******
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
Sunday, February 4, 2018
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.
Wednesday, November 15, 2017
Warm Toes Legacy
Larry's been on my mind almost always lately.
I find him there even though he crossed to the other side of the veil some 17 months ago now.
I have a sense that he's very busy with important work and I know that I need to get busy with important work of my own. I'm going to try to do better with "improving the shining hour" as the old hymm says.
Even so, memories of little things during our 51 years together drift into my thoughts and bring a smile as I remember them.
One is covered toes.
You see for the last few years of our working life Larry had a job that required him to leave the house very early in the mornings. Long before dawn.
I was teaching high school and had the luxury of a couple more hours of sleep before the other alarm went off.
Each day after Larry showered and dressed for work he gathered his things quietly in the darkened room so I could sleep. Then as he headed out the door he never failed to stop to cover my sleeping toes with blankets. They had slipped out into the cold during the night.
I thought this was such a sweet thing to do. I always pretended to sleep waiting for him. Those covered toes were a treasure then and they mean even more to me now.
I never told him that I like my feet uncovered, cold or not, and I was always careful not to pull the blanket off again until he was safely gone.
I hope there was some little thing that I did for him that he remembers with a smile.
I find him there even though he crossed to the other side of the veil some 17 months ago now.
I have a sense that he's very busy with important work and I know that I need to get busy with important work of my own. I'm going to try to do better with "improving the shining hour" as the old hymm says.
Even so, memories of little things during our 51 years together drift into my thoughts and bring a smile as I remember them.
One is covered toes.
You see for the last few years of our working life Larry had a job that required him to leave the house very early in the mornings. Long before dawn.
I was teaching high school and had the luxury of a couple more hours of sleep before the other alarm went off.
Each day after Larry showered and dressed for work he gathered his things quietly in the darkened room so I could sleep. Then as he headed out the door he never failed to stop to cover my sleeping toes with blankets. They had slipped out into the cold during the night.
I thought this was such a sweet thing to do. I always pretended to sleep waiting for him. Those covered toes were a treasure then and they mean even more to me now.
I never told him that I like my feet uncovered, cold or not, and I was always careful not to pull the blanket off again until he was safely gone.
I hope there was some little thing that I did for him that he remembers with a smile.
Thursday, September 7, 2017
All Things Bear Record of Me: The Basement
I substituted as the teacher in the Gospel Doctrine Sunday school class a few weeks ago.
It was in our new ward and I was a bit nervous. It's been several years now since I've been blessed to teach in one of the Lord's classes. And one thing became immediately apparent.
Things have changed.
This time I rolled into the room on my trusty electric cart and one of my lovely daughters had to write the lesson essentials on the board in her very neat, teacher-writing style.
Then she turned the chalk sideways and surrounded everything she had written in MY usual chalky-cloud border.
I didn't even have to ask for the clouds. She just drew them.
It was very touching.
I taught the lesson.
Afterwards, my other lovely teacher daughter volunteered gently that I had done everything wrong.
She pointed out that this class is designed to include discussion. The instructor serves as the moderator who skillfully leads comments to touch on all doctrinal points outlined in the lesson.
Goofy stories about rocks were not discussion.
I agreed that class involvement is indeed a much better way to foster learning. I also have a feeling that both of my lovely teacher daughters are far more skilled than I in the logistics of this sometimes unwieldy teaching technique.
This brought to mind how wonderful it is to see your own children grow up to become mighty instruments in the hands of the Lord. Even when their skills far surpass your own in every way. Maybe especially when they do.
I would like to point out though that a major influence for one of those skilled daughters was the exceptional fifth grade teacher she was blessed to have in elementary school. We all know how important a favorite teacher can be. It was this one's influence that started her on the path of excellence that lasted a lifetime.
I was happy to have been that teacher and gratified to see the results.
Also, even though telling the goofy rock story was wrong, a person from the class did kindly ask for a "copy" of one of the other goofy stories I told.
Unfortunately I don't have copies of my stories. I keep them in unkempt, disorganized files in my head. And now I've noticed in alarm that pages are getting lost on a daily basis.
This particular story I heard decades ago. I've no idea where. It's not mine, of that I'm sure. But as soon as I heard it I began sharing it with my students. I've been telling it for years with unspoken gratitude to the author.
I'll attempt to remember it now for the nice lady who asked.
-------------------
The Basement
-------------------
Michael, a renowned professor of mathematics, lived with his family in a lovely home very near the university where he taught. His closest friend James, was a physicist who also taught at the university and lived with his family just two doors down the block. These two learned men had been associates for decades and their wives and children had also become close friends.
Yet, while the two men had a great deal in common, one major difference between them had caused much discussion over the years. The renowned professor of mathematics was a Christian and his friend was an atheist.
Many talks well into the night had not convinced either one of the other's viewpoint. But they were still friends in any case and over the years had become almost like brothers.
Well, one evening the two families were to have a barbeque at Mike the mathematician's home. The guests arrived. Children greeted each other noisily and ran out back to the festivities. Wives said hello and were off to the kitchen. Mike greeted his friend and headed out to the grill where he was creating his renowned hamburger masterpieces.
As he hurried out back to prevent burning he hollered over his shoulder, "Hey Jim, will you go down to the basement pantry and bring up a bottle of my famous barbeque sauce? I'm running low out here."
"Sure, but don't ruin dinner until I get there," was James's reply, as he opened the downstairs door.
As James turned on the light and descended the stairs he was stopped in his tracks by an amazing sight.
There on a large table, almost filling the entire room, was the most intricate, astounding model of the solar system he'd ever seen!
There were no words to describe it's marvels and beauty.
All of the planets appeared in correct relative size and color. The detail was unbelieveable. Jupiter's stormy eye swirled! Saturn's individual rings seemed suspended and glowing. Every planet had the correct number of moons, all revolving in precise mathematical orbits. He could see craters on the earth's moons in their proper place and size. There was even a ring of asteroids that whirled between the inner and outer planets!
All this revolved around a center light representing the sun which was incredibly bright and seemed suspended from nowhere!
Jim stood, mouth agape in astonishment until he heard Mike hollering for
sauce from above.
He bounded up the stairs, without the sauce, to pummel his friend with questions.
He started even before he reached his friend and the grill.
"Mike, where in the world did you get such an astounding model!!! I've never in my entire life seen anything so incredible!! It should be in the Smithsonian after a world tour!!! Does the university president know about this? Come on, tell me everything!!!
He waited as he looked at his friend who was still turning hamburgers and hot dogs.
"Oh, you mean in the basement?" Mike asked casually.
"Well, it was the strangest thing. Mary and I had just gone to bed last night when suddenly we heard this terrific explosion coming from the basement. We both rushed down in a panic to see if we needed to evacuate the kids. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, there it was! We stood there watching it for the longest time before we could tear ourselves away and get back to bed. Beautiful isn't it?"
Jim looked at his friend as if he had lost his mind.
"Oh, come on, Mike! Do you think I'm an idiot! Nothing that intricate, detailed, and mathematically precise could come out of an explosion! Someone of astounding intelligence had to think this up and make it!!!
Mike locked gazes with his good friend and said, "Jim, that's what I've been telling you for years."
********
"The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are on the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator." Alma 30:44
*Note
Lovely youngest daughter read this post and pointed out that I was in error once again.
I wasn't her favorite teacher. I was mean to her. Plus I didn't teach properly.
Mr. Honsigner, Mr. Tenney and Mr Cheney were never mean to her. And they knew cool stuff.
It was in our new ward and I was a bit nervous. It's been several years now since I've been blessed to teach in one of the Lord's classes. And one thing became immediately apparent.
Things have changed.
This time I rolled into the room on my trusty electric cart and one of my lovely daughters had to write the lesson essentials on the board in her very neat, teacher-writing style.
Then she turned the chalk sideways and surrounded everything she had written in MY usual chalky-cloud border.
I didn't even have to ask for the clouds. She just drew them.
It was very touching.
I taught the lesson.
Afterwards, my other lovely teacher daughter volunteered gently that I had done everything wrong.
She pointed out that this class is designed to include discussion. The instructor serves as the moderator who skillfully leads comments to touch on all doctrinal points outlined in the lesson.
Goofy stories about rocks were not discussion.
I agreed that class involvement is indeed a much better way to foster learning. I also have a feeling that both of my lovely teacher daughters are far more skilled than I in the logistics of this sometimes unwieldy teaching technique.
This brought to mind how wonderful it is to see your own children grow up to become mighty instruments in the hands of the Lord. Even when their skills far surpass your own in every way. Maybe especially when they do.
I would like to point out though that a major influence for one of those skilled daughters was the exceptional fifth grade teacher she was blessed to have in elementary school. We all know how important a favorite teacher can be. It was this one's influence that started her on the path of excellence that lasted a lifetime.
I was happy to have been that teacher and gratified to see the results.
Also, even though telling the goofy rock story was wrong, a person from the class did kindly ask for a "copy" of one of the other goofy stories I told.
Unfortunately I don't have copies of my stories. I keep them in unkempt, disorganized files in my head. And now I've noticed in alarm that pages are getting lost on a daily basis.
This particular story I heard decades ago. I've no idea where. It's not mine, of that I'm sure. But as soon as I heard it I began sharing it with my students. I've been telling it for years with unspoken gratitude to the author.
I'll attempt to remember it now for the nice lady who asked.
-------------------
The Basement
-------------------
Michael, a renowned professor of mathematics, lived with his family in a lovely home very near the university where he taught. His closest friend James, was a physicist who also taught at the university and lived with his family just two doors down the block. These two learned men had been associates for decades and their wives and children had also become close friends.
Yet, while the two men had a great deal in common, one major difference between them had caused much discussion over the years. The renowned professor of mathematics was a Christian and his friend was an atheist.
Many talks well into the night had not convinced either one of the other's viewpoint. But they were still friends in any case and over the years had become almost like brothers.
Well, one evening the two families were to have a barbeque at Mike the mathematician's home. The guests arrived. Children greeted each other noisily and ran out back to the festivities. Wives said hello and were off to the kitchen. Mike greeted his friend and headed out to the grill where he was creating his renowned hamburger masterpieces.
As he hurried out back to prevent burning he hollered over his shoulder, "Hey Jim, will you go down to the basement pantry and bring up a bottle of my famous barbeque sauce? I'm running low out here."
"Sure, but don't ruin dinner until I get there," was James's reply, as he opened the downstairs door.
As James turned on the light and descended the stairs he was stopped in his tracks by an amazing sight.
There on a large table, almost filling the entire room, was the most intricate, astounding model of the solar system he'd ever seen!
There were no words to describe it's marvels and beauty.
All of the planets appeared in correct relative size and color. The detail was unbelieveable. Jupiter's stormy eye swirled! Saturn's individual rings seemed suspended and glowing. Every planet had the correct number of moons, all revolving in precise mathematical orbits. He could see craters on the earth's moons in their proper place and size. There was even a ring of asteroids that whirled between the inner and outer planets!
All this revolved around a center light representing the sun which was incredibly bright and seemed suspended from nowhere!
Jim stood, mouth agape in astonishment until he heard Mike hollering for
sauce from above.
He bounded up the stairs, without the sauce, to pummel his friend with questions.
He started even before he reached his friend and the grill.
"Mike, where in the world did you get such an astounding model!!! I've never in my entire life seen anything so incredible!! It should be in the Smithsonian after a world tour!!! Does the university president know about this? Come on, tell me everything!!!
He waited as he looked at his friend who was still turning hamburgers and hot dogs.
"Oh, you mean in the basement?" Mike asked casually.
"Well, it was the strangest thing. Mary and I had just gone to bed last night when suddenly we heard this terrific explosion coming from the basement. We both rushed down in a panic to see if we needed to evacuate the kids. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, there it was! We stood there watching it for the longest time before we could tear ourselves away and get back to bed. Beautiful isn't it?"
Jim looked at his friend as if he had lost his mind.
"Oh, come on, Mike! Do you think I'm an idiot! Nothing that intricate, detailed, and mathematically precise could come out of an explosion! Someone of astounding intelligence had to think this up and make it!!!
Mike locked gazes with his good friend and said, "Jim, that's what I've been telling you for years."
********
"The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are on the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator." Alma 30:44
*Note
Lovely youngest daughter read this post and pointed out that I was in error once again.
I wasn't her favorite teacher. I was mean to her. Plus I didn't teach properly.
Mr. Honsigner, Mr. Tenney and Mr Cheney were never mean to her. And they knew cool stuff.
Tuesday, March 28, 2017
A Tender Mercy
It's been quite a while since I've scribbled any new thoughts.
I have an excuse though.
My mind always did wander, but lately it's been off meandering around in some strange and foreign lands.
It keeps getting lost in unfamiliar landscapes.
You see this old retired teacher now finds herself in the first months of being a widow. After 51 years of being married I've been left behind.
Here I am, sent back to school to master a difficult life lesson, and being forced to pay attention to boot!
Whatever I'm supposed to learn from this experience must be critically important too, considering the sheer number of Father's children who are faced with a similar lesson plan.
So, even though I often find myself gazing wistfully out the window, daydreaming about past picnics on the beach, I'll pray to be a good student.
When my mind wanders off I'll send it back to the classroom where I must have said a thousand times to some teenaged kid meandering on paths of their own....
"Hector! (Or Lucinda, or whomever) Will you please pay attention! You're smart, you can get this, but you need to focus or you won't pass Algebra! This is your last chance, Hector! If you don't pass Algebra this time you won't graduate! Focus please!"
Well you know what they say about paybacks.
In any case I'm surely not alone in deep water.
Virtually all of Father's beloved children are faced with these really hard life lessons at one time or another.
The ones that knock the breath right out of you.
I can understand that too, because as a parent I know what a disaster it would be for my children to grow up in complete ease, without any difficult challenges.
What a mess they'd be, right? Weaklings for sure.
And heaven knows that the mightiest warriors are needed for today's battles.
Still, these past months, something that's been especially hard for me to see is my beloved children struggling under the burden of their own sorrow.
But now I have a new appreciation for Heavenly Father's perfect grit.
That he allowed his innocent Son to suffer so much was an amazing act of love for all the rest of us.
Mercy cannot rob justice and the Atonement was a perfect act of mercy and justice.
I can only imagine how much it cost Father to allow.
So, as I try to understand all that's in this "widow" lesson plan, I'll pray that each one in our family will move through their own grief, growing and figuring out important eternal principles as they do.
One thing I've learned is that Father doesn't leave us alone out here. I know that we're surrounded by his helpers, day and night, seen and unseen. I live with two of them.
And Larry himself came to help me a few months ago when I needed help most.
It was right after a beautiful Thanksgiving at our son's home. The first without Larry.
All of our kids, most of the grands, nieces, and many various other posterity were there. Everything was lovely and everyone was doing their best to be of good cheer.
We "West-sider" family had also used this day to bring baby gifts to shower our sweet Meg who was about to deliver our first great-grandbaby.
In addition, some of my wonderful family had given me a very precious gift.
It was a once in a lifetime labor of love that I will cherish always.
It was one of those "diamond days." This time filled with love and sadness at the same time.
Yet in the midst of all these blessings I felt myself beginning to sink into a deep, paralyzing sadness. It was as if I were slowly falling into a dark hole.
It was the start of the holiday season and Larry wasn't here physically.
He always loved the holidays. For the first time in 51 years we wouldn't be together for all the happiness.
I was learning that the incomparable blessing of eternal marriage and knowlege of truth doesn't stop the aching of missing someone who's away.
After we left our son's home that afternoon I managed to tell the girls that I thought it would be best for me to skip Christmas this year.
I didn't think I'd be able to bear it without their father.
I hoped they would understand if I stayed at home by myself through all the rest of the festivities.
I didn't want to ruin everyone's happiness with my tears.
They responded with quiet.
Maybe they were praying.
Late that night something happened that changed everything for me.
Heavenly Father sent Larry with a message.
I feel it's okay to share it with you in hopes it may help someone else.
Probably in a situation such as this you would expect a message from the other side to be filled with words of great comfort, gentle love, and encouragement.
But this is an exact quote of what Larry said to me. I recognized his irritated tone immediately.
"Knock it off, Babe! You're gonna ruin Christmas for a bunch of people on both sides of the veil if everybody has to worry about you! All I did was die! You know I like Christmas. And you know I love you and I'm waiting for you.
And, another thing. You have to quit wanting to come here all the time. You can't come here until you finish your mission."
Then he was gone. He didn't even say goodbye. He seemed to be in some kind of a big hurry.
Everything began to change then.
The dense, paralyzing fog started to lift. I found myself back in the realm of regular widow sadness. I'd already learned that giving service to others, no matter how small, helps with that.
I'm so grateful for the Lord's tender mercies.
It's amazing to me that He cares for each one of His children personally, knowing the exact nature of their needs.
I'm also grateful to know that Larry is so busy while waiting for me. I know he's growing in knowledge every day and has many opportunities to serve.
I have a message of my own for him. From this side. I send it with my love.
"Thanks Babe. It is Babe isn't it?"
He'll understand.
I have an excuse though.
My mind always did wander, but lately it's been off meandering around in some strange and foreign lands.
It keeps getting lost in unfamiliar landscapes.
You see this old retired teacher now finds herself in the first months of being a widow. After 51 years of being married I've been left behind.
Here I am, sent back to school to master a difficult life lesson, and being forced to pay attention to boot!
Whatever I'm supposed to learn from this experience must be critically important too, considering the sheer number of Father's children who are faced with a similar lesson plan.
So, even though I often find myself gazing wistfully out the window, daydreaming about past picnics on the beach, I'll pray to be a good student.
When my mind wanders off I'll send it back to the classroom where I must have said a thousand times to some teenaged kid meandering on paths of their own....
"Hector! (Or Lucinda, or whomever) Will you please pay attention! You're smart, you can get this, but you need to focus or you won't pass Algebra! This is your last chance, Hector! If you don't pass Algebra this time you won't graduate! Focus please!"
Well you know what they say about paybacks.
In any case I'm surely not alone in deep water.
Virtually all of Father's beloved children are faced with these really hard life lessons at one time or another.
The ones that knock the breath right out of you.
I can understand that too, because as a parent I know what a disaster it would be for my children to grow up in complete ease, without any difficult challenges.
What a mess they'd be, right? Weaklings for sure.
And heaven knows that the mightiest warriors are needed for today's battles.
Still, these past months, something that's been especially hard for me to see is my beloved children struggling under the burden of their own sorrow.
But now I have a new appreciation for Heavenly Father's perfect grit.
That he allowed his innocent Son to suffer so much was an amazing act of love for all the rest of us.
Mercy cannot rob justice and the Atonement was a perfect act of mercy and justice.
I can only imagine how much it cost Father to allow.
So, as I try to understand all that's in this "widow" lesson plan, I'll pray that each one in our family will move through their own grief, growing and figuring out important eternal principles as they do.
One thing I've learned is that Father doesn't leave us alone out here. I know that we're surrounded by his helpers, day and night, seen and unseen. I live with two of them.
And Larry himself came to help me a few months ago when I needed help most.
It was right after a beautiful Thanksgiving at our son's home. The first without Larry.
All of our kids, most of the grands, nieces, and many various other posterity were there. Everything was lovely and everyone was doing their best to be of good cheer.
We "West-sider" family had also used this day to bring baby gifts to shower our sweet Meg who was about to deliver our first great-grandbaby.
In addition, some of my wonderful family had given me a very precious gift.
It was a once in a lifetime labor of love that I will cherish always.
It was one of those "diamond days." This time filled with love and sadness at the same time.
Yet in the midst of all these blessings I felt myself beginning to sink into a deep, paralyzing sadness. It was as if I were slowly falling into a dark hole.
It was the start of the holiday season and Larry wasn't here physically.
He always loved the holidays. For the first time in 51 years we wouldn't be together for all the happiness.
I was learning that the incomparable blessing of eternal marriage and knowlege of truth doesn't stop the aching of missing someone who's away.
After we left our son's home that afternoon I managed to tell the girls that I thought it would be best for me to skip Christmas this year.
I didn't think I'd be able to bear it without their father.
I hoped they would understand if I stayed at home by myself through all the rest of the festivities.
I didn't want to ruin everyone's happiness with my tears.
They responded with quiet.
Maybe they were praying.
Late that night something happened that changed everything for me.
Heavenly Father sent Larry with a message.
I feel it's okay to share it with you in hopes it may help someone else.
Probably in a situation such as this you would expect a message from the other side to be filled with words of great comfort, gentle love, and encouragement.
But this is an exact quote of what Larry said to me. I recognized his irritated tone immediately.
"Knock it off, Babe! You're gonna ruin Christmas for a bunch of people on both sides of the veil if everybody has to worry about you! All I did was die! You know I like Christmas. And you know I love you and I'm waiting for you.
And, another thing. You have to quit wanting to come here all the time. You can't come here until you finish your mission."
Then he was gone. He didn't even say goodbye. He seemed to be in some kind of a big hurry.
Everything began to change then.
The dense, paralyzing fog started to lift. I found myself back in the realm of regular widow sadness. I'd already learned that giving service to others, no matter how small, helps with that.
I'm so grateful for the Lord's tender mercies.
It's amazing to me that He cares for each one of His children personally, knowing the exact nature of their needs.
I'm also grateful to know that Larry is so busy while waiting for me. I know he's growing in knowledge every day and has many opportunities to serve.
I have a message of my own for him. From this side. I send it with my love.
"Thanks Babe. It is Babe isn't it?"
He'll understand.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
That Famous Old Snake Story
There's a famous story that's been around a long, long, time. It's about a snake.
You may have heard it.
Most likely, hundreds of teachers, including myself, have told it to the young people in their charge.
I don't know who the original author might have been, but they have my gratitude. I'm grateful because one or two of the young people who heard the tale in my class said that it made them think.
Thinking is a wonderful thing in a teenager.
So, just in case you haven't heard about snakes, or know a kid who's fooling around with one, here it is.
There once was an Indian people who made their home on the vast plains of a beautiful land. Majestic mountains stood guard in the distance.
This tribe had many honored traditions handed down from generation to generation. Among those traditions was a right of passage that all the young braves and maidens undertook as they left childhood and became adults.
It involved a sacred journey.
This is the story of one.
A lovely young maid stood at the edge of her village at dawn on a summer's day. It was her fifteenth birthday and now it was time to make her way into adulthood. Her family and friends surrounded her to wish her well.
The sun rose as she walked across the golden fields, until finally at midday she reached the sacred mountains. This was where she was to make the difficult climb to a lofty overlook. She began to make her way over the jagged rocks and after several hours at last she could see the secluded ledge. It was large, sheltered from the wind, and faced beautiful vistas of the valley below.
When she reached the ledge the maiden sat to rest, and then to contemplate her future and her place in it. She watched as the sun set and the stars began to appear. She prepared a place to sleep and built a fire for warmth and to prepare her food. The night passed with the young woman deep in thought, surounded by the beauty of the stars and sky.
Dawn broke and the maiden prepared to return home. As she did, there came a rustle fom some brush and nearby rocks. Turning toward the sound, she saw a large rattlesnake beginning to coil and raise it's deadly head.
In fear she began to slowly back away. She was grateful to see that she was just out of reach of the deadly serpent.
But then an amazing thing happened. Something she could scarcely believe. As the snake raised it's ugly head from its coils it began to speak to her!
"Lovely maiden," he hissed, "There's no need to be afraid. I mean you no harm. In fact, I need your help."
In astonishment she listened as the snake continued.
"You see, I find myself unable to get down from this ledge and back to my home on the plains below. The sharp rocks make it impassible. But, if you will carry me down with you I will repay the favor with great gifts."
The snake hissed on, "Wondrous gifts await you, I promise! You'll see colors you've never imagined, hear sounds never before heard, and feel amazing sensations that defy description!"
The young girl stepped back and said in disgust, "No, never! You're a deadly snake! You'll surely kill me."
"You can trust me, young maiden," he went on. "I'd never hurt you! Believe me. To prove it, I'll even give you a special treasure. I'll bestow great confidence and beauty upon you! Everyone will find you irresistable! I promise."
So, enticed by his silky words, the maiden lowered her hand to the ground.
The snake slowly slithered up her arm and draped himself around her shoulders, his huge head poised to whisper in her ear.
She shuddered, but then began working her way around the sharp rocks. All the while the snake repeated his golden promises.
At last she reached the base of the mountain. She lowered her arm so the snake could slither off, glad to be rid of him forever.
Just as his tail slipped off her fingertips, the great snake turned its head, as if to say goodbye.
Instead he lunged, sinking his venom filled fangs deep into her neck.
She screamed.
As the maiden writhed in agony and fell to the ground, she called out in disbelief, "You lied! You promised! You said you wouldn't hurt me!"
The snake was already slithering away. But he paused just long enough to turn,
"Really, you foolish girl." he smirked,
"You can't possibly be suprised."
As he slithered off he hissed with an evil grin,
"You knew I was a snake when you picked me up."
Think about it.
Thinking is a wonderful thing.
You may have heard it.
Most likely, hundreds of teachers, including myself, have told it to the young people in their charge.
I don't know who the original author might have been, but they have my gratitude. I'm grateful because one or two of the young people who heard the tale in my class said that it made them think.
Thinking is a wonderful thing in a teenager.
So, just in case you haven't heard about snakes, or know a kid who's fooling around with one, here it is.
There once was an Indian people who made their home on the vast plains of a beautiful land. Majestic mountains stood guard in the distance.
This tribe had many honored traditions handed down from generation to generation. Among those traditions was a right of passage that all the young braves and maidens undertook as they left childhood and became adults.
It involved a sacred journey.
This is the story of one.
A lovely young maid stood at the edge of her village at dawn on a summer's day. It was her fifteenth birthday and now it was time to make her way into adulthood. Her family and friends surrounded her to wish her well.
The sun rose as she walked across the golden fields, until finally at midday she reached the sacred mountains. This was where she was to make the difficult climb to a lofty overlook. She began to make her way over the jagged rocks and after several hours at last she could see the secluded ledge. It was large, sheltered from the wind, and faced beautiful vistas of the valley below.
When she reached the ledge the maiden sat to rest, and then to contemplate her future and her place in it. She watched as the sun set and the stars began to appear. She prepared a place to sleep and built a fire for warmth and to prepare her food. The night passed with the young woman deep in thought, surounded by the beauty of the stars and sky.
Dawn broke and the maiden prepared to return home. As she did, there came a rustle fom some brush and nearby rocks. Turning toward the sound, she saw a large rattlesnake beginning to coil and raise it's deadly head.
In fear she began to slowly back away. She was grateful to see that she was just out of reach of the deadly serpent.
But then an amazing thing happened. Something she could scarcely believe. As the snake raised it's ugly head from its coils it began to speak to her!
"Lovely maiden," he hissed, "There's no need to be afraid. I mean you no harm. In fact, I need your help."
In astonishment she listened as the snake continued.
"You see, I find myself unable to get down from this ledge and back to my home on the plains below. The sharp rocks make it impassible. But, if you will carry me down with you I will repay the favor with great gifts."
The snake hissed on, "Wondrous gifts await you, I promise! You'll see colors you've never imagined, hear sounds never before heard, and feel amazing sensations that defy description!"
The young girl stepped back and said in disgust, "No, never! You're a deadly snake! You'll surely kill me."
"You can trust me, young maiden," he went on. "I'd never hurt you! Believe me. To prove it, I'll even give you a special treasure. I'll bestow great confidence and beauty upon you! Everyone will find you irresistable! I promise."
So, enticed by his silky words, the maiden lowered her hand to the ground.
The snake slowly slithered up her arm and draped himself around her shoulders, his huge head poised to whisper in her ear.
She shuddered, but then began working her way around the sharp rocks. All the while the snake repeated his golden promises.
At last she reached the base of the mountain. She lowered her arm so the snake could slither off, glad to be rid of him forever.
Just as his tail slipped off her fingertips, the great snake turned its head, as if to say goodbye.
Instead he lunged, sinking his venom filled fangs deep into her neck.
She screamed.
As the maiden writhed in agony and fell to the ground, she called out in disbelief, "You lied! You promised! You said you wouldn't hurt me!"
The snake was already slithering away. But he paused just long enough to turn,
"Really, you foolish girl." he smirked,
"You can't possibly be suprised."
As he slithered off he hissed with an evil grin,
"You knew I was a snake when you picked me up."
Think about it.
Thinking is a wonderful thing.
Saturday, December 24, 2016
The Christmas Envelope
Dear Readers,
This is a story that I read somewhere many years ago. I share it now so that my wonderful family will understand their Christmas presents.
May they, and all of you, be blessed with the peace and love brought to us by that tiny babe born under a shining star, and then laid in a manger.
********************
The Christmas Envelope
It was getting on in the month of November.
A long married, well to do couple were heading out to a wrestling tournament where their youngest son, a high school senior, was to compete. This couple, Walter and Emily, had two older children... a daughter, now out of college and married, and another son in his last year of law school.
Walter and Emily had spent many a Saturday afternoon sitting on cold, hard benches watching one sporting event or another as their children grew up. As this day unfolded it crossed both their minds that "bleacher bum" was to end with their last child's graduation.
Strangely, it made them both a little bit melancholy.
They entered the gym and sat with old friends. As usual the men began talking of weighty matters like sports and the women of home and family.
The topic of Christmas shopping came up with the women.
Emily mentioned to her friend that this year she really wanted to give her husband something truly special. She didn't know why, but she wanted Walt to know how much he meant to her, and for once to get him something he truly loved.
"That man is so frustrating!" she complained, "He has everything he wants and I've looked all over town to find just the right thing. Nothing's right!"
Just then their sons' team began jogging into the gym accompanied by loud cheers and whistles, so conversation stopped.
The boys looked great in its bright school colors and insignias. Each athlete wore warm-up jackets with a fierce "Panther" embroidered on the back, long pants covering their wrestling singlets, and special wrestling shoes in team colors. The coaches all had shirts, ties and jackets tastefully embroidered with the team logo. The team manager came in pushing a huge cart full of equipment including all kinds of safety gear. As the "Panthers" got settled on their side of the gym the other team came in.
There was just a smattering of clapping and whistles for the opponents.
The other school was quite a distance away, in fact located in the inner city. Not many fans had made the long trip.
The wrestlers weren't dressed as a team, instead wearing t-shirts, sweats and jeans to cover their wrestling singlets. The coaches were in street clothes. The ref was talking to them while pointing at one of their boys shoes.
The match began and ended quickly. It was a rout.
The inner city kids fought a good fight but were hopelessly outmatched. Once a match was stopped while the opponents stopped to borrow a small sized headgear for one of their players, the one he was wearing was slipping. All the boys were good sports, each making sure to shake the hand of the winner.
As the crowd exited the gym Emily happened to overhear her husband say to his friend, "What a shame those kids don't have the gear they need. They've got heart that's for sure."
Emily was suddenly inspired!
Weeks passed and Christmas came. All the kids were coming home for their traditional Christmas Eve dinner and opening of gifts. The dinner was lovely as usual and then the family settled around the tree. Gifts were passed around and opened, everyone getting something on their wish list.
Emily opened a big box from her husband to find a gorgeous painting. She had admired it months before when the two of them were out together. She couldn't believe he remembered it! She was thrilled.
The kids began to clear away the wrapping debris when the youngest son said, "Mom, what'd you get for Dad?"
Emily went to the back of the tree and brought out an envelope hidden in the branches.
She handed it to Walter with a kiss and a "Merry Christmas darling, I hope it fits."
He opened it and found a card which said,
"In your honor the inner city wrestling team has been outfitted with jackets, warm-ups, shoes, and safety gear. The coaches have tastefully monogramed team blazers. All are in the school colors with a fierce mascot embroidered on the back."
Emily looked at Walter's face as he read the note. She could see by his expression and then by the big hug that she had finally found something he really wanted!
That's not the end of the story though. You see, soon the wonderful holiday season was over and then late in the fall of the next year, Walter died in a car accident.
The entire family was devastated but relying on faith and love to make it through each sad day.
Christmas was coming once again.
Emily had no heart for it but the children were coming home and she knew Walter wouldn't want them to be sad. He loved Christmas.
So the lovely dinner was prepared and afterwards they all gathered around the tree. Everyone was trying to be cheerful.
Presents were opened and the wrappings cleared away. As the family settled around the lights of the tree, all got quiet. Then the youngest son said, "Mom, I have a gift for Dad. Would you open it?"
Emily looked up in surprise as he went to the back of the tree and brought out an envelope. She opened it and read, "To Dad, in your honor this winter I've been clearing the snow from the walks of an elderly couple that live by the school. Merry Christmas! Love from your son.
Emily's eyes filled as she hugged their son.
Then, she could scarcely believe it when their daughter and oldest son got up and reached behind the tree too. They brought their envelopes to their mom. "These are for Dad." Acts of love and service were described inside.
Tears began to fall and she asked if someone would look on the top branch at the back. There was another envelope. It said, "To my darling Walter, Merry Christmas, From Emily."
So Walter may have moved on. But his legacy continues in his family. It's a legacy of love and service and exactly what Christ would want for Christmas.
"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
Matthew 25: 40
"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord."
Luke 2:11
This is a story that I read somewhere many years ago. I share it now so that my wonderful family will understand their Christmas presents.
May they, and all of you, be blessed with the peace and love brought to us by that tiny babe born under a shining star, and then laid in a manger.
********************
The Christmas Envelope
It was getting on in the month of November.
A long married, well to do couple were heading out to a wrestling tournament where their youngest son, a high school senior, was to compete. This couple, Walter and Emily, had two older children... a daughter, now out of college and married, and another son in his last year of law school.
Walter and Emily had spent many a Saturday afternoon sitting on cold, hard benches watching one sporting event or another as their children grew up. As this day unfolded it crossed both their minds that "bleacher bum" was to end with their last child's graduation.
Strangely, it made them both a little bit melancholy.
They entered the gym and sat with old friends. As usual the men began talking of weighty matters like sports and the women of home and family.
The topic of Christmas shopping came up with the women.
Emily mentioned to her friend that this year she really wanted to give her husband something truly special. She didn't know why, but she wanted Walt to know how much he meant to her, and for once to get him something he truly loved.
"That man is so frustrating!" she complained, "He has everything he wants and I've looked all over town to find just the right thing. Nothing's right!"
Just then their sons' team began jogging into the gym accompanied by loud cheers and whistles, so conversation stopped.
The boys looked great in its bright school colors and insignias. Each athlete wore warm-up jackets with a fierce "Panther" embroidered on the back, long pants covering their wrestling singlets, and special wrestling shoes in team colors. The coaches all had shirts, ties and jackets tastefully embroidered with the team logo. The team manager came in pushing a huge cart full of equipment including all kinds of safety gear. As the "Panthers" got settled on their side of the gym the other team came in.
There was just a smattering of clapping and whistles for the opponents.
The other school was quite a distance away, in fact located in the inner city. Not many fans had made the long trip.
The wrestlers weren't dressed as a team, instead wearing t-shirts, sweats and jeans to cover their wrestling singlets. The coaches were in street clothes. The ref was talking to them while pointing at one of their boys shoes.
The match began and ended quickly. It was a rout.
The inner city kids fought a good fight but were hopelessly outmatched. Once a match was stopped while the opponents stopped to borrow a small sized headgear for one of their players, the one he was wearing was slipping. All the boys were good sports, each making sure to shake the hand of the winner.
As the crowd exited the gym Emily happened to overhear her husband say to his friend, "What a shame those kids don't have the gear they need. They've got heart that's for sure."
Emily was suddenly inspired!
Weeks passed and Christmas came. All the kids were coming home for their traditional Christmas Eve dinner and opening of gifts. The dinner was lovely as usual and then the family settled around the tree. Gifts were passed around and opened, everyone getting something on their wish list.
Emily opened a big box from her husband to find a gorgeous painting. She had admired it months before when the two of them were out together. She couldn't believe he remembered it! She was thrilled.
The kids began to clear away the wrapping debris when the youngest son said, "Mom, what'd you get for Dad?"
Emily went to the back of the tree and brought out an envelope hidden in the branches.
She handed it to Walter with a kiss and a "Merry Christmas darling, I hope it fits."
He opened it and found a card which said,
"In your honor the inner city wrestling team has been outfitted with jackets, warm-ups, shoes, and safety gear. The coaches have tastefully monogramed team blazers. All are in the school colors with a fierce mascot embroidered on the back."
Emily looked at Walter's face as he read the note. She could see by his expression and then by the big hug that she had finally found something he really wanted!
That's not the end of the story though. You see, soon the wonderful holiday season was over and then late in the fall of the next year, Walter died in a car accident.
The entire family was devastated but relying on faith and love to make it through each sad day.
Christmas was coming once again.
Emily had no heart for it but the children were coming home and she knew Walter wouldn't want them to be sad. He loved Christmas.
So the lovely dinner was prepared and afterwards they all gathered around the tree. Everyone was trying to be cheerful.
Presents were opened and the wrappings cleared away. As the family settled around the lights of the tree, all got quiet. Then the youngest son said, "Mom, I have a gift for Dad. Would you open it?"
Emily looked up in surprise as he went to the back of the tree and brought out an envelope. She opened it and read, "To Dad, in your honor this winter I've been clearing the snow from the walks of an elderly couple that live by the school. Merry Christmas! Love from your son.
Emily's eyes filled as she hugged their son.
Then, she could scarcely believe it when their daughter and oldest son got up and reached behind the tree too. They brought their envelopes to their mom. "These are for Dad." Acts of love and service were described inside.
Tears began to fall and she asked if someone would look on the top branch at the back. There was another envelope. It said, "To my darling Walter, Merry Christmas, From Emily."
So Walter may have moved on. But his legacy continues in his family. It's a legacy of love and service and exactly what Christ would want for Christmas.
"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."
Matthew 25: 40
"For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord."
Luke 2:11
Friday, October 28, 2016
The Mystery That Is Man
****
I've updated this post for our grandson Malachi.
He was over again today on one of his countless rescue missions in this now all-female household.
This time it was to fell an errant tree in the backyard that was in danger of doing damage.
As he headed his Eagle Scout self out back, he was armed.
Carrying a huge ladder and many sharp objects, including a fierce ax, he strode past me muttering enthusiastically about different ways to start a fire to burn the mountain of tree debris. Apparently green wood may need encouragement.
I listened in increasing alarm.
He mentioned that reinforcements had been called in to assist. His cousin and my nephew, Ivan, another male, is thankfully always willing to help us too. Mal thought that maybe he'd have some good ideas about that burning thing.
I was suddenly struck down by a wave of deja-vu. "There it is," I thought. "All over again, as they say."
Then from inside my head came a shout, "This kid reminds me of his grandfather!"
So, here's to you, Malachi.
And thank you so very much for taking such good care of us.
We never would have made it through the last year without you.
*******************************************************************************
I may have shared this with you before but my memory is like a sieve now. Anyway, this subject's been on my mind lately.
The subject of men that is.
Or more precisely the mystery of the male animal.
You'd think that since I've been married for half a century, and all that time to a man, and because I’m not a stupid woman, some kind of insight concerning male thinking would naturally develop.
Sadly you’d be wrong.
This "man pondering" was brought on by our gorgeous desert fall weather, by the way.
Let me explain.
It’s planting time down here in our sunny valley.
Other folks in the northern hemisphere may be putting up storm windows and shoveling flakes but I’ve been keeping a sharp lookout at the big box stores for the first six packs of flowering annuals.
I nearly shouted with glee the other day when I scored some Johnny-jump ups.
I swear they looked like little purple and yellow giggles bobbing in the breeze….you couldn’t help but smile.
I even managed to get them planted in the back patio pots all by myself.
Grandkids had previously lugged the heavy bags of potting soil and filled them for me.
I snuck them in among the petunias, geraniums and dianthus already getting started.
Then as I surveyed my work my eyes cast over our entire backyard.
When we moved here years ago there wasn’t a green growing thing anywhere.
A few dried tumbleweeds had blown into the corners of the block fence, the only sign of life to be found.
So we planted trees and shrubs galore, hoping for shade from the relentless desert sun among other things.
As I looked around I realized how wildly successful we’d been.
In addition to what we’d planted on purpose there’d been a couple of volunteers now grown to huge trees. One mesquite will soon reach above the house.
In fact, it’s kind of a jungle out here now.
Something will need to be done, I worried.
Then my eyes fell on a bare spot along the fence. Once I’d planted a beautiful “String of Pearls” bouganvillia there but it didn’t make it.
I remembered the day I found out why.
It was one of those “the mystery that is man” days.
It was the first February we’d lived here. All our plantings were still new and tentative looking.
All except the weeds that were coming up in a solid carpet of green where nothing but dirt had been when we moved in.
Somehow the winter rains had magically found weed seeds waiting for moisture.
Nature’s miracle had happened in our own backyard. Front yard too, actually.
Well, the miracle must be stopped.
And it must be stopped right away because the homeowners association would send us an ugly letter if weeds were spotted from the street.
Don’t get me wrong. We’re actually grateful for our HO. It protects the neighborhood property values from people like us.
So Larry was put in charge of getting rid of the weeds.
I didn’t even have to nag him because he’s afraid of the Homeowners Ass. (As he fondly calls it.)
I was thinking some kind of herbicide spray would do the trick. And maybe some pulling.
But then I was not Larry, who is a man.
The first thought that came to his mind when given the task of weed removal was to build a contraption out of a two wheeled dolly (that thing you move heavy appliances with), a long sprayer device, and a propane tank from the barbeque filled with explosives.
This wouldn’t have occurred to me.
His invention shot fire out the end of the sprayer and made a terrifying blasting, whoosing noise like a hot air balloon being filled before liftoff. A neighbor actually called.
He drug it along behind him as he went from weed to weed incinerating it. It left awful black burn marks all over the yard and caused dogs to bark from blocks away.
It was horrible.
One day our daughter and son-in-law came over when Larry was “weeding,” as he now loved to do.
Scott, who is also a man, thought this remarkable invention was a stroke of genius and asked to borrow it for their yard.
I joyfully convinced Larry that he needed to share. It made him sad but he agreed.
A couple of days later I got a frantic call from Kim.
“Ma, tell Dad to come get his fire blower. Scott is burning up the whole yard and black splotches are everywhere. Today I caught the boys looking at it and I know they were trying to figure out how it works. That thing is dangerous! Get him over here quick before someone gets hurt!”
I did notice that none of their five daughters were reported to have tried to figure out how it worked.
Only the males who would one day become men.
Apparently this thing starts early.
Anyway, a few weeks later Larry and I were again out in the yard working when I noticed my lovely “String of Pearls” bouganvillia over along the fence. This variety was a hard to find delicate pinkish white. I was anxious to see it in color.
To my great dismay it looked sick. In fact it looked dead.
I said to my dear husband, “Oh no…..look at my bouganvillia! And it was doing so well!
Larry stopped what he was doing and gazed across the yard to my poor plant.
“That’s too bad, Hon.” he said in a sympathetic tone.
He stopped to stare quietly for a minute and then remarked, “I think it must get too hot over there by the fence.”
“Too hot!” I cried. No, that can’t be it. Bouganvillia love the heat.”
I walked sadly over to investigate.
There among the black scorch marks on the ground were poking the charred roots of my once promising plant.
I turned and sent an accusing look over at my husband.
He actually said without shame, “Look….there’re no weeds around it.”
This whole thing got me to thinking about the scriptures.
Specifically about Adam in the garden of Eden. As I recall it tells about a time when Adam was left alone there.
Father looked down on him and said something like…….
“Will you look at that. There’s Adam all alone in the garden. Well, that certainly is NOT good!"
I think He may have added, "Good grief he needs help! Quick, hurry and get a woman or there’s no telling what will happen.”
Perhaps there wasn't room to include everything.
And so woman was put on the earth.
If you think about this even a little you’ll realize that one of the divine purposes of woman’s existence is to stop men from doing all the crazy stuff they want to do.
You can read all about it in the Old Testament.
You’ll notice that there’s no mention of Adam making a fire blowing weed killer.
Thank you Eve.
It’s amazing to me how the scriptures, most of them written long ago, still apply to our lives today.
I guess some things never change, do they?
I've updated this post for our grandson Malachi.
He was over again today on one of his countless rescue missions in this now all-female household.
This time it was to fell an errant tree in the backyard that was in danger of doing damage.
As he headed his Eagle Scout self out back, he was armed.
Carrying a huge ladder and many sharp objects, including a fierce ax, he strode past me muttering enthusiastically about different ways to start a fire to burn the mountain of tree debris. Apparently green wood may need encouragement.
I listened in increasing alarm.
He mentioned that reinforcements had been called in to assist. His cousin and my nephew, Ivan, another male, is thankfully always willing to help us too. Mal thought that maybe he'd have some good ideas about that burning thing.
I was suddenly struck down by a wave of deja-vu. "There it is," I thought. "All over again, as they say."
Then from inside my head came a shout, "This kid reminds me of his grandfather!"
So, here's to you, Malachi.
And thank you so very much for taking such good care of us.
We never would have made it through the last year without you.
*******************************************************************************
I may have shared this with you before but my memory is like a sieve now. Anyway, this subject's been on my mind lately.
The subject of men that is.
Or more precisely the mystery of the male animal.
You'd think that since I've been married for half a century, and all that time to a man, and because I’m not a stupid woman, some kind of insight concerning male thinking would naturally develop.
Sadly you’d be wrong.
This "man pondering" was brought on by our gorgeous desert fall weather, by the way.
Let me explain.
It’s planting time down here in our sunny valley.
Other folks in the northern hemisphere may be putting up storm windows and shoveling flakes but I’ve been keeping a sharp lookout at the big box stores for the first six packs of flowering annuals.
I nearly shouted with glee the other day when I scored some Johnny-jump ups.
I swear they looked like little purple and yellow giggles bobbing in the breeze….you couldn’t help but smile.
I even managed to get them planted in the back patio pots all by myself.
Grandkids had previously lugged the heavy bags of potting soil and filled them for me.
I snuck them in among the petunias, geraniums and dianthus already getting started.
Then as I surveyed my work my eyes cast over our entire backyard.
When we moved here years ago there wasn’t a green growing thing anywhere.
A few dried tumbleweeds had blown into the corners of the block fence, the only sign of life to be found.
So we planted trees and shrubs galore, hoping for shade from the relentless desert sun among other things.
As I looked around I realized how wildly successful we’d been.
In addition to what we’d planted on purpose there’d been a couple of volunteers now grown to huge trees. One mesquite will soon reach above the house.
In fact, it’s kind of a jungle out here now.
Something will need to be done, I worried.
Then my eyes fell on a bare spot along the fence. Once I’d planted a beautiful “String of Pearls” bouganvillia there but it didn’t make it.
I remembered the day I found out why.
It was one of those “the mystery that is man” days.
It was the first February we’d lived here. All our plantings were still new and tentative looking.
All except the weeds that were coming up in a solid carpet of green where nothing but dirt had been when we moved in.
Somehow the winter rains had magically found weed seeds waiting for moisture.
Nature’s miracle had happened in our own backyard. Front yard too, actually.
Well, the miracle must be stopped.
And it must be stopped right away because the homeowners association would send us an ugly letter if weeds were spotted from the street.
Don’t get me wrong. We’re actually grateful for our HO. It protects the neighborhood property values from people like us.
So Larry was put in charge of getting rid of the weeds.
I didn’t even have to nag him because he’s afraid of the Homeowners Ass. (As he fondly calls it.)
I was thinking some kind of herbicide spray would do the trick. And maybe some pulling.
But then I was not Larry, who is a man.
The first thought that came to his mind when given the task of weed removal was to build a contraption out of a two wheeled dolly (that thing you move heavy appliances with), a long sprayer device, and a propane tank from the barbeque filled with explosives.
This wouldn’t have occurred to me.
His invention shot fire out the end of the sprayer and made a terrifying blasting, whoosing noise like a hot air balloon being filled before liftoff. A neighbor actually called.
He drug it along behind him as he went from weed to weed incinerating it. It left awful black burn marks all over the yard and caused dogs to bark from blocks away.
It was horrible.
One day our daughter and son-in-law came over when Larry was “weeding,” as he now loved to do.
Scott, who is also a man, thought this remarkable invention was a stroke of genius and asked to borrow it for their yard.
I joyfully convinced Larry that he needed to share. It made him sad but he agreed.
A couple of days later I got a frantic call from Kim.
“Ma, tell Dad to come get his fire blower. Scott is burning up the whole yard and black splotches are everywhere. Today I caught the boys looking at it and I know they were trying to figure out how it works. That thing is dangerous! Get him over here quick before someone gets hurt!”
I did notice that none of their five daughters were reported to have tried to figure out how it worked.
Only the males who would one day become men.
Apparently this thing starts early.
Anyway, a few weeks later Larry and I were again out in the yard working when I noticed my lovely “String of Pearls” bouganvillia over along the fence. This variety was a hard to find delicate pinkish white. I was anxious to see it in color.
To my great dismay it looked sick. In fact it looked dead.
I said to my dear husband, “Oh no…..look at my bouganvillia! And it was doing so well!
Larry stopped what he was doing and gazed across the yard to my poor plant.
“That’s too bad, Hon.” he said in a sympathetic tone.
He stopped to stare quietly for a minute and then remarked, “I think it must get too hot over there by the fence.”
“Too hot!” I cried. No, that can’t be it. Bouganvillia love the heat.”
I walked sadly over to investigate.
There among the black scorch marks on the ground were poking the charred roots of my once promising plant.
I turned and sent an accusing look over at my husband.
He actually said without shame, “Look….there’re no weeds around it.”
This whole thing got me to thinking about the scriptures.
Specifically about Adam in the garden of Eden. As I recall it tells about a time when Adam was left alone there.
Father looked down on him and said something like…….
“Will you look at that. There’s Adam all alone in the garden. Well, that certainly is NOT good!"
I think He may have added, "Good grief he needs help! Quick, hurry and get a woman or there’s no telling what will happen.”
Perhaps there wasn't room to include everything.
And so woman was put on the earth.
If you think about this even a little you’ll realize that one of the divine purposes of woman’s existence is to stop men from doing all the crazy stuff they want to do.
You can read all about it in the Old Testament.
You’ll notice that there’s no mention of Adam making a fire blowing weed killer.
Thank you Eve.
It’s amazing to me how the scriptures, most of them written long ago, still apply to our lives today.
I guess some things never change, do they?
Saturday, September 24, 2016
A Wise Word to Room Parents
Winter melts into spring as the old song says.
Sunrise after sunset, again and again, bringing each new season in its time.
And so, as the days shorten, we now embark into the season of, "Mom (Or Dad), I have to bring..... (Fill in Here), to the school, team, den, church..... (Choose one), party tomorrow."
Usually this news is presented late in the evening by an offspring of yours as he or she heads off for bed.
I have some observations on this topic based on nearly three decades in the classroom. I'd like to share them with you because they turned out to be extremely valuable to me personally.
As a parent myself I often heard a child of my own utter those same chilling words.
************
I remember it well.
I was teaching 5th grade at the time and it was the day of our first class party. The whole school was celebrating. Naturally my students were excited and unable to concentrate.
I remember it well.
I was teaching 5th grade at the time and it was the day of our first class party. The whole school was celebrating. Naturally my students were excited and unable to concentrate.
Moms were stopping by to drop off goodies for our fun and games. As they did so my kids would gaze longingly at the treats and make comments.
After lunch the classroom door opened and a sweet mother who had many children came in with a tray of the most elaborately decorated cookies I'd ever seen. Each one was a color co-ordinated work of art! Every adorable cookie face had movable googly eyes and perfectly placed icing hair!
They must have taken hours to create.
They must have taken hours to create.
As she brought them in the whole class gathered around and exclaimed in excitement,
"Wow, Robert! Will you look at that! Your mom is so cool!"
"Wow, Robert! Will you look at that! Your mom is so cool!"
A few minutes later another mom came in to drop off more treats. She brought in a big vat of vanilla ice cream, 4 jugs of root beer, plastic cups and straws.
It probably took her minutes to run into the store.
It probably took her minutes to run into the store.
As she brought them in the whole class gathered around to exclaim in excitement,
"Wow, Susie! Will you look at that! Your mom is so cool!"
"Wow, Susie! Will you look at that! Your mom is so cool!"
Think about this.
I did think about it and was prompted to have a meeting with my own children.
I advised them that we want to willingly contribute to every good cause. We never want to shirk. We're always anxious to put our shoulders to our part of the wheel.
So, I told them they should be the first to wave their hands excitedly and volunteer to bring something to the class party, team picnic, Scout dinner, Mutual event etc.
I encouraged them to volunteer for the following items.
"Memorize this list," I said. "There will be a test."
"Memorize this list," I said. "There will be a test."
Ice cream
Root Beer or Fudge Sauce
Chips
Hot Dogs and Buns
Marshmallows
Graham Crackers
Hershey Bars
Ketchup, Mustard, Pickle Relish
Oreos and Milk
Store Bought Onion Dip
Graham Crackers
Hershey Bars
Ketchup, Mustard, Pickle Relish
Oreos and Milk
Store Bought Onion Dip
Napkins, Paper Plates, or Bowls
Cups, Plastic Spoons, Straws
(NEVER potato salad)
Cups, Plastic Spoons, Straws
(NEVER potato salad)
Just thought I'd share.
* Note
Now if this first sweet mom loved to bake artistic cookies and found expression for her creativity through baking them, then my observation is null and void.
To each her own.
My creative impulses often are best expressed after first replenishing them with a nap.
**Note Again
Now that I'm old I've noticed that a version of this valuable concept may extend into later life.
You see, for some strange reason, it turns out that grandchildren seem to appreciate"Grandma food." Especially teenagers who are always hungry and have the metabolism of wolverines.
Now I want to be just as good a grandma as the next lady. But this particular one has been blessed with some mobility obstacles that involve a wheelchair.
I assure you that I'm truly trying to be grateful for these obstacles, because of the opportunity dealing with them provides to learn patience and perseverence. Nevertheless, the meal and treat production, for which grandmas are often famous, can become problematic because of them.
I did hear about a conversation between someone's grandchildren that gave me hope though.
I was told it went something like this.
One brother said to the other.
"Hey, I'm hungry again."
"So. What else is new?" replied his sibling.
First brother then remarks,
"Well, it's half-price wing Wednesday at the pizza place. If we go over to Grandma's and look hungry she'll call in and order us some. And if we take out the garbage and water her patio pots she'll get a pizza too."
"Let's go, Bro, I love Grandma's cooking!" was the enthusiastic reply.
*** Last Note
I once forgot about my son's Freshman Football potluck dinner. Every family was to bring a favorite dish to share.
Life was crowding in close at the time, so in desperation, I put on my dark sunglasses and stopped at a drive-thru chicken place to pick up my contribution.
At the team dinner it was the first favorite dish gone.
So remember this:
"For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
Matthew 11:30
"There are ways and then there are ways."
Mz Dub (Mrs. W.)
I understand that we've been asked by Father to accomplish many good things. We should always be anxiously engaged in a good cause.
But, I have noticed a lot of yoke tightening and "nice but unnecessary" burden adding to various good causes among some normally intelligent and lovely people.
You don't suppose that means that WE added extra weight to the task at hand, not Him?
Remember too:
"It is not requisite for a man to run faster than he has strength."
Mosiah 4: 27
I happen to be privileged to know some of the most faithful and compassionate children of God. They study the scriptures regularly but oddly simply won't believe this one.
You don't suppose that scripture from Mosiah could mean that running yourself into exhaustion doesn't earn extra points in heaven? Even for a good cause? That it's ignoring counsel from the Lord?
I don't pretend to know the answer but I plan to think about it.
I once forgot about my son's Freshman Football potluck dinner. Every family was to bring a favorite dish to share.
Life was crowding in close at the time, so in desperation, I put on my dark sunglasses and stopped at a drive-thru chicken place to pick up my contribution.
At the team dinner it was the first favorite dish gone.
So remember this:
"For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
Matthew 11:30
"There are ways and then there are ways."
Mz Dub (Mrs. W.)
I understand that we've been asked by Father to accomplish many good things. We should always be anxiously engaged in a good cause.
But, I have noticed a lot of yoke tightening and "nice but unnecessary" burden adding to various good causes among some normally intelligent and lovely people.
You don't suppose that means that WE added extra weight to the task at hand, not Him?
Remember too:
"It is not requisite for a man to run faster than he has strength."
Mosiah 4: 27
I happen to be privileged to know some of the most faithful and compassionate children of God. They study the scriptures regularly but oddly simply won't believe this one.
You don't suppose that scripture from Mosiah could mean that running yourself into exhaustion doesn't earn extra points in heaven? Even for a good cause? That it's ignoring counsel from the Lord?
I don't pretend to know the answer but I plan to think about it.
Sunday, September 4, 2016
Lifted by an Apple and a Post-it-Note
Kindness is very powerful.
That's what I heard an Apostle of the Lord say recently.
And since he said it in a conference talk I believe that makes it official.
Heavenly Father wants us to know that an act of kindness is an act of power.
I'd never really thought of kindness in that particular way before. Being an act of power I mean.
So I decided to ponder it.
This pondering brought back the memory of a single act of kindness that has lifted me for over 25 years.
Lifting for years takes power indeed.
It happened when I was teaching in a small school in our beautiful, beloved mountains.
I remember that it was late on a Friday afternoon after a particularly trying week.
I recall days filled with mind numbing state testing for my poor students, grades due and two days of parent-teacher conferences that lasted until 9:30 at night for me.
That week there were endless faculty meetings where a dear colleague looked over at me in exasperation and wryly commented, "You know the scary thing about these things is that everybody in the room has a college degree."
In addition, students, parents and teachers were embroiled in a variety of disagreements for which I had somehow been designated as the referee.
By late Friday afternoon I was questioning my life's choices and generally feeling exhausted, unappreciated, and unloved.
Humming, "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen," I headed across the dark hallway to pick up my mail before finally heading home for the weekend.
I flipped on the light in the breakroom and looked at the little cubbies usually filled only with additional demands sent by mail.
In each one, on top of the demands, there was a bright red apple and a little Post-it-Note.
I reached in for mine.
The note said, "Teaching is not always easy but it matters forever. Thank you so much for all that you do for kids. It was signed, "A grateful parent."
I'll never forget the almost miraculous change in my outlook after reading those few words. I still remember the lift it gave my spirit decades later.
An act of kindness. An act of service.
Not such a simple one either when you consider that every faculty member was a recipient.
Now, many years later, I'm here to testify that there is indeed great power in kindness.
I was once lifted by an apple and a post-it-note. Others were too. I'm lifted still when I remember it.
Yes, an Apostle of the Lord spoke about kindness in a conference talk recently. That makes it official.
He did so because Heavenly Father wants us to know that an act of kindness is an act of great power.
Maybe even eternal power.
Think about it.
That's what I heard an Apostle of the Lord say recently.
And since he said it in a conference talk I believe that makes it official.
Heavenly Father wants us to know that an act of kindness is an act of power.
I'd never really thought of kindness in that particular way before. Being an act of power I mean.
So I decided to ponder it.
This pondering brought back the memory of a single act of kindness that has lifted me for over 25 years.
Lifting for years takes power indeed.
It happened when I was teaching in a small school in our beautiful, beloved mountains.
I remember that it was late on a Friday afternoon after a particularly trying week.
I recall days filled with mind numbing state testing for my poor students, grades due and two days of parent-teacher conferences that lasted until 9:30 at night for me.
That week there were endless faculty meetings where a dear colleague looked over at me in exasperation and wryly commented, "You know the scary thing about these things is that everybody in the room has a college degree."
In addition, students, parents and teachers were embroiled in a variety of disagreements for which I had somehow been designated as the referee.
By late Friday afternoon I was questioning my life's choices and generally feeling exhausted, unappreciated, and unloved.
Humming, "Nobody Knows the Trouble I've Seen," I headed across the dark hallway to pick up my mail before finally heading home for the weekend.
I flipped on the light in the breakroom and looked at the little cubbies usually filled only with additional demands sent by mail.
In each one, on top of the demands, there was a bright red apple and a little Post-it-Note.
I reached in for mine.
The note said, "Teaching is not always easy but it matters forever. Thank you so much for all that you do for kids. It was signed, "A grateful parent."
I'll never forget the almost miraculous change in my outlook after reading those few words. I still remember the lift it gave my spirit decades later.
An act of kindness. An act of service.
Not such a simple one either when you consider that every faculty member was a recipient.
Now, many years later, I'm here to testify that there is indeed great power in kindness.
I was once lifted by an apple and a post-it-note. Others were too. I'm lifted still when I remember it.
Yes, an Apostle of the Lord spoke about kindness in a conference talk recently. That makes it official.
He did so because Heavenly Father wants us to know that an act of kindness is an act of great power.
Maybe even eternal power.
Think about it.
Sunday, August 28, 2016
One Woman.....Very Little Brain
I remember hearing this story a long time ago. I don't know where.
It's a story about the power of one.
It's also about anonymous service.
And how what we may think is just a small thing can turn out to be a very big thing.
And how sometimes those same small things can bring joy to people we may not even have met.
It's also about the eternal nature of goodwill. And beauty.
And that we've been told to love one another.
And that work is love made visable.
And that man is that he might have joy.
And many other things.
A couple were heading out on a beautiful summer Saturday morning for a day of "putzing" aroung together.
The week had been a busy one for both and they were looking forward to some down time and then a great lunch at one of their favorite restaurants.
All morning long they had meandered down country roads. They drove alongside creeks where sunlight dappled in bright patches through the trees. Once they took a turn down a gravel path just because the sign said,"Apple Lane."
They stopped at a farmstand for peaches to take home to the kids. At a yardsale they bought a funny old lamp for her and a box of rusty bolts for him.
It had been a great morning.
Before lunch they decided to look for that "sight not to be missed" they'd been told about, and so headed off to find it.
The drive took them through more charming country. They passed alongside graceful trees and sparkling streams again. Beauty was everywhere they looked.
Then they topped a hill and saw it.
That sight not to be missed.
Below, in a little valley, was a modest white house.
The surrounding yard contained a big bed of bright yellow daffodils punctuated every now and then by purple patches of elegant irises.
But the amazing thing was that the flowers seemed to have escaped from the yard.
The little fence couldn't contain them. They spread out under it in a bright swath of blooms that covered the fields and hills next to the house.
Now there were acres and acres of flowers as far as you could see! It was an ocean of yellow, purple and green that took your breath away!
The couple drove slowly down the gravel road through thousands and thousands and thousands of blooms. They spotted a carved wooden sign posted in the yard of the little white house and stopped to read what it said.
"To answer your questions...
One woman with very little brain.
One bulb at a time.
Season after season after season."
Think about it.
I assume that it's true.
It's a story about the power of one.
It's also about anonymous service.
And how what we may think is just a small thing can turn out to be a very big thing.
And how sometimes those same small things can bring joy to people we may not even have met.
It's also about the eternal nature of goodwill. And beauty.
And that we've been told to love one another.
And that work is love made visable.
And that man is that he might have joy.
And many other things.
Here's the story.
A couple were heading out on a beautiful summer Saturday morning for a day of "putzing" aroung together.
The week had been a busy one for both and they were looking forward to some down time and then a great lunch at one of their favorite restaurants.
They were headed nowhere in particular but the husband had heard someone at work talking about a "sight not to be missed" that was out in the country not far from where they lived. So they started off in that general direction.
All morning long they had meandered down country roads. They drove alongside creeks where sunlight dappled in bright patches through the trees. Once they took a turn down a gravel path just because the sign said,"Apple Lane."
They stopped at a farmstand for peaches to take home to the kids. At a yardsale they bought a funny old lamp for her and a box of rusty bolts for him.
It had been a great morning.
Before lunch they decided to look for that "sight not to be missed" they'd been told about, and so headed off to find it.
The drive took them through more charming country. They passed alongside graceful trees and sparkling streams again. Beauty was everywhere they looked.
Then they topped a hill and saw it.
That sight not to be missed.
Below, in a little valley, was a modest white house.
The surrounding yard contained a big bed of bright yellow daffodils punctuated every now and then by purple patches of elegant irises.
But the amazing thing was that the flowers seemed to have escaped from the yard.
The little fence couldn't contain them. They spread out under it in a bright swath of blooms that covered the fields and hills next to the house.
Now there were acres and acres of flowers as far as you could see! It was an ocean of yellow, purple and green that took your breath away!
The couple drove slowly down the gravel road through thousands and thousands and thousands of blooms. They spotted a carved wooden sign posted in the yard of the little white house and stopped to read what it said.
"To answer your questions...
One woman with very little brain.
One bulb at a time.
Season after season after season."
Think about it.
Sunday, May 29, 2016
Tiny Sparkles of Romance
This summer brings our 51st wedding anniversary.
And so I find my thoughts turning to romance.
Not the grand gestures you sometimes see depicted on the big and little screens either.
You know those.
Airplanes gracefully skywriting, "Marry me please my one true love, Stephanie!" in cloudlike script.
Or a candlelight and crystal picnic set up at the very edge of the Grand Canyon, with a portable CD playing "How Deep Is My Love."
I don't mean that sort of thing.
No, my thoughts have turned instead to some of the little romantic sparkles which actually lit my life.
The first I remember is when Larry and I were very young.
He was a sophomore in college living with roomates in an apartment close to the university.
I was still in high school.
We'd been dating for a while when he learned that I loved flowers.
Of course as a college student he had no money to spare for flowers.
Even so, oftentimes he came to pick me up for a date with bouquets of garden roses, or gladiolas, or other sometimes spetacular blossoms.
They were always presented wrapped in layers and layers of wet newspaper and once or twice came with aphids.
I asked him one time where he got them and he said that he was always on the lookout.
So whenever he saw flowers growing along highway medians, or parks, or at ASU outside the Dean's office, he would hop whatever barrier was guarding them and pull out his trusty pocket knife.
I still think the most beautiful flowers come wrapped in wet newspaper.
And I try not to remember "Thou shall not steal," when I do.
Another early twinkle came about when I had a date with an Eagle Scout I'd met several months previously. He'd asked me to go to a fancy Blue and Gold Scout Ball to be held in the spring. It was to be a formal affair held at a big hotel in downtown Phoenix.
I explained all this to Larry. He said he understood about honoring committments.
But lo and behold, when the night came and my date and I came out of the festivities, there was Larry standing across Central Avenue under a streetlight.
He was leaning against his car, arms crossed, glaring at the ballroom exit.
Even way back then that glare reminded me of a sparkle. It still does.
After we married, a particular small bit of romance became an ongoing joke.
Early one morning as I opened my newlywed eyes I found Larry looking at me.
I pulled the covers over my head and said with distress, "Don't look at me when I'm ugly!"
He pulled the covers off my head and just stared.
Long and hard too.
This became a standard and very annoying morning ritual.
Then there were gifts.
A lot of traditional romantics prefer jewelry stores for diamonds and the like.
Supermarkets became Larry's go-to source for romance all the rest of our lives.
He'd be sent off to buy bread or milk. When he came home there at the bottom of the bag I'd find a new potato peeler.
When I asked about it he'd say, "Last week you said you hated the kind of peeler we had."
Or there'd be an extension cord because I'd cussed a lamp that was out of reach. Or a gadget to open jars when I'd remarked offhandly last month that it hurt to open pesky lids. Or a pepper shaker with big holes, or whatever.
That he'd remembered brought the sparkle.
And then there was asparagus.
I love it though it can be on the expensive side. Every now and then I'd find a bunch or a can serving as a note from my husband when I unpacked the groceries.
Then too, grocery store flowers were often gifts.
I love their bouquets of mixed varieties and colors.
And anyway, by then Larry had grown too old for hopping over highway medians.
Of course my standard comment when receiving a bunch was, "What did you do?"
Once I remember a very special "day after" Valentine's Day.
I don't usually like this holiday's "coerced" show of affection.
But this year, our daughter Kim had been sent two dozen long stemmed roses from her current beau. I went to her room to admire them and show motherly support. I commented that as old as I was I'd never been given long stemmed roses. "That young man must think you're really special!" I gushed.
I didn't know that my husband was standing out in the hall. (In truth I actually preferred the grocery store mixed bouquets of daisies and carnations that I was usually given.)
The next day, February 15th, Larry and I went to the grocery store for our weekly purchases. He was loading the car with the toilet paper, dog food, and laundry detergent when he reached into one of the the shopping carts and brought out two bouquets of the most gorgeous pink and yellow roses I'd ever seen! Those flowers were as big as teacups!
He'd snuck them by me when I wasn't looking.
As he handed them in through the car window he said, "They were half price. But it still counts!"
His voice sounded slightly annoyed.
Apparently he was miffed that I had never told him that I wished for roses.
Actually I hadn't wished, but those beautiful flowers did indeed count.
Then there were little romantic occasions.
Like the shared ice cream treats of our "geezer" years. ( Larry liked to call us "fogarts." I'll let you figure out what words he shortened and combined.)
Anyway, neither of us was supposed to eat sweets, but Larry especially was afflicted with a terrible sweet tooth. Mine is more of a french fry tooth.
In any case, we devised a system of moderation that worked for the rare sundae. We would order a small size with 2 spoons.
This worked well except for the cherry on top.
Larry always managed to whisk it away and eat it before I could even make a grab for it. This became a joke until I complained about unrighteous dominion. Then Larry would still whisk the cherry away, eat half of it, and put the remains on top!
Now whenever I see a mangled, half eaten cherry I get all romantic.
By the way we ended up using this system with french fries too. One order, split in two. No issues with the cherry.
Another time Larry received the "little sparkle."
I sent him to Sears to buy new shoes and not long after he left, our son called.
Dane said that he'd just been given tickets to the ASU / UofA football game which started in less than two hours. This was an historic game, a longstanding rivalry between the two universities. ASU was Larry's alma mater and our son wanted to take his dad.
I explained that he wasn't home but then said that I was sure I could find him.
So I called Sears and knowing that he'd been sent to buy shoes I asked for the tool department.
A salesgirl answered and I explained the "football emergency." She understood.
I described my husband. "Find a big, handsome man who looks like a cross between Sean Connery and Santa Clause."
She put down the phone to go look. She came back and apologized that she didn't see him.
I added, "I almost forgot. He's a really good kisser."
Immediately she cried out, "Oh, there he is now! Hang on."
When Larry got home after the game I explained how I found him.
He smiled slyly and then presented me with one of his best kisses.
I noticed a little romantic sparkle in his eye.
But I still wonder about that salesgirl.
Beaches at sunset provide memories too.
One I especially remember. It was our anniversary and we had come by ourselves this trip.
Comfortable camping chairs were loaded in the trunk since we could no longer get up and down from the sand without paramedics to assist.
The sun was sitting low on the horizon and an increasingly cool sea breeze came briskly onto shore.
As we set up our chairs and turned to enjoy the setting sun an amazing thing happened.
A beautiful young couple dressed in their wedding finery made their way to the edge of the sea!
They were holding hands and kissing tenderly.
I said to Larry, "Look at that sweet young couple! They're just starting out and here just a few feet away from them sits an old married couple together for decades. Isn't that wonderful! How does that make you feel?"
He looked into my eyes, wrapped his jacket closer around him, paused dramatically and said,
"I feel cold. Let's get in the car, and turn the heat on, Babe."
I'm still trying to figure out exactly what he meant by that. But I did notice a definite twinkle in his eye when he said it.
One of our most romantic moments ever came at Disneyland.
We were sitting by ourselves outside Toontown on a secluded bench. The fireworks program was ready to begin.
It had been a wonderful day.
We looked to the dark sky, our view framed by the bare, sculptural branches of a mid-winter tree.
Then sweet music began to play and skyrockets exploded in beautiful patterns in the night.
"When You Wish Upon A Star" was the last song accompanied by the huge finale of skyrockets.
We sat on the bench, huddled together for warmth, watching exploding rainbows of sparkling light.
It was magic. There's no other way to describe it. A magic moment in our lives.
I looked at Larry and said. "What can you say after that?"
Then he looked into my eyes for a long time. "I've seen fireworks before," he said.
Naturally I melted.
And then I forgave him for a great many of the especially dumb things he'd done over the years.
He'd covered a multitude of sins with that one.
Dear Readers, these next words are the hardest I've ever had to write.
I won't be able to hold Larry's hand or feel the tickle of his mustache through a kiss on our anniversary this summer. That will have to wait for a while.
You see Larry passed away early this month. He finished up and was called home.
I had always hoped we could go together but that seldom happens, does it?
There must be a great lesson many of us need to learn in that brief space of time without our better half.
To say that I miss him doesn't begin to convey what my heart is feeling.
Sadness sits on my shoulder now. But I don't feel despair. Because hope sits softly on the other so there is no room for despair.
You see, that we've been married for eternity in a Holy Temple of the Lord makes all the difference.
Our children have been sealed to us for all time. We truly are a forever family and my heart fills with gratitude for that blessing.
And words will never be able to tell the comfort I feel because I absolutely know that Larry is well and happy. Many who love him were waiting there to welcome him to the next step of progression.
He's busy learning, growing, helping and teaching. I know too that his friendly personality and goofy sense of humor will open hearts that no one else could reach.
And then, so very thankfully, I feel his presence near me often. Especially when I miss him most.
Lately I've been writing thank you notes to wonderful family and friends. And so I'd like to send a note to Heavenly Father.
Dear Father,
My heart overflows with gratitude for my countless blessings. Among the most precious, our amazing children and grandchildren.
Thank you for sending your son, Christ the Savior, to conquer death for all of us.
Thank you for Larry and the blessings of our marriage and family.
Thank you for the Holy Temples where husbands, wives, and families are sealed forever.
Thank you that in one of them I didn't have to say "Til death we do part."
Thank you that Larry and I will be together again. Not one whisker of his mustache lost, he will wrap me in a great hug once more.
And thank you more than words can say that I absolutely know the truth of these things.
Love Forever,
Your Daughter
And so I find my thoughts turning to romance.
Not the grand gestures you sometimes see depicted on the big and little screens either.
You know those.
Airplanes gracefully skywriting, "Marry me please my one true love, Stephanie!" in cloudlike script.
Or a candlelight and crystal picnic set up at the very edge of the Grand Canyon, with a portable CD playing "How Deep Is My Love."
I don't mean that sort of thing.
No, my thoughts have turned instead to some of the little romantic sparkles which actually lit my life.
The first I remember is when Larry and I were very young.
He was a sophomore in college living with roomates in an apartment close to the university.
I was still in high school.
We'd been dating for a while when he learned that I loved flowers.
Of course as a college student he had no money to spare for flowers.
Even so, oftentimes he came to pick me up for a date with bouquets of garden roses, or gladiolas, or other sometimes spetacular blossoms.
They were always presented wrapped in layers and layers of wet newspaper and once or twice came with aphids.
I asked him one time where he got them and he said that he was always on the lookout.
So whenever he saw flowers growing along highway medians, or parks, or at ASU outside the Dean's office, he would hop whatever barrier was guarding them and pull out his trusty pocket knife.
I still think the most beautiful flowers come wrapped in wet newspaper.
And I try not to remember "Thou shall not steal," when I do.
Another early twinkle came about when I had a date with an Eagle Scout I'd met several months previously. He'd asked me to go to a fancy Blue and Gold Scout Ball to be held in the spring. It was to be a formal affair held at a big hotel in downtown Phoenix.
I explained all this to Larry. He said he understood about honoring committments.
But lo and behold, when the night came and my date and I came out of the festivities, there was Larry standing across Central Avenue under a streetlight.
He was leaning against his car, arms crossed, glaring at the ballroom exit.
Even way back then that glare reminded me of a sparkle. It still does.
After we married, a particular small bit of romance became an ongoing joke.
Early one morning as I opened my newlywed eyes I found Larry looking at me.
I pulled the covers over my head and said with distress, "Don't look at me when I'm ugly!"
He pulled the covers off my head and just stared.
Long and hard too.
This became a standard and very annoying morning ritual.
Then there were gifts.
A lot of traditional romantics prefer jewelry stores for diamonds and the like.
Supermarkets became Larry's go-to source for romance all the rest of our lives.
He'd be sent off to buy bread or milk. When he came home there at the bottom of the bag I'd find a new potato peeler.
When I asked about it he'd say, "Last week you said you hated the kind of peeler we had."
Or there'd be an extension cord because I'd cussed a lamp that was out of reach. Or a gadget to open jars when I'd remarked offhandly last month that it hurt to open pesky lids. Or a pepper shaker with big holes, or whatever.
That he'd remembered brought the sparkle.
And then there was asparagus.
I love it though it can be on the expensive side. Every now and then I'd find a bunch or a can serving as a note from my husband when I unpacked the groceries.
Then too, grocery store flowers were often gifts.
I love their bouquets of mixed varieties and colors.
And anyway, by then Larry had grown too old for hopping over highway medians.
Of course my standard comment when receiving a bunch was, "What did you do?"
Once I remember a very special "day after" Valentine's Day.
I don't usually like this holiday's "coerced" show of affection.
But this year, our daughter Kim had been sent two dozen long stemmed roses from her current beau. I went to her room to admire them and show motherly support. I commented that as old as I was I'd never been given long stemmed roses. "That young man must think you're really special!" I gushed.
I didn't know that my husband was standing out in the hall. (In truth I actually preferred the grocery store mixed bouquets of daisies and carnations that I was usually given.)
The next day, February 15th, Larry and I went to the grocery store for our weekly purchases. He was loading the car with the toilet paper, dog food, and laundry detergent when he reached into one of the the shopping carts and brought out two bouquets of the most gorgeous pink and yellow roses I'd ever seen! Those flowers were as big as teacups!
He'd snuck them by me when I wasn't looking.
As he handed them in through the car window he said, "They were half price. But it still counts!"
His voice sounded slightly annoyed.
Apparently he was miffed that I had never told him that I wished for roses.
Actually I hadn't wished, but those beautiful flowers did indeed count.
Then there were little romantic occasions.
Like the shared ice cream treats of our "geezer" years. ( Larry liked to call us "fogarts." I'll let you figure out what words he shortened and combined.)
Anyway, neither of us was supposed to eat sweets, but Larry especially was afflicted with a terrible sweet tooth. Mine is more of a french fry tooth.
In any case, we devised a system of moderation that worked for the rare sundae. We would order a small size with 2 spoons.
This worked well except for the cherry on top.
Larry always managed to whisk it away and eat it before I could even make a grab for it. This became a joke until I complained about unrighteous dominion. Then Larry would still whisk the cherry away, eat half of it, and put the remains on top!
Now whenever I see a mangled, half eaten cherry I get all romantic.
By the way we ended up using this system with french fries too. One order, split in two. No issues with the cherry.
Another time Larry received the "little sparkle."
I sent him to Sears to buy new shoes and not long after he left, our son called.
Dane said that he'd just been given tickets to the ASU / UofA football game which started in less than two hours. This was an historic game, a longstanding rivalry between the two universities. ASU was Larry's alma mater and our son wanted to take his dad.
I explained that he wasn't home but then said that I was sure I could find him.
So I called Sears and knowing that he'd been sent to buy shoes I asked for the tool department.
A salesgirl answered and I explained the "football emergency." She understood.
I described my husband. "Find a big, handsome man who looks like a cross between Sean Connery and Santa Clause."
She put down the phone to go look. She came back and apologized that she didn't see him.
I added, "I almost forgot. He's a really good kisser."
Immediately she cried out, "Oh, there he is now! Hang on."
When Larry got home after the game I explained how I found him.
He smiled slyly and then presented me with one of his best kisses.
I noticed a little romantic sparkle in his eye.
But I still wonder about that salesgirl.
Beaches at sunset provide memories too.
One I especially remember. It was our anniversary and we had come by ourselves this trip.
Comfortable camping chairs were loaded in the trunk since we could no longer get up and down from the sand without paramedics to assist.
The sun was sitting low on the horizon and an increasingly cool sea breeze came briskly onto shore.
As we set up our chairs and turned to enjoy the setting sun an amazing thing happened.
A beautiful young couple dressed in their wedding finery made their way to the edge of the sea!
They were holding hands and kissing tenderly.
I said to Larry, "Look at that sweet young couple! They're just starting out and here just a few feet away from them sits an old married couple together for decades. Isn't that wonderful! How does that make you feel?"
He looked into my eyes, wrapped his jacket closer around him, paused dramatically and said,
"I feel cold. Let's get in the car, and turn the heat on, Babe."
I'm still trying to figure out exactly what he meant by that. But I did notice a definite twinkle in his eye when he said it.
One of our most romantic moments ever came at Disneyland.
We were sitting by ourselves outside Toontown on a secluded bench. The fireworks program was ready to begin.
It had been a wonderful day.
We looked to the dark sky, our view framed by the bare, sculptural branches of a mid-winter tree.
Then sweet music began to play and skyrockets exploded in beautiful patterns in the night.
"When You Wish Upon A Star" was the last song accompanied by the huge finale of skyrockets.
We sat on the bench, huddled together for warmth, watching exploding rainbows of sparkling light.
It was magic. There's no other way to describe it. A magic moment in our lives.
I looked at Larry and said. "What can you say after that?"
Then he looked into my eyes for a long time. "I've seen fireworks before," he said.
Naturally I melted.
And then I forgave him for a great many of the especially dumb things he'd done over the years.
He'd covered a multitude of sins with that one.
Dear Readers, these next words are the hardest I've ever had to write.
I won't be able to hold Larry's hand or feel the tickle of his mustache through a kiss on our anniversary this summer. That will have to wait for a while.
You see Larry passed away early this month. He finished up and was called home.
I had always hoped we could go together but that seldom happens, does it?
There must be a great lesson many of us need to learn in that brief space of time without our better half.
To say that I miss him doesn't begin to convey what my heart is feeling.
Sadness sits on my shoulder now. But I don't feel despair. Because hope sits softly on the other so there is no room for despair.
You see, that we've been married for eternity in a Holy Temple of the Lord makes all the difference.
Our children have been sealed to us for all time. We truly are a forever family and my heart fills with gratitude for that blessing.
And words will never be able to tell the comfort I feel because I absolutely know that Larry is well and happy. Many who love him were waiting there to welcome him to the next step of progression.
He's busy learning, growing, helping and teaching. I know too that his friendly personality and goofy sense of humor will open hearts that no one else could reach.
And then, so very thankfully, I feel his presence near me often. Especially when I miss him most.
Lately I've been writing thank you notes to wonderful family and friends. And so I'd like to send a note to Heavenly Father.
Dear Father,
My heart overflows with gratitude for my countless blessings. Among the most precious, our amazing children and grandchildren.
Thank you for sending your son, Christ the Savior, to conquer death for all of us.
Thank you for Larry and the blessings of our marriage and family.
Thank you for the Holy Temples where husbands, wives, and families are sealed forever.
Thank you that in one of them I didn't have to say "Til death we do part."
Thank you that Larry and I will be together again. Not one whisker of his mustache lost, he will wrap me in a great hug once more.
And thank you more than words can say that I absolutely know the truth of these things.
Love Forever,
Your Daughter
Friday, May 6, 2016
A Father's Day Tribute to Mother
Sunday is Father's Day.
And today my thoughts have turned to a particular father. The father of my own children in fact.
This is dedicated to him with love for all eternity.
********************************
Tis the season when thoughts turn to fathers.
Our thoughts don't turn to them often enough, actually. Those men of all shapes and sizes who work hard all their lives, buying diapers and braces when they really want fast cars.
Unsung heroes, those men who are "there" for their families. Who show up, with all that means, on the stone days and the diamond days, no matter what.
So I turned my thoughts to them.
And when the thoughts turned, one thing I recognized is that there would be no great fathers without the women they turned into mothers.
So, in honor of Father's Day, I remembered the first time that I knew I was a great mother to our teenagers.
It was late on one of many Friday or Saturday nights.
Larry and I, being worn out from working all week and being the parents of four kids, two of them currently in their early teens, (as exhausting as toddlers, by the way), went to bed and were snoring by 10:00.
At 11:30 the alarm went off.
I rolled over to shake Larry.
He sat up on the side of the bed and began to pull on his pants. The belt was still in them. It saved time.
As he zipped and sleepily buttoned his shirt he asked me the Friday/Saturday night question.
"Bowling alley, church dance, pizza parlor, or movie theater?"
I, who am responsible for knowing things, replied, "Movie theater."
Then I patted his shoulder as he tied his shoes, said, "You're a good father," and rolled over to go back to sleep. (Notice the support and encouragement here.)
This happened too many times to count until those teens were able to drive.
After they could drive the scenario changed.
Exhausted, overworked parents in bed by 10:00 again.
Phone rings at 12:00. They stay out later now.
The phone is on Larry's side of the bed. He answers, hands it to me, and says, "It's for you."
Teenager on the line says, "Ma, make dad come to: (Choose one) movie theater, church, Stake Center, gas station on the corner, side of the road down from the Circle K, Jake's house, etc., etc. Tell him to bring: (Choose one) battery charger, jack, spare tire, money for gas, gas, fuel filter etc. Tell him a bunch of people need a ride home too. My car's full."
I thought it strange that this little scenario never changed.
The call was always for me. (Notice how important the mother is.)
Larry always answered and said nothing except "Hello." Then he handed the phone to me saying, "It's for you."
Before I could speak he began to put his pants on. The belt was still in them to save time.
I was always told by the teenager on the line to "make dad" do something.
And always, when he returned and climbed back in bed, he smelled of: (Choose one) pizza, hamburger with onions, chile dogs, french fries, chocolate from a sundae etc.
Seems word got around that this dad would come to rescue kids at any hour if they fed him afterwards.
Sometimes not even his own kids. Sometimes he had to spring for the pizza too.
It's been many years since we've had teenagers.
But if the phone ever rings in the dead of night the same thing always happens.
There Larry will be, sitting on the side of the bed, pulling on his pants, waiting to see where he's supposed to go.
Old habits die hard.
It always reminds me of what a good mother I've been.
"I do nothing of myself; but as my father hath taught me."
John 8:28
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