library saga update

Library Patron Mr. Berserk has been banned from all branches of our library system. His picture/name is posted, wanted poster style, in every branch with instructions to call the police immediately if he shows up.
Brandon was in the news again this week. He was at our library branch training a new employee on the computers and pulled up the site for CrimeStoppers. What he saw on the screen was a picture of the library patron sitting at the computer across the table from him. He calmly called in reinforcements and the criminal was apprehended. The criminal was armed with a BB-gun and wanted for aggravated robbery. Way to go Brandon!

I'm thankful for water

We woke early this morning to a bevy of heavy machines on our street and no water in the house. It was exciting to watch the crew dig a humongous hole in the street to repair a broken pipe and give us clean water once again. I was grateful for our supply of water in the garage and impressed we managed through two meals using only two gallons of it (postponing morning showers and dishwashing). And so, I am grateful for running water...

excitement at the library

Last Thursday during our computer class at the library, a patron went berserk. Not one of our class-members, but another patron with an issue about the library’s computer policy. We have two officers at the library at all times, one inside and one outside. Brandon, our inside officer and a big and strong guy in his late twenties, remained calm as he tried to deal with the unhappy patron, an older man with a cane. He explained the policy and the reasons for it, but the patron just got madder and madder, following Brandon around the library, screaming obscenities at him. Finally, the old man raised his cane to hit Brandon. We all watched as Brandon grabbed the cane and held tight, the patron also holding tight, then escorted the still-screaming patron outside and to the ground. Meanwhile, page Terry calmly called 911 and Karen the Librarian (who teaches the computer class) calmly hit the panic button. Three more police cars arrived just as Brandon and the patron got outside. I’m not quite sure what happened after that, but I sure was impressed with the calm and quick thinking and actions of everyone involved.

I wondered how the incident could have been avoided altogether; was it frustration over a simple misunderstanding, had the man had such a horrible day that this was the thing that finally sent him over the top; did medication (or lack of it) play a role? Will he be all right; will he want to come back to the library again?

Library workers are still talking about the incident. Terry shook her head in amazement, “I’ve worked for the department of corrections and never seen anything like it (of course there you know who the enemy is, and the good guys all have guns); I’ve been attacked twice when I worked for 7-11. I sure never thought something like this would happen at the library!” I guess anything can happen. And I guess that’s why they’ve hired Brandon…

don't ask, don't tell

Mothers have an uncanny knack for knowing things; many children believe that their mother actually has eyes in the back of her head. It is not so much that they see more than any other adult, it’s just that they HAVE to know/remember more stuff: when the field trip money is due, where junior left his library book, who needs new Sunday shoes, what an isosceles triangle is, how to get food into a toddler, how to spell every word and fix any problem…

Last night at dinner, while Kira was doing the “get food into a toddler” drill, the conversation turned to things I didn’t know as my children were growing up. There was the time my three younger children were watching TV and popping gobstoppers. Seven-year-old Isaac popped one into his mouth and it went right past his tongue into his throat where it stuck. Fortunately, his 14-year-old brother knew the Heimlich maneuver and Isaac is alive today. That prompted Eli’s recounting of the time he was 15 and rehearsing for the musical “Grease” at the high school. He was playing guitar in the pit, but couldn’t decide whether or not to use a pick. Just then the conductor said, “Pick-up to measure 16, let’s go,” and started the music. Eli quickly popped the pick in his mouth, where he kept it between his teeth when he wasn’t using it, but he popped it too quickly and instead of catching it in his teeth, it went down his throat where it stuck. He is playing his guitar while trying to get it back out, but he realizes the only direction it can go is down. “I had a terrible time getting it down, and it hurt like the dickens, but I swallowed it!”

I have decided that mothers, although they know many wonderful things, shouldn’t know everything, at least not until enough time has passed that fainting and panic can be replaced with a bit of laughter. Now I’m wondering if that pick is still stuck in him somewhere, but I don’t think I really want to know.

field trip

This week I went on a field trip with three kindergarten/preschool classes to the Pumpkin farm. A local farmer has been giving away free pumpkins to school children for nearly 30 years, with roughly 1000 school children visiting his farm each fall day. It is quite an amazing thing and a very exciting event for the children. This field trip, however, was not what any of us expected…

First of all, we expected a sunny day with a crispness in the air, the kind of day that smells and feels like fall, the fall I love so much. It was bitterly cold with a cold wind blowing and rain sprinkling off and on. We expected the pumpkin patch to extend for miles with beautiful pumpkins of all sizes where each child could pick out just the right one to suit his or her desires. It extended for miles, but the pumpkins this year were exceptionally large (due to an unfortunate circumstance involving pigs and natural fertilizer; use your imagination), and last week’s hard freeze made a mess of the crop, many of them were already rotting. Plus, we were on the tail end of the thousand-a-day visitor roster, leaving us pretty slim pickin’s. We hadn’t thought the logistics through, either, for it was impossible to keep our children together in nice little groups, once they hit the pumpkin patch, they were everywhere and we had no way of rounding them up again. I guess we had naively expected they would just be drawn to us at the end of the search. It was somewhat of a miracle that only one child was lost (and thankfully, eventually found).

The teachers wisely decided to get one pumpkin per class, expecting the children would understand the nature of the dilemma we would have if every child picked out a 20-pound pumpkin, but some of the children had their little hearts set on a pumpkin of their very own and also picked out one for themselves. Now MY rule has always been, “You choose a pumpkin you can carry by yourself.” But there were no half-way decent pumpkins under 20 pounds. We brought plastic grocery bags to help the children carry the pumpkins, but plastic grocery bags aren’t strong enough for 20-pound pumpkins we could barely get to fit inside a bag. All the bags were torn to shreds right off the bat. Time for an exercise in problem-solving. How do these little kindergarteners get their huge pumpkins that half mile, up-hill to the bus… I expected the children would realize the futility of their dream and let it shatter there in that muddy field… not!

We rounded up my little group of eight kindergarteners (with three adults) and started off for the bus. The other two adults had the one pumpkin and five children with them. I lingered with the last three children, the ones with a pumpkin each. David decided he could kick his pumpkin up to the bus by pretending it was a soccer ball. He was wearing cowboy boots. I suggested pushing it with the side of his boot. Dylynn rolled hers, and Jordan was more worried about keeping hers warm… It was mighty slow going, and we lost sight of the rest of our group in 30 seconds. I suggested that perhaps we should leave the pumpkins behind as a gesture of good will for some other children (8 more busses arrived while we were there), expecting that they had had enough of the pushing-rolling-kicking. They wouldn’t hear of it. I pushed David’s for a ways, then rolled Dylynn’s a while to give her a break. I picked up Jordan’s and carried it (to keep it warm, of course). At this rate we could get to the bus in an hour. So, I carried one pumpkin 15 yards and left it with its owner while I went back for the next pumpkin and child, then went back for the last pumpkin and child. Then we did another 15 yards the same way and kept on going until we finally made it to the bus. We were exhausted, frozen, dirty, and so glad to get back to school, just in time for lunch. We expected that nap-time would be a welcome treat; only 2 fell asleep.

The ordeal took its toll, however. Three children from our class alone succumbed to “field trip fatigue” and had to go home after lunch. One of them was Dylynn. The sad thing is, after all her work for her pumpkin, she left it at the school and when she went to take it home the next day, it was gone. I guess we should have expected that.

a better route home

Last night I was reminded of a sweet memory from my childhood in the small college town of Rexburg, Idaho. It was 1962, I was 9 years old. I had spent the day with my best friend, Laurel Zollinger. Their large family had a nice home and I always felt welcome there. They had a lovely playhouse in their back yard but it wasn’t as popular as the fabulous mud hole at one end of the long driveway where I learned to “bake.” We made such wonderful delicacies from that rich Idaho soil and never-ending supply of the finest ingredients: cinnamon sugar (sand), nuts (gravel),dried fruits (leaves)… Our creations were laid out on a seemingly endless length of 2x4 to bake in the sun.

This particular day we baked until after dark, when the “oven” cooled down, and although it was a straight shot for me to walk only two blocks to my home, Laurel asked her dad if he would drive us there. I was a little embarrassed to bother him, but Laurel insisted, and I thought I saw a little twinkle in her eye. Her Dad agreed and we got in his car. He claimed to not know the way, so she happily agreed to give him directions and thus began a nice little wild-goose chase through our neighborhood. “Turn right here, then turn left at the next street, then go strait for two blocks and turn right again…”

A good ten minutes later I was getting nervous that he would have enough of this nonsense and just drop me off at the next stop sign to find my own way home. But he was quite agreeable to play along, even when her directions led us right to the A&W drive-in! “Well, lookie here,” he said, feigning surprise, “I must have gone right when you said left! Well, as long as we’re here, let’s get us a root beer!” And so we did. My nervousness subsided as he happily handed us our mugs. We all enjoyed our treats and then, surprise, he knew right where I lived…

I was terribly impressed with Laurel’s cleverness, but touched more by the father, who was willing to take the time to make a sweet memory for a child. He knew the better route home after all.

"Family"

"embrace"

Mouse Tail, an update

A few days after the mouse-under-the-bed incident, Missy brought in another mouse, letting it go under my antique pedal sewing machine in the basement. When I got home from work that afternoon, she had re-captured it and had it, dying, on the futon in the TV room. When I brought Isaac home, we couldn’t find it, or Missy. But a few days after that Isaac sat down on the futon to watch a little TV and discovered he was sitting on a mouse tail…

Missy has since brought in another live mouse, which Isaac was able to catch and release, and we have found two more dead mice. I am quite pleased Missy is turning into such a good little mouser, but Isaac mourns each mouse lost to “Evil Cat.”

mouse in the house

A couple of months ago I was home alone and up late working on the computer in the basement. I noticed a shadow moving across the wall behind the computer screen and discovered it was a mouse creeping along the top shelf of the computer desk. Now I am not one of those squeal-and-jump-on-a-chair type of women (raising 5 boys I’ve had plenty of experience with creatures, including quite a prolific colony of mice Jesse owned), but I was surprised to see him on a shelf in the basement.

We do have mice outside, but they generally stay outside, unless someone happens to bring them in inadvertently. There was that time several years ago that Hannah scooped up two of them with the dog food out in the garage and dumped them in Penny’s bowl in the kitchen, giving her a near heart attack and proving Penny to be a great hunter (she caught them!).
Anyway, I set a trap down by the computer. Several weeks went by without any sign of the mouse so I finally put the trap away and talked myself into believing that he must have found his way up the stairs and back outside again.

Then two nights ago, just after we went to bed, I heard a terrible commotion in the bathroom/hall. Thinking Missy had brought in another bird (which puzzled me, since Hannah is the usual gift recipient and is away at school now), I went to investigate and found her out there batting a live mouse around. The mouse stayed stunned enough as to not run too far before he got batted again, so pretty much stayed in the vicinity. I called Isaac up to consult as to the best course of action. He voted for catch-&-release. Frankly, mice don’t rank right up there with birds in my book, but, well, I’d let him rescue it if he wanted to. Before he had a chance, however, Missy chased it under my bed and decided she’d had enough adventure for one night and calmly left. Oh great, now there’s a mouse under my bed, how am I going to have any sweet dreams tonight, wondering what he’ll be chewing…

I set a trap in my bedroom, worrying Isaac, “I hope it doesn’t kill it.” (We usually use a live trap, but it has been broken for a year or so). I left the bedroom door open just in case Missy came back or in case the mouse wanted to find his way back outside, and I fell asleep listening for scritch-scratching under the bed. I half expected to find him in a bottom drawer or one of my shoes the next morning. Then I got to thinking, if that other mouse is still in the house, I now have two. Two mice loose in my house… The chances that they find each other are pretty good. The chances that they start a family are fifty-fifty. I had visions of another prolific colony, this one running loose in the house. I remembered reading a story in The New Yorker last year about a lonely man who bought a snake and of course mice to feed it. When the snake died, the mice eventually overran his house, filling it with tens of thousands… I could see it now, mice everywhere, Isaac begging, “But they’re so cute!”

There was no sign of the mouse the next morning, but last night he got hungry enough to chance the peanut butter in the trap and, brace yourself, Isaac, it did kill him.

...but not forgotten

Hannah left for college yesterday. Jesse flew in a few days ago to drive back with her. As they pulled out of the driveway, I had a flash of panic, not for her, but for us, for me and Isaac. In that brief moment, my life flashed before my eyes, my life with Hannah, my precious, only daughter. I saw how much I have really depended on her, how much both of us (Isaac and I) really need her, how important she is to us, how wonderful she is. I wanted to re-live our time together, it went by so fast, and relish each moment we spent together, talking, laughing, crying, sharing.

I said to Isaac, “How will we manage without her?” He said, “I think we should persuade Eli, Kira, and Avey to move in with us.”

After church I asked, “What shall we do this evening?” He answered with a sober, “Get Hannah back.”

He’s looking into the possibility of graduating a year early…

Embroidery Class

The Achievement Day girls invited me to teach an embroidery class.

This is the project we did. The idea is from a site called SugarDoodle.

magic

One of my assignments at the public library is to help with the adult computer classes on Thursday evenings. They provide six classes on a rotating basis, geared to older patrons with limited computer experience. My role is to help out as needed, offering individualized supervision as someone gets stuck. The hardest thing for these older patrons is the double click, they can’t do it quite fast enough. Another challenge is holding the mouse still while clicking. Some have no keyboard experience and it is a case of “hunt and hunt and peck.” Being that I fall into their same age group, I have much compassion on their challenges, and I, too, am learning a lot.

Last week the class had a few no-shows, but a Korean gentleman, James, came by, intending to just listen. He sat at a computer and was soon involved in the class, but needed my undivided attention, mostly because his English was somewhat limited. We had quite the fun evening together. The class was on Word and was very exciting to him. I showed him how to change the font and he laughed and laughed, exclaiming in his broken English, “It like magic!” He was amazed at every new thing he learned, shaking his head and laughing out loud. Learning to cut & paste nearly sent him over the edge, he was so impressed, “Who think of this, Bill Gates?” It was a delight for me to be a part of the thrill he was experiencing over things I have come to take for granted.

My evening with him caused me to think back 20+ years ago to when I got my first word processor. I had been struggling along with a hand-me-down electric typewriter that I had to use standing on its end to keep the motor from freezing up. Typos were painstakingly corrected or just typed over if I was in a rush. That first word processor revolutionized my little domain and opened a whole new world of words and their possibilities to me. I remember being just as excited and thrilled as James had been. I wondered whatever happened to that excitement. Have I forgotten how marvelous these tools are? Have they become so commonplace as to not be special anymore? Are we so accustomed to the rapid pace of technological advances that we have come to expect them instead of being in awe of them? Have I just neglected to be truly grateful?

Thank-you, James, for reminding me.

Avey's afghan

"At The Park"

reversible baby afghan 30"x37"

Original design in double knit

$10 for pattern and instructions

the value of a kiss

My daughters-in-law are both wonderful women, capable, good, and wise. As well as each being the perfect companion to her husband, they are proving to be very devoted and nurturing mothers to our grandchildren. They are great assets to our family, being the sisters that Hannah never had, and bringing experience and perspectives that enrich all of us. For example, Kira has taught us the value of a kiss, something for which I am very grateful. She and Eli dated several months before she deemed him worthy to receive a kiss from her. Although there is an endless supply of kisses, and they are “free,” Kira believes that they shouldn’t be freely given, willy-nilly, to just anyone, any time. While this attitude probably frustrated the young men in her life, during her dating years she wisely maintained control of this very precious commodity, increasing its value by its rarity, and sending the strong message, “a kiss means something.”

Consequently, in our family the long-anticipated first kiss in a relationship becomes a very special, meaningful event, one to be celebrated and shared with friends and family. Kira introduced us to the tradition of leaving Hershey Kisses on the kitchen table after that first kiss, as a way to announce the special event. It was a happy day for the whole family when we got up one morning to find Eli had left kisses on the table.

This morning we found more, from Hannah!

the circle of life (simple gifts update)

While my children were recently away on a trip, I noticed that I didn’t see much of Missy, the cat. She didn’t bring in the nightly catch of moth or worm, and made herself scarce. It became quite obvious that I am not her favorite person (probably because I am the one who “kidnapped” her from her previous home, took her to the dreaded vet for shots and surgery, and shoo her off my bed at night). I could tell she was quite glad when the children came home, for she was back to her usual routines and her gift-giving resumed. Now I know for sure that the gifts are for Hannah, her favorite.

It is as though Missy senses that Hannah will be leaving for college soon, for she has stepped up her gifting yet again, bringing in a mouse a few days ago and last night not one, but two fledgling doves. At bedtime we discovered them. One she had killed in the bathroom (feathers everywhere) and was eating in the guest room. The other was unharmed, but shaken, cowering in the dining room. What to do? If we let the thing outside, could it find its way home before Missy caught it again? Should we try to take care of it? We decided to sleep on the matter so fixed a little bed for it in the cage with our parakeets, causing no small stir in their sequestered existence. Hannah gave Missy quite a lecture on the value of life and her own satisfaction, if not delight, with the heretofore simple gifts of bark, worms and moths.

This morning our little guest seemed ready to find his own way in the world and as soon as we took him outside, he flew off to the safety of some tall plants. As a precaution, we kept the cat indoors for the afternoon to give the bird a good head start. But, alas, when Missy’s pleadings made us finally relent and let her outside, it wasn’t long before she tracked down that same bird and brought it in again. It was immediately rescued and released outdoors as we locked up the cat again, Isaac muttering all the while, “evil cat…” We watched the little bird regain his composure for a half hour or so on our windowsill, then fly off, landing in the street where it was run over by a car.

Sometimes the “circle of life” loses out to the “food chain.” I just wish we weren’t in the middle of it all. My only solace is the hope that perhaps the gift-giving will stop altogether when Hannah goes off to school in three weeks.

take five

When my children were little and much of my day seemed to be taking one step forward and two steps back, I came up with the “five or five” principle as a way to help manage things. The “five or five” principle involves either taking five minutes in a room (to put away or clean up as much as possible) or doing five things. I’d do it anytime I was in any room. For example, any time I’d go into the bathroom, I would do five things before leaving: replace the roll of toilet paper, re-hang the fallen hand towels, wipe down the mirror, replace the trash bag, close the shower curtains… whatever needed to be done to keep the place in good shape. If I could spend 5 minutes I would do more, scour the sink or scrub the toilet. If I put the baby down for a nap, I would put away five things before slipping out, or take five things with me that needed to be put away elsewhere. It is amazing what a difference even five things can make, and how little time it takes, even children can manage that. It is really amazing what a difference five minutes can make, especially when your children learn the principle and you make it a family blitz: set the timer and everyone chooses a room for a whirlwind five-minute pick-up.

The “five or five” principle is still a part of my make-up, and still helps me to manage things: I will pull five weeds when I go out for the paper or take out the trash. I’ll spend five minutes working in the sewing room when I put the laundry in the dryer. I put away five things before I leave the kitchen after I’ve had a drink of water. The “five or five” principle doesn’t eliminate the need for thorough cleaning, you can’t really manage dishes by washing only five at a time or weeds by pulling only five a couple of times a day, but “five or five” really cuts down on the clutter that can so quickly become overwhelming. When things start to feel too much to handle, I jut remind myself that doing only five things will make a difference and I can handle that, or I have the energy to spend five minutes and maybe that is all it will take… So give it a try!

our pew

I recovered our pew today, taking advantage of the time while the children are away on vacation to do a few of the bigger projects.

the cheesie-scone

Isaac returned home from a week at scout camp and we decided to make one of his favorite foods for lunch today. The debate was on, should it be grilled cheese sandwiches or scones (the Utah scone, not the British type). He suggested we combine the two, encasing a slice of cheese in the bread dough and frying it up. So, in keeping with the American creative spirit of innovation (and on Independence Day no less), the “cheesie-scone” was born, and it is delicious! We had ours plain, but I can see them especially delicious dipped in catsup. Ahh, only in America. Well, OK, maybe not ONLY in America…

Avey's Quiet Book

I made this quiet book for grand-daughter Avey for Christmas. I have since had several requests for the pattern. I didn't use a pattern, I just designed and made the pages as I went. So I have gone through the painstaking process of making a pattern fromthe finished product and it is now available ($15).

Overall Bill baby quilt

For Baby Jonathan, born June 20th

This quilt is an original adaptation of a classic design.

Twelve 9" machine appliqued blocks tell the story

of a day in the life of Overall Bill from his morning chores

through a fun afternoon and tender moment

with his true love, Sunbonnet Sue.

Set with 3" sashings, double prairie points for edging,

hand-quilted. Finished size 39"x51".

For the pattern and directions ($12 postage paid),

phone or e-mail me.

birthday girl

Only a short year ago I celebrated my birthday by sharing some of the lessons I’d learned in my fifty-five years of living. Some were light-hearted, others profound, still others were things that my experiences caused me to only begin to understand, to hope to believe, or just want to know. Maybe pondering those life lessons was the planting of the seed, for it began for me a most eventful year, perhaps the most eventful of my life in actual events as well as in terms of self-awareness, emotional health, and progress. It almost seems that all of my previous life lessons have paled in comparison to the things I have learned in this, my fifty-sixth year.

Things I thought I knew a year ago I have come to understand on a much deeper level; hopes and dreams are becoming realities and beliefs have been elevated to sure knowledge status. I now know the value of true friendship, because I have needed it. I now know that God hears my pleadings, for I feel His influence almost constantly. I now know the power of unconditional love, the sweetest gift two human beings can share. I know that I am the master of myself and have the power within me to become everything I desire. It used to be that I only wanted to believe these things, but my experiences this year have given me to know them, deep in my heart and soul.

I am discovering who I am and finding that I really like myself. My perspective has broadened, my vision sharpened, and my character refined. I am much more understanding and compassionate. I am more happy and relaxed, more patient and hopeful. I am enjoying my children and grandchildren with a new savoring of every moment together. I am using my unique talents with greater appreciation and joy. Sleep is more refreshing and waking is a welcome pleasure. I smile more often than not and feel more peace, joy and satisfaction. I love being alive.

The year went by very fast, and what a year it was, but it has been a wonderful beginning to the rest of my life!

the feral cat

For Dixie, "Angel Lady"

Fear gripped his soul. Misunderstood and unaccepted, he thought to hide himself away and live his days sequestered, “That is my lot in life; I need little and deserve less.” But time passes slowly for one without love.

Then one day he saw her. She ventured near. “Who is she? Why has she come?” For many days he watched her, studied her. He was given to see her soul, and it was very good. She opened her home and with gentle words and her kind, soft touch, coaxed him into her heart where he found safety. She called him Kitty Bom-Bom. “I will call her Angel Lady.”

“Savior” and “Saved” blurred through the years as spirits bonded in an uncommon understanding born of love and caring, until at last, after eleven years, the time came for them to part. For him, there would be solace in death, relief from the pain of a failing body. Angel Lady held him gently, putting nourishment into his frail form, until he was ready to leave her and the world they shared. His spirit lingered, watching as she put his lifeless body into the place she had prepared. She wept as she secured the special place and felt his spirit go away from her. There was much for him to discover in this wonderful new world. He would find a beautiful place, worthy of her, where he would wait patiently until she came, and they could share this perfect world, together, forever.

Father's Day

I’ve always considered the father/child relationship to be one of the most important relationships there is. From the child’s perspective, it is the relationship through which he learns about his relationship with his Heavenly Father. As a child learns to completely trust his father as an advocate (one who has the child’s best interests in mind), protector and provider, he can easily learn to completely trust his Heavenly Father as his advocate, protector and provider. When he feels safe enough to share his innermost feelings, concerns, and sorrows with his father, it is easy for him to know he is also safe with his Heavenly Father. A child’s love, respect, and honor of God are patterned after the love, respect, and honor he feels for his father.

For the father, this relationship teaches him things he otherwise could not know, namely an understanding of the godly attributes that characterize deity. He learns the delicate difference between “influence” and “control”. He masters the skill of teaching correct principles, by precept and example, so that the child can use his own agency to govern himself. He learns the deepest kind of love, born of understanding and coupled with compassion, that brings out in him the most tender feelings of kindness. He sees his children through God’s eyes and comes to understand his stewardship as a partnership with God in bringing about their eternal salvation and exaltation. In all he does, he considers the needs of his children before all else; they are of primary importance to him because they are of primary importance to God.

Considered in this light, fatherhood is a sobering, humbling responsibility. It may seem an impossible task. And yet we see many successful fathers all around us, striving to do their very best and making a significant difference in the lives of their children. My sons are amazing fathers, already masters of that ideal father/child relationship. I am very impressed with their deep level of devotion and sacrifice.

And so to you wonderful fathers everywhere, keep up the good work, it does not go unnoticed; we love you for all you are and all you do to bless those around you. You are our heroes!

settling dust

Jesse left early this morning, a symbolic end to the graduation festivities we have enjoyed the past couple of weeks. The many graduation cards adorning the living room will be tucked away in a pretty shoe box. The “shrine” Hannah prepared in the dining room, showcasing her awards, pictures, and diplomas will reluctantly be dismantled and put away. And Hannah will get down to the business at hand: being an adult. She is reluctant to be in Relief Society, although our ward does a marvelous job of transitioning. She may help Jackie in the nursery for a little while. There is summer employment to be secured (she has a good lead) and the very important job of finding housing for school in the fall. Registration will follow and then the grand adventure of college life will begin.

People tell me it will be hard for me to let her go. I admit that it will be strange to have only Isaac left for company. I hope I don’t smother him. I know we both will miss Hannah terribly, but things are different nowadays, we are always only a phone call away. Two of her brothers will be close at hand and two of my brothers are there as well. She will have her own transportation and she is familiar with the campus. She already has a promise of a job; the housing dilemma is her only unknown. So although we will miss her, it really isn’t hard for me to let her go, because she is smart, capable, and I know she is ready.

squirrels

This hackey sack I made was designed by Hannah for her friend, Dallin, as a graduation gift. Congratulations, Dallin!

Academic Convocation

Last night was Hannah's convocation ceremonies. What an impressive group of seniors! Hannah received recognition for the following:

*Member of National Honor Society (wore blue and gold cords with her gown)
*Honor Graduate (top 7% of her class; wore gold cords with her gown) (she is third in her class)
*Heritage Scholarship to Brigham Young University
*Award for Excellence in English
*Award for Honors in Math
*Award for Honors in Art (5 of her works were on display last night)
*Award for Honorable Mention in Social Studies
*John Philip Sousa Band Award (her name will join brother, Nate's, on a plaque at the school)

Congratulations, seniors, for a job very well done!

new math

I was helping a kindergartener with her math this week and she taught me this very interesting and quick way to count to 100:

one, two, skip a few, twenty-four, skip some more, ninety-nine, one hundred!

I felt cheated that I had to learn the “old” math, all those numbers were enough to boggle the mind. Then it occurred to me, “cheated” is what I’d be if she grows up and ever becomes my accountant!

seminary gaduation

Tonight is seminary graduation for Hannah. Traditionally the parents prepare a poster about their graduate to display in the cultural hall for everyone to look at while eating refreshments. So of course, I did that yesterday and what a trip down memory lane! Hannah, I think you are wonderful!

"mountains" hackey sack

This hackey sack I made was designed by Hannah for a friend's birthday. Happy Birthday Nils!

Mother's Day

This day is celebrated with flowers, poetry, and sweet gifts made by little hands that want so much to show Mom how precious and valued she is. For moms, at least for me, it is a time to reflect on my labors and do some self-evaluation. What kind of mother am I? Am I the kind that makes cookies and tells stories, the kind that plants gardens and plans picnics, the kind that catches lizards and climbs trees or shoots hoops and sings silly songs? Am I the kind of mom whose children will rise up and call me blessed? Am I what my children need to thrive and grow into the wonderful people they are meant to be? I have decided that it was Heavenly Father that paired us up, and so yes, of course, I am the kind of mother my children need. And, just as true, my children are the very ones I have needed to help me become who I am.

The next question becomes, have I done my best? I’ve done the best I know how. I remember the panic I felt when my oldest son was “suddenly” graduating from high school and going off to college. I said to a friend, “I still have things to teach him, he’s not ready to leave and be out on his own!” She just laughed, “Of course he’s ready!” and she pointed out his fine character traits, evidenced by his accomplishments, the very things that would see him into capable adulthood.

I am sometimes haunted by the mistakes I’ve made over the years, thinking I’ve certainly done irreparable damage to my children, or at least failed them somehow. My brother tells me, in jest, “Your older four were such nice children, what happened to these last two, did you just stop caring?” Perhaps it seems so, I have evolved and grown as a mother over the years. Maybe I have finally learned enough about mothering that I can relax and really enjoy the experience. I finally understand when to step in and when to step back; I’ve mastered the art of being involved without being intrusive, I know how to help without facilitating dependence, how to support and encourage without being controlling. I’ve learned to set limits without being punitive; how to prioritize needs, digging into the important things and how to just let some things slide. I know when to laugh and when to cry, when to work and when to play, when to be stern and when to show forth an extra measure of compassion and understanding. I know how to forgive, what to forget and what to remember. I have learned how to give and receive unconditional love. And I have learned that the mistakes that haunt me have been long-forgotten by my children.

I am now transitioning from the role of mother into that of grandmother, the mother’s ultimate reward. I believe that being a mother is the hardest work in the world, but it has brought me the greatest joys possible in life. So beloved mothers, know that you are the most important person in the world to your little ones; someday they will realize it. For now let yourself enjoy this grand adventure, it really will be over too soon. And do enjoy this day of pampering, you’ll have plenty to clean up tomorrow when life get back to normal!

chocolate pie

Last night I made a chocolate pie. It seemed the perfect thing to do for Isaac, who had had a very long, hard day and came home from swim practice totally exhausted. But he had more to do, for the yard had dried out enough from our weekend rains to finally mow (you will recall a peculiar mix-up that involved moving a yard sale a week ago). So while he ate his supper (I ate with Hannah before she was off to school for the evening) and mowed the yard, I made him a chocolate pie.

I cannot make a chocolate pie without remembering the very first one I ever made. I was 12 and my brother, George, was 11. We were home alone one afternoon and got a terrible craving for chocolate pie. We got to talking and realized we had enough time to make one and if we ate it all, and if we cleaned up everything really well… While I made and baked the crust, George cooked the filling. We let it cool as long as we dared, split it in half, and thoroughly enjoyed each and every bite. I’m sure at least half of the fun was delight over the sneakiness of it all; we had pulled off the perfect crime!

My children all know the story of that chocolate pie (they are sick of my mentioning it every time I make another one). Hannah was not home yet when Isaac suggested it was time to break out the pie. We each had a piece, topped with loads of whipped cream. When we finished eating, our eyes met with a devilish twinkle; Hannah didn’t know about the pie! They do say that history repeats itself… But not this time, we couldn’t do it; poor Hannah had had a very long day, too, and would come home any minute, exhausted. She was very happy we saved some for her.

May Day

May Day has always been a day of celebration in our family. We don’t do Easter baskets, so when Spring is finally here the children are eager to receive their May baskets filled with treats, gardening gloves and tools, seeds for their section of the garden, and brand new water guns and water balloons. This year May day came and went without much excitement. Perhaps it was the cold rain that has fallen for two days. Perhaps my children have outgrown their delight in new water guns/balloons (although that remains to be seen). They decided this year, rather than May baskets, they would like help paying for a band trip to Denver and the amusement park called Elitch’s. That was OK by me, but I missed the traditions of the day. The flowers are blooming a little late this year; no lilacs yet to make a bouquet for my kitchen table. So I harvested the season’s first asparagus from my garden and had it for lunch. It was such a treat I think it shall become a new tradition. I decided that what I really missed this May day was the sunshine; fortunately it is back today. Welcome, Spring!

apprentice

Summer break will be here soon. Something fun and productive we have incorporated into our summers over the years is the “apprentice program.” Every summer I let my children each choose a few things they’d like to learn how to do and they enter into an apprenticeship with me. I encourage practical, age-appropriate things such as ironing shirts, mopping floors, and cleaning toilets, but also let them choose fun things like learning to use power tools, how to paint a room, or crochet. They especially enjoy developing new kitchen skills: making the perfect pie crust, donuts, or a favorite main course. If I catch them young enough, they love to learn to use the machines including the vacuum, washing machine, and even the sewing machine. By the end of the summer they feel very confident in many new skills. It’s great to have one of them say, “Can I fix sweet and sour chicken for supper tomorrow night?” And I can’t help but chuckle when I hear a big sigh and the lament, “And I just scrubbed that floor…”

home alone

Last night Eli and I returned from a road trip to Utah for his brother-in-law's wedding and for Jesse's graduation ceremonies. Last December Jesse graduated from BYU with a degree in psychology. Great job, Jesse! My younger children, Hannah (18 1/2) and Isaac (15) had too many obligations at home to come with us, so I left them here to take care of each other. They were not home when we returned, but I could tell they had done a fine job except for a few minor things...

I noticed they hadn't brought in the mail for three days. I was surprised, as they had brought in Eli's mail for him (and he lives a mile away). In all fairness to them, however, that was on the list Eli left for them and I had neglected to put that on my list. (I wondered why checking HIS mail hadn't triggered the thought to check OUR mail; oh well).

Not wanting to burden them, my list on the kitchen chalk board was amazingly brief:
-pick up band uniform at dry cleaners Thur. aft.
-put trash out Thur. night
-mow yard Sat.
-take stuff to church
-stake trek mtg Sun night

When I got home, the first two had been done and erased, replaced with the message:
"Mom, cookie dough's in the fridge" clearly meaning, "Mom, we know you've had a long trip, we're glad you're home, please have fresh cookies waiting for us when we get home from church." Lest you think me cynical, know that the first thing out of Hannah's mouth when she got home was not, "Mom!" it was "Cookies!"

Back to the rest of my list. It was still on the chalk board but wasn't the same list as I left:
-move yard sale
-take &%#$ to church
-star trek mtg Sun night

Needless to say, the lawn wasn't mowed (but then, neither was the yard sale moved!?!), the star trek meeting was a peculiar disappointment, and I didn't dare ask what they took to church! But in all fairness to them, it had been a busy few days with school, tennis tournament, a two-day swim meet a city away, annual March of Dimes walk... And, although not on my list, they HAD done the grocery shopping and kept up with the dishes, aren't they great kids!

hands

This charcoal drawing of Nate and Jackie holding hands is titled "Unity." It is currently in an exhibit at the Citadel Mall. It is one of my daughter, Hannah's, drawings from her series on hands illustrating relationships. Her series includes drawings of friends' hands playing Nintendo, team hands in a spirit cheer, and a sweet one of Avey's hand clutching Eli's finger.

Her drawings have made me think of my own hands and how I love them. They are getting older, now; the knuckles are starting to get a little crooked and knotted with the beginning signs of arthritis. But the skin is still smooth and soft and they still can do everything I need them to do for me. Sometimes I forget how absolutely precious my hands are. I tend to use them and abuse them, take them for granted and neglect them. But they are my best tools; they are skilled and creative. They are agile enough to play the piano and do fine needlework; they are strong enough to pull weeds, scrub floors, and make bread. They are gentle enough to comb snarls out of a little girl's curls or nurse an injured bird. And they are tender enough to caress the ones that I love.

I hope they never get too tired to do good things!

books...

I always wanted to be a librarian. When I was about 12, I organized, categorized, and labeled the spine of each book in my personal collection. I put a card and pocket inside each front cover and my bedroom became a library. The only patrons were my brothers, who sadly had not much interest in Nancy Drew and other girly-type stuff. Still, it was a joy to me.

A couple of months ago, I applied for a volunteer position at our local branch of the library, and last Saturday I was trained and started my new job! I work 3 hours every Saturday. It is very exciting. I help work the “bins.” When library patrons put books on hold from other libraries, they arrive in bins. Anywhere from 10-20 bins full of books arrive at our library each day. The books each need to be processed and tagged with the patrons’ names, then I alphabetize them on carts and wheel the carts out onto the library floor where I place them on the “hold” shelves, in alphabetical order (I did get pretty tired of the alphabet after a while). This week I had two and a half carts of books. I have no idea how many books there were altogether, but one patron had seemingly dozens on hold, so we checked it out. A 15-year-old girl had put 60 books on hold (the limit is 100)! At first we were all duly impressed with such an avid reader, and so young, too. But then we got to wondering. Maybe she didn’t understand how to work the library web site, maybe she accidentally ordered 60 books, when all she meant to do was peruse the titles. Maybe a “friend”, as a joke, borrowed her card and ordered them for her. Let me just say, we at the library do not think that is funny. At any rate, she may be in for a big surprise. Unless, of course, she really did mean to order that many; I guess we’ll know if she shows up with a wheelbarrow!

simple gifts

We are missing Penny terribly and we wonder if the cat can tell. Although cats aren’t famous for their compassion, it seems Missy is sensitive to our sorrow, for she has stepped-up her gift-giving. In the past she has brought us daily gifts of pine cones and chunks of bark, shoving them under the closed bedroom doors or leaving them in the hallway for us to find (occasionally by stepping on them in the middle of the night). But since we have lost Penny, she has been bringing us nice, big, and live, earthworms.

Yesterday we adopted two parakeets from a friend who is moving out of state. You can imagine the excitement that has created for Missy. I suspect she is thinking, “I knew those worms would pay off!” or perhaps, “Trade a dog for two birds? Works for me!”

Easter

"Easter is the commemoration of the world's greatest victory." Harold B. Lee

The spring snow seems appropriate today, making things seem quiet, clean, and pure. I hope your celebratings are happy!

a treasure called Penny

Penny became a part of our family in 2001 when we rescued her from the humane society. She has been ill the last few days and this morning we discovered it was acute kidney failure. We did the merciful thing for her and had her euthenized. She was a good dog, she was good for us. We will miss her love/hate relationship with the cat, her treeing squirrels and catching mice. We will miss her listening skills and how she always let us know when the mail came. We will miss playing catch with her and her taking us on walks. We will miss her in a hundred ways, but we will never forget her. And we will always love her.

DNA

My mother is from a large family and has several brothers and sisters with red hair, although hers is dark brown. My brothers and sisters and I all have brown hair. We knew the red hair gene was there, though, and I secretly hoped it would show up in one or more of my children. So far, the only red hair is on my nephew, Jeffrey. When my son, Nate, married a girl with beautiful red hair, I just knew we would get red hair in the family after all, but Dallin has his dad’s thick, dark curly hair. For a while there we wondered if Mia’s hair would turn red, we tried to convince ourselves that if the sun hit it just right it really did have a slightly reddish glow to it. But alas, it is brown. I can’t be too disappointed, though, for she has my hair, the same texture, the same curl, nearly the same color (it IS a little red compared to mine!). And I think that is totally awesome!

what's in a name

My grandchildren were over a few days ago and as usual, 4 1/2 year-old Dallin picked out a stuffed animal to call his own for the day. He chose Hannah’s small brown German shepherd dog that he promptly named “Furry Balls.” That name drew a lot of snickers until his dad suggested an even better name, “Furball.” It took me back to when Dallin’s dad was his age and named two of his stuffed friends “Cup” and “Fart”; he just liked the sound of those words. We’ve had lots of nicknames over the years; my brother George is still called “Doughy” or “Dough-boy” because that’s what I called him as a toddler. My brother Kirby is “Cubby”. I remember someone asking Eli what his middle name is and he said, “Bean,” because we called him “Elimabean” so much. Grand-daughter Avey is called “Aviator” by her uncle Nate, and we all find ourselves calling our cat, “Missy”, “Mithy” because of Avey’s lisp. It was a bittersweet moment when Dallin learned to say my name, I enjoyed his sweet voice calling me “Nana Lolla”, and although sometimes I wonder if Mia will ever stop calling me “Nana Barra,” I suppose that will be a bittersweet moment, too. They say that the sweetest sound is the sound of one’s own name. When spoken in tenderness and love, any name can be a term of endearment!

homemade bread

Last Saturday there was a bitterly cold wind blowing and it seemed the perfect day to make homemade bread. I make the dough while getting breakfast on. The first rising finishes up about lunch time, so we always sacrifice some of the dough to fry scones for lunch with a hearty bowl of soup. I haven’t made bread in months, so it was a real treat for all of us. It took me back to many fond memories of homemade bread, first watching my mother bake it every Saturday, the wonderful smells and then the tastes; my step-dad always said it was better than cake! I perfected my bread-making skills before I married and made all of our bread, 4-8 loaves a week, for the first ten years of family life; I made bread the day I got home from the hospital with my first baby. It was a way of life. I had my children with me at the grocery store one day and 4-year-old Eli noticed the shelves of bread for the first time. He was astonished, “Wow! You mean when people run out of bread they have to go to the store? When we run out we just make more!”

About the time I had my fifth child I just couldn’t keep up with it anymore and we started buying day-old bread to supplement our needs, and after a while my baking gradually slowed down to 2-3 times a month, and now I bake only on special occasions. A while back I thought about all that bread, all those hours mixing, kneading, baking, trying to save a few pennies, telling myself it was a good thing. And I thought to myself, boy was I stupid. I could have spent my time more wisely, we probably didn’t even save any money.

But baking this week made me think about it differently. My children were so delighted with the scones, I enjoyed them, too. And I realized that with all that baking I wasn’t making just bread, I was making sweet memories for my family that said “I love you” with every wafting aroma and sweet, warm bite, every piece of toast with cinnamon sugar dunked in hot chocolate, every PBJ or grilled cheese sandwich. Yes, it really was a good thing. And I think it won’t be so long this time before I bake again.


PS My basic bread recipe is from a Utah State University Extension service booklet which is no longer in print, but can be accessed at: http://extension.usu.edu/files/publications/publication/FN_283.pdf

Note that this recipe will need to be adapted for lower altitudes.

it made a splash!

We celebrated Isaac's birthday today when family could all be here. The cake was a big hit!

birthday cake

Nearly 29 years ago I decorated a fancy cake for my first born's first birthday, starting a tradition that has served us well through six children and given me quite the reputation at countless Church bake sales, school cake walks, and from just sharing with friends. For our birthdays I always let the children choose their cake and we've had everything from fire trucks to trains, dinosaurs to "Cookie Monsters." Occasionally my children really challenge my creativity with their imaginations; Jesse once ordered a cake to look like "an orange buggy car with an eagle nest on top with an eagle in it." That one made me wonder how long it would be before this tradition would lose its appeal. Things have waned somewhat these last few years as they've grown older, sometimes they've opted for a birthday pie or just ordered a specific flavor of cake and icing. Now most of them have gone away to college, two are married. But my baby, Isaac, turns 15 tomorrow and he has requested a swimming pool cake with diving board and diver. "Oh, and I want it to be yellow cake with chocolate frosting." I hope I can pull it off. Maybe I'll post a picture of it tomorrow; wish me luck!

if these walls could talk

When I was a young girl a favorite pastime was to walk with my mother through the old neighborhoods of town. We liked to find the older houses, many of them very run down and abandoned, and imagine how we would fix them up and make them beautiful, happy places again. There was a certain charm about them that is lost in the newer architecture, the high ceilings, porches, rooms off of rooms. There is a comfortable feel about them, stately and elegant but also peaceful and settled. The thought that they might be haunted only added to their appeal. We imagined ourselves to be the elegant ladies-of-the-house, picking bouquets of beautiful fragrant flowers from extensive gardens, serving lemonade to guests out on the front porch on a warm summer evening, cuddling with a love by a fire in the parlor on a cold winter night. All very romantic, but the truth of it is that restoring an old home is very expensive and hard work. Those that have done it sometimes wonder if it is worth it. It is quite easy for me to say, as one having never had that job, yes it is worth it. To me it is as though an old house is a living thing with a story to tell of cherished memories, the joys and heartache of life itself. Letting a house decay to ruin is almost like saying everything that happened there can be lost and forgotten.

There is a parallel to people. There is a certain charm about “antique” people, a comfortable feel about them, sometimes stately and elegant, but almost always peaceful and settled. Their very lives and histories are marvelous stories of joys and heartaches, challenges we can’t even imagine. Old people know who they are, they have learned how to do this complicated thing called “living” and how to do it well. They know how to recover from tragedy and overcome mistakes. They have much to offer, much to teach. But only to those who are willing to listen.

To be like Him

Thirty plus years ago I was with a group of friends and someone posed the question, “What kind of carpenter was Jesus?” There were basically two schools of thought: one group thought He probably wasn’t a very good carpenter because His thoughts were on more lofty and divine things and the things of this world, wood and furniture, weren’t really that important to Him in the grand scheme of things. The others held that He would have been a very fine carpenter, with an intimate knowledge and understanding of each individual piece of wood, having created it, and that His desire for the raw materials would be to make it into the most beautiful and functional piece, thus helping it fulfill the measure of its creation. It was interesting to see which of my friends were in which group. The musicians and philosophers were in the first, the artists and craftsmen in the second. I noticed that each group projected their own values onto Jesus Christ.

That discussion gave me an interesting insight into the way we, individually, view the Savior. We tend to want Him to be like we are rather than wanting us to be like He is; sometimes we can even make Him too familiar, speaking of Him casually and personally, bringing Him to our level rather than keeping Him elevated with Godly status and humbly seeking to elevate ourselves closer to Him. We each desire a personal relationship with the Savior; let's make it on His terms, not our own.

Have a happy Sabbath and enjoy your worship today!

values

My job with the school district provides quite a variety of new experiences for me as I am available to any school, elementary through high school (including a few charter schools), in several areas from the office and library to the classroom, kindergarten to special ed.

Recently I was called in to the ISS (in-school suspension) class at a middle school. I supervised six students who were assigned there for the day (some of them several days) for various infractions from truancy to fighting. One 7th-grader I’ll call “Pete” was there for stealing a bike. He didn’t want to walk home from school one day so swiped a bike from the bike rack and rode home.

I was astonished that he hadn’t thought through the inevitable consequences of his actions before he chose to do what he did. He is a sweet kid and seemed to need to talk, totally against ISS rules, but I could imagine how that last hour of 5 days of suspension would drag, so I entertained his questions.

“Have you ever murdered anybody?”
“No; I would be in prison, certainly not here in school with you!”
“Have you ever witnessed a murder?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been in juvie hall?”
“No.”
“Have you ever been in ISS?”
“When I was in school it was called detention, and no, I was never in detention.”
“Have you ever been on a jury?”
“Yes.” And I shared with him my experience on a jury for an aggravated assault case.

This seemed like an unusual line of questioning from a 7th-grader, even one with a “record” of sorts. He explained, “When my mom was a teenager she was sentenced to 12 years in prison for being an accessory to murder—her boyfriend murdered someone.”

And now I saw the bigger picture. In my somewhat sheltered life I have taken for granted the values I’ve been taught; I assume others have similar values, or at least some basic values. The sad thing is I don’t know if “Pete” really learned anything from his experience. If he did, I hope it was more than just, “I’ll be more careful not to get caught next time.”

hero of the day

Isaac participated in his first swim meet yesterday. He is a new freshman on the high school swim team. Season practice started 3 weeks ago and after the first day he wasn’t sure he could handle it. It didn’t help being out sick three days the following week. But he persevered and got stronger every day. Just a week ago he decided to train to dive. The team hasn’t had a diver for several years so everyone was thrilled he was willing to give it a shot. The coach worked with him all week, teaching him the six dives he’d need for competition. He’s been on the trampoline since he could crawl, so he learned the dives quickly, amazing his team mates and the coaches.

At the meets, divers compete in the middle of the swim events, giving the swimmers a break to rest. They lowered the board, moved aside the lane markers, and the announcer boomed over the loud speaker for everyone to turn their cell phones completely off. They announced Isaac’s name and his school. He was the only diver. As he approached the board for each of the six dives the entire room grew still and quiet, all eyes on him. He took his position and stopped a moment to play it out in his mind. Then his arms poised as he gently bounced; the “thwup” of the board broke the silence and he was airborne. Each dive was characterized by a prescribed series of twists, turns, and somersaults before his sleek and agile body slid into the water with an ever-so-slight splash. The crowd broke into cheers and applause and then four judges revealed their decisions. When it was all over his team-mates rallied around him with high-fives and pats on the back. And I could finally breathe again. I for one was terribly impressed and in awe of him. That was MY son!

PS He also swam in two events and his school won the meet!

possum and sweet taters

You may remember the state project we began last July in honor of Independence Day. We choose one state a week, drawing randomly from a jar, and each Monday cook foods typical of, or originating from, that state. It has been a fun project and we have tried many new and interesting dishes from all over our great nation. The internet is a valuable resource for recipes as is a cookbook from the Culinary Arts Institute “The FIFTY STATES Cookbook” published in 1977. It contains this recipe from Tennessee:

Possum and Sweet Taters

1 opossum
salt
1 quart water
4 slices bacon
bread stuffing
8 small sweet potatoes

1) Scald opossum in lye water and scrape off the hair, taking care not to break skin. Dress whole, leaving head and tail. Rinse thoroughly. Rub inside and out with salt; let stand in cool place overnight.
2) Place breast up in a roaster and add water. Place bacon across breast; cover roaster.
3) Bake at 350F 45 minutes.
4) Fill opossum with bread stuffing moistened with juices from roaster; surround with sweet potatoes.
5) Bake uncovered until opossum is very tender and well browned (about 1 hour). Allow 1/3 pound per person.

Bread Stuffing: soak 4 slices white bread in cold water and squeeze dry. Using fork, lightly toss with a mixture of 1 tsp. salt, 1/8 tsp black pepper, and ¼ tsp poultry seasoning. Mix in 1 tsp chopped parsley and 1 tsp grated onion. Add 2 tsp melted butter and 1 slightly beaten egg and toss until thoroughly mixed.

As we always do, I reviewed some possible recipes with my children a week before our Tennessee meal. They seemed relieved that opossum isn’t “indigenous to these parts”; we chose “Chicken Pie with Sweet Potato Crust” instead. But I am curious to know how the opossum dish would taste, so if any of you are up to giving it a try, let me know!

bold and daring

"How much longer are we going to keep deceiving ourselves? Why are we going to let go of true love because even though it feels right in the heart, it just doesn't seem logical. How much longer are we going to keep fearing what we cannot see or hear but only feel. How long is it going to take us to figure out that the most purest and the best feelings in life are only felt from the heart, never understood from the mind. It's like believing in God; we can't see him or make logic out of His existence but He is always there in our heart.”
Unknown

“How bold one gets when one is sure of being loved.”
Sigmund Freud

sweetness

"Last night I looked up at the stars and matched each one with a reason why I love you. I was doing great until I ran out of stars."

They were separated by a time zone and circumstance. They knew they would see other again, they had to believe that; but where or when, only time would reveal. He visited their favorite park and thought of her and their shared memories. He picked up a smooth, cream-colored stone and held it in his palm. “I will send this to her, it will make her smile… no, I will have it cut in half; half for me and half for her, it will keep us connected, in a way. That will make her smile, and bring a tear to her eye.” And it did!

"Just when I think that it is impossible to love you any more, you prove me wrong."

"I could idle a day away slipping into memories of you, and I still would consider it one of the most productive days I've ever had."

baby afghan & booties

For Harriett in Washington (for her great-niece)

devotion

devotion 1. deep, steady affection. 2. being given up to some person, purpose, or service. 3. worship.

“You’re not ‘in love with her,’ but ‘in love with life by way of her.’”
Stewart Emery

“When you work you are a flute through whose heart the whispering of the hours turns to music… And what is it to work with love? It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth…
Kahlil Gibran

"I've loved you all my life. Even before there was you there was the promise of you, and now that we've met, I'll never be the same!"

freedom

“Love is an active power in mankind; a power which breaks through walls which separate man from his fellow men, which unites him with others; love makes him overcome the sense of isolation and separateness, yet it permits him to be himself, to retain his integrity. Envy, jealousy, ambition, any kind of greed are passions; love is an action, the practice of human power, which can be practiced only in freedom and never as a result of a compulsion.”
Erich Fromm

"Love isn't love until you give it away, so give it wings and let it go, if it's meant to be it will fly right back to you!"

honor

For the ancient Greeks, something of honor called to mind something “heavy or weighty.” Gold was something of honor because it was heavy and valuable. If we honor someone, that person carries weight with us, like the “heavyweight champion of the world.” When we honor someone we give that person a highly respected position in our lives. There cannot be love without honor, for it is by honoring someone that we feel a desire to love. Love is honor put into action. Honor provides the energy to love. The feeling of love is a reflection of the level of honor one has for another.

strength and power

The movie “Rocky” gave us several good life lessons: the benefits of hard work, the rewards of perseverance, the importance of believing in yourself, and the strength and power that comes from true love. We all knew that Rocky endured his ordeal because of his love for, and the love from, Adrian. There is a great power in love, a feeling that all things are possible…

“One word frees us from all the weight and pain of life; that word is love.” Sophocles

"Never underestimate the power of love, because love can do miracles which you never thought possible."
"No matter how hard things seem, true love will aid you through it."

needing each other

“The trouble with the world and the trouble with you and me is that we don’t love each other enough. And if we do, we don’t bother to show it, or we don’t bother to say it. If the world is to know love, it has to be in your heart and in mine. And the Lord can fill our hearts with love if we will just go to Him.”
Marjorie Pay Hinckley

“I know that we came to this life with a purpose and that the greatest joy we will receive will be those acts of love and service that we do for others… There is none too great to need the help of others. There is none so great that he can ‘do it alone’.”
Robert D. Hales

“What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult for each other?” George Eliot

little things

[She] landed a job as a tollbooth collector on the Newport Bridge… Her hair looked even blonder set against her khaki uniform…Within a week she had her first date. “He seems like a sweetheart,” she said. “Hands me a Hershey’s kiss with his money every morning. Take a chance, I told myself.”
Wally Lamb, She’s Come Undone

Never underestimate the power of little gestures of kindness. They speak volumes about how you regard those around you. They say, “I am thinking about you,” “You are important to me,” “I care about you,” “I understand what you feel,” “I value you,” “I think you are wonderful,” “You bring me joy,” “You are loved.”

Mother Teresa said it this way,
“Spread love everywhere you go: first of all in your own home. Give love to your children, to your wife or husband, to a next door neighbor… Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier. Be the living expression of God’s kindness; kindness in your face, kindness in your eyes, kindness in your smile, kindness in your warm greeting.”

kismet

During the summer of 1964, a professor from Drake University came into Logan, Utah on a quick trip to visit his mother. On his way into town he stopped at his cousin, Josie’s house and, finding no one home, left a note on the door, “I’m in town looking for a wife.” Josie’s husband, Sam, a professor at Utah State University, knew just the match for him, one of his star students, a single mother of three. They had a whirlwind courtship and were married and back in Iowa in time for classes that fall. My mother has that framed note hanging on her bedroom wall.

Some would say it is a miracle that their paths ever crossed. Some would call it fate, others coincidence. But there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of stories just like that, stories of brief, chance encounters that change two lives forever. I like to think that it isn’t chance at all, but that God has a hand in it, that those who seem destined to find each other eventually will, with divine help. I like to think of it as a tender mercy.

“This is why I’m here on this planet, at this time, Francesca. Not to travel or make pictures, but to love you. I know that now. I have been falling from the rim of a great, high place, somewhere back in time, for many more years than I have lived in this life. And through all of those years, I have been falling toward you.”
Robert James Waller The Bridges of Madison County

friend

LOVE

I love you,
Not only for what you are
But for what I am
When I am with you.

I love you,
Not only for what you have made of yourself
But for what
You are making of me.

I love you,
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.

I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.

I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good,
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.

You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.

Roy Croft

waiting and trusting

My grandmother was a very beautiful woman. When she was of marriageable age she declared, “I wouldn’t marry George Kirby if he were the last man on earth!” She lived to eat those words, and that story has been told by their children and grandchildren ever since. Sometimes love comes when you aren’t looking for it and from unlikely places.

“Dear Beast, you shall not die,” said Beauty. “You will live in order to become my husband. From this moment on, I give you my hand and I swear that I shall be yours alone. Alas! I thought that I felt only friendship for you, but the sorrow that I feel now makes me see that I cannot live without you!”
Madame LePrince de Beaumont
Beauty and the Beast

"Love comes to those who wait for it, trust it and don't question it when it does finally come."

soul mates

“A soul mate is someone to whom we feel profoundly connected, as though the communicating and communing that take place between us were not the product of intentional efforts, but rather a divine grace. It is a rare form of intimacy.” Thomas Moore

“Sometimes, inexplicably, we’ll meet someone who is a kindred spirit, whether platonic or passionate. And in their company we don’t feel alone, we don’t feel like a stranger. This person seems to know us so well—our interests, concerns, values. He or she shares our passions. There’s a simpatico there, and easy familiarity, an intimacy in an hour that takes years with others, if it’s ever achieved at all. We’ve met one of our people, and he or she is a friend to our soul.” Sarah Ban Breathnach

A soul mate, or kindred spirit, offers a mirror into who we really are. He or she validates our identity, and our value as a person. A soul mate gives us understanding of ourselves through their understanding; compassion for ourselves through their compassion, and faith in ourselves through their faith in us. It is a beautiful thing indeed.

fire

The day will come when,
after harnessing space,
the winds,
the tides,
and gravitation,
we shall harness for God the energies of love.
And on that day, for the second time
In the history of the world,
We shall have discovered fire.

Teilhard de Chardin

pay it forward

My daughter-in-law is doing this pay it forward activity. This is how it works..... The first 3 people to leave a comment on this post will receive a hand made gift from me during this year. When and what will be a surprise. BUT, in order for you to leave a comment on my blog, you have to post this on your blog first. (That means that sometime during this year you will send a gift to 3 people as well.) Get it? So, the first 3 people to comment on this post will be the lucky ones! Good Luck!

angels

Sarah Ban Breathnach says, “We are born to love certain souls into full being, unconditionally. Certain souls are born to love us the same way. Some we give birth to, others we meet on the playground, at a workshop, in the office, on a blind date. We turn toward some, we turn away from others. Our choice—to walk toward or turn away from—becomes our destiny, our deeply personal love story.”

I believe that walking toward those who love us elevates us. For if God is love, then loving and being loved is a Godly thing and only draws us closer to that ultimate source of light and love. Love is a gift, a gift of the very best kind; those who come into our lives for us to love, or to love us, are gifts from God.

"When during sad times an angel should come to you, open your eyes and see who that angel is, for that is your one true love."

never let go

Love is a hand
you hold in the dark
and smile
and tease
and want to kiss,
but only when you’re there,
it’s harder when you’re gone.

When talking,
we compare our experiences
and measure our maturity
by how long we can go
without saying goodbye.

For a moment
all is smooth,
then fortune creeps
her silky head
and modifies
our best-laid plans.

What memory savors
distance dims,
but constantly
we spend our moments
reaching out
always vowing to ourselves
this is the hand
we’ll never let go.

by Harold Maddocks

the same path

I have told my sons that a necessary ingredient to a successful marriage is that the couple are on the same path to the same destination. I've discovered that "happily ever after" isn't a simple thing to achieve. These other thoughts also apply:

"If it is not mutual it isn't love."Bruce Kravetz

“The value of marriage is to be gauged by the joy it affords, not by its longevity.”
Nathaniel Branden

nurturing

Nathaniel Branden describes nurturing this way:

“To nurture another human being is to accept him or her unreservedly; to respect his or her sovereignty and integrity; to support his or her growth and self-actualization needs; and to CARE, on the deepest and most intimate level, about his or her thoughts, feelings, and wants. It is to create a context and environment in which a person can live and flourish. To nurture another human being means to accept that person as he or she is, and yet to believe in possibilities within that person still unrealized. It is to be honest with that person about our own needs and wants, always to remember that the other person does not exist merely to satisfy our needs and wants. It means to express confidence in the person’s strengths and internal resources, and yet be available to offer help when it is asked for (and sometimes to recognize that it might be needed even when it is not being asked for). It is to create a context in which the person can experience that he or she MATTERS, that the expression of thoughts and feelings will be welcomed, and yet to understand that there are times when what our partner needs is silence and aloneness. To nurture is to caress and stroke, without making demands; to hold and protect; to allow tears and to offer comfort. To nurture someone we love is to nurture the child within that adult person, and to accept the child a valid part of who that person is. To nurture is to love not only our partner’s strength but also his or her fragility, not only that within our partner which is powerful but also that which is delicate.”

it can't be denied...

"True love cannot be found where it does not exist, nor can it be denied where it does."

Valentine's Day cries out for chocolate. A Valentine tradition in our home is Chocolate Soufflé. It is easier than you may think, so surprise someone you love!

*Butter a 6-cup soufflé dish (we use 8 individual ramekin dishes, instead) and coat with 1 Tbsp sugar.

*In a medium bowl combine:
½ C cocoa
¼ C flour.
*Add:
¼ C butter, softened
*blend well. Set aside.

*In a medium saucepan heat until very hot:
1 C milk
*Reduce heat and add cocoa mixture, beating with a wire whisk until smooth and thick.
Remove from heat and add:
½ C sugar
1 tsp vanilla extract
*Add:
4 egg yolks, beating well after each
*Cool to room temperature. In a large mixing bowl, beat egg whites until foamy. Gradually add 2 tsp. sugar and continue beating until stiff. Stir a small amount of the whites into the chocolate mixture then fold the chocolate mixture into the remaining whites. Carefully pour into the prepared dish(es). Bake at 350 degrees 40-45 minutes until puffed (30-35 minutes for individual soufflés). Serve immediately with ice cream.

A White Rose

The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
Oh, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud,
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

John Boyle O'Reilly (1844-1890)