Note from Kathy's daughter: Today is my dad's birthday. I visited my mom's blog to share something with my missionary nephew and I saw that I never published this story. It's half mom's and half my memories of what mom would say. For those of you who had the privilege to hear this in person, can you see the two-man raft that she had propped up against the pulpit? That's how she rolled. Enjoy.
This is one of those stories that I've been telling forever.
I can't recall if I've written it down somewhere.
Too many classrooms to count have been subjected to it, in and out of the church. I've told it at a stake conference and at a high school assembly when they couldn't get a real speaker.
It's now been willed to my two youngest daughters who occasionally afflict it upon their students when the situation seems to require such an affliction.
I've had special trouble getting this story written because like "Francine the Fish," it requires a whole lot of dramatic eye rolling, arm waving, and horror stricken looks. Plus, I even have the audience stand at one point, search behind them for an invisible raft, and turn slowing around before sitting down again.
Writing these physical elements is troublesome because, with my feeble skills, I can't get words on paper to convey the meaning body language carries.
After all, it's said that 90% of all communication is done without speaking.
I think that's absolutely true. We use shrugs, winces, disgusted looks, tone, winks....that sort of thing.
That thought leads me to go off on a tangent as I often did in the classroom.
Think of all the different meanings a kiss can have for instance.
Depending on the situation, that simple act has gone from sweet, tender, love to the most bitter betrayal of all time.
And what about a bouquet of flowers?
Was that, "Too bad you're sick," "Happy birthday," or "I did a bad thing"?
And garbage taken out "without asking" has always said "I love you" to me.
I'll never forget one of my high school seniors who had trouble understanding this puzzling aspect of being human, as many kids with learning disabilities do.
They often have trouble reading people "outside the lines" so to speak. Many times they think words alone are what counts most when in reality sometimes words don't count at all.
Unfortunately, this can make for trouble.
The trouble one time started with a young man's girlfriend who was "torqued" at him. (His term was not "torqued" but I changed it to be more delicate.)
Scotty couldn't figure out why she was mad.
All the students in my 7th period were boys, and the guys were trying to help him remember what he'd done wrong.
He'd asked her if he did something that "upset" her, (Upset wasn't his word here either. Delicacy change again)
She said, "No, Scott, of course you didn't do anything......you never do.... and I'm not mad!"
He believed what she said.
But she still wouldn't kiss him.
He didn't understand why. After all, he'd asked her if did something to make her mad and she said he didn't do anything and she wasn't mad.
Finally I could take the ignorance no longer.
"Wait a second fellas. Scotty's girlfriend may have said she wasn't mad at him, but HOW she said it is the real story."
"Huh?" was the reply from the class.
I demonstrated, giving several dramatic renditions of "You didn't do anything wrong and I'm not mad," with wildly different meanings.
When I finished, the whole class, all boys, looked at me with the most dumbstruck expressions.
Then one poor guy piped up.
"MZ Dub. Do you mean that when a girl says she's not mad....... or that she doesn't care if you go to the wrestling match instead of taking her to the movies.......or that you don't have to call her tomorrow..... that's not what she really means if she says it in a certain kind of way?!?!"
I truly felt sorry for them as I answered in my most sympathetic tone,
"Of course. Everybody knows that.
We'll have a lesson on reading voice, tone, and body language next week."
The whole class groaned and somebody threw an eraser at Scotty.
And now, here I am, an eye rolling, arm waving storyteller, stuck with only words.
Not to mention that this particular tale is much enhanced with large and cumbersome props like a four man inflatable raft which I once dragged onto a podium or large wooden oars which suffice in a pinch.
Yes indeed, I've found that storytelling and writing are very different ways to row to the same dock.
In any case, I've been asked, so here goes.
You all will have to help considerably with a vivid imagination.
One summer, many years ago, not long after school got out, I was blackmailed into being one of the chaperones on a rafting excursion through a canyon in Northern Arizona. I was much younger then, of course.
We were rewarding a bunch of high school kids for jobs well done during the school year.
Some idiot, I believe it was the football coach, thought a three day trip on rubber boats down a cold river would be just the reward kids would love most. Of course the students agreed.
After all they were teenagers whose brains had not finished developing yet. I admit sometimes wondering about the football coach.
Nevertheless, off we went.
Our school bus full of excited teenagers and terrified adults arrived at the river dock. A company of guides and river experts had been hired to provide all the particulars of the adventure. This included crude outdoor latrines with canvas walls and tiny one-man tents barely big enough for a sleeping bag.
The rollaway bed I'm used to when roughing it was nowhere in sight.
Anyway, off we went.
Laughing, noisy kids, expert guides, idiot coaches, and grumbling, reluctant chaperones all piled into three huge rubber rafts for a trip to remember.
The first two days went surprisingly well, I must admit.
The river was slow and smooth, running sometimes through shady groves of sycamore and cottonwood trees. The weather was hot and sunny but the water was cool and clear. Fish jumped, butterflies fluttered, dragonflies flitted. The kids swam and splashed in the deep pools
It was undeniably lovely.
We pulled over to set up camp each night. The guides skillfully prepared burgers and dogs over open fires while watermelons cooled in the shallows. Marshmallows were set ablaze from sticks as dessert.
I had to admit that I was wrong and the football coach was right. The whole experience had been great.
Then, as dawn broke over the breakfast fire on our last day, a committee of kids came with a request to the adults.
They wanted to navigate their own rafts. Float their own boats.
They were sure they could handle everything well just as the guides been doing for the past two days. They wanted to try it on their own. Isn't that what all teenagers want?
The chaperones and guides conferred and it was decided to grant permission to the kid's request. The guides assured us that the last leg of our float should be free of any hazards.
So all the young people excitedly piled into the last two of the rafts and the old folks carefully climbed into the first.
All morning long things went very well. The lunch stop was to be our last meal together. As we floated peacefully along that afternoon we noticed that the rafts were getting strung out with the last one full of kids sometimes out of sight around bends in the river. We could hear them though, with their stereos and singing blaring raucous rap sounds through the trees.They were having fun as teenagers should.
As the tired adults were looking all around for a nice area near the water to stop for lunch, the guides noticed a change in the terraine that was unexpected. The water had become brown and bumpy,and I became worried and silent. I listened (holding on to the side of the raft with a firm grip) to the conversation of the guides as they discussed what had happened to change the canyon water so dramatically. Their best guess was that a higher area was experiencing a great amount of rain and we were floating on the run-off that was full of dirt and debris. As they were discussing options, they noticed that the water ahead had unexpectedly split into two paths, leaving an island of sorts in the middle of the the two. As we all surveyed what was ahead, the guides began to scream to us to row as quickly as we could towards the water path on the right. Go Right! Go Right! We must go to the Right! Get to the shore on the right!
All of us furiously paddled, directing our boat as best we could through the choppy brown waters, I could tell that most of us were in silent fervent prayer- praying that we would all make it safely to shore. The two rafts with the adults managed to get to the right and bound out safely. We spilled out of the rafts and stood on shore for just a moment trying to catch our breath. All of us chapperones kind of wondering the same thing--What did the guides see that was so dangerous?
I looked around searching the landscape. And then I saw it.
All the blood drained from my face as I realized the danger that was up ahead. Seconds later, the adults started running back towards the boats of teenagers that would soon appear upstream. We started screaming, yelling, waving our hands and oars as we ran towards the sounds of bass heavy music and laughter coming closer and closer to us.
We could see the first raft of students in the distance. We screamed louder and jumped higher and waved our arms more vigorously. To the right! Go to the right! Go right! Pull over on the right!!!! As the kids came closer, a couple of them noticed us dancing wildly on the shores, turned down the music and hushed the group. After hearing our warnings, they quickly got their paddles in the water and directed their raft over to the right side of the water. They learned of danger ahead and began to run upstream with youthful strength to try and save their friends who were not far behind.
On the last raft, a couple of the teens seemed to be sunbathing or napping. A few of the boys were having a waterfight on the opposite edge of the boat, while a few more were having an oar-sword fight. The harsh thumping music, which had questionable lyrics by the way, was playing at headache-causing decible level that mirrored the last high school dance I reluctantly chapperoned. We tried and tried to get their attention. Screaming, yelling, jumping, and waving broken tree branches in the air. A few of the adults even tried throwing chunks of wood onto their raft to get their attention.
It didn't work.
You see. What they didn't know; what they couldn't see ahead; was what the storm waters had done to that other side of the newly formed island. The waters had loosened the ground enough to allow a large powerpole to lean down over the rushing waters. The wires had snapped and were now violently flailing spark shooters hanging just above the left water path. Anything going along this side would almost certainly be burned. Electrocuted.
Now this is where my mom left the story. Marked as a draft on her blog.
There were key details that I knew she would include. The part where she would have you look back behind you to see the ones who are following you. She had yet to wrap it up and relate it to life in the brilliant way that only my mom does. I'm actually kind of mad she didn't. She left the toughest part.
There are many layers to this story--especially because it was told in several different setttings.
For my AVID students and those in the gymnasium in the white mountians, this story is about listening to coaches and caring adults in your life because they have been on the same path as you and have seen the dangers ahead. Listen to their warnings. Listen when they caution and repremand you. They are trying to save you from pain and heartache. If they are shouting from the shoreline, they still care about you and want whats best for you.
For the young women in her beehive class, this story is about listening to the warnings of Prophets and Apostles as they lead us through our journey here on earth. They give us guidance through scriptures and conference talks that help us in our day, in our circumstances. Do we listen? Do we study the scriptures? Or do we turn up the world louder and drown out their voices?
For those attending the Regional Fireside, this story is about the Savior. And His constant plea for us to follow His path and choose the right. He has placed many along the shores to warn us and even has given us the Holy Ghost to help us hear and commit to his directions. Do we turn off the radio and watch for Jesus daily? Do we seek out time with the Savior and try to learn of Him, and follow him? Do we look ahead to see those who are placed in our lives by Him to help us ultimately navigate the treachorous waters? Are we trying to be like Jesus?
My mom said that once after she shared this story at a stake event, a young woman came up to her afterwards and asked her if it was true. Her reply was classic mom, with a wisdom that I was envious of even at a young age. "It happens every day."
Monday, October 7, 2019
Friday, June 28, 2019
The Truth
*Note: This entry was left unpublished for some reason. I'm not sure why my mom, Kathy, felt it wasn't ready yet. I suspect she wanted to rearrange the order of things. I think it is fitting to publish this on the eve of The Raggedy Old Convert's funeral. Tomorrow she will be buried with her sweetheart and we will have these stories to cherish for generations. What a wonderful gift to be left by such a wonderful lady! We love you Mom.
God, our Eternal Father, has promised us these things.
He ALWAYS keeps His promises.
Good will conquer evil.
Health will replace illness.
Every mind and body shall be healed.
All pain will end.
Light will banish darkness.
Smiles will replace tears.
Beauty will banish ugliness.
Kindness will take the place of cruelty.
Every temptation will be overcome.
Courage will fill every heart.
Industry will take the place of laziness.
Love will vanquish hatred.
Learning will be loved.
Intelligence will replace stupidity.
Families will be united.
Loved ones will be held tight in joy.
Eternal light will fill the universe.
We will see God and feel His love.
We will see the Savior and feel His love.
We will see our Heavenly Mother and feel Her love.
We will all honor the Priesthood.
We will truly love all others as our brothers and sisters.
The lion will lie down with the lamb.
Christ will triumph over the adversary.
We will understand the Atonement.
The scriptures will be made clear.
Power will replace weakness.
A sure knowledge will banish all doubt.
CHRIST'S ETERNAL ATONEMENT WILL CONQUER EVERY FOE.
HIS LOVE WILL FILL EVERY HEART AND EVERY CORNER OF THE UNIVERSE.
God, our Eternal Father, has promised us these things.
He ALWAYS keeps His promises.
Good will conquer evil.
Health will replace illness.
Every mind and body shall be healed.
All pain will end.
Light will banish darkness.
Smiles will replace tears.
Beauty will banish ugliness.
Kindness will take the place of cruelty.
Every temptation will be overcome.
Courage will fill every heart.
Industry will take the place of laziness.
Love will vanquish hatred.
Learning will be loved.
Intelligence will replace stupidity.
Families will be united.
Loved ones will be held tight in joy.
Eternal light will fill the universe.
We will see God and feel His love.
We will see the Savior and feel His love.
We will see our Heavenly Mother and feel Her love.
We will all honor the Priesthood.
We will truly love all others as our brothers and sisters.
The lion will lie down with the lamb.
Christ will triumph over the adversary.
We will understand the Atonement.
The scriptures will be made clear.
Power will replace weakness.
A sure knowledge will banish all doubt.
CHRIST'S ETERNAL ATONEMENT WILL CONQUER EVERY FOE.
HIS LOVE WILL FILL EVERY HEART AND EVERY CORNER OF THE UNIVERSE.
Friday, January 25, 2019
The Sleeping Bag
*Note
I'm currently revising some old posts to be sure that I've used the correct name for the Lord's Church on earth today........The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
*************
The Sleeping Bag
The two sometimes surly angels I live with have urged me to take action purging and sorting.
It seems they have issues with my drawers and closet shelves.
The angels read some sort of clutter control book and at my age they feel it's time for me to "cast away stones."
Alas, while sorting as I was directed to do, I happened upon several stories gathering electronic dust in a computer closet called "Docs."
They'd never been posted or needed repairs.
Kind of like that new skirt with the tags still on. It never did fit.
So after dusting, here's "The Sleeping Bag."
***************
I have a confession to make.
As a convert to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints I've sometimes felt outside of all that it means to be a full-fledged member.
I know it's wrong to feel that way.
But now and then I felt as though I was looking in through a window at strangers whose lives were so very different from the one I'd known growing up.
I thought that all the "real" Latter Day Saint women had mothers who taught their daughters to bake bread and sew quilts.
Or that domestic skills were genetic traits packed into handcarts and passed down from ancestors.
I figured that I must have come from the shallow end of the gene pool because my mother taught me whether olives, lemon twists or tiny onions were best for martinis.
Intellectually I knew that it was wrong to feel like an outsider.
We're a church made up of millions of converts after all, every one of them a beloved son or daughter of Heavenly Father.
I knew I was a beloved daughter.
Nevertheless, there I was, often feeling on the fringe.
The problem for me was cultural, I think.
Almost a culture shock, if you will.
Well, I was surprised to find out that I wasn't the only one getting buzzed.
Even our youngest daughters admit to having these fleeting feelings, which is surprising since they were both born in the Church.
But looking back over the years, I do remember hearing them make remarks like,"Whoo hoo, look at you!" if they walked into their older sister's house to find her baking homemade yeast rolls.
She'd learned to make them in Relief Society.
They certainly didn't mean this in a mocking or negative way.
And they knew that homemade rolls don't have any religious significance.
It's just that yeast never made it into our shopping cart. Yeast wasn't part of our culture.
Crescents from a can were as cultured as it got around our house.
Then our family moved from the big city in the desert to our beloved little town in the Arizona mountains.
Things changed.
There we found ourselves thrust right into the middle of a tight knit group of what we considered really "hard core" Latter-day Saints.
Our new hometown was chocked full of members of the Church.
Many of these wonderful mountain folks were descended from ancestors who came across the plains pulling handcarts, I'm sure.
Hardy souls, these were, with skills difficult to fathom for city slickers like us. Self reliance took on a whole new dimension at mountain altitudes.
These folks worked hard at jobs all day and then came home to grow, can, dry, and freeze their own food.
They raised, fished or hunted meat. They butchered it themselves.
And the necessities of life were obtained not only with credit cards, as we did, but with guns, bows, arrows, and fishing rods.
Both the men and women possessed amazing cooking skills.
More than once I've witnessed huge pits dug into meadows, then blazing fires started inside them and left to burn down to coals.
Enormous quantities of beef, chicken and pork were lowered down into the pits in huge black pots.
Then they were buried to be dug up later.
Cauldrons of home grown sweet corn, beans and peach cobbler bubbled on smaller fires nearby.
Yeast rolls perched on top of those cauldrons. There they baked surrounded by glowing coals.
Yes, you heard right.
Yeast in a meadow!
As the sun went down hundreds of hungry people came to feast.
I remember too, one sweet sister who made a six tier wedding cake that looked like a magazine picture. Exquisite roses and doves covered every inch.
Her friend, who was helping, explained to me that this can easily be accomplished using ten boxes of white cake mix for the base if you need to take shortcuts.
Bless her heart, she actually thought I might need this information someday!
The brothers built their own houses.
They did all the carpentry, plumbing, bricklaying and electrical themselves, of course.
Cars, snowblowers, chain saws and anything else with an engine was repaired at home.
Wood was used for winter warmth, and after chopping their own, they always left a cord or two for widows or those who were laid up.
I remember that we once had a huge Ponderosa pine that was a hazard growing too close to our house and garage.
Something had to be done.
So after much research into expensive options, we were told by someone in the ward to get the elementary school principal to come chop it down for us. He could drop it on a dime we were told.
He did.
Then he made neat cords of wood to dry for us or to haul off to town for some other person's future winter.
The only pay he wanted was man junk from Larry's garage.
Many of the sisters had amazing sewing skills, making everything from wedding dresses to men's suits to band uniforms.
I once complimented a student of mine on a beautiful quilted jacket she wore after Christmas break. I asked if she'd mind seeing what department store it had come from because I wanted to get one for my oldest daughter.
She looked at me oddly and said, "My mom made it. But she can show you how."
Sadly too, we learned that when the time called for it, these amazing saints even tenderly crafted coffins for loved ones who had been called home.
Well, inadequate doesn't begin to describe my feelings. My self esteem was in shatters.
No way could I ever fit in with this bunch!
Then a member of the Relief Society Presidency and the Bishop did something that changed my mind.
One week I sat in Relief Society meeting as the sister up front began to talk about some tragedy that had happened on the other side of the world.
An earthquake or something had destroyed people's homes.
Winter was coming on. Little children and old people would be cold.
The stake had asked the sisters in each ward to donate their time, means and talents to make warm quilts to help those in such dire need.
A sign-up sheet was being passed down the rows of sisters.
In the heat of the moment I signed up.
I regretted my decision before the clipboard even got to the end of the row!
What in the world was I thinking?
I didn't know how to make a quilt!
All these other sisters could whip up some sort of "Texas Wedding Ring," "Log Cabiny" gorgeousness in their sleep!
I'd be a laughing stock for sure.
Well, it was too late now as I saw the Relief Society President pick up the clipboard.
So I went home to research the possibilities.
I learned about a blankety comforter-like thing that you could make using two sheets with some stuffing in the middle.
You tied it with yarn snippets.
The directions said it was easy.
Okay....maybe this was possible.
That was the plan then. I'd get on it right away.
In the meantime a table appeared outside the Relief Society Room door. Beautiful handmade quilts began to appear in stacks on top.
A glitter embellished sign explaining the project hung on the wall above.
Each week more and more lovely works of art began to appear. They draped over the table and were stacked on the floor around it.
My heart sank every time I passed that table.
I was going to have to get moving on this soon!
Procrastination wasn't helping matters.
That old Mark Twain quote, "If you have to swallow a frog it's best not to stare at him too long first," began to shake its metaphorical finger at me at the oddest times.
Finally, one dreadful Sunday the announcement was made that the project would end week after next.
I hadn't even started!
"Not to panic!" I thought desperately.
I knew our family would be heading the 37 miles down the mountain to the big box store on Saturday.
I'd get all the supplies then and have a week to finish. It said it was easy!
Saturday came, we arrived for our shopping as usual, split up at the door, each of us with our shopping assignments and separate carts.
I headed to the sewing department for batting, needles, pins, thread, yarn and then on to the sheets.
As I was throwing another roll of batting into my cart, life began to seem overwhelming, not to mention expensive.
Only a week to get all this done. Wifeing, mothering and teaching full time to boot.
I dejectedly rolled on to the checkout line resigned to my fate. The wheel on my cart wobbled.
It was my own stupid fault!
But just then a tender mercy bestowed itself gently from above.
As I pushed my cart toward my doom I came across a huge bin practically blocking the entire aisle. There was a giant red "SALE!" sign above it.
The bin was overflowing with sleeping bags.
I slowed down. I slowed some more. Then I stopped.
"Sleeping bags were warm," I thought.
"Sleeping bags were probably just as warm as a quilt in fact. These were nice thick ones with a zipper.
Not so beautiful as a quilt maybe........but wait.......here was a really thick, red one with a SuperHero on the front.
A kid might think that a thick, red, warm, sleeping bag with a SuperHero on it was beautiful!"
I opened it up and spread it out.
" A kid WOULD think this is beautiful!!" I thought joyfully as I examined the bright colors on the SuperHero's cape.
I threw it into my cart and headed back to the sewing department to put the batting, yarn, thread, pins and needles back. Then on to return the sheets.
The next day we arrived at church early so I could sneak into the hall and make my contribution without getting caught.
I got down on the floor and was putting the sleeping bag way underneath the table when the door to the Relief Society Room opened.
One of the sisters in the presidency stuck her head out, saw what I was doing, smiled, and said, "Thank you."
I mumbled something and dashed off to the chapel.
"Well, at least that was over." I sighed.
A couple of weeks later, in Sacrament meeting, the Bishop got up to give the announcements.
He began by telling the members about the tragedy in the faraway land. About how the people had lost their homes and that winter was coming on. Children and old people would be cold unless someone helped. He explained that the sisters in the stake had been asked to donate their time, means, and talent to make warm quilts for them.
He told how proud he was of our ward's generous response and contribution.
He said, "All the members of our ward will be proud to know that our wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, nieces and friends have donated thirty-seven beautiful handmade quilts to keep people warm this winter!"
"Oh wait"... he paused...."here's a note...."
He stopped to read before going on.
"Correction" he continued......"that's thirty seven beautiful quilts ......plus one warm, red, Superhero sleeping bag. Thank you so much sisters."
The sister from Relief Society was sitting just two rows in front of us. She turned to smile at me.
A minute later my husband looked at me questioningly.
Then he whispered, "Why are you crying?"
I just shook my head at him.
I was crying because in that moment I knew that the Lord and His Church had accepted my efforts.
What I could do was what I should do.
It didn't matter that other people could do more. I was supposed to help too, in whatever way I could. It was enough. And it did help!
Some kid really would like the warm, red, Superhero sleeping bag. His life would be better because of it.
A kid on the other side of the world, someone who had lost his home maybe, would be warmer because of something I was able to give.
The Relief Society sister was trying to send me this message when she gave the note to the Bishop, of course.
I'll never forget her smile.
And I've felt a lot less like an outsider ever since.
*****************
"Every man shall give as he is able, according to the blessing of the Lord our God, which He hath given thee."
Deuteronomy 16:17
I'm currently revising some old posts to be sure that I've used the correct name for the Lord's Church on earth today........The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
*************
The Sleeping Bag
The two sometimes surly angels I live with have urged me to take action purging and sorting.
It seems they have issues with my drawers and closet shelves.
The angels read some sort of clutter control book and at my age they feel it's time for me to "cast away stones."
Alas, while sorting as I was directed to do, I happened upon several stories gathering electronic dust in a computer closet called "Docs."
They'd never been posted or needed repairs.
Kind of like that new skirt with the tags still on. It never did fit.
So after dusting, here's "The Sleeping Bag."
***************
I have a confession to make.
As a convert to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints I've sometimes felt outside of all that it means to be a full-fledged member.
I know it's wrong to feel that way.
But now and then I felt as though I was looking in through a window at strangers whose lives were so very different from the one I'd known growing up.
I thought that all the "real" Latter Day Saint women had mothers who taught their daughters to bake bread and sew quilts.
Or that domestic skills were genetic traits packed into handcarts and passed down from ancestors.
I figured that I must have come from the shallow end of the gene pool because my mother taught me whether olives, lemon twists or tiny onions were best for martinis.
Intellectually I knew that it was wrong to feel like an outsider.
We're a church made up of millions of converts after all, every one of them a beloved son or daughter of Heavenly Father.
I knew I was a beloved daughter.
Nevertheless, there I was, often feeling on the fringe.
The problem for me was cultural, I think.
Almost a culture shock, if you will.
Well, I was surprised to find out that I wasn't the only one getting buzzed.
Even our youngest daughters admit to having these fleeting feelings, which is surprising since they were both born in the Church.
But looking back over the years, I do remember hearing them make remarks like,"Whoo hoo, look at you!" if they walked into their older sister's house to find her baking homemade yeast rolls.
She'd learned to make them in Relief Society.
They certainly didn't mean this in a mocking or negative way.
And they knew that homemade rolls don't have any religious significance.
It's just that yeast never made it into our shopping cart. Yeast wasn't part of our culture.
Crescents from a can were as cultured as it got around our house.
Then our family moved from the big city in the desert to our beloved little town in the Arizona mountains.
Things changed.
There we found ourselves thrust right into the middle of a tight knit group of what we considered really "hard core" Latter-day Saints.
Our new hometown was chocked full of members of the Church.
Many of these wonderful mountain folks were descended from ancestors who came across the plains pulling handcarts, I'm sure.
Hardy souls, these were, with skills difficult to fathom for city slickers like us. Self reliance took on a whole new dimension at mountain altitudes.
These folks worked hard at jobs all day and then came home to grow, can, dry, and freeze their own food.
They raised, fished or hunted meat. They butchered it themselves.
And the necessities of life were obtained not only with credit cards, as we did, but with guns, bows, arrows, and fishing rods.
Both the men and women possessed amazing cooking skills.
More than once I've witnessed huge pits dug into meadows, then blazing fires started inside them and left to burn down to coals.
Enormous quantities of beef, chicken and pork were lowered down into the pits in huge black pots.
Then they were buried to be dug up later.
Cauldrons of home grown sweet corn, beans and peach cobbler bubbled on smaller fires nearby.
Yeast rolls perched on top of those cauldrons. There they baked surrounded by glowing coals.
Yes, you heard right.
Yeast in a meadow!
As the sun went down hundreds of hungry people came to feast.
I remember too, one sweet sister who made a six tier wedding cake that looked like a magazine picture. Exquisite roses and doves covered every inch.
Her friend, who was helping, explained to me that this can easily be accomplished using ten boxes of white cake mix for the base if you need to take shortcuts.
Bless her heart, she actually thought I might need this information someday!
The brothers built their own houses.
They did all the carpentry, plumbing, bricklaying and electrical themselves, of course.
Cars, snowblowers, chain saws and anything else with an engine was repaired at home.
Wood was used for winter warmth, and after chopping their own, they always left a cord or two for widows or those who were laid up.
I remember that we once had a huge Ponderosa pine that was a hazard growing too close to our house and garage.
Something had to be done.
So after much research into expensive options, we were told by someone in the ward to get the elementary school principal to come chop it down for us. He could drop it on a dime we were told.
He did.
Then he made neat cords of wood to dry for us or to haul off to town for some other person's future winter.
The only pay he wanted was man junk from Larry's garage.
Many of the sisters had amazing sewing skills, making everything from wedding dresses to men's suits to band uniforms.
I once complimented a student of mine on a beautiful quilted jacket she wore after Christmas break. I asked if she'd mind seeing what department store it had come from because I wanted to get one for my oldest daughter.
She looked at me oddly and said, "My mom made it. But she can show you how."
Sadly too, we learned that when the time called for it, these amazing saints even tenderly crafted coffins for loved ones who had been called home.
Well, inadequate doesn't begin to describe my feelings. My self esteem was in shatters.
No way could I ever fit in with this bunch!
Then a member of the Relief Society Presidency and the Bishop did something that changed my mind.
One week I sat in Relief Society meeting as the sister up front began to talk about some tragedy that had happened on the other side of the world.
An earthquake or something had destroyed people's homes.
Winter was coming on. Little children and old people would be cold.
The stake had asked the sisters in each ward to donate their time, means and talents to make warm quilts to help those in such dire need.
A sign-up sheet was being passed down the rows of sisters.
In the heat of the moment I signed up.
I regretted my decision before the clipboard even got to the end of the row!
What in the world was I thinking?
I didn't know how to make a quilt!
All these other sisters could whip up some sort of "Texas Wedding Ring," "Log Cabiny" gorgeousness in their sleep!
I'd be a laughing stock for sure.
Well, it was too late now as I saw the Relief Society President pick up the clipboard.
So I went home to research the possibilities.
I learned about a blankety comforter-like thing that you could make using two sheets with some stuffing in the middle.
You tied it with yarn snippets.
The directions said it was easy.
Okay....maybe this was possible.
That was the plan then. I'd get on it right away.
In the meantime a table appeared outside the Relief Society Room door. Beautiful handmade quilts began to appear in stacks on top.
A glitter embellished sign explaining the project hung on the wall above.
Each week more and more lovely works of art began to appear. They draped over the table and were stacked on the floor around it.
My heart sank every time I passed that table.
I was going to have to get moving on this soon!
Procrastination wasn't helping matters.
That old Mark Twain quote, "If you have to swallow a frog it's best not to stare at him too long first," began to shake its metaphorical finger at me at the oddest times.
Finally, one dreadful Sunday the announcement was made that the project would end week after next.
I hadn't even started!
"Not to panic!" I thought desperately.
I knew our family would be heading the 37 miles down the mountain to the big box store on Saturday.
I'd get all the supplies then and have a week to finish. It said it was easy!
Saturday came, we arrived for our shopping as usual, split up at the door, each of us with our shopping assignments and separate carts.
I headed to the sewing department for batting, needles, pins, thread, yarn and then on to the sheets.
As I was throwing another roll of batting into my cart, life began to seem overwhelming, not to mention expensive.
Only a week to get all this done. Wifeing, mothering and teaching full time to boot.
I dejectedly rolled on to the checkout line resigned to my fate. The wheel on my cart wobbled.
It was my own stupid fault!
But just then a tender mercy bestowed itself gently from above.
As I pushed my cart toward my doom I came across a huge bin practically blocking the entire aisle. There was a giant red "SALE!" sign above it.
The bin was overflowing with sleeping bags.
I slowed down. I slowed some more. Then I stopped.
"Sleeping bags were warm," I thought.
"Sleeping bags were probably just as warm as a quilt in fact. These were nice thick ones with a zipper.
Not so beautiful as a quilt maybe........but wait.......here was a really thick, red one with a SuperHero on the front.
A kid might think that a thick, red, warm, sleeping bag with a SuperHero on it was beautiful!"
I opened it up and spread it out.
" A kid WOULD think this is beautiful!!" I thought joyfully as I examined the bright colors on the SuperHero's cape.
I threw it into my cart and headed back to the sewing department to put the batting, yarn, thread, pins and needles back. Then on to return the sheets.
The next day we arrived at church early so I could sneak into the hall and make my contribution without getting caught.
I got down on the floor and was putting the sleeping bag way underneath the table when the door to the Relief Society Room opened.
One of the sisters in the presidency stuck her head out, saw what I was doing, smiled, and said, "Thank you."
I mumbled something and dashed off to the chapel.
"Well, at least that was over." I sighed.
A couple of weeks later, in Sacrament meeting, the Bishop got up to give the announcements.
He began by telling the members about the tragedy in the faraway land. About how the people had lost their homes and that winter was coming on. Children and old people would be cold unless someone helped. He explained that the sisters in the stake had been asked to donate their time, means, and talent to make warm quilts for them.
He told how proud he was of our ward's generous response and contribution.
He said, "All the members of our ward will be proud to know that our wives, mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts, grandmothers, nieces and friends have donated thirty-seven beautiful handmade quilts to keep people warm this winter!"
"Oh wait"... he paused...."here's a note...."
He stopped to read before going on.
"Correction" he continued......"that's thirty seven beautiful quilts ......plus one warm, red, Superhero sleeping bag. Thank you so much sisters."
The sister from Relief Society was sitting just two rows in front of us. She turned to smile at me.
A minute later my husband looked at me questioningly.
Then he whispered, "Why are you crying?"
I just shook my head at him.
I was crying because in that moment I knew that the Lord and His Church had accepted my efforts.
What I could do was what I should do.
It didn't matter that other people could do more. I was supposed to help too, in whatever way I could. It was enough. And it did help!
Some kid really would like the warm, red, Superhero sleeping bag. His life would be better because of it.
A kid on the other side of the world, someone who had lost his home maybe, would be warmer because of something I was able to give.
The Relief Society sister was trying to send me this message when she gave the note to the Bishop, of course.
I'll never forget her smile.
And I've felt a lot less like an outsider ever since.
*****************
"Every man shall give as he is able, according to the blessing of the Lord our God, which He hath given thee."
Deuteronomy 16:17
Sunday, December 16, 2018
The Baby Whisperer
Open Letter To My Grandsons
Dear Beloved Posterity,
My mind drifts around these days.
A hazard of old age, I suppose.
Well, it just so happens that I recently witnessed a "toddler meltdown," which caused it to drift way, way, way, back to the days when your grandfather was the baby whisperer.
So, I've decided to pass this skill on to you.
Everybody can thank me later.
So, here's what Grandpa did, back when he was just plain Dad.
Someone would hand him a screaming, wildly overstressed infant or little kid.
No one had been able to comfort or quiet this little soul no matter how hard they tried. The poor child had completely lost it and was hysterical.
Sensory overload was often to blame.
A combination of "too much," happened just before the melt.
A long stretch of "too muches," in most cases.
Things like distant relative holding, car seat incarceration, theme park excitement, noise, shopping, travel, time between naps, all converged in a perfect, tiny storm of epic proportions.
If the little human was a baby, Grampa usually lay down very close to it on the bed or floor.
Right next to the child's ear he began to whisper very softly using his deepest man voice.
I never could hear what he said because the sound was so quiet and low.
He just kept whispering through all the screams and crying.
After a few minutes the screams would lessen in volume and then turn to whimpers. Whimpers turned to tiny hiccups.
Larry would keep man-whispering while starting gentle patting.
Soon the baby was asleep.
Melting older kids would get held in a big hug.
Once I saw a three year old kicking Larry in the stomach with mighty blows while holding him close and tight around the neck at the same time.
Like his little life depended on it.
Then, with these boiling over little people, your grandpa started those close, deep, man-voice whispers and kept it up until calm returned.
After a while the kid would sit quietly on Larry's lap, usually with his head on his shoulder.
Sweat and tear stains dried until he was ready to hop down.
I'm still grateful for this baby whisperer thing of your grandpa's.
I've never known a woman who was able to do this.
Believe me I've tried.
I think it may be that mothers and fathers have different skill sets.
You think that's part of the plan?
***********
"Hear ye children, the instruction of a father, and attend to know understanding."
Proverbs 4:1
Dear Beloved Posterity,
My mind drifts around these days.
A hazard of old age, I suppose.
Well, it just so happens that I recently witnessed a "toddler meltdown," which caused it to drift way, way, way, back to the days when your grandfather was the baby whisperer.
So, I've decided to pass this skill on to you.
Everybody can thank me later.
So, here's what Grandpa did, back when he was just plain Dad.
Someone would hand him a screaming, wildly overstressed infant or little kid.
No one had been able to comfort or quiet this little soul no matter how hard they tried. The poor child had completely lost it and was hysterical.
Sensory overload was often to blame.
A combination of "too much," happened just before the melt.
A long stretch of "too muches," in most cases.
Things like distant relative holding, car seat incarceration, theme park excitement, noise, shopping, travel, time between naps, all converged in a perfect, tiny storm of epic proportions.
If the little human was a baby, Grampa usually lay down very close to it on the bed or floor.
Right next to the child's ear he began to whisper very softly using his deepest man voice.
I never could hear what he said because the sound was so quiet and low.
He just kept whispering through all the screams and crying.
After a few minutes the screams would lessen in volume and then turn to whimpers. Whimpers turned to tiny hiccups.
Larry would keep man-whispering while starting gentle patting.
Soon the baby was asleep.
Melting older kids would get held in a big hug.
Once I saw a three year old kicking Larry in the stomach with mighty blows while holding him close and tight around the neck at the same time.
Like his little life depended on it.
Then, with these boiling over little people, your grandpa started those close, deep, man-voice whispers and kept it up until calm returned.
After a while the kid would sit quietly on Larry's lap, usually with his head on his shoulder.
Sweat and tear stains dried until he was ready to hop down.
I'm still grateful for this baby whisperer thing of your grandpa's.
I've never known a woman who was able to do this.
Believe me I've tried.
I think it may be that mothers and fathers have different skill sets.
You think that's part of the plan?
***********
"Hear ye children, the instruction of a father, and attend to know understanding."
Proverbs 4:1
Friday, July 27, 2018
Tough Guys
For beautiful Alex as she leaves for her mission.
********
The other day I heard a disparaging word about members of my faith.
Usually I just say a little prayer for the misinformed and go on about my business.
But this one struck a little nerve.
I think this remark pinched because it wasn't just a twisting of facts or slinging of dubious mud.
To tell the truth, the exact opposite is true.
What was said was that Mormons were weak-minded sheep.
Their no alcohol, no tobacco, sex only if you're married beliefs make them wimps according to these critics.
Wusses, if you will.
It was that "weak-minded" comment that raised my blood pressure.
According to these critics no one tells tough guys anything.
Independent thinkers drink, smoke, and sleep around if they have an inclination.
In fact, any inclination works for them and they have plenty.
There is no right or wrong.
No absolutes.
Ethics are purely situational.
"If it feels good, and your spouse and kids don't find out, then do it!" is the popular philosophy.
The only "wrong" is getting caught.
Often this is shouted in the name of "freedom!"
By the way, these people believe that shouting "Freedom!" will drown out the clanking sounds of cell doors. The ones shutting on those personal prisons they're building.
Many with life sentences.
It's also supposed to cover up the scraping noise of all those extra cots as they're being dragged inside each cell.
Those cots are for the innocent people who happen to love them.
Well, as the child of an alcoholic, with a cot of my own, I began to get a little upset.
I felt driven to speak out this time.
I propose that to live in today's world, the REAL tough guys are the ones who can say NO!
Tough guys can stand pressure for a lifetime, including in high def and surround sound, and still not give in to what they know won't bring happiness.
They choose to live in the light.
No matter how attractive darkness is made to seem.
Or how many powerful others are stumbling around in it.
Hey, name callers, just as an example, why don't you try to live in today's world without using alcohol?
I'll even admit to being tempted.
Once or twice, late on a Friday after a really rough week dealing with classrooms full of hormonal teenagers, I received invitations from other frazzled teachers.
"No thanks," I replied a bit sadly, "I don't drink. But if I did......this would be the day!"
And what about when drinking's just socially correct?
Like when your boss asks you to give a toast at his third wedding?
Or it's your non-member uncle's special beer at his birthday party?
And how hard is it to be true to your sweetheart and kids when that cutie at work makes an offer?
Again.
Or pass up the porn that all the guys are sharing in the break room?
Again. And again, and again?
I say the tough guys stay strong because they believe happiness is at stake.
And not only their own.
What does it take to stand firm, time after time, for a lifetime?
Well name-callers, I think it takes someone with firm conviction of mind and spirit, steel for a backbone, and an iron will.
I happen to be acquainted with some of those real tough guys very well.
I even witnessed someone become one.
You see, Larry and I are what I like to call, "Raggedy Old Converts."
We didn't always live in the light.
Way back when we first started talking to the missionaries, we were in our early twenties.
In those days Larry was a heavy smoker.
He also loved beer, just like most of his college buddies did. He especially loved it with his favorite Mexican foods. And pizza.
He came by this behavior honestly, by the way.
His dad was a lifelong smoker. And social drinking was the norm in his home and among family friends when he grew up.
It was part of every memorable family celebration.
How tough does a person need to be to give up the lifestyle of his childhood now that he knows that God said, "Some things aren't good for man."
He's also learned about the blessings of the temple.
He loves his family and wants to be sealed together forever.
In the temple there's no, "til death do you part."
So he needs to be living the truth as well as he can.
Part of that is Father's counsel about alcohol and tobacco.
So, what does it take to give up the usual "beer with enchiladas" or the "pitcher with pepperoni and double cheese?"
What does it take to conquer a heavy nicotine addiction at the same time?
Forever.
Imagine that beloved parents and extended family who smoke and drink don't understand or approve.
In fact they're hurt and offended.
How tough do you have to be to begin living truth when it's your dad who's handing you a beer now?
Well, Larry struggled mightily. His spirit was ready and willing. He gave up alcohol.
But nicotine, especially had an iron grip.
He said that giving up beer was a piece of cake compared to tobacco.
I've heard that nicotine can be as hard to quit as drugs.
I believe it too. I've seen someone do it.
I'd like to share a story about Larry's struggle.
That struggle contained a very special moment in our lives.
One where help was sent from Heavenly Father when it was needed most.
This happened decades ago.
At that time Larry's mom was very active in State and National Women's Clubs.
In fact she was given the high honor of being elected as Arizona's State Women's Clubs President in 1980.
There was a huge reception for her at a well known hotel in downtown Phoenix.
Her family was expected to attend to show their love and support.
I had just had our fourth baby.
Kelley was barely two weeks old. Normally I wouldn't advise taking a new infant and recovering mother on any big excursions.
But this had to be an exception.
At the fancy hotel, after dinner and speakers, a reception line for Larry's mom started to form around the glittering lights and pool on the roof of the hotel.
Just then the new baby signaled that it was time to be fed.
So I took her in search of a private spot.
I got on the elevator as it was coming down. There was just one man standing inside.
I noticed that he had a tag on his coat which said "Rex Pinegar Boy Scouts of America."
On the way down I wondered.
We had recently heard a general conference talk given by a General Authority with the same name.
Could it be?
The man spoke to kindly comment on the baby.
I thanked him.
I didn't want to be seen as an incompetent mother so I then apologized for having such a new little one out in the evening. I quickly explained about Larry's mother.
I then nervously asked if he might be the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints Rex Pinegar? The one who gave a conference talk Rex Pinegar? The General Authority Rex Pinegar?
Was he THAT Rex Pinegar?!!
He smiled and said that he was, here for some Boy Scout festivities.
I gushed at being to able to meet him in person and said my goodbyes as the door opened.
Afterwards I rushed over to Larry who was standing in the reception line shaking hands, to tell him of my meeting a General Authority!
He was impressed, asking me questions between greetings.
A few minutes later I looked down the line and there was Brother Pinegar!
As he got to me I exclaimed, "Brother Pinegar! How kind of you!
We spoke a bit and then I asked if I mentioned that Larry's mom wasn't a member?
He replied, "Yes, but she must be a great lady in any case. I wanted to pay my respects."
He shook my hand warmly and I turned to Larry to introduce him.
I excitedly told Larry that this was Brother Pinegar, the General Authority who I'd told him I'd just met!
I then saw the strangest look come over my husband's face.
All the color left it.
His hands went around his back.
There was some fumbling before he took Brother Pinegar's hand.
I knew then that he'd been holding a cigarette.
After Brother Pinegar moved down the line. Larry looked into my eyes.
"I don't ever want that to happen again. I don't ever want to be holding a cigarette when a General Authority puts out his hand," he said.
It still took some time but Larry finally quit smoking.
That handshake brought him strength.
He took his family to the temple and we were sealed for time and eternity.
I knew a special witness had been sent to bring a blessing for a single raggedy old convert.
I was overcome.
Along with strength for Larry that handshake brought me a testimony that each one of us is loved by Father.
He knows us and our struggles.
It says in the scriptures, "All things are possible with Christ our Lord who strengthens me."
He stands by to help. Even with what may seem impossible.
Brother Pinegar probably had no idea of the impact his kind gesture made that day.
But I know that he was sent to help one man change eternity for himself and his family.
So I say "Hurray for the real tough guys!!"
The ones surrounded on all sides by loud voices. Singing the same old party songs.
You know the words.
Those same old lies.
Instead they believe that Heavenly Father revealed many precious truths to His beloved children.
"Some things are not good for man," was one of them.
Yep, the truly tough guys trust Father.
They try to walk the path He marked.
The one in the light.
May the blessings that come with living in the light fall softly on their heads. And on the heads of those who love them.
Hang in there all you guys with steel for backbone!
You're the strongest, toughest people I've ever known.
*******
"But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; thy shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint." Isaiah 40:31
"The way of the Lord is strength to the upright: but destruction shall be to the workers of iniquity." Proverbs 10:29
Saturday, April 28, 2018
Handcarts and Earbuds
This post is dedicated to some spectacular warriors I know who were saved for the last days.
I’m related to them and love them forever.
*****************************************************************
Several of my grandchildren will take part in an activity this summer that they’ll likely remember for the rest of their lives. A Pioneer Trek.
Treks are an opportunity for the youth of the chuch to experience just a taste of what pioneer Latter Day Saints faced.
For several days teenagers pull handcarts loaded with life’s bare neccessities along a wilderness trail. Along the way, after thousands of footprints and gallons of sweat, those young people begin to have a special appreciation for the sacrifices of the pioneers.
Many teens who’ve gone on a trek say the experience was life changing.
Virtually every Latter Day Saint is deeply grateful for the faith and strength of those first church members.
Many of them were driven from their homes. They faced starvation, disease, violence, and destruction at every turn. This deadly opposition came about because the Saints believed with all their hearts that they had found the true Church of Jesus Christ.
The adversary knew they'd found it.
So that opposition came accompanied with bullets and bloodthirsty mobs.
Fleeing from comfortable homes, sometimes in the dead of winter, they suffered hardships of body and heart that we can scarcely imagine. Even though angels walked at their sides and miracles strengthened them, precious loved ones died and were buried beside the trail.
Through every challenge they clung to their faith.
I'm in awe of what they did.
But I remember once, while listening to a talk about the courage of the pioneers, being puzzled by something else I’d learned.
What I'd been taught was that Heavenly Father's most valiant spirits have been saved for the very last days.
I’d heard it said that it’s then that He'll need to send special sons and daughters with a vital mission. His bravest, most skilled and steadfast souls will be needed at that time.
The fight for truth will become more fierce than ever before.
I remember wondering how our time could possibly be more challenging than that of the pioneers?
Starvation, bitter cold, blazing heat, angry mobs, disease, wild animals, death of loved ones, and destruction every single day!
How can it get any tougher than that?
I never would have survived as a pioneer, that's for sure.
I'm not brave when it comes to physical danger.
Plus, I don’t care much for pain.
I also depend on modern conveniences.
Thinking about these things I took a look back over my own life.
I realized that my husband was in charge of any danger.
Scary noises in the night, spiders, snakes, bears on the porch... anything like that. I don't recall any mobs, but he would have had to deal with them, not me.
I was in charge of cleaning the bathrooms.
That seemed fair.
Plus, now I live in the desert again, so air conditioning must be in working order wherever I go.
I think drive-thru’s were a major breakthrough in technology.
And those cars we use to drive-thru in are a necessity not a convenience.
Walking thousands of miles pulling everything I own just doesn’t seem humanly possible.
Other necessities in my opinion are indoor plumbing and ice.
Electric lights, cell phones, television and a washing machine are on the must-have list too.
I never would have survived the pioneer trail.
In fact, nowadays, most of us are never more than a few feet from food, water, warmth, and shelter.
Turning up or down the AC takes care of heat waves and blizzards.
If danger prowls, or fire, accident or illness threatens, we call 911.
A rescue team arrives in minutes!
Some of the rescuers will come with guns to protect us from enemies, some with hoses and ladders to put out fires, others with the latest medical equipment to help the sick or injured.
What would the early Saints say to that?
So what is it about the last days that will call for superhuman courage, faith, and strength to make it back to Heavenly Father?
Why will my grandchildren need to be as strong or stronger than the settlers who suffered through so many trials?
Well, there may be lots of answers to that question that we can’t even imagine.
I’m related to them and love them forever.
*****************************************************************
Several of my grandchildren will take part in an activity this summer that they’ll likely remember for the rest of their lives. A Pioneer Trek.
Treks are an opportunity for the youth of the chuch to experience just a taste of what pioneer Latter Day Saints faced.
For several days teenagers pull handcarts loaded with life’s bare neccessities along a wilderness trail. Along the way, after thousands of footprints and gallons of sweat, those young people begin to have a special appreciation for the sacrifices of the pioneers.
Many teens who’ve gone on a trek say the experience was life changing.
Virtually every Latter Day Saint is deeply grateful for the faith and strength of those first church members.
Many of them were driven from their homes. They faced starvation, disease, violence, and destruction at every turn. This deadly opposition came about because the Saints believed with all their hearts that they had found the true Church of Jesus Christ.
The adversary knew they'd found it.
So that opposition came accompanied with bullets and bloodthirsty mobs.
Fleeing from comfortable homes, sometimes in the dead of winter, they suffered hardships of body and heart that we can scarcely imagine. Even though angels walked at their sides and miracles strengthened them, precious loved ones died and were buried beside the trail.
Through every challenge they clung to their faith.
I'm in awe of what they did.
But I remember once, while listening to a talk about the courage of the pioneers, being puzzled by something else I’d learned.
What I'd been taught was that Heavenly Father's most valiant spirits have been saved for the very last days.
I’d heard it said that it’s then that He'll need to send special sons and daughters with a vital mission. His bravest, most skilled and steadfast souls will be needed at that time.
The fight for truth will become more fierce than ever before.
I remember wondering how our time could possibly be more challenging than that of the pioneers?
Starvation, bitter cold, blazing heat, angry mobs, disease, wild animals, death of loved ones, and destruction every single day!
How can it get any tougher than that?
I never would have survived as a pioneer, that's for sure.
I'm not brave when it comes to physical danger.
Plus, I don’t care much for pain.
I also depend on modern conveniences.
Thinking about these things I took a look back over my own life.
I realized that my husband was in charge of any danger.
Scary noises in the night, spiders, snakes, bears on the porch... anything like that. I don't recall any mobs, but he would have had to deal with them, not me.
I was in charge of cleaning the bathrooms.
That seemed fair.
Plus, now I live in the desert again, so air conditioning must be in working order wherever I go.
I think drive-thru’s were a major breakthrough in technology.
And those cars we use to drive-thru in are a necessity not a convenience.
Walking thousands of miles pulling everything I own just doesn’t seem humanly possible.
Other necessities in my opinion are indoor plumbing and ice.
Electric lights, cell phones, television and a washing machine are on the must-have list too.
I never would have survived the pioneer trail.
In fact, nowadays, most of us are never more than a few feet from food, water, warmth, and shelter.
Turning up or down the AC takes care of heat waves and blizzards.
If danger prowls, or fire, accident or illness threatens, we call 911.
A rescue team arrives in minutes!
Some of the rescuers will come with guns to protect us from enemies, some with hoses and ladders to put out fires, others with the latest medical equipment to help the sick or injured.
What would the early Saints say to that?
So what is it about the last days that will call for superhuman courage, faith, and strength to make it back to Heavenly Father?
Why will my grandchildren need to be as strong or stronger than the settlers who suffered through so many trials?
Well, there may be lots of answers to that question that we can’t even imagine.
But, I can see some things now in the lives of our young people that give me a glimpse.
One thing I see is that severe, unrelenting temptation to let go of the iron rod surrounds them. They're enticed to leave the path back to Heavenly Father constantly.
It’s everywhere. It's in surround sound, high definition, and virtual reality. It's right at their fingertips. And it starts at an ever earlier age.
Plus the adversary has gone high tech.
Twenty-four seven there he is. Waiting inside every electronic device.
Every hour, every minute. He never, never, never lets up!
For instance, almost every teenager, even those in modest circumstances, can get up from the warm comfort of bed at night, walk past indoor plumbing and a refrigerator full of food, to the computer in the family room. Many have “smart” phones and don’t even have to get out of bed!
Then they can push little buttons, and begin to lose their souls.
Children of God can play "games" full of horrendous violence and vile perversion of every kind.
They can spend hours of precious life watching TV filled with "beautiful" people living lives in darkness.
They can put little plugs in their ears and have filth beat into their brains in time to music.
They can spend more time with depraved killers than they spend with their eternal families.
They can waste their potential, their education, and their desire to be productive and do good.
They can fill their God given minds with stupidity, violence, and ugliness.
They can sink into a filthy cesspool of lies about life and Father's beautiful gift of sexual expression.
They can destroy their future families and break the hearts of the family they’ve been born into.
They can lose their testimony.
They can waste precious youth and glorious possibility.
With just their thumbs.
*******
I’d like anyone who spends any of their time in this way to do something for me.
Think deep into your heart and soul.
Be completely honest.
Then answer these questions.
Should I be doing this? Is this how I should spend my time?
What does the light of Christ that’s born within you tell you?
********
The pioneers had to bury loved ones alongside the trail and go on with broken hearts.
Children, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters were left behind.
But they didn’t lose the people they loved..
They had to leave them for only the rest of their lifetimes.
Today, we can really lose our beloved family.
We can lose them more surely than to death, and in our own, safe homes.
So, after some serious thinking, I’ve decided that we do need the bravest, most valiant spirits for this day and beyond.
Our time is full of dangers never even imagined by those who came before us.
The most valiant souls who choose the right in the midst of so much wrong really are needed today!
Those who will choose to grow in the light, and use their time to develop their talents and skills are needed now!
Those who will educate themselves to a useful profession are needed now!
We desperately need those who study the words of Heavenly Father and know the plan of happiness.
We need exceptional souls who will one day become wonderful parents and leaders in the Lord’s church.
We need those who can point to the path that leads home to Heavenly Father and Mother.
All of us can look back to the pioneer fathers and mothers for their inspiring examples of faith and strength.
We should be deeply grateful for them.
And then those valiant sons and daughters of God who were sent in these last days should get ready.
They must remember who they are!
They should “gird up their loins and fresh courage take.”
And then get ready for the fight of their lives.
So much depends on them.
**********
Moroni Chapter 7: 12-19
One thing I see is that severe, unrelenting temptation to let go of the iron rod surrounds them. They're enticed to leave the path back to Heavenly Father constantly.
It’s everywhere. It's in surround sound, high definition, and virtual reality. It's right at their fingertips. And it starts at an ever earlier age.
Plus the adversary has gone high tech.
Twenty-four seven there he is. Waiting inside every electronic device.
Every hour, every minute. He never, never, never lets up!
For instance, almost every teenager, even those in modest circumstances, can get up from the warm comfort of bed at night, walk past indoor plumbing and a refrigerator full of food, to the computer in the family room. Many have “smart” phones and don’t even have to get out of bed!
Then they can push little buttons, and begin to lose their souls.
Children of God can play "games" full of horrendous violence and vile perversion of every kind.
They can spend hours of precious life watching TV filled with "beautiful" people living lives in darkness.
They can put little plugs in their ears and have filth beat into their brains in time to music.
They can spend more time with depraved killers than they spend with their eternal families.
They can waste their potential, their education, and their desire to be productive and do good.
They can fill their God given minds with stupidity, violence, and ugliness.
They can sink into a filthy cesspool of lies about life and Father's beautiful gift of sexual expression.
They can destroy their future families and break the hearts of the family they’ve been born into.
They can lose their testimony.
They can waste precious youth and glorious possibility.
With just their thumbs.
*******
I’d like anyone who spends any of their time in this way to do something for me.
Think deep into your heart and soul.
Be completely honest.
Then answer these questions.
Should I be doing this? Is this how I should spend my time?
What does the light of Christ that’s born within you tell you?
********
The pioneers had to bury loved ones alongside the trail and go on with broken hearts.
Children, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters were left behind.
But they didn’t lose the people they loved..
They had to leave them for only the rest of their lifetimes.
Today, we can really lose our beloved family.
We can lose them more surely than to death, and in our own, safe homes.
So, after some serious thinking, I’ve decided that we do need the bravest, most valiant spirits for this day and beyond.
Our time is full of dangers never even imagined by those who came before us.
The most valiant souls who choose the right in the midst of so much wrong really are needed today!
Those who will choose to grow in the light, and use their time to develop their talents and skills are needed now!
Those who will educate themselves to a useful profession are needed now!
We desperately need those who study the words of Heavenly Father and know the plan of happiness.
We need exceptional souls who will one day become wonderful parents and leaders in the Lord’s church.
We need those who can point to the path that leads home to Heavenly Father and Mother.
All of us can look back to the pioneer fathers and mothers for their inspiring examples of faith and strength.
We should be deeply grateful for them.
And then those valiant sons and daughters of God who were sent in these last days should get ready.
They must remember who they are!
They should “gird up their loins and fresh courage take.”
And then get ready for the fight of their lives.
So much depends on them.
**********
Moroni Chapter 7: 12-19
12 Wherefore, all things which are good cometh of God; and that which is evil cometh of the devil; for the devil is an enemy unto God, and fighteth against him continually, and inviteth and enticeth to sin, and to do that which is evil continually.
13 But behold, that which is of God inviteth and enticeth to do good continually; wherefore, every thing which inviteth and enticeth to do good, and to love God, and to serve him, is inspired of God.
14 Wherefore, take heed, my beloved brethren, that ye do not judge that which is evil to be of God, or that which is good and of God to be of the devil.
15 For behold, my brethren, it is given unto you to judge, that ye may know good from evil; and the way to judge is as plain, that ye may know with a perfect knowledge, as the daylight is from the dark night.
16 For behold, the Spirit of Christ is given to every man, that he may know good from evil; wherefore, I show unto you the way to judge; for every thing which inviteth to do good, and to persuade to believe in Christ, is sent forth by the power and gift of Christ; wherefore ye may know with a perfect knowledge it is of God.
17 But whatsoever thing persuadeth men to do evil, and believe not in Christ, and deny him, and serve not God, then ye may know with a perfect knowledge it is of the devil; for after this manner doth the devil work, for he persuadeth no man to do good, no, not one; neither do his angels; neither do they who subject themselves unto him.
18 And now, my brethren, seeing that ye know the lightby which ye may judge, which light is the light of Christ, see that ye do not judge wrongfully; for with that same judgment which ye judge ye shall also be judged.
19 Wherefore, I beseech of you, brethren, that ye should search diligently in the light of Christ that ye may know good from evil; and if ye will lay hold upon every good thing, and condemn it not, ye certainly will be a child of Christ.
Saturday, March 17, 2018
All Creatures.....Some Really Small.
* Update on Moose
After Larry passed away little Moose would run to his chair several times a day looking for him.
Sometimes she'd sit by the door waiting.
It broke my heart. But it reminded me of blessings.
You see, one morning not long before he passed, Kelley was taking her dad to the doctor. She noticed him gently stroking his knee continually.
She asked, "Dad, what are you doing?"
He looked down and said in mild surprise, "Oh sorry..... just petting the dog."
That's what happened for hours each day. Dog petting.
I wonder who was comforted the most?
Now Moose rides in the front basket of my electric cart.
My cart is a huge blessing for which I'm extremely grateful, by the way.
Moose hates being cold so she's wrapped in a nest of blankets with only her little head sticking out.
We go everywhere like this. Even places where she's not allowed. I just cover her up so that only her eyes show.
The girls bought her a little harness that says "Service Dog" but I don't feel it's honest. They say, "Sure it is, Ma. She's an official Crazy Old Lady Who's Finally Lost It, service dog. We can certify."
So, I've become the old lady on the cart with the little brown dog. Tooling around the neighborhood, Walmart and Loew's.
Believe me I never thought my life would come to this.
But, to be honest, there are advantages.
I can fetch and carry many things for people, easily saving time and steps. Too, on good days I can put in a 10 hour day and at the end of it my feet don't hurt. And I once beat the grandkids to Toontown on a Disney trip. Life is full of tender mercies. Just look for them.
So Moose has now become my constant companion.
A gift from Larry who was her first choice.
And when I reach inside her nest on the cart basket to be sure she's warm, she always turns to lick me.
I wonder who's comforted most.
"And I, God, made the beasts of the earth after their kind, and everything which creepeth upon the earth after his kind; And I, God, saw that all these things were good." Moses 2: 24-25
" The tender mercies of the Lord are over all," 1 Nephi 1:20
*Original Post
All Creaures...Some Really Small
************
I've never been a "dog person" really.
I've always thought cats were less trouble for the most part.
Until recently I never met a dog that didn't cause me some kind of grief.
Usually this grief involves my having more work to do and less money to spend. Come to think of it I still haven't met one that doesn't cause more work and less money.
I know a lot about that dog grief thing too.
How? Because all of my married life we've had dogs. And more than one at a time too.
Why, you say?
Because, you see, even though I'm not, Larry definitely IS a dog person. He's had dogs since he was a boy, and they've always had him.
Well, as we all know, marriage is often about compromise.
So, to be fair to me, Larry reluctantly compromised and said we could have cats to go along with the dogs and children.
And I was elected to be responsible for the care and feeding of all of them, including Larry.
So, to be fair to me, Larry reluctantly compromised and said we could have cats to go along with the dogs and children.
And I was elected to be responsible for the care and feeding of all of them, including Larry.
Now something's happened concerning a dog that I'm almost reluctant to tell you. It's out of character for me and I'm afraid that people will think that I've become delusional along with whatever else I've become.
But I'm not delusional yet, and I was so touched that I must tell you about it.
But I'm not delusional yet, and I was so touched that I must tell you about it.
You see, last night, an aging, nondescript, sometimes annoying little brown dog with one white spot, went out of her way to show compassion towards a being not even of her same species.
That species being human. That human being me.
And compassion it was, there was no mistaking it for anything else. Which leads to a whole lot of other deep animal questions to think about later.
That species being human. That human being me.
And compassion it was, there was no mistaking it for anything else. Which leads to a whole lot of other deep animal questions to think about later.
Let me tell you about the dog.
She was rescued as a teeny, tiny pup by my son-in-law who found her while he was working in an empty house. He heard pitiful cries and went to help. She fit in the palm of his hand and was not even old enough to have been weaned. He checked with neighbors with no luck.
Being a compassionate yet smart man, he didn't take it home to his wife and seven kids. He knew a great truth was found in that old saying, "There's no such thing as a free puppy."
So instead he took it to his sisters-in-law.
Just as he'd figured, they immediately rushed it to the vet, paid the bill, and then stopped off at the nearest pet market to buy hundreds of dollars of dog stuff, most of it in pink. Included were little bottles of expensive dog formula which the vet recommended feeding every three hours round the clock for some weeks. This was years ago.
Well, that little pup grew into the smallest chihuahua-mutt-mix princess the vets had ever seen every six months for regular shots and check-ups. The girls named her "Daisy."
These daughters felt that Daisy and her border collie sibling, (another rescue), would be lonely if left alone too long, so they dropped them off early each morning to spend weekdays with us while the girls were teaching.
Larry, however, refused to have a dog in the house with such a "wuusie" name as Daisy.
So he renamed her "Moose."
She was rescued as a teeny, tiny pup by my son-in-law who found her while he was working in an empty house. He heard pitiful cries and went to help. She fit in the palm of his hand and was not even old enough to have been weaned. He checked with neighbors with no luck.
Being a compassionate yet smart man, he didn't take it home to his wife and seven kids. He knew a great truth was found in that old saying, "There's no such thing as a free puppy."
So instead he took it to his sisters-in-law.
Just as he'd figured, they immediately rushed it to the vet, paid the bill, and then stopped off at the nearest pet market to buy hundreds of dollars of dog stuff, most of it in pink. Included were little bottles of expensive dog formula which the vet recommended feeding every three hours round the clock for some weeks. This was years ago.
Well, that little pup grew into the smallest chihuahua-mutt-mix princess the vets had ever seen every six months for regular shots and check-ups. The girls named her "Daisy."
These daughters felt that Daisy and her border collie sibling, (another rescue), would be lonely if left alone too long, so they dropped them off early each morning to spend weekdays with us while the girls were teaching.
Larry, however, refused to have a dog in the house with such a "wuusie" name as Daisy.
So he renamed her "Moose."
Well, Moose is now older. She stays with us full-time while our dog Murphy, who is still an adolescent in dog years, and therefore trouble, stays with our daughters, who can handle trouble better than we can now.
Moose has a little pillow kept right between Larry and I on our bed where she sleeps at night. She has her own favorite blankets. She hates being cold so several times a night I reach in to her little nest to make sure she's warm and covered.
Moose has a little pillow kept right between Larry and I on our bed where she sleeps at night. She has her own favorite blankets. She hates being cold so several times a night I reach in to her little nest to make sure she's warm and covered.
Well, sad to say, I now have geezer issues which cause pain whenever I move.
Last night I was trying to get more comfortable in bed and was attempting a turn which caused some moans of distress. After much tribulation I finally got settled.
As soon as I did, a sleepy little brown dog with one white spot emerged from her warm nest.
She came over to me, licked my arm exactly twice, turned around and went back inside the blankets to her bed.
There was no mistaking the message.
I knew instantly what those licks meant.
She was saying, "There, there. You're okay now. Go back to sleep."
Last night I was trying to get more comfortable in bed and was attempting a turn which caused some moans of distress. After much tribulation I finally got settled.
As soon as I did, a sleepy little brown dog with one white spot emerged from her warm nest.
She came over to me, licked my arm exactly twice, turned around and went back inside the blankets to her bed.
There was no mistaking the message.
I knew instantly what those licks meant.
She was saying, "There, there. You're okay now. Go back to sleep."
Tender mercies.
I guess Father sends them in lots of ways.
Today I'm thankful for all his creatures great and small.
Once in the middle of a dark night a very small one brought comfort to me.
Once in the middle of a dark night a very small one brought comfort to me.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
Watch Out For Angels
We are surrounded by angels, seen and unseen.
I'm helped at their hands on a daily basis.
Heavenly Father sends them.
Beautiful scriptures describe angelic beings. Here's just one;
"...For I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up." D&C 84:88
The apostles have spoken to us about angels many times.
I especially love Jeffrey Holland's thoughts.
Read his beautiful conference talk, "The Ministry of Angels," to hear his counsel.
I personally live with two of the "seen" type of angels.
This is not just my opinion either.
My dear daughter-in-law once told me that she believed that both of the ones in my house will go straight to the celestial kingdom when they finish up here. Just a gold, non-stop pass straight to the top. No waiting around.
Other people think this about them too. Mainly because they have devoted their lives to the service of others.
They've spent years caring for the old, broken members of their family, bringing them into their home to do so.
Only someone who's taken care of old people 24/7 really knows what this means. They do this in their free time.
Beth says, 'Don't worry about us Ma," because she says she has a witness that they picked this assignment before coming here.
Some assignment. First they teach Seminary at 5:30 in the morning, after getting up at 4:00 to pray and prepare. Then off they go in the dark to hold up a light so the most valiant can see.
Then off they go to work.
This is so they can give every last bit of energy they possess to loving and guiding HUNDREDS of other teenagers, sometimes the most troubled ones.
When the workday is done they come home to care for some loved but ancient family member. Currently this is a broken, still bandaged mother, unable to stand or walk, who won't be still and insists that she be helped in and out of bed in order to do her mischief.
On weekends they often think it's a good idea to cook for the "Westside" family. They're concerned that we're a bit isolated out here in the wild west.
They want all the young people to feel "connected " to family and the Church.
Our "Eastside" loved ones are busily blessed with two of the cutest great-grandbabies ever, and are already surrounded by other church members and extended family.
Plus Lisa is there to care for them. They are well connected.
So Beth and Kelley think that spur of the moment barbeques and Disney movie nights will help kids "make connections." Kids includes Isaac, one of the cutest little two-year-olds ever, a grand-nephew. The angels say he needs the little ties that bind too.
As an added benefit, it's hoped that this frenzy of activity might give their tired sister and brother-in-law a break.
You see, Kim and Scott are the parents of seven kids, five of them currently teenagers.
This can make you really tired.
So on a Saturday afternoon Kelley heads out to fetch and then drag home carloads of groceries. Beth then begins to chop and grill them.
Soon the house fills up with 15 loud and hungry people looking to connect.
However, this angelic connection-promoting behavior, while praiseworthy, can sometimes lead to further, unplanned opportunities.
For instance, a few Sundays ago all the family were sitting together at Stake Conference.
A note came down the row to Beth.
She read,
"Our mother says we made her tired and she's going to take a nap after church. She won't cook for us. She says we are old enough to feed ourselves. Can we come home with you? Will you feed us?"
Signed by some teenager.
So angels then make dinner in less than 30 minutes, for a dozen hungry people, mostly teenagers, who walk in the door at the same time as the angels do, and want food RIGHT NOW, without any prior notice, warning, shopping or preparing. On a day of rest.
Nevertheless, all this being said, you need to know that these particular angels are not always exactly angelic.
There's another side.
I've found that angels can also be bossy, patronizing, devious, stubborn and annoying.
And highly opinionated.
For instance.
They will unjustly confiscate your paintbrushes, and spray paint, and eventually ban you from any painting at all.
Angels lie.
They tell falsehoods about where sharp implements are kept. This is so old people can't grate carrots.
And though they deny any knowlege of the whereabouts of the breadmaking machine, they've actually hidden it so you won't make a mess.
In fact, they hide all "dangerous or messy" items like potting soil.
Potting soil and paint are evil and are hidden in secret places somewhere deep in the garage.
Angels have bad taste at times too.
They don't like the best colors, underappreciate fine art, and think innocent flowers, like geraniums are "old fashioned."
You will not be allowed to plant geraniums.
Angels don't want you to go into their clean kitchen to make dinner.
Angels will tell you to be still, they will do it later.
Angels don't want you to do it now.
Angels will tell you that you are driving them crazy. Yet, there they sit, behind the steering wheel.
Remember, I warned you.
Watch out for angels.
I'm helped at their hands on a daily basis.
Heavenly Father sends them.
Beautiful scriptures describe angelic beings. Here's just one;
"...For I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up." D&C 84:88
The apostles have spoken to us about angels many times.
I especially love Jeffrey Holland's thoughts.
Read his beautiful conference talk, "The Ministry of Angels," to hear his counsel.
I personally live with two of the "seen" type of angels.
This is not just my opinion either.
My dear daughter-in-law once told me that she believed that both of the ones in my house will go straight to the celestial kingdom when they finish up here. Just a gold, non-stop pass straight to the top. No waiting around.
Other people think this about them too. Mainly because they have devoted their lives to the service of others.
They've spent years caring for the old, broken members of their family, bringing them into their home to do so.
Only someone who's taken care of old people 24/7 really knows what this means. They do this in their free time.
Beth says, 'Don't worry about us Ma," because she says she has a witness that they picked this assignment before coming here.
Some assignment. First they teach Seminary at 5:30 in the morning, after getting up at 4:00 to pray and prepare. Then off they go in the dark to hold up a light so the most valiant can see.
Then off they go to work.
This is so they can give every last bit of energy they possess to loving and guiding HUNDREDS of other teenagers, sometimes the most troubled ones.
When the workday is done they come home to care for some loved but ancient family member. Currently this is a broken, still bandaged mother, unable to stand or walk, who won't be still and insists that she be helped in and out of bed in order to do her mischief.
On weekends they often think it's a good idea to cook for the "Westside" family. They're concerned that we're a bit isolated out here in the wild west.
They want all the young people to feel "connected " to family and the Church.
Our "Eastside" loved ones are busily blessed with two of the cutest great-grandbabies ever, and are already surrounded by other church members and extended family.
Plus Lisa is there to care for them. They are well connected.
So Beth and Kelley think that spur of the moment barbeques and Disney movie nights will help kids "make connections." Kids includes Isaac, one of the cutest little two-year-olds ever, a grand-nephew. The angels say he needs the little ties that bind too.
As an added benefit, it's hoped that this frenzy of activity might give their tired sister and brother-in-law a break.
You see, Kim and Scott are the parents of seven kids, five of them currently teenagers.
This can make you really tired.
So on a Saturday afternoon Kelley heads out to fetch and then drag home carloads of groceries. Beth then begins to chop and grill them.
Soon the house fills up with 15 loud and hungry people looking to connect.
However, this angelic connection-promoting behavior, while praiseworthy, can sometimes lead to further, unplanned opportunities.
For instance, a few Sundays ago all the family were sitting together at Stake Conference.
A note came down the row to Beth.
She read,
"Our mother says we made her tired and she's going to take a nap after church. She won't cook for us. She says we are old enough to feed ourselves. Can we come home with you? Will you feed us?"
Signed by some teenager.
So angels then make dinner in less than 30 minutes, for a dozen hungry people, mostly teenagers, who walk in the door at the same time as the angels do, and want food RIGHT NOW, without any prior notice, warning, shopping or preparing. On a day of rest.
Nevertheless, all this being said, you need to know that these particular angels are not always exactly angelic.
There's another side.
I've found that angels can also be bossy, patronizing, devious, stubborn and annoying.
And highly opinionated.
For instance.
They will unjustly confiscate your paintbrushes, and spray paint, and eventually ban you from any painting at all.
Angels lie.
They tell falsehoods about where sharp implements are kept. This is so old people can't grate carrots.
And though they deny any knowlege of the whereabouts of the breadmaking machine, they've actually hidden it so you won't make a mess.
In fact, they hide all "dangerous or messy" items like potting soil.
Potting soil and paint are evil and are hidden in secret places somewhere deep in the garage.
Angels have bad taste at times too.
They don't like the best colors, underappreciate fine art, and think innocent flowers, like geraniums are "old fashioned."
You will not be allowed to plant geraniums.
Angels don't want you to go into their clean kitchen to make dinner.
Angels will tell you to be still, they will do it later.
Angels don't want you to do it now.
Angels will tell you that you are driving them crazy. Yet, there they sit, behind the steering wheel.
Remember, I warned you.
Watch out for angels.
Friday, February 9, 2018
Mystery That Is Man: The $1500 Paradox
******
For my beloved brother Mark, who's been blessed with some pretty serious adversity of late. A battle with a foe named cancer being among his challenges.
I hope my "looks back" bring him a smile.
********
Men are odd.
I can prove it too.
Just one case in point is that Larry, my husband of 51 years, passed away without my permission several months ago.
I think we should have discussed this first. But he often didn't get permision before doing things.
So, we disagreed about that and other issues, including who was odd and who was not.
He thought men were NOT odd. He said women were the odd ones.
He was wrong.
Here's another for instance, if I may.
When Larry and I first met he was a member of a "Car Club."
This was a bunch of school friends who all drove heaps and spent weekends under them trying to make them go faster than the other guys' heaps.
Not to go any place in particular, just to get there faster.
I mistakenly thought this meant that he was interested in cars in general.
It took many years before the "$1500 Paradox" became clear to me.
Let me explain.
In an effort to be a good companion I tried to take an interest in this car thing.
It was hard.
So I figured that I could at least keep an eye out for spectacular cars that we saw on the road so that he could see and appreciate them and me.
So for years and years, I excitedly pointed out every Porsche and Corvette we saw on the road. I was showing an interest and thought he would enjoy seeing them. I was a good wife.
He always looked and said, "Nice ride," or something like that.
It wasn't until we moved to the mountains that I began to notice the $1500 Paradox.
This is expressed by a curious light in a man's eye and an almost perceptable rise in his blood pressure. You can feel it in the air.
It occurs when a male sees some pile of broken mechanical parts with tires. The sighting must be in another man's garage or side yard.
This pile can be a former car, motorcycle or even a tractor.
It must not be running or at least be on its last legs.
It's best if there is rust.
The man will pass by this pile and the light-in-the-eye will flash on. The atmospheric pressure rises in the air around you.
Then he will exclaim, "Hon, will you look!! It's a 1948 Alice Chalmers!!"
I'll bet that guy had to give $1500 for it! That #@%."
(For years I thought Alice Chalmers was an old girlfriend. It's not. It's a tractor.)
For some reason a Paradox sighting always involved the owner getting cussed. And the price is always $1500.
On the way home from "Alice" I ran a test. I pointed out a brand new, shiny, rust-free, Corvette.
He looked and said, "Nice ride."
Now I must include a caution.
This "Paradox" may be a widespread male occurrence.
When we lived in the mountains, I had a colleague who was a fine man, a wonderful teacher, friend to all, and possibly at the time, the high school girl's softball coach. I can't remember.
He owned an older red pick-up truck.
His name was Tim Slade and Tim is a man.
Tim's truck sat next to the ballfield during games and practices and had a smashed front windshield where it was assaulted by a foul ball.
I think this made it more attractive.
Well, Larry somehow talked Tim into selling that truck to him. He had to pay more than the paradoxical $1500 because it was actually running.
But not much more.
Anyway, Larry reluctantly had the windshield replaced because he was afraid of getting a ticket.
He taught the girls that putting a hairbrush in the carbuerator thingy would get it started, should there be trouble. There was always trouble.
Beth eventually taught her friends at school the hairbrush trick should they require knowlege of it.
She said you could remove the hairbrush once it got started.
Then Larry and the girls drove that old, red truck for many happy miles until it died in our front yard next to the garage.
Where it remained for some time.
Now the truckbed was always handy.
So it was used to hold piles of pine needles and yard refuse waiting for transport to the compactor.
Then a male neighbor spotted it when he came over in response to another old car we were trying to sell. A GEO Tracker, I believe.
The man said he really didn't want the Tracker but was interested in the old red truck filled with pine needles.
Larry said the truck wasn't for sale.
Neighbor said that he'd only buy the Tracker if Larry would sell him the truck.
I thought, "Be still my heart!!! Two piles of junk gone at once!!!" But I didn't say anything.
The man waved cash.
It was heartbreaking but too much for Larry. He took it.
Fast forward 20 years or so.
Just a few months ago, the super-talented, super-hero duo, Beth and Kelley, went up to the mountains to speak at a Relief Society function at the request of dear old friends.
On their way home they decided to drive by the old homestead.
As they drove into the subdivision Beth said, "Hey, isn't that Dad's old truck with a "For Sale" sign on it?
It was.
Overcome with a wave of sentiment Beth thought about buying it herself.
She then came to her senses and realized it would be way more expense and trouble than it would be worth. She wiped her tears.
When they got home they casually reported the truck sighting to Kim and her family.
The next day, Malachi, Larry's grandson, went up the mountain.
He took his dad, Scott, with him.
You know the rest.
So, lately, if you're looking for Malachi, check first under an old red truck parked discreetly in his parent's gated side yard.
Now and then his dad may be under there too.
That truck has now become a very, very, expensive vehicle.
Probably comparable to a Corvette.
Even so, the Homeowner's Association won't allow Malachi to stick his feet out from under it where they can be seen publicly.
*******
"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female created He them." Genesis 1:27
*****
"And the Lord God said, "It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make him an help meet for him." Genesis 2:18
*****
"And I, God, saw everything that I had made, and behold, all things which I had made were very good." Book of Moses 2:37
******
"Okay.......man is not odd. Man is good." Sister Wagher
Sunday, February 4, 2018
Old People Can't Eat Tupperware Anymore
******
For my brother Mark.
He once told me as I teased him about getting older, "Yea, that's true Kath.... But remember... I'll always be younger than you."
********
I've been thinking about aging lately.
Pondering even, which is deeper and more serious.
It turns out that much of growing old is surprising.
And, now and again, I'm even startled to discover "old" strangely fascinating.
I'll look at some new physical development and say to myself;
"Goodness, THAT never happened before."
"Why, all of a sudden, is my miraculous, heavenly inspired body leaving lines and marks all over it?"
"That hurts! It never hurt a few years ago."
"Why is my skin flaking off? I put my good lotion."
"What's that? Those body parts were never that low!"
"Again? I just went!"
And most especially, "What's going on with my digestion?"
I asked that question just this morning as a matter of fact.
You see, I've always been a fan of spicy foods.
This comes from being born and raised in the Sonorran desert where Mexican food is served directly after weaning.
As, of course. it should be.
I feel sorry for people who weren't born here and have no appreciation in their very blood for Mexican food. It truly is a gift from God.
Also, my father was born in Bangkok so I remember the amazing hot curries and coconut soups of Thailand.
I recall my dear Aunt Miriam, my dad's sister, who was new to America, coming to cook in our kitchen one day. She was grating fresh coconut into a cheesecloth so she could squeeze the milk out into some heavenly sauce.
I watched in awe and I've still never seen anything like the love and care that went into that meal.
But some people haven't been blessed with such a rich culinary heritage.
One is my dear son-in-law who was born in the Pacific Northwest, Seattle area.
This poor man grew up with nothing but smoked salmon in his veins.
I've always felt sorry for him.
Now, don't get me wrong, Larry and I had an absolutly wonderful Alder smoked salmon experience in Seattle one lovely summer night.
We were on the pier, late. We'd spent the day sightseeing and ferry boat riding. The sun still wasn't completely gone from the sky. This would make it around 8 in the evening in Arizona but in the Northwest it was after 11!
It was well past our dinnertime and we were hungry. Larry went up to a little salmon stand where a lovely glowing barbeque fire was almost spent. He ordered fish dinners for the two of us.
As the nice man was filling our plates he said, "Hey, I'm closing up. Would you like the rest of this halibut, swordfish and salmon? I'll just give it to you."
Would we like it? Was he kidding?
Anyway, it was one of those "meals of a lifetime." You know the ones.
They come along now and again because they're so special, in one way or another. The place and the people are as important as the food. But you never forget.
This one was on the pier, beautiful summer night, sun leaving only streaks of color in the sky, best friend stealing your tartar sauce. Wonderful smoked fish.
I'll never forget.
Nevertheless, morning always comes, even in Seattle.
And then, there you are, without a decent enchilada or refried bean to be found.
This tangent that I'm off on today was brought on by the fact that I'm unwell this morning.
Very, decidedly, unwell.
This unwellness was brought on because I ate Tupperware last night.
Let me explain.
Once, on a formerly popular television show, I heard a doctor trying to illustrate this idea to an aging patient.
She advised the man that when he was 25 years old his digestive system could handle almost anything he threw into it. He could eat the Tupperware that he'd packed his lunch in and still function.
But old people who eat Tupperware will have consequences, she said accusingly.
I can report that this is true. Here's my report.
My lovely daughter Beth is a fine, inspired cook.
She "creates" as she chops. After this chopping stops you can be sure that soon some delicious smell will be wafting through the house.
She will then tell everyone, "No, it isn't ready yet. I'm marinating."
It's actually torture. She knows this. (Beth has latent "Mother" issues.)
Now and again she puts things on the charcoal grill, and lets the torture spread to all the neighbors. Her father taught her this.
Delicious grilling smells always come from the whole block the day AFTER Beth cooks outside.
Well, yesterday she made a large vat of her most delectable Mexican shrimp cocktail.
It was chock full of chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, garlic, cilantro, avocado, jalepeno peppers, lime juice, and icy cold cooked shrimp.
This she engulfs in a delicious, spicy, gazpacho-like sauce with some sort of addictive additive, which she alone knows about.
This cocktail also happens to be very good for you!
No guilt. No fat. Except for avocados, (which is good fat!)
Tons of raw vegetables, fresh herbs, peppers and citrus juice, and non-fried shrimp.
Larry was among the many fans of Beth's shrimp cocktail.
Well, I was super excited for this culinary treat.
The whole house floated along in a cloud of fresh lime, garlic, cilantro and pepper smells while "marinating" worked its magic.
I ate Beth's cocktail.
Lots of it.
It was stupendous!
Except for the bottom of the bowl juices.
I didn't eat them.
You see, for some reason this bottom juice always seems to become very spicy as you go along.
I've noticed this happens with Thai coconut soup and curry too.
People are then forced to get another bowl because the top juice won't be so hot.
Is there a chemical reason for this?
Anyway, I woke up this morning with a clear message from my aging body.
It said, "You ate Tupperware, didn't you? You know that old people will have consequences and yet you still ate the Tupperware. When are you ever going to learn that it's foolish to get into a war with old?"
Remember. And be well.
******
"And I the Lord God, said unto the woman: What is this thing which thou hast done? And the woman said: The serpent beguiled me and I did eat."
Genesis 3:13
******
"Watch and pray that ye enter not into temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." Matthew 26:41
*****
"To every thing there is a season, a time for every purpose under the heavens."
Ecclesiastes 3:1
******
"Old people can't eat tupperware anymore."
Sister Wagher
For my brother Mark.
He once told me as I teased him about getting older, "Yea, that's true Kath.... But remember... I'll always be younger than you."
********
I've been thinking about aging lately.
Pondering even, which is deeper and more serious.
It turns out that much of growing old is surprising.
And, now and again, I'm even startled to discover "old" strangely fascinating.
I'll look at some new physical development and say to myself;
"Goodness, THAT never happened before."
"Why, all of a sudden, is my miraculous, heavenly inspired body leaving lines and marks all over it?"
"That hurts! It never hurt a few years ago."
"Why is my skin flaking off? I put my good lotion."
"What's that? Those body parts were never that low!"
"Again? I just went!"
And most especially, "What's going on with my digestion?"
I asked that question just this morning as a matter of fact.
You see, I've always been a fan of spicy foods.
This comes from being born and raised in the Sonorran desert where Mexican food is served directly after weaning.
As, of course. it should be.
I feel sorry for people who weren't born here and have no appreciation in their very blood for Mexican food. It truly is a gift from God.
Also, my father was born in Bangkok so I remember the amazing hot curries and coconut soups of Thailand.
I recall my dear Aunt Miriam, my dad's sister, who was new to America, coming to cook in our kitchen one day. She was grating fresh coconut into a cheesecloth so she could squeeze the milk out into some heavenly sauce.
I watched in awe and I've still never seen anything like the love and care that went into that meal.
But some people haven't been blessed with such a rich culinary heritage.
One is my dear son-in-law who was born in the Pacific Northwest, Seattle area.
This poor man grew up with nothing but smoked salmon in his veins.
I've always felt sorry for him.
Now, don't get me wrong, Larry and I had an absolutly wonderful Alder smoked salmon experience in Seattle one lovely summer night.
We were on the pier, late. We'd spent the day sightseeing and ferry boat riding. The sun still wasn't completely gone from the sky. This would make it around 8 in the evening in Arizona but in the Northwest it was after 11!
It was well past our dinnertime and we were hungry. Larry went up to a little salmon stand where a lovely glowing barbeque fire was almost spent. He ordered fish dinners for the two of us.
As the nice man was filling our plates he said, "Hey, I'm closing up. Would you like the rest of this halibut, swordfish and salmon? I'll just give it to you."
Would we like it? Was he kidding?
Anyway, it was one of those "meals of a lifetime." You know the ones.
They come along now and again because they're so special, in one way or another. The place and the people are as important as the food. But you never forget.
This one was on the pier, beautiful summer night, sun leaving only streaks of color in the sky, best friend stealing your tartar sauce. Wonderful smoked fish.
I'll never forget.
Nevertheless, morning always comes, even in Seattle.
And then, there you are, without a decent enchilada or refried bean to be found.
This tangent that I'm off on today was brought on by the fact that I'm unwell this morning.
Very, decidedly, unwell.
This unwellness was brought on because I ate Tupperware last night.
Let me explain.
Once, on a formerly popular television show, I heard a doctor trying to illustrate this idea to an aging patient.
She advised the man that when he was 25 years old his digestive system could handle almost anything he threw into it. He could eat the Tupperware that he'd packed his lunch in and still function.
But old people who eat Tupperware will have consequences, she said accusingly.
I can report that this is true. Here's my report.
My lovely daughter Beth is a fine, inspired cook.
She "creates" as she chops. After this chopping stops you can be sure that soon some delicious smell will be wafting through the house.
She will then tell everyone, "No, it isn't ready yet. I'm marinating."
It's actually torture. She knows this. (Beth has latent "Mother" issues.)
Now and again she puts things on the charcoal grill, and lets the torture spread to all the neighbors. Her father taught her this.
Delicious grilling smells always come from the whole block the day AFTER Beth cooks outside.
Well, yesterday she made a large vat of her most delectable Mexican shrimp cocktail.
It was chock full of chopped tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, garlic, cilantro, avocado, jalepeno peppers, lime juice, and icy cold cooked shrimp.
This she engulfs in a delicious, spicy, gazpacho-like sauce with some sort of addictive additive, which she alone knows about.
This cocktail also happens to be very good for you!
No guilt. No fat. Except for avocados, (which is good fat!)
Tons of raw vegetables, fresh herbs, peppers and citrus juice, and non-fried shrimp.
Larry was among the many fans of Beth's shrimp cocktail.
Well, I was super excited for this culinary treat.
The whole house floated along in a cloud of fresh lime, garlic, cilantro and pepper smells while "marinating" worked its magic.
I ate Beth's cocktail.
Lots of it.
It was stupendous!
Except for the bottom of the bowl juices.
I didn't eat them.
You see, for some reason this bottom juice always seems to become very spicy as you go along.
I've noticed this happens with Thai coconut soup and curry too.
People are then forced to get another bowl because the top juice won't be so hot.
Is there a chemical reason for this?
Anyway, I woke up this morning with a clear message from my aging body.
It said, "You ate Tupperware, didn't you? You know that old people will have consequences and yet you still ate the Tupperware. When are you ever going to learn that it's foolish to get into a war with old?"
Remember. And be well.
******
"And I the Lord God, said unto the woman: What is this thing which thou hast done? And the woman said: The serpent beguiled me and I did eat."
Genesis 3:13
******
"Watch and pray that ye enter not into temptation; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak." Matthew 26:41
*****
"To every thing there is a season, a time for every purpose under the heavens."
Ecclesiastes 3:1
******
"Old people can't eat tupperware anymore."
Sister Wagher
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Trees Along the Banks
*This post is dedicated with love to my brother Mark. I hope it brings a smile.
*******
Trees are good.
In fact, I can honestly say that I've never met a tree I didn't like.
Well, to be completely honest, maybe I didn't care for one or two that were causing trouble.
Concerning good trees.
Now that I'm old, I find myself gazing back into the past now and then and being surprised to find trees there. It's a bit odd.
One lazy afternoon I was surprised to see quite a few growing along the shady banks of my memory.
There they stood, beautiful and growing, filled with green and gold, sunlight and blue sky. And after all those passing years, they still "gladdened the heart and pleased the eye" as the scriptures say.
I wish them all well.
One tree I remember was actually a grove.
Larry and I had traveled from Arizona to California for our notorious family event, "Dueling Dinners." "Dinners" is now a family war of culinary braggarts started decades ago by a rude comment made by my brother Matt. This after I had graciously fed him some of my homemade lasagna.
I'll never forget it.
"Kath," he said when he should have kept quiet, "I can make better lasagna than this." Well, that was the first shot in a battle that's gone on for generations now.
Brother Mark was hosting the Duel that year. He always goes above and beyond in preparation for this event so everyone was super excited.
He'd made reservations at a lovely little lakeside campground for all the families coming with their various camping accomodations.
I remember beautiful large trees with multiple trunks growing along the lake shore and throughout the campsites. As the family arrived, tents began to pop-up among them.
Pup tents, room-sized tents, lean to's, temporary storerooms, shade providers, rain protectors, and canvas dressing rooms began to appear everywhere. It was quite a sight.
Pick-up trucks with sleeping bags in the back pulled in next to all the construction.
Then the show-off RV's packed with their cheating kitchens showed up. Hidden inside were their electric whisks and microwave ovens.
The huge beasts finally managed to park after numerous forward and reverse, forward, curse, reverse; forward, curse, reverse maneuvers.
Divine justice, all the trouble they had.
Mark hadn't forgotten Larry and I either. There was a comfortable hotel with a king sized bed and a real bathroom just down the road.
We used to love "roughing it," but in our old age we began to love room service. Remember....to every thing there is a season.
Anyway, as we drove down a small hill into the campground I began to wonder at the trees, trying to figure out what kind they were. I hadn't seen them in Arizona.
Then, as I looked hard among the leafy green, I was startled to see eyes and faces beginning to peek out from the branches. Each tree had a child's face or two growing there along the limbs next to the bird nests!
After closer inspection I realized that those peeping faces belonged to my grandchildren!
How wonderful!
The trees were full of little fruits and they were all mine!
"And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after it's kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after its kind: and God said that it was good." Gen 1:12 (Moses 2:12)
******************
Another tree that grows along my memory banks is a huge ponderosa pine. It played an important part in our family's first week of life in the mountains after our move from the city.
Our home in the desert was surrounded by gravel lawns and citrus trees. Lemon, orange, grapefruit and Mexican lime trees are wonderful in every season but they don't grow to be very tall. Their branches start close to the ground and mature trees remind me of enormous bushes.
After the move to the little house in the big woods, where we stayed for 12 years, we now lived in one of the largest stands of ponderosa pines in the Southwest.
Ponderosas grow straight up and are enormous! They have rough bark and the first branches on the oldest trees don't appear until many feet up. I've heard them called mountain skyscrapers. Some of the trees that surrounded our cabin must have been over 100 feet tall.
So into the mountain forest we brought our desert city cat, "Blue," named for his smoky-blue color. He was used to citrus trees which aren't much good for climbing. He must have been thrilled to see those huge pines! So up he went.
By the time he reached the first branches he was already in trouble.
Why is it that cats are so much like some people I know, just plunging along with no thought about where the path they're on may end up.
Anyway, Blue finally stopped to look down. He froze. He was now terrified.
He yowled and meowed loudly and pitifully. For 3 days. And nights.
It was during this little crises that our city slicker family put on a show for the local mountain folk. All kinds of antics were performed in an attempt to rescue that cat.
The performances ended with a heartstopping finale featuring Larry parking the Suburban under the tree, perching a huge ladder on top, and climbing it to try to get Blue down before he was killed himself.
To no avail. Blue was too scared to move.
The nights were the worst. I can still hear that pitiful meowing above the sound of the the wind whistling through the pines. And after each yowl some wild, hungry, predatory animal answered.
Then, miraculously, after several days, Blue appeared on the front porch. This time meowing to get in for food, water, and someone's warm bed.
We never knew how he'd managed to get down.
However, all this turmoil wasn't for naught.
Blue, the cat, had taught an important lesson. It's a caution for all to remember it.
Sometimes we have to do what has to be done even when we're scared, right? And you might as well do it before spending three cold nights up a tree.
"Wherefore if ye believe me, ye will labor while it is called today."
D&C 64:25
"...O that we had repented before the great and terrible day..."
3 Nephi 18:24
"If you have to swallow a frog it's best not to stare at him too long first."
Mark Twain
I'll tell you about some more trees another time.
God bless you with many of your own to remember.
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