And now, the payoff is I can be a young grandmother. Hopefully, someone who can keep up with the kids, planning hikes in the mountains and barbecues on the beach and reading favorite stories over and over and over again. I think being a grandparent means you have a second chance to make up for all the mistakes you made with your own children. The things you took too seriously or not seriously enough. You become the spoiler. The person per-son of treats. The person per-son who will do those things the parents are tired of doing over and over again. You become a teacher in a way you never could with your own children. And you enjoy these grandchildren just because you can. In the hospital, I asked my son how he was doing with the whole rooming-in concept. He said it was great, but he had a lot to learn. "The nurse comes in, unwraps her, changes her and wraps her up again like a burrito. I just cant seem to get that part down yet." I stifled my laughter. Like a burrito. He was right. And I'm pleased to report by the end of the week he was getting the burrito wrap down pretty well. I have held Izabelle for hours already. And at one stretch, when her mom and dad were in the kitchen laughing and serving up a casserole made by the loving hands of my neighbors, the Good Sisters of the Cul De Sac (Eggplant, cheese and chicken sausage, like lasagna, Yum!), well, Bella and I took the time to have a little conversation. All right, maybe my part was a monologue, but I told her how beautiful she was and what good times we were going to have together and we rubbed noses. That's when she smiled. I swear to God. And no it wasn't gas. It was the youngest smile ever given by a child to her grandmother. At least that s my story and I'm sticking to it. I reminded myself that newborns most often resemble little old men. I should not expect anything different But this was entirely different She had hours to lose newborn redness and she wasn't wrinkled at all. She was beautiful. Without a doubt the most beautiful baby girl ever born." -Teri Orr "pie Jittlgjjld men. I should nptexpecli anythingii-s6!?!, she entered the world on Oct.14, a Jerent. But this was entirely different. She had had Sunday, seems just right too. For me, it was a life- Jiours to lose that newborn redness and she wasnt changing Sunday m the Park... wrinkled at all. She was beautiful. Without a doubt Teri Orrisa former editor oThe Park Record and the most beautiful baby girl ever born. And when I director of the Park City Performing Arts Center. Samples By Jay Meehan P A has bin T 've bin trying my best to get out of Dodge and ' JLadd to my cultural backpack but it's getting .near impossible to find a decent accommodation Jhese days. Just try getting a reservation for a bed nd breakfast in Kabul or Kandahar and you'll see iwhat I mean. More than likely, it's those CNN journalist types Jhat have bin taking up all the space. Nah, it wouldn't would-n't be them. I dont think they even have bar stools n Afghanistan, do they? If they do, they've probably proba-bly bin keeping them with the masseuse tables. J I'd even take a regular hotel room at this point, tut even that seems out of the realm of possibility. They don't appear to have one in Kandahar and, as iar as Kabul goes (a thrill-seekers commute of just .under 300 miles), neither Mohd Jan Khan Watt at ihe lovely Spinzar or Timur Shah Park at the cozy Yama has opted to return my calls. Well, if that's their business model, so be it. Anyway, Mazar-i-shanf, According to recent Pentagon - briefings, might be the new destination desti-nation . of choice. Now, my travel agent, and let ftie tell you, she's bin researching this stuff, has come up with some nice digs not too opulent, opu-lent, mind you - just a short 37 miles from Mazar-i-sharif in beauti- . ful downtown Termez, mmmmmhmm Uzbekistan. ! I know this throws an international border into an already spiced-up gumbo but my agent tells me it's all worth it. , First of all, it's the famous two-star Surkhon Hotel and it's huge (seven floors and 95 rooms) and brand new (1980) and it's smack-dab downtown and hear the famous Zoo - which was one of the best in the famous former USSR and is only a scant five minutes from the railhead and 20 minutes from the famous airport. ' ' I'm not quite sure how far it is from the bar in the Surkhon (did I forget to mention the bar and the restaurant and the TV in the room) to the famous "Friendship Bridge" which spans the drought-dwindled Amu Darya river. This mud is all that separates the Uzbeks from the Afghans and the bridge, if not the mud, has been sealed off since the rise to power of the Taliban. ', ! I know the question. Why would anyone want to travel to this region at this time? Well, for the skiing, ski-ing, of course. There is nothing quite like the soft texture of the powder snow that begins to pile up 6n the Hindu Kush this time of year. And with all the helicopters reported in the area, why not hitch , a ride to the famous Khyber Pass and make a few turns on the way. ! And the riding? The snowboarding? Well those fesort operators up there on the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan bin having a love affair with the Gen-X, Y and Z crowd for years. I mean, they invented the baggy look and the trendy head-wear. head-wear. And they are- into truly carving turns, also. Proper technique is a must. The traditional approach is at the top of their list. That's what fundamentalism fun-damentalism is all about. I havent just bin checking out exotic ski destinations. destina-tions. I've also bin loafin'. And, if the truth be known, I've bin doin' a bit of lyin' and, of course, for medicinal purposes only, I've bin drinkin'. You might say, I'm a has bin. I've also bin doing a bit of roadwork, of late. I headed south to check out what changes the recent trauma wrought upon the Kaibab squirrel population popula-tion down on the north rim of the Grand Canyon. Hey, someone's got to do it, and I've bin available avail-able for just this kind of research for quite some time. . ' I've bin in kind of a quandary, however, over the validity of this latest study. It has to do with my control group. I only saw one Kaibab squirrel oh the entire trip and it appeared to be sleeping on the road. As you no doubt are aware, this makes for one highly suspect scientific sci-entific survey. mmmummmmm 1 envisioned, say, a hundred or so of the little critters volunteering for my survey and, as it turned out, I came away with not a single interview. It wasn't that I didnt try. I even nudged the one little lit-tle bugger I found on the road in an attempt to , bring him around to my way of thinking. Then, after push came to shove, I ended up kicking the stubborn little malcontent clean through the uprights. ' Considering I hadn't bin practicing, it was one fine kick. The breeze was moderate and left to right and, as asphalt goes, you could say I was set up on the right hash-mark. If he hadnt been traumatized before, he certainly was now. Any survey result is better than none, 1 always say. . While in the neighborhood, I also checked in at Lee's Ferry to see what the ghosts of Dominguez and Escalante might have to say about the new world order. All they wanted to know was whether anyone ever found a way from Santa Fe to Monterey. They bin wondering about that since 1776. The ghost of John Wesley Powell wanted to know how he could be getting such bad press lately while revisionist histonans were treating the ghost of John D. Lee as if he was some poor misunderstood misunder-stood pioneer. It didnt bother me a bit to inform them that, in the new scheme of things, we are all a bunch of has bins., Why would anyone want to travel trav-el to this region at this time? 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