President Scum the Next Generation

My brother came to visit Sunday afternoon. With the outdoor weather snowy and bleak, it was the perfect opportunity to teach our childhood game to the next generation.

Here are some pictures of what President Scum looked like in my family circa 1989.

When we decided to play, the costume box always came out of the basement cedar closet, including the the rainbow clown wig.

allen president scum

(Disney actually designed Princess Elsa after my older brother from this picture.)

The Next Generation caught right on. We don’t own a rainbow clown wig or a snowy white princess wig, but I think the pictures show we found some adequate alternatives.

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The half-Darth Vader helmet went to King.

 

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Queen gets the Wiggy Piggy Tails.

 

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Scum got the furry hat.

 

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And the Yarn Lion went to someone in between.

 

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Little brother as King Vader.

 

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That is one hot, sexy Queen.

 

*****

mw

Dusting Off the Blog

Wow! Look what I’ve discovered under layers of remodeling dust….

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it’s my BLOG!

Since I spent 2015 with my fingers covered in wood glue, paint, and saw dust, I didn’t do much typing. My computer keyboard thanks me.

My blog? Not so much.

 

As a result of feeling sorely neglected and rejected, my dot-com world rebelled.

During this rebellious stage, maleahwarner.com got involved in some bad business under the negative influence of Hackers. As a result:

1)  She got suspended and shut down three times by the WebHosting Police.

2)  Lonely, abandoned, and desperate for action, she started dealing in questionable paraphernalia. No, not drugs or porn. Something worse…Handbags and Shoes. (If you got an email from maleahwarner.com offering you a purse, I promise, it wasn’t me. I was once voted “Least likely to grow up and sell handbags.”)

3)  In a final plea for attention, maleahwarner.com basically laid down on the floor tantrum-style and refused to up-date, save, connect, publish, or do its chores.

What does Momma do when when TeenTechnology won’t cooperate? She calls in the God Father of Technology. After a brief stay in Mr. Warner’s Rehab for Troubled Technology, my site has trashed its “I don’t want to and you can’t make me” attitude and is behaving wonderfully. Thanks to a new Web Host and the removal and lots of hacking garbage, maleahwarner.com is ready to roll!

Perfect timing, because I have a lot to blog about.

What am I going to blog about?

Remodeling.

Of course.

 

See you on the web.

*****

mw

 

 

Warner Video Christmas Card 2015

Happy Holidays to all of our fabulous family and friends.

Thanks for a fantastic 2015!

Here is a 3-minute look back at Warner Life 2015.

2015 Warner Christmas Video 960×540 from Maleah Warner on Vimeo.

Looking forward to 2016!

mw

What I’ve Been Doing While I Haven’t Been Blogging

What I Did This Summer

#1  I Wrote a Book

This summer I finished the 10th Draft (Yes, that is the number TEN) of my book.Maleah Finishes 10th DraftDo I daresay that the book is finished?

I printed several copies.

So far, thirteen people (not including myself) have read the book. The feedback is really good.

I’ll blog more about it another day.

Don’t fret, now. I promise, I will.

***

#2  I Turned 40

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the decorations,

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and the dorky siblings.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

They skewered me and kept roasting until I weren’t nuttin’ but a burnt crisp.

Don’t know why my parents aren’t in the picture; they were there also. Probably they don’t like to claim us when we get to acting that way.

* * *

# 3  I  Remodeled our Kitchen

Before

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I will blog more about the remodel.  I will. Now don’t go getting too excited, but I might even include some video.

* * *

#4  I Attended My Big Fat Utah Family Reunion

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These two started the whole mess fifty years ago …

Lavon Marianne and Kids 27 5x7

then the problem expounded . . .

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and now look at the chaos.

It was an amazing summer. More details on all of this to come.

I promise.

mw

News of My Boy Jimmer

Jimmer

In case you missed the news . . .

My boy Jimmer has been traded to (of all teams) the Chicago Bulls.

He’s been so busy lately he hasn’t had time to hang around in our family room for a while, but still, we’re so proud of him. Any mother would be.

Check him out.

What a game! (Still with the Kings in February.)

And here’s his debut with Da Bulls.
He looks good in red.

Good job, Jimmer. Proud of you.

mw

* * * * *

Kissing Treadmill

 

I admire runners.treadmill

I admire runners as they dash past my front porch where I sit in my chair dipping chocolate chip cookies in milk.

People say that the secret to running is to find your rhythm, then running becomes a pleasure. They get addicted to the feeling and (like the worst heroin addicts) will go to extreme measures to get their fix; extreme measures such as running twenty six consecutive miles. In a row.

I have never experienced pleasure in running. It’s like there’s a Twilight Zone for runners than I have yet to discover.

“Listen to music while you run,” my husband says. “It’s way better.”

So Saturday at the local fitness center, I climb aboard a treadmill, put my iPhone in the pocket of my shorts, stuff in the earbuds, and fire up Pandora. The music really does help, and soon I have upped the treadmill speed to a robust jog.

I hit a half-mile and, surprisingly, my body is not begging to quit.

Could it be? Am I entering that zone of Runner’s Rhythm? . . .

I’ll never know, because at that moment (probably due to my less-than-smooth gait) my iPhone leaps out of my pocket, hits the treadmill, and is catapulted into the machine directly behind me. The crunch at impact does not sound good.

I panic because, you know, iPhones are now like 5th appendages and you would panic too if your arm fell off and was flung into a neighboring treadmill. In fact, I hear an audible gasp from around the room: “Oh, no, she’s dropped her smart phone on a treadmill!” I don’t think that dropping a baby would have garnered that much anxious worry from the group.

Acutely aware that the room is watching to see what will happen next, I let my panic instincts take over, which means that I stop running.

The treadmill, however, has found his rhythm and has no intention of slowing down, so now I’m destined to follow the same trajectory as my phone. Fortunately, I manage to ward off imminent disaster by sort of “skiing” to the back of the treadmill and rather gracefully (I must say) hopping off.

Perhaps everything would have been fine if I had taken a moment to breathe, regroup, check my phone, stop the treadmill, and start over. But, no. I don’t want the people around me to think that I’m the kind of wimp who would let a little cell phone drop slow me down.  And I had been so close to finding the mystical “Rhythm.” My treadmill hadn’t missed a beat, and neither would I.

In one smoothly connected, nearly perfectly-choreographed movement, I bend down, snatch up my phone, and pause (only for the briefest of nanoseconds) to reconsider the wisdom of jumping right back onto the moving horse (I mean treadmill).

Apparently, it’s a bad idea to jump onto the back of a running treadmill, because you don’t have enough treadmill behind you to get your other foot down before you run out of track and are launched into space,  just like your iPhone.

Only I’m a little larger than my phone, so only my feet are pitched out from under me and I fall down hard landing on both knees. Old reliable, rhythmic treadmill keeps moving taking the skin from both my knees with it.

On the next bounce, my knees fly off the back of the treadmill and I come down with a thump on the inside of my right arm. Until that moment, I didn’t know it was possible to skin the inside crook of your elbow. I have no chance to regroup before my torso is launched off the back and I land on my face sideways. The treadmill licks across my chin like the rough tongue of a St. Bernard.

After three hits, I am at last free of the treadmill, which (I notice) has now stopped.

The whole impromptu acrobatic routine has taken all of three seconds. My husband felt the audible gasp in the room and noticed that I was no longer running upright next to him. Looking around, he spotted me on the ground, flailing to get free of my treadmill in the way a salmon tries to wriggle free of a grizzly bear’s paws.  That’s when he reached over and pressed the red emergency stop button on my machine.

“Are you okay?” he (sensibly) stops his machine and hops down to help me up.

Still, not wanting all these nimble athletes around me to think that a little boxing match with a treadmill could bring me down (especially after weeks of watching Olympic snowboarders and figure skaters take way worse falls and bounce right back up to finish their routines) I jump to my feet.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I say and jump back onto the horse…I mean treadmill.treadmill ego

Turning the machine on, I crank up the speed to where it had been before the phone mishap and finish my run. Afterwards, I limp to the locker room, put on my swimsuit and cringe as the shower water hits my raw skin. I swim laps, doing an extra 100 meters because I do not want my husband to think I am a wimp.

But the secret is out. I am a wimp. My knees really hurt and I have a red treadmill hickey on my chin.

Still, let me put your worried minds at ease: My phone is fine.

And I am never taking my ego to the gym again.

* * *

mw

 

Praying for Discretion

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What do You Pray For?

 

Lately, I've been thinking about praying for discretion.

I already pray for Wisdom.

I've done this for years, because although I can be slow to figure some things out, it didn't take me too long to realize that I am pretty stupid on my own.

I also pray for Faith and for Charity. By myself, I'm not so good at either one of those.

So I'm a bit hesitant to add more to the already lengthy list of attributes I need to develop, but this prayer thing really works. 

You can pray for anything.

I pray to find the video camera memory card because I need to record the 5th grade play in one hour.

I pray to be a better visiting teacher.

When I'm not in the mood to pray, I pray, "Please help me to  want to pray."

Let's face it, the monotony of life gets heavy and sometimes I want to throw in the whole load of towels.

Most days I just pray, "Please help me want to do the laundry."

 

And it works, it really does.

 

For example, several years ago I decided that I took life way too seriously and that I needed to develop a sense of humor, so I started praying for  humor. Then (like most things) I forgot about it, until a year or so later I came across a page in my journal where I had written,  

Things to pray for:  *Humor

 

 And I realized that I am funnier that I used to be. I promise. I am.

 

So about this discretion thing…

In a church lesson about honesty, a lady asked, "If my friend asks me if her hair looks bad, and it does, do I tell her the truth?"

Another lady said, you can be honest and discrete. You can use good judgment in your honesty."

So I got to thinking about Discretion and all its synonyms: Care, Consideration, Deliberateness, Diplomacy, Foresight, Good Sense, Good Judgment, Gumption, Maturity, Presence of Mind, Prudence, Thoughtfulness, Tact, and Wisdom.  

If one word can include all that, then I think there is room on my prayer list for one more word.

 

* * * 

mw

Generation Gap

 

Little Z Man comes to me, "Mom. What is this?" He emphasizes each word and puts out his hand showing me what he seems to believe is the most absurd and unusual object he has ever discovered.

 

"That," I say, "is a cassette tape."

 

 

mw

Squirrel in My House

Favorite Videos

 

Little Z and the One Shoe Band

Dear  Producers:

Please consider this audition for American Idol 2026.



If Simon Cowell says anything rude, my sister-in-law and I will poke his eyes out.

Sincerely,

mw

p.s. The next seven verses are the same as the first three.

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