GARBAGE

This morning I woke up with a heartache.  It was a tough one to shake.  With a magnetic field between me and my bed, I spent the morning at battle in my mind as to whether or not I would return to slumber.  "NO!"  I shouted (in my mind).  "That's not for me!"  

I swung open the front door and charged up the hill like a maniac, running from the bed that called after me.  I was wearing my husband's tube socks and the pajama pants that always ride up my, ahem, crack.  Did I care?  Not today.  I know that it's part of the entertainment industry to give off the perception that I am always beautiful and put together.  But this morning I must confess to you that that's a bunch of garbage.  I hope that heartaches, tube socks and wedgies will lessen the virtual gap between you and I.  And just so you know, I feel a little better now.

Tree Street Tuesdays: Meet Boss

Boss!  Settle down!

Boss, SIT.  STAY.

Good BOY!!!

Wait, NO BOSS!  Where are you going!?

BOSS!  COME!!!!

It was a bleak January evening when I first met the Boss.  My two-year-old son, Thatcher had been through a full week of non-stop throwing up; the worst flu I've ever seen in my whole life.  I had spent every waking moment and  long night hours at his bedside.  Weary, I staggered over to the toilet bowl with his limp little body in my arms and held him above it so he could vomit.  Just as he'd finished, I heard the front door open and close.  The Glediator's familiar footsteps trudged through the front of the house.  I poked my head out of the bathroom.  Relief at last, I thought to myself.  Just then, something wiggled from within his coat pocket.  What?  A fluffy little salt and pepper colored head popped out.  Oh no.  A dog. 

(Side note:  The previous night, the Glediator had entertained the idea of getting dog.  I expressed that I would like one someday, but that I wasn't ready quite yet because we needed a new fence in the back yard and I was just so busy, and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.  But if you know the Glediator, then you know that when he gets a bee in his bonnet there is no turning back.  Something we have in common I guess.  For example, one evening, Gleddy came home to find me with a crowbar in hand and a pile of rubble in what used to be the kitchen.  "We're remodeling the kitchen," I announced with a smile.)  

Ok, back to the story.

So, out pops this little dog and I just can't seem to find words.  My knees buckle and I collapse into a wasted pile on the floor, sobbing my eyes out.  But for the first time in a week, Thatcher cracked a smile.

For the next few weeks, I had thoughts of shooting myself in the head when our new puppy whined incessantly through the night.  "It's ok," said the Glediator, "he'll be my shop dog.  You won't even have to take care of him."  Oh please.  Need I even relate how that story turned out?

Three years and ten visits to the Pound later, Boss (or Boston, Massachusetts Gledhill as I've heard Thatcher call him), is still with us.  Boss loves to make a break for it if ever the front door opens, or an oblivious child running in and out from playing forgets to close it.  We can usually find him on an adventure at the park, but he's been known to visit the BYU dorms among other apartment complexes.  

Someone once told me that "we criticize in others what we cannot accept in ourselves."  I think that sums up my relationship with Boss.  He drives me bonkers with his wanderlust and daily urges to run away.  Maybe we are more alike than I think.  Still, at the end of the day, Boss loves me more than almost any human being I know.  For that, I must forgive him of all else.

Random Saturday Morning Thoughts

Mindy with Tilby at Kilby.  Oh my, that's just fun to say.

Photograph by Rose Mason

Random Saturday Morning Thoughts:

1.)  Played a show at Kilby Court in Salt Lake last night.  In the middle of the set someone shouted out:  "Sing something in Spanish!"  Out of nowhere, Tilby pulled off an amazing Sabor a mi on electric and I felt velvet on my lips as I sang my unrehearsed offering.  Magic.

From left to right:  Mindy, Alex Aponte, Brandon Cummings, Ryan Tilby

2.)  I ate a burger and a bowl of Golden Grahams last night after two weeks of no sugar or white flour.  Note to self:  Never do that again.  Me no feel good.

3.)  Went running this morning.  The air felt so fresh after the night time rain.  Then it started to hail.  Something about running in hail made me laugh out loud.  Anyone watching through a spyglass would have thought me ridiculous.  Again, magic.

4.)  Revelation of the week:  Forget yourself.  Serve others.  Inspiration for your own life will follow.

Have a lovely weekend my darlings.

Made new friends at Kilby.  Thanks for coming!  

Fam Friday: Meet My Noni

Noni and her late mother, Ruby

Noni is the daughter of Idaho onion farmers.  Noni is the mother of nine.  Noni is Karen Hart who married Rich Winkel.  Noni is the matron of the Sacramento LDS Temple.  Noni is a beauty.  Noni is my mother.  

In grade school, I first read "Strega Nona," by Tomi Di Paola.  From that, "Nona" morphed into "Noni" and that is what I (and all of her posterity) have called my 

mother ever since.   

Noni and Baby Mindy.  Noni, you look so young, but so tired!

For my whole life I have been a part of the rat race to try and get a piece of Noni.  It is one thing to be one of nine children who all need their mother, but everyone who knows her wants a piece of Noni.  As a young teenager, my parents were mission presidents in Spain for the LDS church.  Hundreds of missionaries, church members, neighbors, parents of school friends and even our nannies wanted to be mothered and befriended by Noni.  WHY?

Because Noni's presence makes you feel love like you've never felt before.  She is beautiful and I remember how she was often mistaken for one of my dad's daughters.  Noni is all grace and loveliness personified.  She wants nothing more than for you to know and feel of your worth in her presence.

My favorite memory with Noni is of a day when she set aside time just for me.  Together we drove through the picturesque countryside of Spain to the medieval pueblo of Siguenza.  We hunted for treasures in her favorite antique shop, visited the castle and had lunch in a village restaurant.  On the drive home, Noni stopped on the side of the road to clip some rose hips she spotted from a mile away (she loves rose hips and keeps them in old Mason jars for decoration).  I watched her graceful figure bend over the rose bushes as she gently spoke wisdom about the purpose of life and why things are the way they are.  In that moment, I felt something magical I have not forgotten. 

It can hurt to love someone so much and always have them taken from you.  Aside from the whole world wanting Noni, she has also moved around the globe from Mexico to New Zealand serving humanity.  Long distance relationships of any kind are hard.  There have been times where I have thrown my hands in the air and shouted, "I give up!"  I retreat and choose denial over the labor it is to experience my feelings.  Then Noni feels sad that there is only one of her, so far away, and a host of children and grand children that want to divide her into shares.  Still, Noni gives all that she has to her relationships and it falls to me to let that be enough.  

It is more than enough.  I can only hope to measure up to the divine woman that is my Noni.

Mom, why on earth are you wearing an area rug?

Cheer Up, Charlie

The Glediator has not been his usual playful self as of late.  It turns out that being under the weather and under the gun at work altogether, can make it hard to enjoy life.  So, I thought it would be fitting to cheer up the Glediator and make a list of the top ten funniest things he's ever done.  Here they are in no particular order:

1.)  One December night some odd years back, I climbed into bed early.  After a few minutes, the door creaked open and the Glediator began to sing "Farty Claus is Coming to Bed" in the style of "Santa Claus is Coming to Town."

2.)  For seven years, the Glediator wore the same pair of Doc Martin sandals, day in and day out - even through the snowy winters.  His employees all made fun of those ratty old sandals, so he started flinging them at people during work hours when they least expected it.  After he had stapled them back together with a staple gun a half dozen times, they mysteriously disappeared.  I think they disintegrated.

3.)  This last Easter, he stole his Dad's American Express (the one with no limit) and put it in an Easter egg for the family Easter egg hunt.  

4.)  The Glediator has a tattoo of the God of Fertility on his ankle.  Seriously.  It was a high school peer pressure thing.  (But I secretly really like it). 

5.)  Did you know that the Glediator has an alter ego?  His name is Chin Wah and he is Chinese.  I first became acquainted with Chin Wah on our honeymoon.  He usually surfaces during potentially romantic moments. 

6.)  His Beavis and Butthead impersonation is spot on.

7.)  Once, on a trip to Puerto Vallarta, Gleddy downed more than two dozen jalapenos in a jalapeno-eating contest with his little brother, Dustin.

8.)  During a trip to Europe, with the same brother (Dustin), they rode around Rome together on a scooter and accidentally entered the freeway on an off-ramp, blatantly going against traffic (Dustin shrieking like a little girl the whole time).

9.)  During my labor with Jackson, the Glediator rented and watched Vertical Limit in the delivery room.  Wait a second, that wasn't funny.

10.)  And lastly, in our first house as newly weds, the Glediator remodeled the tile floor in the bathroom.  However, it raised the floor up a few inches which prevented the door from fitting back in it's frame.  So he simply threw it away and never replaced it.  Needless to say, I drove to the nearest gas station whenever nature called.

Get well soon, Glediator!

Tree Street Tuesdays: Meet Marni Reeve

Marni with babies Marin (left) and Hunter (right)

(Forgive me, Marni.  I know this picture is twelve years old, but don't you think it's timeless?)

There is a room in my house that I avoid like the plague. My study is an ever growing pigsty that resembles the interior of a back alley dumpster. Every time I walk past it, I slam the door shut in denial, secretly wishing that it will just magically fix itself. But alas, it never does and it haunts my every thought. A few weeks ago, I hired a cleaning lady to go at it, but not 2 seconds after assessing the rubble, she announced, "I don't even know what I could do with this." I found her reaction somewhat comical and related the story to my oldest sister, Marni.

"I'm coming over to help you organize your study on Monday!" Marni announced with enthusiasm.

This is Marni's love language. She will serve you and give you the shoes off her feet if you even so much as hint that you are in need of something. Last winter, I told her I loved her winter boots and she literally took them off her feet and gave them to me. She is hands down the most selfless person I know. I've seen this woman give away her bed, a crib, a kitchen table, several sofas, beautiful clothing, and even shared her home with the homeless. When the Glediator and I were first married, she allowed us to occupy her basement apartment for free! She probably would have let us sleep upstairs with her if five other needy family members and friends hadn't already been there.

As my oldest sister, Marni pretty much raised me. I was the eighth child of nine and Mom depended on the older kids to help with the little ones. Marni would put me to sleep as an infant and then slept with me as a toddler. I still feel a maternal attachment to her and walking up the street to her house feels like going home to me more than anywhere else.  

This morning as we braved the barrier beyond the study doorway, Marni and I talked about life, husbands, children, and careers.  Tunes were playing in the background, our kids giggled in the next room over, and I was in a state of bliss, secretly wishing that Marni will always be just up the street.

Look!  The study is clean!

Music Biz Mondays: Come to my show!

Did you know that I have a show this weekend?  You really should come.  Come if you are an artsy deep thinker.  Come if you like indie music.  Come if you enjoy attending concerts in alleys where you can dress like a homeless person and it just doesn't matter.  Kilby Court is at the end of an alley in downtown Salt Lake City where concerts are held featuring the best indie bands from all around the country.  On Friday I will be playing a set after the talented Josaleigh Pollett and the seriously awesome Sweater Friends.  (I really don't know why in the world I am headlining.  These guys are really good).

If you come to this show, we will be able to visit in person since the venue is the size of a phone booth.  If you come to this show, you will see the famous Ryan Tilby playing guitars for me.  And finally, if you come to this show, it will be the most memorable date of your life for less than fifteen dollars.

Buy tickets and check out show details here.

Celebrity Siting in Central Park

At present, I am on a little "bidness trip" in New York.  In between meetings, I took a walk through Central Park and saw someone famous.  Check out this video clip to see who it was! 

 

Come back next Friday to meet a very special member of my family!

Tree Street Tuesdays: Cherry Lane is My Happy Place

Yesterday, I shared something questionable on here.  I think it was one of those "you had to be there" things.  So, today it is forever deleted.  However, you can still have the pleasure of watching me have a natural high in this video clip.  After I witnessed this "questionable" event, I was laughing so hard I was crying.  The Glediator calls this my "Happy Place."  Occasionally I will start laughing - which then morphs into hysterics from whence there is no return.  So have a great day and find something to laugh about!

Fam Friday: Meet My Big Sis, Vicki

Baby Emmett, left, Vicki, right, 04.06.09

Out of the nine kids in my family, the one just above me is my sister Vicki (or Wicki, Biddies, Wee Wee, Jick, or McJick if you please).  Vicki is exceptional at everything she does.  (I don't ever get jealous about that or anything).  Growing up, she was always the best pianist, soprano, comedian and a true basketball star.  Once, our coach in grade school asked me if I could play just "a little more like Vicki."  Being that she was the only girl allowed to play on the boys team, that seemed like a pretty hard feat.

Vicki, left, Mindy, right, in the Barley fields at Grandma and Grandpa's ranch (1993?)

When we moved to Spain, Vicki attended our English speaking International school for one year and then gave it the boot, declaring she was switching to a pure Spanish high school (and folks, those schools are brutal).

When I came to college, it was Vicki who registered me for all 

my classes and signed me up for the honors program.  When I got married and had a baby at the ripe old age of twenty, it was Vicki who watched my baby, enabling me to continue my college education.

She continued to take the world by storm, visiting third-world countries, helping women get micro-loans, delivering babies in Honduras (seriously) and then went on to medical school.  Now she is a doctor (a psychiatrist to be exact).  She called me from the hospital this week as she was in the delivery room, in labor with her first baby.  "I can't stand the way this nurse is talking to me!" she laughed.  No doubt she knew more about what to do in the delivery room than her staff.  Not trying to brag, but she really is so smart!  Don't you ever feel such immense pride over your siblings?

Congratulations Vicki!  You're going to be an amazing mother--just as long as you don't treat Baby Emmet the way we treated our Cabbage Patch Kids (a.k.a.  CPK abuse).

Mindy, left, Vicki, right -- always hilarious (1984?)

Please Be My Intern

If you are reading this, you could well be my next intern.  There is an opening in my office right now.  The staff is absolutely fabulous and you will get along great with Me, Myself and I.  Here are five (plus one) reasons you should apply immediately:

1.  You are not a psychotic fan, but rather a confident individual who sees past the smoke and mirrors of the music industry.

2.  You are so great with people and help them feel how important they are every time you answer emails or make phone calls in my behalf.

3.  You don't mind that this internship is educational (ahem, non-paid) because of all the contacts and artists you will meet, and all of the things you will learn.

4.  My scatter-brained mannerisms are endearing to you and you like being the organized friend that I need in my life.

5.  Your acting skills are impeccable.  If I ask you to call up some record execs, posing as my manager, you nail the part.  I love that about you!

6.  I am a real easy-going gal (choke) when I want to be and if you hate being my intern I will still be your friend after you leave.

If you or someone you know is interested, please email me at mindy@mindygledhill.com.

A Letter to Myself

Dear Mindy,

This is a message for you from your higher self (you know, the glorious person you are when you leave this life).  Don't be alarmed, but I've been watching you up close lately.  This morning you went running (way to go, by the way!).  The morning sun beat down on your shoulders while your feet hit the pavement in perfect rhythm.  Your heart pumped oxygen and emotion through your body and I could read the stream of thoughts running through your conscience.

First of all, I know you're worried that it's Tree Street Tuesday and you haven't interviewed anyone for today.  You worry about the silliest things sometimes!  Don't waste your time setting unrealistic expectations for yourself.  I really admire that you want to have a special connection with your neighbors and those around you.  You feel deeply for people and it is your gift to know of their infinite, individual worth.  Now work on knowing that you also have infinite worth.

You've been thinking about your friend, Paul Cardall.  I know how tears streamed down your face as you sat in the dark at the benefit concert for him last night.  When you worked with him on Feather in the Wind your pride made it hard for you to get along with Paul.  You just don't quit until you get what you want.  That's a wonderful thing except for when it's not.  I think you've learned now to compromise with people a little bit better.  Don't wait until someone is deathly ill to say you're sorry ever again.  And please forgive yourself too.

You have a lot of goals and dreams on your mind right now.  You will achieve those.  God wants all of those blessings for you.  Be patient and stop comparing your gifts to the gifts of your friends.  Yours are unique to you.  No one, no one else at all, has what you have to give.  Emphasis on the to give.  After all, gifts are for giving.  (And you get what you give.  It's a  beautiful thing).  Now go develop those gifts and pine no more.  You are a strong, confident and wonderful person.

Captain of Your Destiny,

Yourself

Meltdown Mindy

Have you ever had to drive alone in a car with kids for ten hours or more?  Don't do it.  Ever.  Kids know how to test your limits.  I found out that my breaking point for tolerating bickering and whining boys in a small, confined space is about three hours, after which I have to pull over to the side of the freeway, cry and bang my head on the steering wheel five or six times before I can find the will to go on.  I mean, asking nicely to "please calm down," was a joke.  Getting firm and taking away privileges got their attention about as well as a documentary on the asexual reproduction of single celled organisms would have.  Yelling until the veins in my neck bulged only fueled the fire more.  Hence, a mommy melt down was the only other alternative.  And you know what?  It worked.

However, I don't recommend flipping your lid in order to get your children to behave well.  Neither do I pretend to have a better solution for kids who WILL NOT LISTEN no matter what.  Can anyone who is good with kids shed some light?