Hollow Thoughts

The storyteller

2012-02-08T23:09:00.000-08:00

A few years ago I worked for the American Red Cross. I was the director of the AIDS Education and Information Program in Northern Utah. It was a job that I loved.  My work week often ran into 60+ hours. It could be exhausting, frustrating, always interesting, and often gut wrenching.

I used to tell stories as a part of my living. They were true stories about the families I worked with. Some of them amusing, many of them inspiring, most of them sad.

It became important to me that my audience didn't remember them as "Caryn's stories", or as "other people's stories", but that they realized that they were our stories... their's and mine.   Each one of us gathered together any given day could have easiily stepped into one of the roles in every story that I told. I wanted them to ponder the part they would have played. Could they have taken a bow for the lines they spoke? Would their mothers, their spouses, their children have applauded their performance? Would they have been pleased to have me use their name as I shared their part with an audience?

It amazes me how many times we're remembered for something we've done that seemed so insignificant to us. The phone call we did or didn't make. The helping hand or listening ear we did, or didn't offer. The times we did or didn't defend a neighbor's reputation when we heard something unkind said about them... The times we did or didn't share a kind thought we had about someone.

I'm not going to say that we need to get wrapped up in how important we are... but, I do wonder if many of us realize the impact we have on the people who move through our lives. I still remember the way I pranced throughout the remainder of the day when a total stranger, an older gentleman, pulled up next to me at a stop sign and yelled through my open window, "You are one very pretty feminine, young lady". It was so random, so completely unexpected. A gift freely given to me by someone who just spontaneously blew a verbal kiss to a girl he never expected to see again.   As the light turned green, he turned left and drove out of my vision and into my memory. It changed me. My fear of saying something nice to someone I didn't know magically disappeared along with his yellow convertible.

My mother had taught me since I was tiny to "Be nice... to everyone... all of the time....twice as nice as you think you ought to be." "Say something kind to at least three people every day." She had voiced those words to me thousands of times, and given me a constant and consistant example to follow. She lived what she taught. I understood the concept. What I didn't understand was how important it could be to those that I gave a kind word to. Not until a sunny, California summer day when someone I didn't know noticed me and told me he thought I was a girly girl, said out loud that he thought I was pretty, then drove away.

I think if I knew his name, and used it in telling this story... he could feel good about the role he played. He could take a bow. I would applaud him.

Where the Forest Meets the Sea

2009-11-10T13:55:00.000-08:00

This summer Wayne and I spent a week at a beach house on the Oregon Coast. We tromped and traipsed through hill and vail, bays and beaches. We climbed forested paths, heavy with ferns and trickling water, to photograph lighthouses. We rummaged through the produce at country fruit stands, and gathered fresh flowers from fields ripe with dahlias and sunflowers. We dined at some of the local pubs and cafes and tasted some mighty savory dishes.

There were days that the shore was lost in the fog. On a day when the drizzle turned to droplets, we spent the afternoon sharing a picnic of cheese, chubby pretzels, and peaches under a canopy in the rain. The weather wasn't always perfect, but it was all delightful.

I am in awe of that lucious land. I love the motto for the Oregon Coast..."Where the Forest Meets the Sea". That is perfectly descriptive. Giant pines and oaks do come to the very edge of the cliffs where the salty ocean sends great sprays of water to mist the feet of the trees.

I was thinking last night as I watched my husband sitting in an overstuffed chair reading the last few chapters of a book, how like the forest and the sea he and I are.

Our lives are not intermingled. They touch nearly everywhere, but each of us has remained individual entities with our own strengths, our own flavors. What beauty can be found in us is our own. But, neither of us would be as complete without the other. I move towards him constantly throughout each and every day, sometimes with a mood of tranquility and peace, sometimes with turbulence and a spirit of unrest. He always accepts me however I come to him. While I seem to be constantly changing, he is always stalwart, standing steady, slowly and continually growing toward the heavens.

Like the time spent on the coastline, my analogy isn't perfect. It is as many faceted as the prisms that gleam from the Heceta Lighthouse. I don't intend to delve into it too deeply here...although I did spend a good deal of time milling over the similarities this morning in that space between sleep and awakening.

Let me just repeat how entranced I became with Oregon, and how I enjoyed the slow motion days spent there. And let me also say, how entranced I am with this giant of a man who shelters my life... and how I gather something from the shores of his soul every time his forest and my sea meet.

Focus

2009-09-08T08:57:00.001-07:00

In my next life I want to be a camera.

Cameras are full of memories. Well, so am I, so that can't be the reason. What is it then? I know. It's because cameras only need to focues on one thing at a time.
No need to juggle this flower with that child on a swing, or with the car racing over the finish line, or with the dog chasing a butterfly. A camera takes one picture at a time. If a picture isn't perfect, it's placed on photoshop and worked with until it is exactly right....one photo at a time.

I want to be able to truly focus on ONE thing until the reason for my focus has been caught and completed. I want the time to see the measure of it's character, capture it, be able to hold it in my hands until I'm ready to put it down. I want to work with it until I've accomplished exactly what I wanted to with it, and then move on to the next venture.

As it is I am constantly trying to focus on my husbands desire for dinner or help in the pasture, with a client's need to be called with a counteroffer, with my daughter's need to have me send her a recipe, with my youngest son's need for me to talk via e-mail with him about where he should work next year, with my oldest son wanting help with painting and decorating his bathroom, with my neice needing to cry over her boy's drug related incarceration, with the church wanting me to visit the woman three blocks down the road, with another client wanting to be shown property this afternoon, with yet another client wanting to buy the same home that I just sold, with a good friend needing someone to tend her dog and water her plants. I tend to lose focus and after a while everything becomes blurred.

I know, I know. Prioritize. Take things one at a time. Easy to say... not so easy to do. How do you tell a child, or a friend, or the love of your life...or, yes, even a client who is trying to build foundations under his dreams, to take a number? How do you really focus on and feel the essence of each moment when your mind is spiraling in seventeen directions?

But a camera? It's whole purpose is to concentrate on only one thing at a time. Yeah, I want to be a camera.

(The good news is, I got some of the angst off my chest and I feel much better now)

Stumbling Blocks

2009-08-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

A lack of confidence is the heaviest anchor we can put on our creativity." I heard this comment made by one of the judges on "So You Think You Can Dance" this season and thought it was flowing over the brim with wisdom. I think it applies to all of living. A lack of confidence is the heaviest anchor to much of what we experience.

There is a trait that I admire so much in others and strive every day to increase the capacity for in myself. Wild abandon. I have a son who laughs with wild abandon...no inhibitions. I have a husband who plays with wild abandon...no fear. I have a daughter who loves with wild abandon...no holding back. I have a son who races toward every goal with wild abandon...no hesitation. I have a son who jumps into life head first with wild abandon...no restrictions. I have a son who protects with wild abandon...no thought of consequence. I love it!

All of this speaks of confidence to me. Confidence that what they believe in is right, who they love will love in return, who they protect is worthy of any sacrifice, that stretching the limits of their capabilities is a worthwhile way to occupy their time and expend their energy, that they can reach the goal and win the race, that life will hold them by the hand or grab them by their hair, fill their memories with bright moments, and fill their minds to the brink of genius.

Me? Where do I fit into all of this? I used to be a lot like that. Somewhere along the path, I took a turn and ended up sitting on the bleachers. Too often I am a happy spectator. I am an easily contented person. And I'm learning that there is a fine line between contentment and complacency, and that it is too easy to believe that a lack of confidence is not hiding behind a veil of contentment.

I so admire my family and others who live with a pinch of recklessness, who let the adrenaline flow freely and step into each day's activities with gusto. I look up to those among us who don't always think through where an adventure will lead them, or stop to consider who will pick up the hat they toss in the relationship ring. I love it when I see my children offer their hearts to friendship without expectation of being given as much as they are willing to give.

I spent too many years being a tad too fearful, being overly concerned with the reactions and opinions of people who were merely passing through my life. Now that I am on the twilight side of the hill... I yearn to feel the excitement that made my heart beat faster when I was younger. I think it's time to toss the restrictive bonds that a lack of confidence has bound me with in the last not so few years, kick off my shoes and run through the wildflowers in my barefeet... without thinking about the spiders that may be lurking in the grass. I want to feel the sun on my face and not worry about what wrinkles it may cause. This fall I will inhale the aroma of burning leaves and not be concerned with how smoky my clothes will smell, or if a spark will sputter out as it bleeds through my shirt sleeve. I will approach strangers with a smile, and an interest in what they have to tell me...to teach me. I will laugh till tears fall, dance in the aisles of the grocery store, and sing to my waiter when he delivers pizza to our table. I will taste more, hear more, see more, be more.

Because of all things we attempt to create while mortals, the creation of lasting relationships should be of highest import, the list of friendships we create should be long...very, very long. And, even as a woman of "artistic" bent who has made heirloom Santa's and nutcrackers and other "artsy, crafty" things for my posterity, I believe that our own characters, our own life stories, not just well written... but well LIVED, should be pre-eminent in those things we create. We will, after all, take only our character and intelligence with us when we step through the veil. And of all that we leave behind as a legacy to those that loved us, our life stories will be held most dear.

What's in a word?

2009-08-19T07:24:00.000-07:00

What's in a word? What does that mean, anyway? Lots of things are in a word. Words evoke emotions in us and can spur us to action or lull us into inaction. ie: emotions and actions such as love, anger, regret, forgiveness, anxiety, excitement, comfort, sorrow, laughter...

A favorite word of mine is "amae". It's a Japanese word (pronounced ah-mah-ay), which means "the expectation to be sweetly and indulgently loved" Is that beautiful or what? And isn't it really what we all wish for?

I came across this expression and the ideas that accompany it years ago in a magazine article. I wish I could remember what magazine. At any rate, the article discussed the way we in America put such a high premium on "independence", how we're taught to strive for the supreme acheievement of being able to stand on our own. Not that that's an entirely bad thing. But, it does close us off somewhat to the possibility of being "sweetly and INDULGENTLY loved". The way a baby is loved, the way we love our babies. The way nearly every woman on the planet dreams of being loved by her husband. The way women so often express love for one another in time tested and time worn friendship.

What's in a word? In the word "amae" I see hope. A vision. A way of loving to aspire to.

I watched my daughter sweetly and induldgently love her husband last night. It was so touching. He had surgery yesterday and was in such pain... he suffers from anxiety and his pain meds made his heart race to the point that his anxiety, coupled with the side effects of Lortab, kept him up all night. She put a cloth to his face, rubbed his shoulders, helped him take deep breaths, repositioned his newly pinned and wired leg on pillows... she spoke softly, played his favorite music for him, and gave up sleeping herself to see him through the night. When she came dragging out of the bedroom this morning, it was to bring him some juice and fresh fruit, to call his doctor for guidance in how she could bring him more comfort....and to mow the lawns so he wouldn't worry about it not getting done while he was laid up.

I've watched the way he sweetly and indulgently loves her since the day they first met. He has been the answer to a mother and father's prayer that their daughter would be protected and cared for throughout her life. They have come to depend on one another for this exchange of tenderness. They each feel precious and cherished. They experience amae in their lives.

So... what's in a word? In amae there is fulfillment, peace, and contentment.

Ugh! Whoof! Ouch! Whump!! Ahhhhhh...

2009-07-14T13:04:00.000-07:00

I grew up in California...the greater Los Angeles area to be exact. My family was reasonably well to do, lived in the biggest house in an upscale neighborhood, drove fancy new cars, had the first television and garage door opener in our community. You get the picture.

A favorite family activity was going for a Sunday drive. We did this only from time to time, not on a weekly basis. Enough to keep it really special. We'd pack some cheese and sweet pickle or tuna sandwiches, a jar of homemade peaches, a big bag of chips, and mama's decadent brownies or hot baked apple pie. When it was safely tucked into the trunk of the car...we'd hop into daddy's Cadillac, mom's Buick convertible, my aunt and uncle's Pontiac, or my sister's Edsel and hit the road. We'd often drive up "El Camino Real", better known as Pacific Coast Highway, or down the coast to LaJolla. We'd sing songs and play those silly games that you play to keep kids entertained while driving.

I loved going for those drives!! We'd see cows grazing in grassy fields with the Pacific Ocean as a backdrop. I'm from Los Angeles, remember? Where else would I see a cow? We'd stop to stretch, and submit to nature's call at a Shell Station where daddy would make sure the gas tank was full and treat us all to ice cream. Then we'd be on the road again, looking for the ideal spot to lay out a quilt and enjoy lunch. Yes... he did let us have ice cream before eating our sandwiches. He was a cool dad. These were happy times spent with my family. I hate to repeat myself, but, I truly loved those drives!

In 1972, at the age of... well...older than I care to remember, I moved to Utah...met a small town country boy, and fell head over heels... I was completely bonked on this guy.

I remember how excited I was one Sunday when he asked me if I wanted to go for a drive after church. Perfect! Fond memories welled up as I packed a couple of sandwiches, some cookies and juice, and waited anxiously for him to pick me up.

Little did I know that this would be unlike any drive I'd ever been on before.. anywhere, anytime.

We wound our way up some godforsaken hilltop, through scrub brush and sage dying in the heat. We bounced over rocks and fallen trees... we slogged our way across muddy riverbottoms. If nature called... we looked for something almost large and remote enough to hide behind. When it was time for lunch, we pulled the dust covered blanket from the back seat and opened our dust filled sandwiches. blecchh!!

And that has remained the way we've done it in all our days together since.

"Want to go for a drive?" he says... And I grab oranges, granola bars, wheat thins, water... lots of water...a lil packet of t.p., hiking boots, a jacket, some branch cutters, a small shovel, clean socks for both of us, an extra pair of sunglasses (he always forgets his), some work gloves, chewing gum, hand sanitizer, and a flashlight. And off we go.

We have had to dig our way out of mud...build a road to get us out of a ditch...and hike for help. I have had a fourwheeler land on me after a failed attempt at keeping it upright over slippery boulders, and nearly had the jeep tip on us while trying to take it up an incline that was meant only to fly over. We don't really go for drives. We have a four wheeling "experience", or go for a jeeping "adventure". It's exhillarating, scary, infuriating, fun, oddly fulfilling, and ... it has very often been peaceful. We've seen gorgeous views from the tops of mountains that we would have seen no other way. We have stretched our capacity for enjoyment, and honed our "He-man survive in the wilderness skills". Well... I've mostly just peeled an orange, or gathered tree branches to place under the wheels of the jeep to help get us out of muck and slime that threatens to swallow our transportation. Wayne does his "Superman", "Mr. Incredible" schtick and pulls, hoists, or lifts us out of whatever mess we find ourselves in, and gets us on our way again.

Last Sunday we got lost and beat our backsides black and blue exploring some rocky wasteland...I was beginning to mutter, "I'm too dang old for this!! My bones are going to pulverize any second. I'll have to be swept into a dustpan and carried home in a sandwich bag"... and then... omagosh!! We suddenly found ourselves in a lush forest that led us to the tip of the Manti LaSal Mountain Range with views that spread from here to eternity. It was breathtaking! It was a delicius treat for our eyes, and for our souls.

The drives of yesterday were wonderful, but those I take with my hubby today are beyond my wildest imaginings. They are absolutely, completely, memorable ...from wading through ice encrusted water to search for help, to the mosquito bites on our hineys received while lying on a blanket by a secluded, sunlit stream renewing our vows... Our drives may most often make me want to sit in a hot tub for an hour or two to soothe my aching and aging bones... but, my spirit is always refreshed.

The Parable of The Pincushion

2009-06-14T21:06:00.000-07:00

When I was a young girl, fifty some odd years ago, my mother gave me a large red pincushion for a fifth grade sewing class. It was shaped like a tomato with three green leaves on top, and was filled with sawdust to sharpen the pins and needles as they were placed in it and then withdrawn for use. I've stubbornly held on to that tattered old sphere for decades. It had developed a small hole and begun to leak it's contents into the basket I kept it stored in. It was definitely time for a replacement. I looked for another just like it and found one about half it's size in a dollar store.

A couple of weeks ago a friend stopped by with her 9 year old daughter. I gave Elisa the two pincushions and asked if she would transfer the pins and needles from the old to the new while her mother and I visited. She entertained herself for some time making designs with the pins.

After they left, I took the old cushion in my hand and, knowing that there would be several needles that had worked their way into the sawdust, began to push and massage the worn remains. After more "Ouches" than I care to remember, I had released close to three dozen needles. I decided there would be less pain involved in the project if I sliced the cushion open and simply poured out what was inside. As the sawdust spilled onto the table, a forest of needles fell with it. nearly a hundred needles in all had been hiding there, sharp and capable of mending tired and torn items...waiting to be taken in hand and used to create heirloom quality beauty with them.

I began to think of the needles that had been trapped inside my old pincushion, and I wondered... How many women have been hiding the talents that are theirs in the sawdust of day to day activities and the responsibiities that lie at the heart of being a wife and mother... holding a job, keeping a home? Am I the only woman who has allowed her God given talents to slip unnoticed into tattered and worn old habits? Maybe I need to take a sharp instrument to my life and cut away the tired and torn fabric that covers my spirit and let my thoughts spill free. Maybe I need to pick up the words that have been wedged inside for so long, unused, unexpressed, and create something with them.

I am not alone. There are hundreds of women like me...like my needles. Women with talents that are tucked somewhere out of sight, sharp and capable and waiting to be set free. Waiting to leave an heirloom quality legacy of beauty behind. What a tragedy it will be if their gifts are allowed to remain hidden from view. The greatest sorrow is for what might have been. Who they might have become... who they might have entertained, lifted, and inspired. And again I begin to wonder... What can I do to massage their confidence and assist them in releasing the talents that are theirs.

I Don't Know... I'm Asking.

2009-06-02T10:43:00.000-07:00

Lin asked in her post this morning what we wanted to do to improve ourselves this month. She pointed out the importance of spending each minute, every hour, in a quest to become more than we are... Dang! That stings! I am not a well educated woman... at least, I have no formal education worthy of mentioning. I love language and am always enthralled by those who use it well. I enjoy wrapping myself up in the wisdom of a large variety of authors and individuals who have crossed my path. But, I just don't seem to have the clamoring desire to expand my universe the way so many of you do. The truth of it is that I'm too easily entertained. Everything and nothing fascinates me. I find even the most mundane aspects of life, and most unnoticed and unnoticable people, interesting. I've read somewhere that "wisdom lies in gathering precious moments". I like to think that I recognize precious moments as they happen and always carry a folded apron in my mind to gather as many of them as I can. And I only see one major reason for life and that is to grow in love, understanding and compassion... for ourselves, and for every other creature on the planet.

I don't plan and study and work at "becoming"... I often wish I had that kind of motivation. But... I really don't. I just sort or meander the hillsides and alleyways of life and often find that as I return home after each "walkabout", I have evolved in some way into a higher,or deeper, self.

If I plan to carry a great book and a bright green marker out to the hammock to read and underline and post some goals... I usually become distracted by the dog that wants to play "fetch" with me, or the peonies growing along the edge of the blackberry patch, or the sunshine that becomes dappled as it sifts through the leaves...and my mind begins to carry on conversations with all sorts of imaginary companions. Are they garden fairies? Guardian angels? Remnants of friends and mentors who's memories are nestled in some niche of my heart? We share ideas and philosophies with each other and invent activities to make us giggle or send us into deep wells of thought. My plans to re-invent myself are shattered, once again, and I can generally be found puttering and dawdling through another afternoon. But, somehow... I'm rarely disappointed by the way I've spent my time. I have few regrets. I discover that one of the invisable friends that I've shared my day with has opened new vistas and enriched my soul.

Is this wrong, do you think? Should growth be a subtle thing that creeps up on us? Should it be the result of wide awake efforts every day to learn something more about ourselves? My guess is that it should probably be a melding of the two. I don't know. I'm asking.

Did you bring the "Joseph" C.D.??

2009-05-28T18:15:00.000-07:00

Seven days on vacation in Southern California with Chandelar...

I'm happy to report that we didn't forget anything. We brought lively, silly CD's to sing to and keep us alert for the long drive. We had plenty of underwear, our bathing suits, hair doodads, toothpaste, toenail polish, "chick flicks", our favorite pillows, comfortable shoes (although not quite comfortable enough... we bought new ones), sun hats, sun dresses, light weight sweaters, and chocolate. The only thing we left at home that we could have used is the muscle power of our hubbys, and perhaps a small hoist, to lift and carry our luggage.

It was another happy, carefree time with one of the brightest jewels in my crown. We ate some really good food, soaked our feet in fountains after a day of traipsing through some beautiful buildings and gardens, watched (and danced to) some girlie movies, checked out the ancient, rickety, wooden roller coaster on the Belmont pier, shopped some little boutiques, and strolled the street festivals in the beach cities. We stayed up too late, sat in the hot tub too long, drank too many Vanilla Bean Frappacino's, and ate too many In N' Out Burgers. But, mostly we talked, and talked, and giggled, shed a few tears, and talked some more.

I relished and treasure every minute if it...
I hope we get a chance to over pack for another week away together next year.

Now... THAT'S a Tulip!

2009-05-27T16:16:00.000-07:00

My daughter bought some tulips a couple of years ago that knocked my socks off when I saw them growing in her yard. I searched the world over... okay, I exaggerate... I drove to CostCo to see if I could find any of the same bulbs. I found some that looked pretty close to what she had and gladly handed over the necessasry cash to make them mine. I took them home and planted them in one of my flower gardens. This spring, I couldn't wait to see what they were going to look like.
Voila! Here they are... I have never seen such enormous heads on a tulip. Mine are not as tall as hers, nor do I have the variety of colors that she does. But, I'm happy with what I have. Kinda cool, huh? I plan on making it a quest to find more and plant them EVERYWHERE I can find a spot at the Hollow.

"By Their Fruits"...

2009-05-09T17:16:00.000-07:00

So many pictures... I wonder why...

I just finished reading a post written by my niece. It was titled with a scriptural reference, "By their fruits ye shall know them", and in it she expressed the love she has for her family. Not just her parents and siblings... but for her extended family as well. For her cousins...my children among them.

I've been thinking about her words for a while now. We really do have a remarkably good family. I'd use words like spectacular, phenomenal, magnificent... But, it occured to me that God created this entire world and everything in and around it... and the word He used to describe it was, "Good". And that is exactly what the members of the Stott clan are.

I've also been thinking about the title of her post. "By their fruits ye shall know them." Oh, how I hope that people, seeing my children, would believe that they were looking through a window into my soul. Nothing could speak better for me than the young men and the young woman they have become.

I need to say the same for Wayne's brothers and his sister. They have brought large quantities of sweetness and light into this world with the birth of every child. I love my nieces and nephews more than I can express. I love the memories invoked when I wander through old family albums, I love the stories we share when we gather together anywhere, I love the laughter and silliness that surrounds our table as we share the best home made food on the planet with one another.... but, most of all I love who they are as adults. I love their depth of character and the indelible love they have for one another. It's unquestioning, it's unshakable, it's forever and always and no matter what. I have a daughter and several nieces, and now and then a nephew, who have shared the details of their days with their hubbies and their little ones. The parenting baton has been passed, and I have no doubt that they will carry our family traditions and teachings to victory at the finish line. I so want to be known as a branch of the tree that bore such delicious and nourishing fruit.

I love tending my flower gardens. Wayne tends his vegetable garden and to his rooster and the brood of chicks. We had four beautiful children who have given us four beautiful grandchildren. Why so many pictures you wondered? Because this is my fruit.

If in fact, we shall be known by our fuits, then many of us have lived our lives well, indeed. So many of you have shared heartwarming times with your families. Mare and her love for her mother and pride in her offspring, Kay and Sandy, Michelle and Linda, Lin, Dell GIrl and Jo, Carla and Brenda, SuzieQ and "Molly's Folks Down Under" have told us about their parents and grandparents, their children and grandchildren, and each story shared, each little comment made, has touched me deeply.

In my opinion, we are known as much for the company we keep as by the children we raise, and the parents who raised us. We have recently discussed the importance of face to face conversations. I have been one of the most vocal about how I worry that it may become a lost art. But, this form of communication has opened vistas I never dreamed of. My circle of teachers, mentors, friends, and on occasion... influence, has become so much wider than it would have been had I not made contact with you this way. And my life would have been so much less. It has more depth, a richness of color and thought has been added. Your posts are the fruits of your hearts and your souls, through them I have come to know you. You are the fruits of my planting a few thoughts, and I am ever so hopeful that I may be known by, and through you...

Turn Around...And Hear the Echos

2009-05-03T20:23:00.000-07:00

We raised our children in a four level split home at the mouth of a canyon in Northern Utah. It was in many ways a marvelous place to raise our four little ones... in others, not so great. It wasn't a neighborhood that was friendly toward kids. But, we backed up against orchards and mountains that seemed to be our private domain. We were surrounded by open fields and walking distance to creeks, and ponds full of pollywogs.

The house itself was easy to live in. Roomy and open, with room to hide and read in peace. It had nothing but windows and doors on the east side that opened out to flower gardens and a fire pit in the backyard, and the canyon yawning wide just beyond the border of the orchard.

Lots of memories were made there. Toasting marshmallows around the firepit with friends who sang and talked with our kids into the wee small hours as their hopes for the future mingled with sparks from the open flames... sleeping out under shooting stars on the trampoline with only the sound of the crickets and our stories. Walks through the orchard with my daughter and our dogs, sitting on a cement slab among the cherry trees day dreaming.

There were birthday parties and family re-unions and Christmas trees that took up a third of the parlour. There were midnight runs through the sprinklers, and hockey games in the culdesac, and banana splits for breakfast. There were Easter baskets to be found at the end of yards and yards of string. We sat in the sun in front of the french doors during the summer reading from a stack of books from the library shelves. We sat huddled under blankets on the heat vents in the parlour during the winter months...talking and warming ourselves with the blowing heat and each others laughter.

We sold this family home to our son a fews years back... I can't remember if it was three or four. I went to visit a week or so ago and walked into that parlour. I grabbed a blanket and sat on the heater and let my mind drift back in time. Gone are the sounds of the incessant chatter about school, football games, dates, and wedding plans. Gone are the times when we treated hurts from tummy aches to heartaches, and kissed and cuddled the way to feeling better... Only the walls echoed back the voices of that era. It was a haunting visit.

We all take such joy seeing our children grow into adulthood. Yet, there are those moments when our arms ache with longing to hold them on our lap one more time. I walked into my son's room one night while visiting, and watched him sleep. I reached out to touch his cheek and tried to remember the little boy who slept in that house so many years ago. He's grown into a fine young man with a son of his own, now. The song is right... I turned around, and all three of my boys were young men, capable young men, who had moved into their own lives. I can't hear them run through the back door bursting with excitement at some adventure or escapade to tell me about. I can't tuck them in at night and sing, "I Found a Friend" softly, and always just slightly off tune...and have them beg me to sing it again. But, I remember...

On my last stay up north, I sat in my daughters kitchen and watched her prepare a meal for her three sons. I tried to recall the tiny girl of five or six making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich all by herself. She was so proud. Just as I am now proud. I love the woman she has become... but, I long for the little girl she once was. I miss the girl of sixteen, seventeen, nineteen and twenty who took so many precious walks among the apple blossoms with me.

Memory is a savoury thing, to taste with relish, and dwell on with delight.

Deep Sighs and Big Slobbery Sobs

2009-04-30T21:28:00.000-07:00

I'm generally a pretty upbeat type of gal. It's not my M.O. to get too down for too long. But, I'm making an exception today.

Have I mentioned how much my hubby and I love life at the Hollow? We have a fair sized creek on the west side of the property with the covered bridge crossing it. There's a little babbling stream on the east side that runs alongside our vegetable garden. Both are just the right size to splash in safely. We have a grove of trees to hide in and have easter egg hunts in, and pick the little individual boxes of breakfast cereal that my daughter and I hang from the branches. We have three pastures. The lower one has plum trees with such tasty fruit to fill tummies with. It's the ideal place to shoot pvc pipe bows and pencil eraser tipped arrows, and play kick ball. The upper pasture is two and a half acres up a slight incline and is great for our annual HUGE bonfire and riding four wheelers. We lease out this fun upper pasture to neighbors who keep four horses there during the fall that are available for petting or riding. We have chickens to chase, a great dog to play with, a cool hammock to swing in, a play house to climb on, slide down and jump from, and a fire pit for gathering around listening to Poppy's Uncle Zedekiah stories while toasting marshmallows... it's a kids paradise. Wayne and I were so excited to find a place so perfect for the grandkids to come and stay and be safe while exploring and doing all of the adventuresome things little boys can dream up to do in a setting like this. Have you heard about the "best laid plans of mice and men"?

taking deep breath... exhaling slowly...

My daughter called today. She was on her way home from taking my five year old grandson to the allergist. She learned that he's allergic to our dog, (we knew that) and horses, and tall grasses (ie: the pastures), and probably our chickens. This is only a partial list of his allergies. Chandi and her boys will NOT be able to come and visit us here any longer. Can I just tell you how bad she and I are feeling about this? It stinks! Not to mention how hard it's going to be for that sweet child to keep away from everything that can send him to the emergency room. Oh yeah. I forgot to mention that he doesn't just get itchy eyes or bumpy, red blotches on his cheeks. He can't breathe...as in trip to the emergency room to be put on a respirator, can't breathe. He has an anaphylactic allergy to peanuts. And we're not sure how extreme his re-action to some of the other allergies could become.

Rats! That's something else he's allergic to....mice and rats. His doting uncles, my three sons, bought the boys three pet mice for Christmas. Who knew? They were a big hit. They named the white one Crisco, the gray one Rhino, and the brown one with a white strip around his middle, Oreo. Chandi noticed Ryson's eyes would start to swell when he held the one that was his pet...Oreo. So she's kept him away from them for the most part. Fortunately, since we just found out how the little nibblers can effect our boy, the last of them just died Tuesday... (guess which one lasted the longest... Oreo, of course)

If I still had a tub, I'd give some thought to taking my next bath face down in the water... Okay. I exaggerate. I'm not that depressed. But, I am so, SO sad!

Well, that's my sorry tale. Thanks for letting me vent. I wish I could say it made me feel better. I know it's supposed to help to open up the pressure valve and let off steam. But, I'm sorry to say...I don't feel better. Although it did feel good to spit out my aauugghhhh's and grrrrr's and CURSES while visually shaking my fist at the sniggering gods on Olympus.

another deep breath... I will not hold it until I turn blue. I'll let a big slobbery sob escape as I exhale slowly with a deep sigh and say good night.

Posies in My Heart

2009-04-16T18:59:00.000-07:00

Anybody else out there itchin to get out in the dirt and plant a few bulbs, weed a garden, dig a furrow for snap peas? I can't wait one minute longer for this blasted snow to exit stage left and let apple blossoms and hyacinths take their turn center stage. I got so antsy that I dug out every silk flower I could find and stuffed them in every corner of my house. They're displayed on my loft, in vases, and on top of my kitchen cupboards. If mother nature won't let them dazzle me outside, I'll produce and direct my own flower show inside.

It's a poor substitute to be sure, not as good as posies in the garden... but, it does help keep the winter doldrums at bay. Flowers make me smile.

Speaking of smiles... have you all seen the incredible video of the 47 year old woman from Scoltand who made Simon Cowel's jaw drop on British Idol? I was smiling and laughing and crying. What a remarkable, uplilfting story she has become. I'd love to have that video piped into my home and play it over and over many times each day. Her voice is powerful, that's for certain. But, her spirit even more so. She is a gift to all of us who flounder in fear and self doubt. Those of us who have allowed ourselves to think "It's too late", or "Life has too many other plans for me", or "Who's ever going to notice anything I do?" There is just no reason for any of us not to follow our dreams, not to become whatever it is that we want to be or develop and showcase any talents we may be blessed with. She brought spring posies to my heart... and somehow, a spring to my step.

She may even be better than posies in the garden.

I think about it often, but

2009-03-23T11:15:00.000-07:00

I think about it often
And I'd post here everyday
But there's so very little
That seems worthwhile to say

It either rains, or doesn't rain
It's either hot, or cold
The news is all uninteresting
Or else it's all been told.

What can I say... That's exactly what my thoughts are.

It's not that my life has been boring. It's just been...
how do I say it? Even...running smoothly...no ups and
downs, no roller coaster rides. My mind has been at rest.
I haven't been wondering about the secrets of the universe
the way I so often do. I haven't been looking for that
elusive "more" that regularly seems to nibble at my contenment.
For the moment, I seem to be wrapped up snuggly in all I've
ever wanted.

I suppose there are things out there that I would wish for...
my sons to have women to love and to love them being the primary
thing that comes to mind. But, I do know that isn't something
I'm going to be able to furnish them with. They are bright,
generous, witty, hardworking, honest and handsome men. They
are the jewels in my crown and they bring their father and me
such joy. When they visit the Hollow the hillsides and rafters
ring with laughter. There are cuddles on the couches, and hefty
appetites to be satisfied. Milk, fruit, eggs and cookies, seem
to consistantly and constantly disappear. They love working and
playing side by side with their father, and my heart swells when
I see them enjoying one another's company so completely.

So... even though I know that they are a little lonely now... I
also know that they will eventually find mates to share their futures.
That no longer is the worry to me that it once was. I will always pray
for companionship for them and I still wish on the occasional star for
them, but, I no longer obsess.

So, life is even, running smoothly, and my mind is at rest. There
just doesn't seem to be anything pressing to write about.

Know that you're thought about, respected, loved and appreciated.

He's Outta Heah...

2009-02-23T16:37:00.000-08:00

My son Cordell, my youngest child, my beautiful baby boy, has hopped a plane and moved his guitar, his laptop and his long board to South Korea. He's left behind his business suits, his books, his beloved DuCati motorcyle, and his family.

He left just last Saturday and I miss him already. It's going to be a looooong year to 15 months before he comes back. He's my poet, my free spirit, my adventurer. Well, truth be told, they're all a little on the adventurous side, and without children, jobs, mortgage payments, etc... they'd all be more inclined to let their free spirits soar into the wild blue. But, he's untethered by such responsibilities at this stage of his life. So... he's gone to find new caves to spelunk, more cliffs to dive from, more mountain trails to explore, more cities to shop, more languages to learn, and cultures to absorb. The great event of the dinner that we went out for the evening he left, was his FIRST BITE OF MEAT in over thirteen years. He decided that he ought to be prepared to try some of the abundance of local seafood while living in Korea, and thought he should share this big step with his family. That's shrimp that he's talking himself into lifting to his mouth... and that's my fork ready to take it off of his plate if he didn't hurry. It was great tasting stuff! He preferred his veggies and tofu. I knew I should have grabbed it.

So long, sweetie... I'll keep your latest picture on my desk until I hear your footsteps coming up the walk, and see your broad shoulders filling my doorway again.
Be well, stay well....

Uhhhh, No Thanks.

2009-02-11T11:43:00.000-08:00

I don't want to be-labor food issues here, but I loved this response...just had to share it. My daughter, Chandelar and I went for lunch at one of our favorite eateries yesterday, The Old Spaghetti Factory in Trolley Square. When the waitress came to take our order, I ordered a small salad and asked Chandi if she was going to have the same. She flashed a bright smile, winked, and said, "Uhhhh, no thanks. You graze...I'll eat." Perfect.

Made enough sense to talk me right out of a salad. I changed my order, we donned our clown noses, and dug into some REAL Italian food with gusto. It was so good, I didn't know what to put in my mouth first...hearty Ministrone soup, or a chicken, bacon, and pesto Panini sandwich.

For dessert, we stopped at See's and bought a pound box of assorted caramels. (That's quite a departure from salad) We spent the rest of the day doing some power shopping, having "mini makeovers" then got a room for the night at the Comfort Inn where we spent what was left of Monday enjoying our chocolates and watching a late movie. It was great! No kids to do homework with and bathe...no hubbies to make dinner for. The morning brought a slight skiff of snow... but who cared with complimentary Belgian waffles and fresh fruit for breakfast, and a full day ahead of us of trolling the stores for pretty dishes, some fun, feminine, funky clothes, and Christmas bargains. We just threw oursleves into giggling and having fun trying on pretty things with wild abandon. I love girlie days like that!! And I love being married to men who want us to spend time together doing girly things like that (enough to take care of the kiddies and underwrite the fun).

Life is SO yummy! Especially when we leave grazing to the California "happy" cows, and indulge ourselves with gusto every now and then.

Eenie, Meenie, Mynie, Mo

2009-02-06T10:18:00.000-08:00

Can you guess which one of the panoply of items I grabbed off the counter and took advantage of having available to me? It was a tough choice.

If you guessed the Pilates tape, you're dillusional. If you quessed the measuring tape, you obviously haven't seen my backside. I'd need more than a measuring tape to determine size.

If you guessed the do-nut slathered with whipped cream and sliced strawberries...
Bingo!! Well... I did make a New Year's resolution to treat myself well this year, afterall.

Have you heard these familiar platitudes that have been passed around every self help seminar in the last decade?

1. "Half of knowing what you want is knowing what you have to give up to get it."
2. "The biggest cause of unhappiness and failure is giving up what we want the most for what we want at the moment."
They're old and over used, but they're good... and absolutely true.

What I want the most is to wear some "stylin" size eight capri's this summer. What I wanted at the moment was that tempting, and mighty tasty chocolate covered pastry. I threw my visions of wearing cute size eight pants this summer out with the empty do-nut bag. Ahhhh well. I shall get myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again. I am such a fan of second chances... and third, and fourth, and seventeenth. Some things need forever and always, til death will I stick with it, diligence. My attention span appears to be too short for most of those things.

But, I am finding that life is as delicious as my do-nut at any size. A little harder to navigate perhaps... but scrumcilicious just the same. I am however, snacking on fresh orange slices and rice cakes the rest of the week.

No Rhyme or Reason

2009-02-04T18:20:00.000-08:00

What is it that makes us so susceptable to tears sometimes, anyway? Do you know what I'm talking about? Days when for no reason you can claim, the tears just puddle in your eyes waiting to spill down your cheeks. At times like those I find myself searching for things to help me release those tears. Sad movies, sad poems... It's ridiculous the way I'll dredge up past slights and try to recall how they made me hurt. I'll imagine all sorts of worse case scenarios of what may happen to my children, of what it will feel like to lose my husband... I get desperate to cry and unload whatever is making me feel so weepy. I've even experienced getting almost angry when a positive thought creeps in because I'm not quite finished with being miserable yet. I wonder if they have pills for that?

On some days, I've been known to walk in the door after a stressful day not wanting any contact with another human life form. I certainly don't want to make dinner or take the clothes out of the dryer, or invent something sunny to say in response to, "Hey! How'd the day go?". I don't want to speak at all unless I can think of something dripping with sarcasm to say. And so I act as if I haven't been walking the earth for more than sixty years, and behave like a spoiled toddler.

There is no sensical explanation for any of this. My emotions just start to run amuk and all I can do is apologize profusely when I finally pull myself together and get a grip on sanity. Wayne's usually outside puttering, or inside watching a ballgame, and just leaves me to work through whatever crossed circuit has caused the temporary blackout of reason.

I don't imagine understanding why these episodes occur would stop them from occuring. But, maybe. I do know that they have been very rare these last two or three years. Eegads! Could it be that my menopausal days are at long last coming to an end? Now, that would be just cause for throwing confetti from the rooftop!

"Happy Talkin, Happy, Happy Talk"

2009-02-03T19:20:00.000-08:00

I'm shutting my eyes and remembering joyful times... let's see... what memories linger there that make me happy?

1. Hearing Wayne whistle around the house and yard
2. Sitting on the couch in my comfies watching my children enjoy one another
3. Uncle Zedekiah stories around the campfire. (Wayne tells fabulous, extremely inventive mountain man stories about his ficticious Uncle Zedekiah's adventures)
4. Wind in my hair
5. A little seclusion now and then for regeneration
6. Recognizing an answer to prayer

I'm on a roll... I want to keep going.

7. "Girl" time. Just girls doing girly stuff.
8. Hot orange tappioca pudding
9. My flower gardens in bloom
10. Giggling under the covers
11. Sun streaming through windows
12. Pumpkins in a cart
13. Music in the background
14. Wayne and Pogo playing and working together. Just a man and his dog, it's a real comraderie
15. Driving with the sunroof open. The top down would be better... but, I don't have a convertible anymore.

I'll quit writing now, but I'm going to keep on thinking more happy thoughts. This is a great "feel good" exercise! One more thing that made me happy. This was done in response to a "tag" from Brenda challenging me... bad choice of words... giving me the opportunity to share 6 things that make me happy.

Let's hear from Sandy, Sylvia, Chandi, Carrie and Jackie... if they're so inclined.

Size Seven

2009-02-02T23:42:00.000-08:00

I wear a size 7 (narrow)... now and then a size seven 1/2. My daughter wears a size nine. My sister in law wears an eight. What this tells me is that you can't put the same shoe on every foot.

In the same vein... not everyone enjoys the same recreational activities. I, as an example, don't enjoy much of anything that requires wearing a helmet. My hubby and sons are extreme sports enthusiasts. My daughter is a bit of a daredevil as well.

Not everyone likes their steak the same way. I prefer mine the pinkest side of medium rare. My husband likes it close to crispy. My son is a vegetarian.

Not everyone learns at the same speed, picks the same color scheme for their bathroom, or loves the same animal as a pet.

We can't pigion hole people. We can't set the bar at a certain height and expect everyone to clear it. We can't set an idea in front of a large group of people and expect there to be no disagreement. And, that's good. My dad said two things:
1 - If two people agree completely about everything, one of them isn't necessary.
2 - To follow anyone (ie: your husband or a leader) blindly shows a lack of spirit only to be admired in sheep. Everything should be researched and considered from ALL sides and then you should follow your own conscience.

I say this because I understand that not everyone worldwide (or in my neighborhood for that matter) shares my religious views and I don't expect them too. I'm a card carrying member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. (Mormon) Not everyone will share my political views. I'm not really fond of the stimulous package as it is currently being presented to the Senate and the American people.

But, I love hearing other peoples opinions. It gives me reason to give serious reflection to attitudes that I've held close and it either strengthens them, or I release them and adopt a new perspective. However, I don't like being yelled at, sworn at, told I lack intelligence or that I'm somehow racial, homophobic or evil. (Think some talk show hosts, here... anyone heard of Michael Savage? Savage... now there's a name that says it all) What I ask is that people be open to one another and respectful of one another. As an example, I received a beautiful e-mail via comments from Michelle that explained her feelings on some issues clearly and politely. It was wonderful and welcome. If only everyone were so sure of themselves, articulate, and gracious. I didn't agree with her entire stance and wasn't made to feel that she would think less of me for that.

Now everyone is entitled to think what they think, and say whatever they please just as they can place pink and orange bath towels outside their shower and wear purple stillito's in the snow. But, now and then I've had someone try and cram their ideas into my head. They've tried to shame me or holler me into agreement. I don't handle that kind of treatment well... I'm basically a gentle person by nature and oft times recoil and withdraw when I feel under attack. It has not always been so. There was a time in my younger days when I used words as weapons and they have been lethal on occasion. I'm not proud of that time period in my life. I grew up and am happy to report that kindness took over as my M.O.

So... I won't paint anyone else's bathroom cabinets a pale green, serve up bleeding meat on their platter, or bring my dog for a visit into their living room. I won't try and squish into anyone's size six high heels or stuff cotton balls into anyone's size eight 1/2 loafers to try and keep them on my feet... I would hope that in exchange they won't slit the sides of my size seven shoes to make them more comfortable for their size nine foot, and then be angry with me because they hurt. No one's shoe size is going to change. In the same respect, I won't name call, screech or shake my fist at anyone's religious, moral or political values. A deeply held set of beliefs is not going to change through those methods.

We just can't put the same shoe on every foot. Nor can we place the same beliefs into every mind.

The answer is... NO. No one in my blogging world has said anything to hurt my feelings or upset me... I've enjoyed reading every word that I've read, even those that I simply didn't agree with.

I do live in a reality world that makes me shake my head from time to time, though. There have been a few wide eyed, jaw dropping moments either directed at me or at someone standing near to me, and I guess I wanted to vent.

Thanks for listening.

Behind the "8" Ball

2009-01-27T17:16:00.001-08:00

Lin tagged me.... These things are so hard for me to do. But, here goes:

8 TV SHOWS/MOVIES I WATCH REGULARLY:

1 - Home movies. I never get tired of remembering my kids when they were lil tykes... and my hubby when he had Popeye muscles... or me when I was a size 5/6. Our old homes, the old cars, the dogs that have left us. Family campouts. sigh...

2 - uhhhh... Other than that, what do I watch regularly? hmmmm... Lou Dobbs, Bill O'Reilly from time to time.

3 - Nature shows. Planet Earth and Discovery channels.

4 - Gilmore Girls once in a while

5 - Law and Order (the original) on occasion.

6 - Dancing With the Stars and So You Think You Can Dance as close to religiously as I can.

7 - Pride and Prejudice (the original, and the two newer ones) I'm a borlerline fanatic.

8 - Chick Flicks... I'm all about feel good escapism

8 THINGS THAT HAPPENED YESTERDAY:

Yesterday was a day packed with wonder... Can I just tell you what we did? Does that count towards "what happened"? I hate to think that life "just happened" to me...

1 - Breakfast in The Park. (both the name of the restuarant and the activity) We had GREAT omelets, strawberry pancakes, and cinnamon rolls the size of Kansas served and enjoyed next to a duck filled pond in the dappled sunlight. ahhhhh... perfect way to start any day. (Michelle can attest to this, living on a pond as she does)

2 - A walk along the beach and on the pier. We watched the surfers, volleyball players and dogs frolicking in the surf. Of course, we had to walk down to "doggy beach" to see the pups at play. They're only allowed on their own private beach.

3 - Cordell sold his car. Yippie!!! He's leaving Monday for Australia for a week to ten days and then off to Korea for a year. He HAD to get the Lexus sold before he leaves.

4 - Went to eat at "Le Creperie" to celebrate. We sipped French Pistol soup. "Peestoll" soup is veggies with white beans and cheese in a rich broth. We shared crepes stuffed with vegetables or chicken with spinach and feta cheese. We completed the meal with some unbelievable dessert crepes. Yummy stuff! or stuffed with yummies as the case may be.

5 - We then walked along the canals in Naples. It's a great deal like the canals in Venice... complete with the occasional singing gondalier (although they were not on the water and serenading while we were there) And the homes have lawns or patios in front rather than having the front steps to the house under water.

6 - We came home to catch our breath and after resting for a while, we walked downtown for the street festival and farmers market. The entertainers were sterling! A couple of guitarists playing and plucking their quitar strings that knocked my socks off! A blues and jazz group dressed in suits and sounding like they came straight from the streets of Louisianna, and a young man who sang in a throaty (very sexy) voice while playing several instruments including a digaroo, an Australian instrument that looks a lot like a wood version of the long horn used in Switzerland. We bought some fresh California Oranges, ate strawberries (a little early in the season for berries, but they were still sweet) and made our own gyro sandwiches out of tri-steaks cooked slowly over flaming red oak and slathered with a variety of sauces and pestos on freshly baked pita bread. My sweetheart picked out a flower to buy me from a street vendor.

7 - Yesterday, I ate WAY too much... I walked perhaps a little too many miles... I laughed and conversed merrily and deeply... and slept peacefully. It was a near perfect day full of moments to cherish forever.

8 - Oh... and I came a little closer to closing the sale of a million dollar property.

8 FAVORITE PLACES TO EAT:

1 - Our picnic table. We eat EVERY meal outside when the weather permits. Breakfast, lunch and din din.

2 - At a friends house. The commradery makes every meal taste better.

3 - At my mother's table. If only.....

4 - In front of the fireplace. Hot slices of toast dipped in candy cane cocoa.

5 - A bowl of ice cold fruit and a tall glass of ice water in a hot tub.

6 - In any park.

7 - Along side any stream.

8 - Plopped on a blanket on any beach, or at any ball game.

That's about it... Favorite restuarants come and go... but these places have always been and will always be comfort spots which make all food comfort food.

8 THINGS I LOOK FORWARD TOO:

the first three are in no particular order... I'll take them however they come.

1 - Seeing my first born son married

2 - Seeing my second born son married

3 - Seeing my third son married

4 - A night without waking up to pee

5 - The following words spilling from my dentist's mouth, "That should do it Mrs. Stott. I don't think I'll be seeing you again unless we bump into one another at the market."

6 - Grandbabie hugs

7 - "Hi Mom, We're here"

8 - Holding hands with my hubby in bed... just talking about everything and nothing.

8 THINGS I WISH FOR:

This one is too hard. I have so much already. Let me think...

Starlight, starbright, may I have the wish I wish tonight...

1 - I wish for all of my children to be content.

2 - " " " " " to have someone to love.

3 - " " " " " to feel a measure of satisfaction in their work.

4 - " " " " " to remain close to one another.

5 - " " " " " to remember their dad and me with joy filled hearts

6 - That I will always have the presence of mind to be grateful

7 - That I will always have the respect of those I call "friend"

8 - That I will live the remainder of my days in a way to please my parents... mortal and eternal, and to keep the gleam in my husband's eye when he looks at me.

8 PEOPLE... Are you kidding me? Lin's covered just about everyone. I would ask anyone who thinks this would be fun for them to do... to please do so. I'd love to read everyone's responses.

Clear Windows...

2009-01-18T21:26:00.000-08:00

I went to church this morning and was so touched by a song that a lovely young lady sang. It expressed exactly how I feel about mothering and teaching... well, pretty much about the way I feel we should live our lives.

I want to leave my children with a legacy of strength and faith. I want to leave them with a sure knowledge that they are loved without moderation or condition. I want them to know that they are never alone, that there will always be someone for them to turn to for comfort and guidance. But...it's a fact of life that some day I will not be here to talk to, to give them hugs and hold them close. Someday they will need to know how to hear words of encouragement whispered by a voice that is not mine. I need to stand aside so that they can know the Savior is the one that can and will always be there for them.

a few of the lyrics to the song:

I want to be a windodow to His love,
so when you look at me you will see Him.
I want to be so pure and clear
that you won't even know I'm here...

I want to be a doorway to the truth,
so when you walk beyond you will find Him.
I want to stand so stright and tall
that you won't notice me at all.

A window to His love,
A doorway to the truth.
A bearer of the message
He'd have me bring to you.

And with each passing day,
I want to fade away.
I want to be a window to His love.

With every passing year,
I want to disappear.
I want to be a window to His love.

It's not that I don't want to be remembered... of course I do. I never want my memory to be lost to those I cherish, who are so percious to me. But, I want them to know that when I'm not available by phone...when they can't sit on the couch and let me tickle their arm, when we can't share a bag of Mrs Cavanaugh's caramels... that the Savior will be right by their side. That He loves them as I do, that He believes in them even more than I do, that he sees the best in them and will forgive them and always, always extend His hand to them. I want them to understand that often when I held them... He was using my arms to comfort them. When I said something that touched or encouraged them, He was speaking through me so that His words would be easier to hear. I want them to feel more than what I have to offer them.

And I want to teach the same way. It always disturbs me a little when I teach a Sunday School class and members come up and tell me what a wonderful lesson I gave. I'm very uncomfortable with gush and praise. I don't want to convert them to me, to have them love me. I want to get out of the way so that they are converted to the Lord... so that they love the Savior. I want to be a
"window so pure and clear,
that they won't even know I'm here"
that they will feel the Savior near.

Thinking...

2009-01-17T15:51:00.000-08:00

I'm thinking.

Sooner or later a cognitive thought is bound to form. When it does, I'll post again. On the other hand, maybe it isn't a good idea to make promises I can't keep. I absolutely can not offer a written guarantee that any thought that spills from my brain cells will have a recognizable amout of cognition.

Still thinking.

Although I will tell you something my sister-in-law said last night. It struck me somewhere between funny and to true to be funny. I had prepared tall glasses of rootbeer and a plate of chips and dip for our menfolk to enjoy while watching a game last night. As I was arranging everything on the platter, she came in and said, "Whatcha doin?" I replied, "Making some dip for the guys," "Oh how nice." she retorted, "You made something for the dips watching football." Perfect! I mean why is it that when these two men hadn't seen each other for months, they didn't want to sit and visit? They wanted to shout and rail at the players and referee's and armchair coach some replay of a BYU game. I don't know... are they called referee's in football? Officials. I think maybe they're called officials. I'm guessing.

Still thinking.

Auntie ME

2009-01-05T21:08:00.000-08:00

"LIFE IS A GREAT BIG CANVAS... THROW ALL THE PAINT ON IT YOU CAN." Danny Kaye

Or as Auntie Mame was heard to say, "LIFE IS A BANQUET AND MOST POOR SUCKERS ARE STARVING TO DEATH".

I think one of the coolest things about getting older is that your inhibitions seem to fade. I mean, do I really need to worry about what a total stranger will think if I sing along with the music in a theater? Or if I giggle uncontrollably while tasting bread samples at a street festival with my best friend? (I'm talking being in danger of needing to be slapped out of mild hysteria, here) Or sitting in puddles in the park with my grandson? Or wearing a very large hat and a clown nose to a high priced restuarant with my sisters?

I intend to splash a lot of paint this year. And I have absolutely NO intention of being hungry when life has set such a feast before me. My brother used to think I was Auntie Mame. I am Auntie Me and I'm having fun in 2009. Lot's and lots of it.

Gooseberry Evenings

2009-01-02T15:15:00.000-08:00

Wayne loves pie. As a matter of fact, when we were dating, one of the lil white promises I made was that I would bake him a pie twice a week. I haven't done that. Now let me explain... I did try to in the early stages of our marriage. I remember baking rhubard pies and cherry pies and gooseberry pies and lemon cream cheese pies.
My fillings were always quite good. My crust however, well... that's a sad, sad tale. One gooseberry pie evening, I served him a slice of steaming dessert with all of the love a young wife has in her heart...and a dollop of whipped cream. It looked delectable! He took a bite, chewed slowly, swallowed as if he had a lump of coal stuck in his throat and tenderly said, "That's okay. My mom couldn't make pies either". He meant well but it sort of took the magic out of my cullinary offering. My crust was a gelatinous muck. Saints be praised for Marie Callender and Sara Lee.

I've always been a donut, sticky bun girl myself. I haven't jumped on the "Krispy Cream" bandwagon, however. Hot, I think they're doughy, and at any temperature, I find them too sweet. I would probably rather eat a bag full of those than experience the thick shaving cream consistency of my pie crust though.

I have absolutely no reason for telling you any of this. Perhaps I thought it would serve as an introduction to the topic for today. Truth be told... it makes a terrible introduction... a poor use of a cyber page.

You may wonder what the topic on my mind is this morning. Well, okay... it is pie.
P.I.E. The use of the PIE principle in making decisions. I thought the first of the year would be a good time to bring this up. We're all going to have to face lots of choices in 2009, and I've found the PIE principle to be helpful when I have a choice before me.

P - pursuade
I - Invite
E - entice

On a religious note... anything that Pursuades, Invites or Entices us to grow closer to God is a wise decision that comes from a place of righteousness. Anything that doesn't, should probably be reconsidered.

On a social note... anything that Pursuades, Invites or Entices us to be kind, to take another's feelings into the equasion, to do somethihg for the good of others is a good choice that will result in deepening relationships. Anything that doesn't is most likely going to lead to some heartache or hard feelings.

On a business level... anything that Pursuades, Invites or Entices us to spend our hours doing something that developes our talents, encourages those we work with to develop theirs, showcases the good in colleagues and clients, or is for the betterment of society is worthy of our efforts and will lead to fulfillment. If, on the other hand, our time is spent in self agrandizement, making $$$ at the expense of others without giving them an equal, fair exchange of goods for goods or goods for service, we're headed down the wrong fork in the road.

On a personal, marital level... this one is easy. If a person pursuades, invites and entices you to be all that you can be, they're good material for a mate. If not, your life will be spent shedding and drying way too many tears.

Anyway... for what it's worth. It has helped make a few of my gooseberry evenings delicious from center to circumference, top to bottom, clear to the core.

I am so stoked about another new beginning. I love second chances. January always seems so full of promise and another chance to do those things that I left undone.
As I've done in a few of your comment pages, let me make a toast...

clink! To the telling of our tales, to the making of marvelous memories, to the realization of dreams, and to kindness. Always and forever, first and foremost, to kindness.

Love to you all.
Caryn

Did she know?

2009-01-01T12:42:00.000-08:00

I had just finished reading a small book that my daughter and I came across. I was wrapped in a sumptuous down comforter watching the snow light on the landscape before me. The moon was casting mellow shadows in various shades of silver, white and blue in the grove. It was lovely! Serenity fltered through the windows into my soul and my mind began to drift.....

I thought about the days of shopping and wrapping and decorating packages that were behind me and those that were waiting ahead. I thought of the cookies and sticky buns that needed to be baked, the Honey Baked Ham that needed to be bought. I gazed out at the soft glow of the lights outlining the barn, the potting shed, and the bridge at the Hollow... all of the delightfully generous and important expressions of love and celebration that accompany Christmas. I love it all! I love every minute that's packed with too much to do.

But, I was reminded that as happens so often, if we are not careful, the symbols can overwhelm the symbolized. Perhaps the pretty presents, the twinkling trees, the glittering decorations need to be separated from the more quiet, more personal moments when I let my thoughts become centered on Bethlehem and the myriad reasons to be grateful for the events, and the people of that night.

As a mother who eagerly prepares for visiting children, covering the beds with billowy comforters and pillows and spreading the table with an abundance of delicacies to be eaten and enjoyed, I found my thoughts drifting to the aching heart of a husband who didn't have even the means of furnishing a clean place for his beautiful bride to give birth. I know what lengths my husband would have gone to to assure that I had sterile sheets, an attentive nurse and a skilled physician at my moment of delivery. How heavy Joseph's great heart must have felt when without the helping hand of a friend, or a kinsman in sight, he made his way through the streets of a city not his own. He had no one to help him make the way easier for Mary. I wonder what thoughts he had as they were turned away from the door at the inn. What was he feeling as he tried to find the cleanest straw, and gather it into a resting place to lay his wife? What emotions were throbbing in his throat as he held the animals at bay? After she had walked, or ridin in great discomfort for approximately a hundred miles, was it wrong for him to wish some comfort for her? And Mary, as she held her newborn son, how much did she know of what lay ahead for him..how inextricably the birth and death of this small child were intertwined? Bethlehem cannot be separated from Gethsemane, or the hasty flight into Egypt from the slow journey to the summit of Calvary. It's of one piece...one story. Did she know? When she softly placed her lips on his hair and whispered her first words to him, did she know? Were her tears of overwhelming joy at his arrival tinged with sadness at what waited in his future for him? There were so many sacrifices made that night as Joseph and Mary's feet carried them into unwelcome and unwelcoming territory.

For this reason, I need to remember the very plain scene, even the poverty, of a night devoid of tinsel, gay wrappings, or goods of this world. When I reflect on the tender care given to a young girl by her frightened husband, burdened with the responsibility of bringing her child into the world safely, when I let my mind soak in the web of emotions felt by the mother of the babe in the manger, I am dumbstruck by the gifts that were laid at my feet that night. Only when I envision that unadorned birthplace and ponder on the mission of the Child born in a stable in Bethlehem will I truly understand why "Tis the Season to be Jolly" and know why the giving of gifts is so appropriate... our little gifts serve as loving, selfless reminders of his loving, selfless, majestic, redeeming gift.

My wish for the New Year is that my reflections on a starry night long ago will not be forgotten and tossed aside with the ribbons and tree and Christmas cards from distant friends. I hope to always stand in awe and carry a grateful heart for the strength and beauty of the people of the Nativity.

Happy Ever After to all who drop by... and those who don't.

Is it worth remembering?

2008-12-29T11:07:00.001-08:00

It's strange how every now and then a stray thought meanders into your mind and causes you to sit up straight and give it further consideration. I was busily engaged doing absolutely nothing a few minutes ago and it struck me.

Whatever I do today will be what I have to remember tomorrow.

What kind of a memory am I making? Is it going to be worth remembering? For me? For one of my children? For a friend?

I had just written on Lin's blog about wanting to spend more of each day doing what inspires, interests and pleases me. Maybe if I don't quit working altogether I will, at the very least, take longer recesses. I'll try to snatch some corner in every hour to do, visit, write, or make something memorable. Why not? I'm not in much of a hurry anymore. I can certainly allow myself the time to smell the lilacs along the highway.

This holiday season has been awash in some tender, some giggle snicker snort, and some inspiring moments, memories to be cradled in my mind and cherished forever.

I can't think of a reason why I shouldn't have some portion of every day furnish me with such treasured times. Seems like a worthy goal for 2009.

I think I'll give it a shot.

pics are one of my families favorite Christmas traditions. Mom's (that's me)wrapped packages. Someday I may share the reason I wrap presents like this even for the two year old. It's one of my favorite stories.

AS REQUESTED: This is a codicil

There was a woman from Georgia living as a missionary in Japan with her husband. One afternoon in the early fall, the missionary couple were visiting with one of the local farmers. She mentioneed how much she missed the Georgia peaches this time of year. The old farmer pointed to the top of a mountain in the distance and told her that very sweet peaches were known to grow there. She sighed at the thought and they discussed that it was a long way to go and there was no transporation available other than an old goat and cart. Much of the trip would have to be made on foot. It simply wasn't possible to make the trip to get them.

A few days later, the old farmer stood at the door of the missionaries home. He held a basket of beautiful, golden red peaches in his hands. The woman gasped and asked, "Where did you find these?" "On top of mountain", said the farmer.
"I can't believe it! I can't believe that you traveled such a great distance to bring me such a wonderful surprise." "Great distance, part of gift." was his softly, humbly spoken reply.

I LOVE that! I love the generosity of spirit it expresses. The time, effort and creativity that I put into wrapping a pretty package is "part of gift".

Since the Year 1969...

2008-12-08T22:21:00.000-08:00

The year was 1969. I was standing at the window of a rather expensive boutique admiring, and desperately wanting to buy, an extremely expensive handmade Father Christmas. "You know what, Shirley? I think I'm just going to break down and pay the price." "Why? Let's just go home and make one." "Make one? Are you kidding me? I couldn't make one of those!" "Why not? They did."

To this day, I remember that conversation. I absolutely knew that there was no way I could reproduce what I saw in the window that day. I'd never painted anything in my life. I had dabbled at trying to draw a pencil sketch of an ex-boyfriend, and one of my dad...but, that was the limit of my artistic endeavors. But Shirley somehow convinced me to at least go home and try. So, we stopped at a junk yard, found some weathered wood, went home and drew a pattern on it, cut it out, and she proceeded to show me what to do to bring that old board to life. The results are the second picture from the top.

Since that time, I've painted, carved and sculpted quite a few Father Christmas's, Santas, Belsnickles, etc.

Shirley is my aunt. She's my mother's only sister, and she's younger than my oldest sister. She is also one of the people I love most in life. I lived with Shirley, my Uncle Bill and their daughters in three seperate houses over a period of several years. Shirley and I had such a great time together. Laugh? Omigosh! Til I couldn't stand up. She taught me so much! She especially taught me to never be afraid to try and accomplish anything. Her expression was, "If you're going to miss the bus anyway, you might as well miss it running after it." She gave me confidence and helped me to discover a few hidden talents. I'm a better person than I would ever have been without the precious gift of her in my life.

I tell you this because I'm leaving for California in the morning to spend some time with her. She's not dying... at least not physically. But, a few years ago she lost a daughter to liver cancer... now she's losing another one. When Nancy died it was so hard. They fought valiently to save her before she finally closed her eyes and took her last quiet breath. But, this daughter... this one is harder still. This girl will go on living, but she'll be living in hell. And Shirley can only watch from the sidelines, wondering when it all began. Where was she when it started? Why didn't she notice? What could she, should she have done? She can only look across the room at her husband with his leaden eyes and stooped shoulders and wish for a way to reach in and grab the joy that used to be apart of him. I need to be with her.

I won't be writing for a while, and I may not be commenting for a while, I didn't want anyone to think that baking and decorating had become more important to me than stopping by your sites for a visit. I'll miss you. And I'll try to check in from time to time. But, if you don't hear from me, please know I wish you all the Merriest Christmas and the Happiest Ever After.

Caryn

Lists and Legacies

2008-11-25T07:03:00.000-08:00

Well... it's that time of year. They're everywhere. They're on the minds or in the notebooks of every elementary school child in America. You see them in every paper, magazine, and scrolling down the screen in newscasts. Those hokey lists stating "What I'm Thankful For."

So what's one more.

I told myself forever that I wanted a rich, full life. I beleived that I'd be satisfied when I finally had all of the things that I dreamed of as a little girl. A big house with beautiful dishes and fancy furniture. I dreamt that I'd have closets full of dresses with sequins and beads, and a fur coat. But, with time I realized that having those things didn't satisfy me at all. I began moving toward a peaceful, inwardly simple life isn't about depriving and denying myself of the things I want. It's about getting rid of the things that no longer contribute to the fullnes of my life, leaving time and space for those things that will still matter when I'm gone.

I've come to realize that living the "good life" is a matter of making peace with who we are, because until we do...we'll never be content with what we have.

Living a full live doesn't mean having it all, going everywhere, doing everything, being all things to all people. Many of us have begun to realize that too much is ... well, just that...too much. Maybe we've been collecting so many things because we've been living in a past life. Or we've been living in a maybe someday, what if I might life.

Acheiving serenity may ultimately mean doing fewer things and having less stuff, but when the time is right for each of us, the decision to do less and to own less, will come, not from self denial, but from the wisdom that comes by taking time fo figure out what is really important to us, and in letting go of all the rest.

I finally came to the point a few years back when I decided not to buy one more thing unless it was something I absolutely could not live without. There's not too much of that out there.

Now, if I buy something, I'll treat myself to a big bouquet of flowers. I'll spend the afternoon with a friend, see a matinee and buy the biggest bucket of popcorn they sell. I'll buy some little thing to surprise a neighbor. I'll spend my time and money on building memories, not building a higher stack of clutter to set on a shelf, or purchasing something else that I'll have to squeeze into an already overflowing closet.

Since making that decision, I have had fewer things, but more abundance in my life.

I wrote a list of what abundance was to me a few years back. I share it with you now because this really is what I'm thankful for.

Wildflowers in a mason jar
Birds sitting on telephones wires
Licking the beaters
My Mother's hands
Bare feet on a summer day
A cup of tea and a moment of quiet
Hummingbirds fighting over the bird feeder
The sharp smell of fallen pine needles
A tank full of gas and time for a drive
Raspberry starts in spring
family vacations
Wearing fun hats
Wind chimes in a garden
Warm socks on a cold day
The words, "Mom, I'm home"
Sandpipers chasing waves on a sandy shore
Playing dress up
Jumping in a pile of fall leaves
A cool hand on a hot forehead
Telling stories at dusk
My children's faces by campfire light
Someone to cry with
My husband walking with our children
Having a choice
A ripe nectarine
The funny names of small towns
Sand between my toes
Nuzzling a baby's downy hair
Waking to someone you love beside you
A freshly sharpened pencil
Horses running in a field
Little boys playing in puddles
Hydrangeas
White English fences
The family dog's welcome
Memories

All of these make my LIFE full, not the corners of my family room. I am grateful to have learned what I truly want to leave behind for my children. A legacy of pleasure in the small joys each day brings. Memories of a mother who built sand castles with them, took leisurely water hikes, shared sweet oranges and laughter with them, who loves them, loves their father, and who loves God.

Just desserts

2008-11-24T11:15:00.000-08:00

I got up a little early this morning to make some rice pudding to take to a colleague who had quite a mishap on her horse yesterday... I was just a tad bleary eyed, so I turned the "Juke Box Oldies" station on the sound system to help put some spark in my step.

I'm measuring the cinnamon when a twangy little ditty by the name of "Just Walk on By" starts to play. Some pygmie of a man is singing to his sweetheart how much he loves her, but he belongs to another...sob. He blathers on about how hard it is for him to think of giving her up, he just can't...but, they must remain strangers on the street... wah, sob. So he tells her that if she sees him with his wife just to "Walk on By", and "Wait on the Corner". Are you kidding me?! Not gonna happen with this gal! I'm beating the eggs furiously by this time thinking, "Am I supposed to feel sorry for this two timing twit?" (I know, I get worked up easily when you try to get me moving sooner than my bodie's natural cycle wants to)...

Then... I love this... the very next song to play was, "Hit the Road, Jack". Woohoo!Is that sweet justice, or what? It just got me whistling and dancing, singing at top volume and slapping my pant leg with a wooden spoon everytime the song said, "Hit the Ro-o-oad Jack, and don't you come back no more, no more, no more, no more... Hit the Ro-o-oad Jack, and don't you come back no more.... I was feeling good as I placed my rice, egg and raisin dessert in the oven. Silly? Yeah, probably. I mean it wasn't a major strike for womanhood or anything. But, whatever works to bring a giggle to your heart, eh?

Anyway... Hopefully, this will NOT be the highlight of my day. I raise my orange juice glass to better things to come, and the ability to continue to enjoy the small things.

The Sandman's Fairie Dust

2008-11-21T22:19:00.000-08:00

Remember when you could sleep anytime you wanted? Anywhere you were? Our lives were uncluttered, and therefore our minds were uncluttered. The sandman would sprinkle a little of his magic fairie dust in our eyes, we'd yawn twice, and ZZZZZZZ... It was as simple as that.

For years, decades actually, I didn't sleep more than four hours a night. I'd crumble into bed exhausted, snuggle into the folds of my down comforter and let my head melt into the pillow. aaahhhh... sleep, blessed sleep. A deep sigh. And then it would start. My junkyard of a mind, that seemed shackled to the day's stresses, would begin frantically sprinting from one disjointed thought to another and I would lie there for what seemed to be centuries listening to my bones decay and my brain matter turn into slumgullion. A lack of sleep doesn't do anything particularly nice for a woman's face, or her body for that matter. And we don't even want to start to discuss what flopping like a dying fish from ten p.m. til 3:00 a.m. does for her creativity. It was usually about three that I'd slip into slumber... just long enough to feel like sludge when I'd wake up at 4:15 feeling a definite, bordering on urgent, need to pee. I'd regularly stub my toe on the book that fell off the bed, or trip over the shoes kicked carelessly from my feet, and grope for the ladies room. Mission accomplished... I'd feel my way back to bed. About now, I'd be dizzy with wanting to sleep... I'd surround myself with the warmth and solace of bed, reach out to feel Wayne's broad shoulders beside me, and shut my eyes feeling comforted and secure. And then, the hotflashes would start. Covers off, covers on... flop to my right side, flop to the left, ...covers off, covers on. And so it would go until about 7:00 a.m. when at last, I'd sink into the dark goodnight. Until 7:45 when the alarm clock would scratch it's noisy wake up call. Fortunately, I've been an extremely high energy person my entire life, and I've always loved morning... so I didn't grump at the kids while eating breakfast too often. But, I'm pretty sure I have a dozen or so more wrinkles than I should have.

But then one day, while out for a drive to no where in particular, we stumbled across the Hollow. The owner was just nailing a For Sale sign to the gate as we drove down the lane. We stopped, walked the grounds, and wrote out an offer to purchase on the spot. In less than a month we had moved onto the property. It was like an intravenous drip of Ambien.

I don't carry a lot of stress these days. My hubby is very easy to live with. My profession is generally rewarding and fun, and something I could walk away from any time I chose. My children are doing well... okay, maybe not all of them, but three out of four ain't bad. And the fourth one is improving and doing better with each sunrise. Each of them is a joy to me. I love living at the Hollow. It isn't perfect, but it is everything we need, and that is enough. I've been surprised since moving into such a tiny home just how much we can live without. I am at peace. There are still some nights when I don't sleep. But it's usually because I want to write, or make beaded bookmarks, or sculpt a Santa face, or take a ridiculously long shower and meditate. I am like a child again. I sleep when I need to, wherever I am. Life is uncluttered. The sandman may not work his magic with his fairie dust any longer, but I take a hot shower or sip a glass of hot milk and ZZZZZZZZ. It's as simple as that.

Life is delicious!

Just thinkin...

2008-11-19T21:40:00.000-08:00

I read about a psychiatry class on emotional extremes where the professor was asking the students the opposite of several emotions. "What is the opposite of joy?" he asked one student. "Sadness" was the reply. "The opposite of depression?" he asked another student, the scholar in the class. "Ebulience" was the answer. Very good, commented the professor. The professor then asked a young woman from Texas, "What is the opposite of woe?" The Texan, crinkled her brow, thought, brightened, and replied, "Sir, I believe that would be giddy-up".

I was just thinking about that.... and it's true. The opposite of woe really is giddy-up. Git thee up. Get going. Get moving. Do something. And if you really want to dump those woes, do something for someone else. Perhaps the Texan was the true scholar.

I don't know the full circumstances in the lives of many of you... but I do know this. There are several of you who have grasped this concept in their teeth, said "giddy-up", moved past your trials and woes and are making a full, rounded life for yourselves and those in your circle of influence. You are my inspiration. My cowgirl hat is off to all of you!

Gladys Lena "Happy Bottom" Brown

2008-11-14T17:01:00.000-08:00

In answer to my good friend Lin's request. Here are a couple of photographs of my mother.

The top picture is one of my favorites. It's the way I remember her...doing some little kindess for someone.

She is eighty years old and sitting at my dining room table writing a note to a neighbor to tell her she had noticed her young son doing something she thought was impressive that morning. She was always and forever writing notes to someone. Truly, there never beat a more tender heart.

I should have included a picture of her handwriting. She could write smaller than I can type, both beautifully and legibly. Honestly, Reader's Digest would have condensed one of her postcards before printing it.

The second photo is her graduation picture. In her youth her hair was jet black and extremely thick. She was a small woman...only 5'2". She married at 22. She and my dad fell in love amost instantly and remained contentedly husband and wife throughout their lives.

I need to get the one small indignity she had to face out of the way. She was the oldest of five children...had three younger brothers. They were a motley crew who referred to her from the time they first learned to speak as "Happy Bottom". Her name was Gladys... get it? glad -ys... got it yet? Glad-ass. Brothers! Seems like their whole purpose is to taunt. At least when they're not protecting. She had a ready laugh, although she never understood anybody's jokes. She knew every flower in creation by both common and botanical names. She was an average cook when it came to meatloaf and soups, but, she made incredible desserts! She never worked outside the home, but was the local "kool-aid mom" to all of our friends. When I was in the ninth grade I wrote a paper titled, "She's everybody's Mom" about her. She loved to play tennis and baseball, had a mean back hand and could hit a wicked line drive. She could type 95 words a minute on an old manual typewriter. I can remember listening to her in her office...clackity, clackity, clack, clack, ching!!!" Her fingers just tap danced on those keys. She didn't much like fancy things. She always wore housedresses or muumuu's. Daddy offered to buy her a fur coat one Christmas and she just thought the idea was silly. Well... we DID live in sunny Southern California so it probably was. But sunshine and warm temperatures didn't stop the Hollywood stars from wearing them, so daddy wanted her to have one, too. More on her lack of interest in owning anything too fancy or "hoity toity" as she called it... we ate off of S&H Green Stamp dishes and drank from metal Arden Cottage Cheese glasses. Does anyone remember those? We lived in the biggest house in the neighborhood, had the first television and the first garage door opener, and Daddy always bought her a big car. But, that was him... not her.

She never went to bed until my sisters and I were tucked in for the night after an evening out. She asked all of us the same question almost every time we came in the door. "Did he kiss you good night?" And her reaction to our answers remained the same for a decade. "No" resulted in a pat on our hand. "Yes" resulted in "Gasp!" followed by a look of disappoinment or horror depending on how well we knew the young man. She was rarely ever angry and always busy making something to give away. She sang constantly, always off tune, and generally with a rather loud voice. She had literally hundreds of people who loved her. And she was (and is) adored and revered by her children.

Greasing the Palm

2008-11-12T14:49:00.000-08:00

Okay, let me preface everything else I am about to say with this: I tip really well!!
About the silliest thing a restaurant can do is automatically add the gratuity to my bill. The server always puts more in his/her pocket to take home at the end of the shift when it's left to me to decide how much I'm going to leave.

That being said, can I just tell you how tired I am of finding a tip jar in more and more places.
Subway Sandwich, Taco Bell, the hairdresser, the shampoo girl, the grocery store deli, the ladie's room at the mall. Recently, I have seen requests for tips at the local pharmacist's office, the dry cleaner's, the ice cream shop, the florist shop, and See's Candies. I am asked to leave a tip for the maid who makes up the bed and cleans the shower after I leave a resort or motel. And, I was taken a bit by surprise when I saw a tip jar at a Lube Shack when I took my car in for an oil change and tire check. Honestly... don't any employers have the responsibility to pay a reasonable salary to their employees anymore? Is the customer supposed to subsidize everyone's payroll?

I suppose I'm sounding like a bit of a tight wad about now. I don't think I am. I'm extremely generous by nature and am predisposed to giving presents and cash to all sorts of friends and strangers. I love nothing more than surprising someone with a thank you gift, or tucking $5.00, $10.00, $20.00 in someone's pocket along with a short note. I always leave my pennies in the cup at the gas station for the guy who doesn't have enough change for his morning cup of coffee. I leave quarters in the horses in front of the local grocery store to treat someone's child to a ride. I place money in parking meters that have expired. I buy treats for kids who have been shopping with their mom's and are obviously getting tired and bored. I always try to buy cookies, brownies, etc from girls earning money for camp or cheerleading outfits, and little kids selling lemonade on the corner or at their mom's garage sales. I enjoy doing all of that.

And I like to tip for exceptional service. But I also like being able to decide when it's been earned. I really like the idea that it truly is a "Thanks for taking such good care of me" gesture.
I really, really like when it's unexpected. But, I am growing weary of the constant hand out hand up, mentality that's taken over in so many stores and service industries. I'm running out of grease for all those palms.

Maybe a better solution would be for employers to increase wages. I know that would also increase prices...but, it would increase the price of having the tires rotated for everyone... not just those of us who feel obligated to put a few bucks in the tip jar.

Please feel free to call me out on this if you think I'm being unfair.

Broken Clothespins

2008-11-05T12:03:00.000-08:00

Lin challenged us to write a blog about thanking someone a couple of posts ago. It takes me a while to get my heels to click. I've been cooking at a very low temperature for a while now.

I thought about it, though... and I decided to share some of my favorite mommie stories. My mother was a woman who's gratitude for life was so complete that it exuded from her every pour. Truly, flowers grew wherever she shed her skin.

Two examples:

As an adolescent teetering on the brink of being a teenager and delerious with the heady nectar of youth, I was totally unaware of my surroundings. Usually caught up in stories that lived in my head, I paid little attention to what was going on around me. But, I used to enjoy sitting in the avacado tree watching my mother constantly carry on conversations with the clouds while she was working on something outside.

One especially cheery summer day she was hanging clothes on the line above a patch of flagstgone and dicondra grass. She was whispering to the sheets, and singing to the rosebushes, and generally twittering with gaity to whomever and whatever she believed she was keeping company with. I walked toward her trying to hear her words with greater clarity. I startled her when she turned and saw me and she literally jumped a foot from the ground. Now, my mother was 5'2" and weighed about 290 lbs. For her to manage to get her feet 12 inches from the dicondra without major assistance was something to behold. I took her arm to steady her as she landed again, and asked what she was so excited about. I'll never forget her answer. "Why, sweetie. There is so much to be grateful for this morning. Do you know I hung this entire basket of clothes and didn't find one broken clothespin in the bag?!"

I wish you were here to see me this very minute. I'm smiling so wide, my face may crack...yet there are tears forming at the corners of my eyes. This is such a vibrant memory for me. I can plainly see the apron she wore. Cotton, with tiny scarlet flowers on a field of soft yellow. Pockets of bright red tulips. It criss crossed over her back, and tied at her waist and was piped in spring green. She was wearing it over a muumuu. The day was hot... you could feel the sun hitting your skin. The moment is recorded indelibly in the crevices of my mind. It was one of the greatest teaching experiences of my life.

"Broken clothespins? You're standing out here in the heat talking to yourself about no broken clothespins?"

She took my hand and led me to a lawnchair. "No, sweetie. I'm talking to God and thanking him for this one perfect morning. Clean sheets, smelling sweet as I flick them in the air...soft grass beneath my feet... warm sunshine making my camelia's blush more beautifully every day... a daughter to sit and talk with in the shade of this avacado tree. No broken clothespins is just one more thing to feel joyful about. If you aren't able to feel joy over the littlest of things that happen each and every day... you aren't going to feel joy over anything. At least not for long. Being grateful needs to be practiced, honey. Look around you this morning and practice gratitude, Caryn. Practice being thankful and feeling joy."

I grew up a little that morning. I began to take notice of the small delicacies that God places on our plate every new day.

I hate to take up too much of your time, so feel free to go on to something else if you'd like... or perhaps come back later when you have a free minute and a cup of tea in your hand.

One other story about my mother being thankful and how telling someone "Thanks" can bless their day, and (possibly) come back to you ten fold.

One Christmas, she went to the United Parcel office to mail some gifts to kith and kin that couldn't be hand delivered. The lines were long. The people waiting in the long lines were becoming irritable. The workers were scurrying, doing what they could to keep everyone happy. She could feel the strain of the situation for them. They were being sniped at by several patrons who felt they'd waited too long, or the prices were too high, or the twine used by the woman weighing their packages wasn't strong enough. One worker was close to tears as my mother approached her and handed her packages over to be stamped and placed on the conveyor belt..

"Wow! You certainly know how to handle people under stress. Look at you! I think I'd have been tempted to throw one of these heavy parcels at a couple of the grumps that have walked through here and you've just remained so pleasant. Good work." The woman just stared at her, then a smile started to form as she completed the task at hand. My mom went home, packed some of her famous peanut cookies, spiced nuts, and English toffee in a LARGE box and drove it over to the United Parcel station. She actually waited in line again to hand them over to the fella in charge of the work crew. "I just want you to pass these out and enjoy them. You're doing a marveloous service and I thank you for doing it with such patience, grace and professionalism." The man was dumbfounded. He called to everyone, told them this woman had brought them cookies and good wishes. The whole crew laughed and applauded, the people in line behind her were smiling and the tension in the air just dissolved. It was a great time. BUT... the best part is yet to come. A day or two later, a florist truck drove up to my mom's house and the delivery man carried a beautiful arrangment of white poinsetta's, roses and spider mums to her door. They were from the United Parcel office. They just wanted her to know how much they appreciated her kindness. My mom loved the flowers, but just shrugged at the praise. "Viruses aren' t the only things that are infectious" was her comment.

And, that's my story. Thanks for listening.

Pumpkins and Sunlight

2008-11-04T03:05:00.000-08:00

I love living at the Hollow. It's beautiful in every season. I love the light shining through the trees when a soft spring rain begins to mist the land, the clematis that effortlessly graces our entry when summer sun heats the soil, the vibrant, cheerful harvest of fall that colors the landscape in October, and the cool white snow that washes the grove with simplicity in winter.

Each season has it's own purpose, tells it's own message, has it's own value. Each in it's own time treats us to it's own delights.

It occurs to me that we are like my land in many ways. We each have our own purpose, tell our own message. Each season of our life has it's own beauty, value, and delights.

The more I accept that time is a limited resource, the more I treasure it. The more I want to fill every minute with value. I've mentioned before that I see a great difference in being busy, and in being productive. I've also mentioned that on occasion I find puttering to be extremely productive, and of immeasurable worth.

My husband and I stopped by for a short visit with several of our neighbors to deliver a goodie to them Halloween night. It was interesting to note how many of them were spending their time. It was a tender awakening for me. A few young couples in their 20's and 30's were dressing their children in inventive costumes for an evening of trick or treating. One couple in their late 40's was playing a board game with their son on the family room floor. Another 60ish couple was straining home made apple juice. They shared a glass with us and it was yummilicious! A couple in their 70's were cutting intricate wooden clocks and painting them for Christmas gifts. (and they were gorgeous, I might add) Another, that are in their 80's were sitting side by side at the kitchen counter making rootbeer lollipops together. Why? Because they thought it would be fun. Now, I don't know that I was as impressed with their productivity in creating tangible things that could be held and touched as much as I was impressed by their productivity in developing strong relationships and precious memories. They were all at different "seasons" of life. And they were all doing something of value. They were each spending their time, and giving their attention to one another, nurturing and replenishing each other in the same manner that rain nurtures and replenishes parched soil. And they were all a beautiful sight to see fullfilling the purpose and living the message of thier season.

What a delightful evening they treated us to, and what a memorable All Hallows Eve it was.

Toe Socks and Coffee Cups

2008-11-02T14:39:00.000-08:00

Another tag?? Argghhh...

Okay, seven wierd things about me. It occurs to me that some of the wierdest things all of us do have been done by us for so long that we most likely don't see them as being wierd. ie:

1: My favorite sandwich is peanut butter, mayo, dill pickle, and lettuce. I also prefer my apple pie hot, with a thin layer of cheddar cheese and a small dollop of chunky peanut butter on top. You've no doubt heard the expression, "Apple pie without the cheese, is like a hug without the squeeze." Right?

2: I love toe socks. If I had my way I'd wear them every day all winter long. Even to church. Okay... truth be told, I have worn them to church. What the heck and who cares, anyway? They're usually tucked inside a pair of boots or under a long skirt.

3: I prefer to sleep sideways on the bed. My own bed, the bed in my daughter's guest room, beds in resorts, hotels, and anywhere else I lay my curly locks on the pillow at night. However, I do curb and control myself in the interest of keeping 30 some odd years of marital bliss going. I can't sleep without holding something in my right hand, though. A corner of the pillow, a schrunced up section of sheet, a bottle of water...

4: I have a tendency to ask somewhat personal questions of complete strangers. It always amazes me how many people are anxious to talk with a willing listener. It also amazes me how quickly you can begin to genuinely care about someone, and how often you find a way to keep in touch, when they've shared something about themselves that they've stored in the recesses of their heart. I've begun many a friendship this way....and I am NOT a Monteil Williams, Jerry Springer kind of talk show fan.

5: I hate wearing a bra. I take it off in all sorts of strange places. I left it in a thinly attended theater one evening when my youngest boy, Cordell, and I were on a mommy/son date. I've embarrassed the daylights out of Wayne when he noticed it dangling from beneath my sweater, and nearly reaching my shoes, while dining with a group of kith and kin.

6. It bugs the beejeebies out of me when Wayne pours himself a frosty rootbeer or an iced lemonade in a coffee/hot chocolate cup. Cups and mugs are for HOT drinks. GLASSES are for cold drinks. Why would any thinking person care about something so ridiculous? And yet, I do.

7: I've watched Dirty Dancing, oh I don't know...maybe 40 times. I know it's a poorly acted movie with a horrible moral message to it. But, I can't help myself. I can tell you where all the spots are that should have been left on the floor in the editing room. Heck... I'm not even a Patrick Swayze fan, the dancing is only good in spots, and the dialogue is amateurish. So... what hold does it have on me? I can't tell ya! I will say I haven't seen it in several years and I don't plan to purchase it on DVD, so perhaps the spell has been broken.

Tha-tha-that's all folks! Oh...before I forget, I tag Jo, Kay, Mare, Linda, Cali, Maria, Cordell.
Please say I'm not kissing seven more friends goodbye.

I Know the Drill

2008-10-29T21:13:00.000-07:00

I feel a toothache coming on. For those of you who have been with me for a while, you may remember that I have very few natural teeth left in my mouth to cause me pain. (a total of five) Yet, somehow here I am with sharp sensitivity to pressure. RATS!

So, after a hiatus of a decade or so, I am going to take a deep breath and make a call to my dentist. I know the drill. I'll call the office. The line will be busy. I'll listen to some innocuous music for several minutes. It will be interrupted only to remind me that my, "call is important" to them. Eventually a sweet voice will ask what they can do to help me and I'll reluctantly admit I need an appointment to alleviate some minor pain in a lower right anterior. They will "fit me in" in about three and a half weeks by which time my minor pain will feel as if an angry crew of tiny men are trying to jackhammer my existing crowns from my mouth.

When I finally find myself sitting in the chair in Dr. Mackley's office, I will be entertained with his HDTV playing an infomercial about Cerec crowns, porcelain veneers, dental implants, and whitening proceedures that no one's dental insurance covers. These will include dozens of Before and After shots from which it can only be concluded that women become much better at applying makeup after they get veneers.

Dr. Mackley is never all that happy to see me. I'm not a good patient and I never want extra dental work now that I actually have to pay full price for it. Perhaps this would be a good time to mention that I used to work for Dr. Mackley and my dental work was done at no cost. (including six implants. (yes I said 6) Pretty pricey stuff! Anyway, he will inquire about Chandi, who also used to work for his office, about my other children, about my church callings, about our new home, and politely ask me if I need some work done, or if I just dropped by to pick up a new toothbrush. He will then proceed to flick a switch which will bring the interior of my mouth onto his high definition screen.

It's somewhat disconcerting to see my inflamed tooth 18 inches in heighth and in full, raging color. He will then pan artfully from tooth to tooth explaining in great technical detail all of the attention he would like to pay to the crumbling remains of the few teeth I have left. I will try to let him know as clearly as possible why it would not be economically feasible for me to invest our entire life savings on this project. I say that because it is always difficult to speak with any degree of clarity with his hand, his assistant's hand, a dual-suction upright rug-cleaning system, and a 22 piece cordless drill set competing for space in my mouth. "Aast aah aaa caaa aga ah ul at ah caa a ent uh ull" Amazingly enough, he will understand what I say, he will be displeased, and will tell his assistant to type in my chart that I have elected to have no further work done until my teeth rot completely.

He will then spend all of 12 minutes injecting, drilling, filling, grinding and polishing until the pain is relieved, the infection controlled, and the tooth sparkling. His assistant will record the events of the day on my computerized chart and walk me to the front desk where they will present me with a piece of paper detailing the Dr's recommendations for future work. A possible root canal, two crowns, some whitening, replacement of two existing fillings and a thorough cleaning. (On five teeth, mind you) I will be then be asked to make full payment for today's visit. I'm guessing $680.00 or so.

Yup! I know the drill.

Witches Britches

2008-10-26T21:48:00.000-07:00

Well, the BIG night finally arrived. Witch's Night Out at Gardner Village. I could NOT BELIEVE how many women were running around in tall hats, flowing capes and pointy toed shoes! There looked like there were thousands of us. I know there had to be more than one thousand. It was such FUN!!! The decorations were world class. I especially loved the BIG orange britches on a witch playing baseball. Hilarious!! We decided to make it a tradition and are hoping to be able to take some of our other family members and friends with us next year.

There was great live music with a very talented D.J.. Women (yeah, us too) were dancing, waving their arms in the air, and singing unselfconsciously, though often off tune, to a little Bruce Springsteen. There were fortune tellers, and and old time photo booth. We had "fairy kisses" pressed on our cheeks, 20 - 40% off coupons tucked in our hands, and spider rings placed on our fingers as we traveled in and out of the crowded shops. We even had a chance encounter with the one and only Jack Sparrow... well, at least she really looked like the one and only Jack Sparrow. Of course there were carmel apples (at four bucks a pop), hot soup in bread bowls, cackling laughter, and fabulous witches EVERYWHERE!

Gardner Village has great shops and it's always a treat to both play and purchase there. But last night was really a very good time! I recommend it highly to anyone who could find a way to put in on their October calendar next year.

Families & Phone Calls

2008-10-23T20:44:00.000-07:00

I read the posts of many of you today. It was sweet to read about the family traditions celebrated, and the cherished memories of loved ones who've gone before. It was a joy to hear about the accomplishments of a child and the pride and peace they brought to his mother's days.

Family is at both center and circumference of my existance. I loved reading it was the same for so many of you as well. All felt right in my world.

Then the phone call came. A daughter of a client of mine called from Massachussets to ask me to be considerate of her parents. She asked if I would not allow too many people to invade their privacy, walking their land when they aren't serious buyers with both the intent and the means to purchase. So far so good. "Of course, I'd be happy to protect them in that manner. I appreciate the call and the concern you have for your parents that prompted you to make it."

She requested that I let potential buyers know that the terms of the sale are non-negotiable, that her parents are not to be made to sit on a giant yo-yo as they were dropped and tossed in all directions with empty promises of a purchase. She didn't want them on emotional highs and lows as I brought unsuitable offers to them. I wasn't too sure what she was aluding too... but, okay. "I'll only bring SOLID written offers to their home for signature. But, I am bound legally to present any and all offers verbally to see if they have any interest in further negotiations." She got a might testy over that comment. She did NOT want them disturbed with phone calls and visits that were not full price offers. uuhhhh... allright. "I'll discuss the details of your parents expectations with them further. Perhaps let them know I'm more than willing to address any concerns you or your siblilngs have." No! She didn't want them to know she'd called me. uuhhhh...mmmm...okay. I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

Then she threw the frying pan. She informed me that she and other family members don't want to intrude... they're trying to stay out of the transaction on the property as much as they can... but, she "warned" me that if I were to convince them to sell their home and land for less than the price set, if I were to take advantage of them that way, the children may be forced to take legal action and have them declared incompetent to make such decisions. WHAT??!!

I guess you should know that the property in question is 92 acres of the most beautiful ground in the county. The asking price is one and a half million buck's. The parents are elderly, not in real good health, and absolutely brilliant! He's a retired engineer who made mega bucks working in Saudi Arabia for the oil companies for 18 years. He owns and manages several properties in two counties. He's also a crusty old geezer who has certainly never had any trouble standing up to any neighbors when called for. They are extremely magnanimous people, generous of heart, and kind to a fault. But INCOMPETENT?? I should also probably let you know that these have become friends, teachers, and confidants of mine. I have as much respect for these two incredible people as I've ever held for anyone. I truly love them.

I'm not only at a loss to know how to handle the situation, I'm at a loss to understand it. It doesn't conjure up pictures of baking cookies, and watching your children with pride and pleasure, or looking up from the work at hand to lose yourself for a few minutes in the memory of times shared with loved ones.

I wish I'd let the answering machine pick up the blasted call!

I Can Fix That..

2008-10-17T21:15:00.000-07:00

This would probably not be my first choice for a topic of conversation. I mean, what can you say about some poor old geezer with his head under a hopeless cause thinking that he's going to find some way to put this rusty remnant of days gone by back together. Give a man a little duct tape and he thinks he can save the world.

I hate to tell the truth. But, you know the adage regarding old habits and all that... So here goes:

My cute hubby is a world class dork who thought stuffing an old shirt and some overalls that he found in the barn with whatever he thought the squirrels would enjoy building nests out of, might be a fun way to spend an afternoon. So we looked around for some rags, newspapers, shredded sheets, plastic hands, cowboy boots that no one would claim, and a rusty wrench and built ourselves a mechanic that we knew would not overcharge us. And there he lies...yes, he does have a head (A smiling George Bush) wearing an ugly, green John Deere hat.

By the way Wayne was right, as he often is, it WAS a fun way to spend the afternoon.

And that is the story of the fourth picture in the fourth folder in my photo file.

p.s. Thanks to all of you who left your suggestions and insights on my last post. I shared your sage ideas with Chandi and Dustin and we figure if we follow them and hang tough long enough, his lackidaisical attitude is TOAST! (Am I even close to spelling that right?) Thanks again!

S.O.S. and HELLLLP!!

2008-10-15T15:50:00.000-07:00

I have a favor to ask of some of you teachers and retired teachers..

We have an 11 year old challenge in our family. He's such a dang smart kid. Davin is advanced years beyond his grade level in all of his subjects. BUT... he's not a good worker and he's completely unmotivated! Therefore his grades are mostly C and below. He's got some anger issues that I think stem from his mom abandoning him at a young age. He's my son Dustin's boy, and Dustin has had full custody since Davin was three and a half years old. Before that time he was sort of tossed from stem to stern...family to family. He's not at all rebellious...well...he does get angry at his Aunt Chandi from time to time, and he can be somewhat devious in his negative responses to her authority. She takes on the responsibility for his care and feeding quite often while her brother works. It will take him three hours to complete a 20 minute assignment, whether it's homework, yard work, or cleaning his room. He'sa maka her craceee! Well, truth of it is, he drives all of us a little bit nuts. Did I ever tell you what my husband said when I told him he was driving me nuts? He said, and this is a direct quote, "That's not a drive Caryn. It's a short putt." I'm getting off track, aren't I? Do you think Davin's lack of concentration and follow through could be genetic? Egads!

Anyway, she wrote about having a little pep talk with him and how it turned out. Or didn't turn out as the case may be. She was trying to find the function lever that would turn his brain onto a more optomistic approach to his life. Here's a Reader's Digest condensed version of her experience. She was giving him the old "You can do it if you just stop telling yourself you can't" talk. You may be familiar with "The Secret" and the idea that you will get back whatever you throw out to the universe. She told him that "Positive energy attracts positive energy" to which he replied, "Well, that just doesn't make any sense at all. A positive magnet doesn't attract another positive magnet. It attracts a negative. I can't even push two positives together."

uhh, well...mmmm... "that's not the way it works when it comes to mind power and the universe." Yeah, she was taken off her game a little. Dang sixth grader.

So... whaddaya think? We're not expecting a therapy session here... just a little response from teachers who may have had to deal with children like this in the past... or present. I was about as useful as a bent nail. We need expert HELLLLP!

I had originally asked you to check in on Chandi's blog site... but then I was reminded that her blog is an invitation only type of thing... so you can comment here and I'll have her read them on my site. Thank you, thank you...

Changing the Sheets

2008-10-14T10:02:00.000-07:00

I stood in the driveway and waved as his rental car drove across the bridge. My hand involuntarily took the corner of my apron and rose to wipe one small tear as it traced the contour of my cheek.

I breathed in deeply, exhaled slowly... breathe in "He's gone." ...breathe out "sigh... better go up and change the sheets."

He'd made the bed, as he always does. I removed the crocheted pillows and the old quilt, gathered the sheets in my arms taking in the smell of his cologne, and carried them downstairs for washing.

What am I doing? Why, when I miss the children so when they leave us, do I hurry to remove all traces of their being here? Why not leave those sheets on the bed a while longer so I can continue to inhale and take in the whisper of fragrance he left behind?

Does my home really need to be so tidy? Do I need to rush back into the uncorrupted, unspoiled orderliness that we've become accustomed too? Why not leave the note that he wrote to me on the bathroom mirror? Why not leave the book he borrowed on the windowsill? Why not allow myself a few more days to bask in the memory of having him here? Why not?

So I walked right back upstairs, smiling broadly, and remade the bed with the sheets unwashed. Granted, when I replaced the bedding things were tucked in a little tighter, smoothed a little more... but, next time, they won't be. I'll leave things exactly as he left them for a while. I'll shake my head and wonder who ever taught him to make the bed with the sheets thrown up over the pillows so that the bedspread can't be properly slipped underneath them. I'll mark the passages that we discussed in the book and write in the margins some of the thoughts he had about them. I'll warm myself by reading and re-reading the note on the mirror dozens of times before tossing it in the wastebasket... or placing it in a drawer to be rediscovered, and enjoyed again while putting on socks some time this winter. To toss it would be making a waste of it. And memories of time spent with those you love most are a precious thing to waste.

Through a Wider Lens

2008-10-11T19:33:00.000-07:00

The most important thing we can give, or recieve, is not an expanded view of the Universe... but, an expanded view of ourselves.

I made a comment on a blog tonight about what fun it was to "expand our universe". It got me to thinking. It's completely true. Travel that stretches your capacity for appreciation of new foods, different cultures, and changing climates is precious. Reading and digging the depths of another person's attitudes and insights is almost immeasurable in it's value in increasing our compassion, our ability to be useful to others.

But, what use is any of it unless we believe that we can take the knowledge we've gained in our hands and forge a better life for ourselves and those who have entered our sphere of influence. We need to know that WE can make a difference. We need to know that we can uplift, encourage, comfort, inspire, entertain, or carry a wounded soul on our shoulders. We need to learn to recognize and credit our own place...our own purpose.

I've met a few people who have expanded my view of Caryn. They believed in me. They saw me as something better than I was and would settle for my being nothing less than the best that they saw in me. My children Dustin, Dallin, Chandelar and Cordell are such people. They have elevated their opinion of me, and have elevated my behavior in doing so. Lin, my sister-in-law Trina, my mother and dad, and my Aunt Shirley have made me look at myself through a wider lens. And my friends, Patti, Floris, Verl, Terry, Doug, Fred, and Kristi to name a few more. And, of course, my best friend, my champion, my hero Wayne. He's expected me to be smarter, more competent, more in tune with Heavenly Beings than I ever thought possible. And because I love him, because each name mentioned on this page is someone precious to me, I didn't want to let them down. It became necessary for me to find a mental magnifying glass... to see myself as a larger image... to expand my view of me. What a priceless gift they have given me. I may never be what they think I am... but, I will draw closer every day. Because they believed, they helped me to believe. And belief is really the spring board that enables us to swim in sweeter, clearer, deeper waters.

What's it all about, Alfie?

2008-10-07T23:10:00.000-07:00

Life isn't about waiting
for the storm to pass.
It's about learning to
Dance in the Rain!

Chandi and I have had some glorious rain
to dance in these past few days. It fell from
the skies in monsoon amounts last Saturday.
We had a great time casually strolling through
parking lots and laughing at our hair getting
frizzie as we did the shopping that needed to
be done, and made our way to the theater.

It came in torrents from the mouth and legs of her
three year old in the form of terrible two's tantrums.
We again continued on with the things that needed
to be accomplished as if there were no storm raging
nearby.

She amazes me in her ability to patiently love and
teach no matter what thunder claps and lightening
strikes. She dances and sings distracting her
distraught little one until the sunshine creeps back
into the landscape of his sweet face, and his rainy mood
disappears.

On another note....

We did a movie marathon Saturday. We saw three
movies.

Our advice is:
Skip "Night in Rodanthe" Although we both like
Diane Lane and Richard Geer, the film is slow and
disjointed, and it has a low believability factor.

Don't miss "Ghost Town" For sheer fun and English
wit it's tough to beat. We laughed until our sides hurt.
And it had some very sweet and tender moments.

SuziQ is 110% on the money in her recommendation to
see "Forever Strong" This is a film that should be shown
to every young person at least once every six months between
age 8 to 26. It is excellent! My son had a companion while serving
a mission for our church that was a Rugby player for the
Highland High School team. He says that the movie depicts
his former coach just about perfectly.

So, there you have it... Our movie reviews for Fall 2008.

As for the week-end review, well...
It may seem silly to see have seen three movies as we did,
but it was a rainy day, and it was fun, so we did it anyway.
We may have gotten soaked in the downpour this past
weekend, but we splashed in the deepest puddles and had
a great time together anyway...
Our three year old may have been a stinker from time
to time, but his mother scooped him up in her arms, twirled
him around and around, and we laughed with him anyway...

Cuz THAT'S what it's all about, Alfie.

Ahhhh, Sweet mystery

2008-10-04T08:55:00.000-07:00

What makes something (or someone) beautiful in the eyes of one beholder and so sort of not too special in the eyes of another?

That's a fair question. I really don't understand it. Personal preferences and perspective seem so odd to me. I mean, you'd think a guy would either be goodlooking, or he wouldn't. A woman would either be pretty, or she wouldn't.

Wayne and I had a good friend from Samoa who thought Southern Utah was the most gorgeous place on earth. Southern Utah? Is he kidding me? He grew up in Samoa...that's the Pacific Islands, for Pete's sake! White crested turqouise water, mountains weeping moisture from moss covered rocks into open mouthed pools below, a myriad of coconut laden and flowering trees, orchids, white ginger, ...fresh pineapple. Yet, he found scorched sand, dried sage brush, scorpions, and parched cedar brush beautiful.

What would cause something like that?

Have you ever been shopping with a good friend and shuddered at the new blouse she bought? My sisters are always an interesting experience for me to shop with ...and for. Wanda Lee likes to dress like a gypsy on steriods, (baubles, beads, free flowing fabrics in wild colors, rings on every finger, false eyelashes, red lipstick, and rhinestones in her long, black tresses) She's our vibrant personality. Shirley dresses like a polygamous wife, (neck covered up to the earlobes, long sleeves, very 50's colors, prints, and styles, no make-up) She's the epitome of purity. Marlene dresses like a fading southern belle, (big skirts, lacey blouses, big bows in her hair, light lipstick, pinched cheeks, and occasionally a little mascara for a big affair) She is the classic, virtuous woman....and I dress very Banana Republic, Gap. (Plain shirts and fitted pants in earth tones, small gold earrings, natural fabrics...and yeah, make-up...the whole gamut, in natural tones) Basically boring. We all gag when we go through one another's wardrobes... and often into one another's homes.

We grew up together, same mom bought us our school clothes, lived with the same lamps and drapes in the living room. We attended the same charm school and had the same woman teach us how to apply our make-up. How did we get so diverse in our tastes?

Even our men are different. We have a blustering old fart, a workaholic, an intellectual, and a down to earth, laid back, outdoorsy guy. It just seems so odd.

I don't even know why I'm bringing all of this up. It was just on my mind, I guess. And, please don't get me wrong. I'm never embarrassed by any of my sisters...they always look very presentable, quite attractive, really. It's just that what's pretty to one, isn't necessarily pretty to the other.

Oh, except, Chandi standing in fall leaves. Now, THAT'S just a universally pretty sight.

Where are the clones?

2008-10-01T11:33:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have those times when you honest to gosh wish you could divide yourself into about six different people? One to tidy up the house, one to can some fruit, one to get a little cardio vascular exercise, one to show clients around the county for hours, one to write some entertaining and profound words for your posterity, and one to take a loooong shower and use up all the hot water? I've had several days where I feel like some kind of wind up hummingbird flitting from one project or obligation to another. Almost makes me want to believe in cloning.

What do you think? If you pushed your clone off the top of a skyscraper, woud it be: a)murder; b)suicide: c)making an obscene clone fall? Just wondering...

I digress. My pal, Lin seems to thrive on having a zillion things to do. I'm learning to like a slower pace. I'm really beginning to guard my time with ferocity. I just don't seem to be as willing to serve on committees and volunteer for as many town functions as I used to. I want more time to spend wandering the aisles of my own mind. I've become a fan of puttering, frittering, trifling, dallying, and dawdling.

Some days, I find the interruptions of making beds, doing the laundry, putting up peaches, taking clients from one home to another, shopping for groceries, etc to be an enormous infringement on my time. But, it all needs to be done. Someone bring in the clones.

The good news is...

2008-09-28T18:37:00.001-07:00

Polly the Parrot didn't look well and the vet confirmed it. "I'm sorry." he told the owner, "I'm afraid your bird doesn't have long to live."

"Oh no," wailed the owner. "Are you sure?"

The vet left the room and returned with a big black Labrador who sniffed the bird from top to bottom, then shook his head. Next the vet brought in a cat. He too sniffed the parrot and sadly shook his head.

"Your bird is definitely terminal," said the vet, handing the owner a bill.

"Wait!...$500.00?! Just to tell me my bird is dying?"

The vet shrugged. "If you'd taken my word for it, the bill would have been about $40.00, but, with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan....."

I've had an extreme amount of pain in my right arm for about a month, so I went in for an x-ray of my shoulder a week ago last Thursday. The Dr's office called me first thing Friday morning and informed me that the Dr would like another x-ray that would give her a better view and requested that I go to the hospital that afternoon to have it taken. Well, I forgot as I was anxious to head up to my daughter's house for the week-end. So she called me Monday about 7:30 AM and asked that I go to the hospital that morning to have the requested x-rays taken. I complied.

Just over two hours and 14 x-rays later, I was told that the radiologist wanted to take a cat scan and was calling for clearance from my physician. Okay. Clearance given. We took it, twice.

That evening, Dr. Jackson called to tell me the good news was that there was no malignant tumor on the bone. Wha?? She thought I may have a bone spur that she could possibly treat with a cortisone shot, and if that wasn't successful, we could schedule surgery with an orthopedic surgeon, and there is a chance that if they scrape the bone, the pain might stop.

Now, I'm thinking 2 x-rays in the office, 14 x-rays in the hospital, two cat scans...and she THINKS that she MAY see a bone spur that she can POSSIBLY treat?

Which of the two stories is the biggest joke?

I can only laugh. I just have no other reaction.

I HAVE THE COOLEST CYBER PALS!!!!!

2008-09-25T17:44:00.000-07:00

That's it! That's all I have to say...except,
Thanks everyone!

Just for a minute

2008-09-24T08:30:00.000-07:00

Okay... Can I be sad, just for a minute?

It's a long story.

I feel like my entire being is flooded with tears. They just keep spilling out and I can't seem to stop the flow. I'm not altogether sure why. Oh, that's ridiculous. Of course I know why.

I'm feeling neglected by some of the people I most trusted with my heart. Namely, my sisters.

I have four living sisters on my side of the family. Two who my mother and father gave birth too. (Wanda and Marlene) And my aunt, who is younger than my oldest sister and who I've always considered my favorite. (Shirley) And Shirley's oldest daughter. (Diane)

I've lived in our home at the Hollow for 2 and a half years. Before moving here, we lived in a town called New Harmony for four years. In this six and a half year period of time, each of my sisters has been to visit me once. Never overnight, and never in this home. Now understand that three of the four lived a great enough distance that they needed to spend a night near New Harmony when we were there. And the fourth lived less than 20 minutes away. We lived less than five minutes from the freeway off ramp in New Harmony and each of them took the short side trip to say, "Hi" and visit with us for a while only once. I invited them...many times. When family would stay with my sister in Cedar City for a few days, Wayne and I were never asked to come for Sunday dinner with everyone, or to meet them at Applebee's for lunch and a chat. I invited myself regularly, however, and was well received when I went.

Here, in Fairview, each of them has driven past our home several times. Now, granted...they would have to take a detour to get here. It may take them an hour to an hour and fifteen minutes out of their way. But, not one member of my side of the family has ever alloted the time to see us. There again, we've invited them...many times. We've asked them to spend the night in our guest room, to come for one of my famous breakfasts, for a dutch oven cookout on the patio, for a drive up the canyon (in the car...on the fourwheelers), just for a short stay to catch up on one another's families. But, no one has come.

A couple of them have made arrangements to stay less than two hours away from here in a hotel. I've mentioned that I'd drive up to spend some time with them. I was not, ever invited to drive up and meet them, though. Wanye and I were not asked if we'd also like to get a room. We would have.

These women constantly tell me that they love me. But, today, I'm not seeing it. Today, I'm not feeling it. Today, I would like one of them to take a little time and come to see me. Today, it hurts. So today, I'm sad. Silly, huh?

Okay. Minute's up.

Think I'll go outside and play with the dog, gather produce from the garden, and make a big pot of hearty vegetable soup.

Gotta love the Amish!

2008-09-15T11:35:00.000-07:00

My heart sank as I read the spam that began, "By opening this e-mail, you have activated the Amish computer virus." Oh no! What had I lost? Would else could I lose? What could I do to try and stop any further damage? I read on...

"Since the Amish don't have computers, this works on the honor system. Please delete all of your files immediately. Thank you."

This was sent to me in the name, and under the guise, of friendship?? Oh well, it was a brief ha ha ha moment...

Important and Imperative

2008-09-12T03:46:00.000-07:00

I love Shel Silverstein!! He speaks volumes to me with his nonsensical poetry. Shel and Calvin and Hobbes both start my mind racing. (Yes, folks! She IS one of the worlds great intellectuals)
At any rate, I was browsing through 'A Light in the Attic' and stumbled across this:

Bob bought a hundred-dollar suit
But couldn't afford any underwear.
Says he, "If your outside looks real good
No one will know what's under there."

Jack bought some hundred-dollar shorts
But wore a suit with rips and tears.
Says he, "It won't matter what people see
As long as I know what's under there."

Tom bought a flute and a box of crayons
Some bread and cheese and a golden pear.
And as for his suit and his underwear
He doesn't seem to very much care.

So... what's important in life, and what's not? There is a moral in here somewhere. But, the question is...can I find it?

Lin wrote a post and asked for her cyberpals to let her know what was important to them.
The number one answer was FAMILY... Each respondant said that was what they would be willing to put their life on the line for. Family. I said the same thing, in part. I would die for my family. But, I most likely won't be called on to die for them. I have, however, been called on to live for them. I said I would. I think I have. But, so often we let these people who are so dear to us tumble into second or third place.

That was brought home to me this morning. I needed to teach a Sunday School class this morning to a group of scriptural scholars. I was a tad nervous about it. Did I say "tad nervous"? I was a wreck. It was important that I do a good job.

I'm what you could call a fastidious housekeeper. As I walked through the kitchen this morning, I noticed dishes in the sink. I noticed the milk, cereal box and a bottle of peaches on the counter. Immediately, my sarcastic, snotty persona took hold of the situation and I began making snide comments to my husband. A pretty accurate quote would be, "Wouldn't it have been nice if SOMEONE could have cleaned up after his breakfast this morning? Oh yes! That's right...that's "woman's work". Wouldn't want my man to go out in public with pruny fingers from putting his big, strong, masculine hands in dishwater... "

Now was it important that my kitchen be clean before we left for church this morning? mmmm, probably not very. Although for some reason, it always seems to be important to me.

Was it important that I be able to concentrate on my lesson and prepare my frame of mind and my spirit as well as my words? Yes! It was. It was important to me, and to those who were going to be sitting in class waiting to be taught something of value, and to those who had entrusted me with the responsibility of uplifting and inspiring the class members a little this morning. It was important.

But... it is imperative that I have a caring relationship with this wonderful man who I'm sharing my life with. It's imperative that I let him know how important he is to me, and how much I appreciate his willingness to make himself something to eat while I walked the floors practicing and timing my lesson material.

He is one of those people that I said I would be willing to die for... But, for some reason that escapes all logic, this morning I wasn't prepared to live in such a way as to let him know that he matters more than a tidy kitchen sink, more than teaching a class.

I placed a bronze medal around his neck this morning. I let him slip into third position.

It's odd how often we do that type of thing. We're reading a book, writing a letter, working on a project of some kind when our kids or grandkids want to talk to us, have us tell them a story, or watch how far they can jump... and these sweet little packets of joy are suddenly relegated to second place as we tell them, "In a minute... I just have to finish (fill in the blank) or, "Not now. Mommie's/Grandma's busy."

What's important? What we look like we are? The suit we wear? How we see ourselves...the way we wish we were? Our new underwear?

Or a box of crayons, a slice of cheese, and a golden pear? Food to fill our creativity, our body, and our love of the luscious, sweet moments that only our family can give us?

drinking from my saucer...

2008-09-08T22:09:00.000-07:00

Shoot! Our bathroom is completely torn apart...again! We had it remodeled last August. The shower started to leak, so the contractor came and tore it apart, patched it up, and left us happy with running water to wash our hair. Then, about two months later, the shower started to leak again. We called the contractor. Then we called the contractor again. Then we called the contractor for the for the third, 17th, 23rd, and 42nd time. Months later, he came out, ripped up the floor, ripped off the bathroom door, ripped off the shower door, ripped off the tile on the bottom half of the shower, and went hunting for a week.

I should be irritated, right? Nah! I just packed the car and drove up north to stay with my kids for ten days. I played with my daughter and her three little boys. I played with my first born son and his boy. I played with my second born son. We went shopping and to football practices and soccer games, made Chandi's witch's hat, and went to see "Mamma Mia". We canned peaches and grape juice and ate stuffed zucchini and crab soup. We tucked sweet children into bed and were rewarded with baby squeezes around our necks. We fought with the 6th grader about getting his homework done, and saw a zillion cartwheels, jumps off a curb, and races on the scooter whenever we heard, "Gigi, mommy, watch this". We listened to the political pundits rant and contort the truth on both sides of the aisle, and held brilliant armchair debates with the best minds in the country. It was a delightful time!

I came home to a husband who missed me, made me dinner from produce he'd picked from the garden (and barbecued brats), helped me carry in groceries, and decorate our yard with fall leaves and pumpkins for my office party tomorrow night. He put me on the fourwheeler when he thought we'd worked long enough, and took me over to visit with neighbors who fed us wisdom and ice cream and begged us to stay a little longer.

Who needs the bathroom to be perfect when you're surrounded with people who can share your life in so many pleasing ways? At least the shower worked when I got home. Although the floor is still particle board waiting for matching tiles to be found, the wall still needs to be repainted, and floorboards replaced. But, I just don't seem to care when I stroll through the grove, and hear Wayne whistling in the yard, or answer the phone and a voice on the other end says, "Hi mom. I just called to talk. Can you hold on for a minute, Keaton wants to tell you he loves you." When evenings are spent with good friends who invited us over for a barbecue, or who giggle with me while sitting barefoot on the lawn, sharing stories, I know that my life is delicious indeed. I really am "drinking from my saucer, because my cup is running over".

Ding Dong

2008-09-05T09:49:00.000-07:00

Ding Dong the hat is done...the hat is done... Ding Dong, the Witch's hat is done.

I found a child's velvet witch hat at a garage sale. It looked a little like the proverbial "sow's ear. But, I placed a quarter in the sellers hand and happily made my way to North Ogden to help my daughter turn it into "silk purse". Two trips to the craft store, a little tulle, and a couple of flowers later... Voila! We're on our way to the costume we invision. Pretty cute, huh?

We have everything we need to make the rest of the outfit (except for the purple and black striped socks). I'll post the whole ensemble when it's completed. We're thinking that I may join her at Gardner's Village for Witche's Night Out. If I do... I'll be an "Autumn Witch". We really don't like the whole moley nose, snaggle tooth, stringy hair, scary bit.

Wayne and I live so far out of the way that none of the neighborhood kids come trick or treating at our house, so my husband likes to dress up and deliver candy to the kids homes. It'll be fun to put something together for us to wear that's a little higher grade than we've done. Soooo, after Chandi's costume is finished, maybe that'll be our next project.

laughter and cake wrecks

2008-08-28T09:38:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at the dining room table in my daughter's home in North Ogden. I've only been here a day and a half and we've already shared so much with one another... from the ridiculous to the sublime!

We got giddy and laughed till tears streamed down our cheeks. We cried till the need for tears subsided, and our salt stained faces broke into laughter again. I can't think of anywhere I would rather be than wherever my children and grandchildren are. We don't need to go shopping, visit any of the local sights, see any chick flicks, eat any grand meals, or share in any profound conversation. (although we do all of those things, especailly shop, eat well and wax wise) But, we really just need to be in the same room soaking up each others vibes to be sharing good times)

My daughter, Chandelar (Chandi) and I are currently looking for high quality, modest, Practical Magic pretty, or fashionably chic (not at all scary) Witch's costumes for adults. Any ideas?

Anyway, just thought I'd say Howdy... and let Lin know that I haven't fallen into a sink hole somewhere between Sanpete and Weber Counties. I'm just occupied with being "mom" and "Gigi" to my brood.

Have a Tony the Tiger day.

p.s. Just for kicks, if you want a chuckle...look up "cake wrecks.blogspot.com" The writer is funnier than her cake wrecks, and some of her cake wrecks are hilarious. That's my tip for today.

Oh, What a beautiful MOOOOORNING!!

2008-08-23T09:21:00.000-07:00

Oh what a beeeeUtiful day!!

For today, I am totally filled with joy. Why, might you wonder? We have contentious campaigns on the tele every day. Awful stories about mothers who may have harmed their own babies are played and replayed to the point of nausia. It costs two months salary to take a vacation in a neighboring state. So many things to be stressed or unhappy about. But, today...I don't care.

The creek is running, the hay is baled, there are fresh eggs waiting to be pulled from the nests, the peas are bearing a second crop, and the corn is tall and tasty. My children are all able to make their mortgage payments this month. My four sons are strong and courageous, not to mention kind, and oh, so handsome. My gorgeous daughter is tender and loving, very spontaneous, and such fun to be with. My grandchildren may not be cuter, or brighter, or funnier than yours, but I think they are anyway. My husband is a super hero to me, (and he's just outside the window watering my shade garden while singing and whistling. I love it so much when he does that) This morning, all is right in my world.

So, I think I'll skip listening to the news today. I won't hear one word fall from a political pundit's mouth. I won't fill up the gas tank while muttering naughty things under my breath.

I'll play the soothihg CD that Lin sent to me. I'll call my children and tell them how wonderful they are. I'll hug my hubby. And I'll walk through the grove with the breeze lifting my hair from my shouders and whisper a prayer of thanks for this one perfect, delicious morning filled with the sounds of nature and complete contentment.

If only I'd just belly flopped!!

2008-08-19T10:00:00.000-07:00

I was fifteen and a sophmore in high school... I had a HUGE crush on Alan Byers, who was absolutely the cutest guy in my circle of friends. We were at a swimming party. I should tell you that I used to think I was a pretty good diver. So, I perched myself on the board, took the clip out of my long, chestnut brown hair and shook it loose seductively, balanced, bounced, sprang into the air and curved my body downward to slice through the water gracefully...which I did, by the way. But, I decided last minute to do the Esther Williams bit and open my eyes wide and smile as I entered the water.

NOW... it is important that you know that I had a rare condition when I was in the eighth grade that necessitated having all but eight of my teeth extracted. Yes, I was a denture wearer at the ripe old age of 13.

Back to my story... The moment of impact, the rush of water forced my teeth out of my mouth. So, there I was temporarily blinded and toothless, completely unable to find my dentures. I reluctantly gave up the idea of just staying under water until I drowned and came to the surface just as my girlfriend, who saw what happened shouted, "Caryn's lost her teeth in the pool". And I sat on the sidelines watching helplessly as Alan Byers and every other guy at the party dove for my teeth.

Do you have any idea how awful it was to have Alan...tall, handsome, wonderful Alan hand me my "uppers"? He was shaking the water out of his hair and laughing as he placed them in my outstretched hand.

My life has all been uphill from that moment. Lots of embarrassing moments have come and gone... none that I was as devastated by...or enjoy the memory of as much.

Broad shoulders/Tender hearts

2008-08-15T11:05:00.000-07:00

So... just who is the sexiest man alive, anyway? According to People Magazine, it's been Brad Pitt, Robert Redford, Tom Cruise, George Clooney, Tom Selleck, Matthew McCon(can't spell his name) and a whole slew of other chisel chested, square jawed, messy haired Adonnis types.

I used to think Jeff Chandler was sexy... anyone out there remember him? Robert Mitchum had a certain appeal to me. Gads! He was a star even prior to Jeff Chandler. (I am definitely no longer a "chick". My "pullet" days are long gone.) Maybe my wierdest choice for a sexy man was Charles Bronson. I'll send a dollar to anyone who knows who HE is. This man didn't have one single attractive feature... well, if you don't count his truly great body... His nose, mouth, teeth, ears, hair, eyes, cheekbones and jaw were all pretty skiwampy. He didn't have dimples, but he did have major ravines in his face almost everywhere. Somehow, when you put all his lopsided features together he just looked very masculine. Although, rather like a short, fleshtoned, vulnerable version of Frankenstein. But, he could make my older sister and I at least semi- swoon.

Anyway, I digress.

So... Who is the sexiest man alive? Let me give you my current thinking. It would be one who exhibits:

* Tenderness toward his wife, children, parents, pets...
* An ability to listen
* A willingness to respond to what he hears when he listens
* Spontaneity
* Humor
* Fidelity
* Kindness and friendliness towards people who serve him ie: waitresses, car valets, washing machine repairmen, pharmacists, the guy who works the counter at Walmart, Best Buy, and I.F.A.
(hmmm.. this is beginning to sound a lot like my hubby, oddly enough)

Bottom line... As I've matured, I've learned to recognize traits that will never be recognized by People magazine in judging what gives a man sex appeal. I don't find a man desireable who leaves wife number 2 for girlfriend #11 to father child #4 outside of wedlock, or thinks it's cool to drink and snort his life away, or has lost complete touch with the "common folk", and has therefore filled his 9 garages with 68 vintage cars, and the closets in his various homes, here and abroad, with five hundred seventy seven $6,500 suits. So, in the previous paragraph, I listed what I would use as criteria.

Oh yeah... did I forget to mention broad shoulders, good teeth, thick hair, smoldering eyes, long legs, and a jungle cat walk. Nah! I jest. In my mind, there is a HUGE difference between goodlooking and sexy!!! How about you?? Any nominations?

p.s. May I just take a moment of your time to say something kind about Paul Newman. He is one of the rare Hollywood leading men who married one woman, remained faithful to her, lived through some unspeakable heartache, and dedicated much of his life and a good deal of his fortune to helping others. He lived as a gentleman would, graciously, privately, and with dignity. In my mind, he earned the spot he held on magazine covers and in the hearts of his fans. I wish him and his family well during this difficult time. He will be missed by many.

Half of knowing...

2008-08-09T13:06:00.001-07:00

It's is a GORGEOUS day outside today. Perfect! The sun is warm, not hot...the grass is lush, the flowers are in full bloom, the creek is chattering, telling tales about the mountain glens above as it tumbles over the stones below , the breeze is whispering secrets in the leaves of the trees... A variety of birds are twittering in noisy conversation. It seems all of nature on our land is visiting with one another. It's amazing how so many sounds can seem so still and quiet.

Do you know what I'm doing? Well... beside sitting at the computer, looking out the window and wondering why I'm not exercising the good sense to be out there? I'm wishing I was 30 pounds lighter. Wanna know what else I'm doing? I'm munching my way through a bag of M&M's.

What??? There is so little consistancy in my life. I just can't seem to get my right brain and my left brain to work as a team.

I read, or heard, or made up... that half of getting what you want is knowing what you have to give up to get it. So... I guess that means I'm half way to being 30 pounds slimmer. I KNOW I have to chuck the rest of that bag of M&M's. It's the other half that seems to be the set back. You know... the actually giving up what you know you have to give up. There you go... I just tossed another one in my mouth.

I may have to say ta ta to you lovely ladies who may stop by, put on the pair of dusty Nike's sitting under the bench in the mud room, and mingle the thwup, thwup of my footsteps with the other sounds I hear. A walk may loosen some of my fat cells.... and some of the cobwebs from my brain. I need to clear up my mind so I can clean up my behavior. There are lessons waiting to be learned from the creek. If it stays on one place and doesn't move, it either swells or begins to dry up...either way, it stagnates. It had to travel many miles before it began to run clear, clean water and gained the capacity to offer nourishment and refreshment along it's path.

p.s. I will NOT take the bag of chocolate covered almonds with me. I WILL take them to the neighbors children. Oh, oh... see the inconsistency already? How can I take them to the kids across the street and not take them with me? Let me make a new commitment... I will NOT eat any of the chocolate covered almonds... the REALLY, YUMMY, chocolate covered almonds on

the way to the neighbors house. Ahhh...I feel two pounds lighter already.

To quote Doris...

2008-08-04T16:24:00.000-07:00

I made mention of a Real Estate purchase gone awry to Mare in a comment on her blog. She wrote me and said she could imagine how upset I must have been that this "deal" didn't go through. First of all let me tell you that the commission on this contract was $54,000. I would only have kept 81.5% of that which still would have been a tasty amount. (around $44,000)

Now... had I thought what I'd do with that windfall? You betcha! I'd have written a hefty tithing check to my church, re-upholstered my occasional chairs and ottoman, built a deck on the west side of the house, set some money aside to help my kids over what may be a couple of rough months ahead, and quit work for the rest of the year...or forever.

Am I disappointed? Sure.

Am I upset? Not too much so.

Why am I disappointed? Because I had to go to the home of an exceptionally kind elderly couple with myriad and serious health problems, and tell them that the buyer had changed his mind about purchasing their property. They really need to get out from under the necessity of taking care of 92 acres of land. I really, really wanted to get it sold for them.

Why am I not too upset? Because I've been a realtor long enough to know that this kind of thing happens. And it happens more often than you might think. And because as long as I don't make the income, I don't owe the tithing, I can live with my furniture just as it is, I can live without the deck (we have a great patio), my children will be just fine, and I'd probably get bored if I quit working, anyway.

So as Doris Day sang many moons ago, "Que Sera Sera... Whatever will be, will be"

I'm waaaaay more concerned that my grandson is allergic to my dog and can't come in my house.
(We're working on that)
I'm waaaaay more upset that I have three gorgeous, smart, sweet sons that are lonely and too busy to find sweethearts.
(I wish we were working on that)
Heck... I'm more disturbed about the brown spots on my lawn.

I'm just too old to let money matter all that much anymore. I heard that "We spend the first 50 years of our life collecting things, and the last 50 years trying to get rid of them". For me, that is so true. I seem to have fewer needs with every setting of the sun.

Experience has taught me...

2008-08-01T22:50:00.000-07:00

I watched a video yesterday that impressed me deeply. One of the comments made that particularly stood out was this:

"It's better to do the right things adequately, than to do the wrong things beautifully."

That struck me right between the shoulder blades and made me stand up straight. I've spent so much time doing the wrong things extremely well. I had a perennial flower garden in a home we used to own in North Ogden. I loved it and tended it constantly. Our home was bordered by an orchard on the east. Before I planted my prized delphiniums, Asiatic lillies, and evening primrose,my husband used to have the children pull the weeds in the orchard. I remember thinking how ridiculous that was. Why didn't he have them doing something useful? Then, my gardens were born and began to flourish, and I realized the wisdom behind pulling those weeds. If I didn't, they would creep, or their seeds be blown by the canyon winds, or carried and dropped by birds, into my Bleeding Hearts,Verbascum and daisies and choke their beauty from them. So, I spent countless hours in the same activity I previously thought was so silly. I weeded the orchard. It was an important thing to do. But, while I was protecting my flowers from noxious weeds, I wasn't taking the time to notice my boys being completely smothered by noxious friendships. And so... my perennial beds were gorgeous, and my sons went to weed.

Life isn't always a matter of chosing between what's important and what isn't. Sometime's it's making the choice between what's important, and what's imperative. Sometimes doing a really GOOD thing, isn't always doing the truly RIGHT thing. I think it's important to develop our creativity! I think it's important to help beautify the world we live in. Those are all good things! But... I believe with my entire being, that it's imperative that we parent the children who are given to our care to nurture, to teach, to protect, and to cherish. That is the right thing.

My home in North Ogden was sold. The new owner has a much busier life than I had and the flower gardens are no longer pristine and free of tangles of morning glory and grasses. Looking back, the time I spent on them doesn't seem so worth the deflected energy I spent on them.

My sons have managed to grow into strong, beautiful men. I'm so proud of them. Unfortunately, they had to dig hard and deep to rid themselves of some of the invasive weeds that took hold of them while I was tending flowers.

I take heart in knowing that good judgement comes from experience...experience comes from bad judgement. I learned from some of the poorer decisions I made in the past. I still have gardens of delphiniums, Asiatic lillies and daisies... I still love them and tend to them constantly. But...I take off my gardening gloves and put down my hand shovel when the grandkids are here. I spend time with them. We shoot arrows into the trees, sway in the hammock, and pick stuff out of the "Atta BOY" box. We go see the mini-ponies and Zebra's in a neighboring town, pick our breakfast cereal from the trees, and have their "poppy" teach them how to play football on the lawn. When my sons and daughter are visiting, there is nothing that takes priority over talking with them, listening to them, watching them with one another and their dad. It is imperative that I leave this mortal sphere with them knowing that they are deeply loved, respected, and cared for by their mother. I can hire someone to pull dandelions from the lawn and thistles from the flower beds. I can not hire someone else to fill my children and grandchildren with the absolute and secure knowledge that they and Wayne are my number one priority. I hope that I am doing the RIGHT thing...at least adequately. I don't care quite so much about doing the wrong thing beautifully anymore. I can do both, I know that. But, I have them prioritized differently now that a little wisdom and better judgement snuck in while I was growing older and more experienced.

Steppin Up to 12 Step

2008-07-31T10:57:00.000-07:00

There was a time when I just thought I liked using them... I was pretty sure I could give them up if I really found a reason too. Those days are a memory, now. I've decided I have an addiction to them! I use at the VERY least...a dozen a day. I know there are better things to use. There are things that will last longer, be more beneficial both to me and to the environment, and be far more cost efficient. I know it intellectually. But, I just can't seem to kick the paper towel habit.

I keep them in the kitchen, the bathroom, my potting shed, the laundry room, the garage, and all of the cars. I use them to wipe up the sink and counter tops, to polish and spit shine the appliances, fixtures and my shoes. I wrap up orange peels, apple cores and egg shells before I dump them in the compost crock. I use them to dry my hair, lay sweaters and other finery on to soak up excess water, and to dry dishes, my hands and fresh fruits and vegetables brought in from the garden. I use them underneath cooling racks full of cookies to catch crumbs, on the bottom of the microwave to keep "yuk" from dripping in it, and to clean the car, four wheeler, patio furniture, and barbecue. I could go on, but you get the drift. My only contribution to the "Green" movement is to dry used ones for starting fires in the firepit in the summer months, or the fireplace in the winter. I have plenty of rags and wash cloths. They're pristine. Well, as pristine as a rag can be.

I have a wierd type of love affair going with the Brawny paper towel man, and I can't seem to bring myself to call if off.

Do I need marriage counseling? Would a 12 step program help? Should I just remind my husband how fortunate he is that the only man he shares my interest with is a bodiless, cellophane, mini man? I could nearly afford a new pair of flip flips with what I spend on paper towels in a month. Do I need to wean myself off of them with "Handi Wipes", or just go cold turkey?

If you have the inclination to advise or chastise, feel free to do so. I'm beginning to feel like I'm killing as many trees as the bark beetle and quickly becoming a one woman deforrestation nightmare. helllllpp!

I'm in Heaven

2008-07-30T17:50:00.000-07:00

Lin reminds me that it's been a while since I've posted. I'ts due to the fact that I've been enjoying the best of times with my family the last week or so.

We played at the Hollow, had midnight picnics under the stars, and went camping just up the canyon from our home... see the view from our very private campsight........pretty, huh?

My eldest son, Dustin, spent a good percentage of his time fishing. Urp, gag! I can't stand the smell of fish, or the thought of taking a hook out of a slimy fish mouth, or cleaning them...yuk! I don't even like eating them. But, it seems to be theraputic for him. He LOVES standing still for EVER waiting for Tony Trout to bite. He think's they're beautiful! (So, why slit their belly, I ask?) And he thinks they taste like food for the Gods.

My second born son, Dallin, and Dusty's boy Davin, took the fourwheeler out and rammed it into a tree. Oops!! They did a fair amount of damage to it, too. We all lounged, and hiked, toasted hot dogs and marshmallows and sent Davin tubing down the river. Good times!

After they left, my daughter, Chandelar and her hubby and three boys came for a visit. We drove back up the canyon to the same campsite and did some more fourwheeling, (after Wayne and John spent a morning putting it back together) We did more lounging, eating, hiking, and skipped rocks in the lake. My son-in-law, John, is a world class rock skipper. A fairly useless talent, you say? Okay, maybe that's true. But, it was so dang much fun to find the perfect rock for him to chuck, and even more fun to watch him chuck it! If it hasn't seemed obvious to you as yet, I really like the simple life with simple entertainments.

All in all... I can't think of a more joyful way to spend time. Nothing else brings quite as much contentment as seeing your grown children play together and take care of one another. And when you can do it in a beautiful location.... well, let's just say, I'm not looking forward to Heaven, I think I'm already there!

Do I stutter?

2008-07-24T08:01:00.000-07:00

It's amazes me how many of the youth of today seem to have hearing deficits. Take my ten year old grandson for example. We love having him come to stay with us at the Hollow. And he seems to enjoy being here. There are very few rules for him to follow when he visits. Let me list them:

1: Your father's rules at home apply here.

a. no sleeping in after 8:00

b. there will be a maximum of 90 minutes of television or computer games a day, unless watching a Jazz game, movie, or other programming with an adult

c. 1/2 hour of football training is to be completed each day. (running, sit ups, etc.)

2: You will have assigned farm chores.

3: They are to be completed before t.v. or computer games are watched.

Now, he can have free run of the Hollow, the four wheeler and the refrigerator. He can call his mother whenever he wishes, read any book in the house, and take showers as long as he wants. He can have the dog sleep with him, get wet and muddy, have a friend come stay with him, and stuff himself on the contents of the nut bowl, cookie jar and candy dishes placed around the house.

His chores are:

1: Let the chickens out in the morning, in at night.

2. Gather the eggs.

3: Feed the dog morning and night.

4. Pick the peas twice while here.

5. Water the veggie garden twice while here.

Am I sounding like I'm breaking any child labor laws yet?

Here's the part that astounds me. Well....okay, maybe astounds is to strong, but it does leave me somewhat befuddled.

8:00 arrives. I can be heard sweetly calling, "Davin, time to lift that handsome head of yours from the pillow and greet the day." 8:15 arrives. My soft and tender voice calls, "Davin. Are you in a sitting position yet? Time to rise and shine." 8:30 arrives. My slightly agitated voice can be heard, "Davin, do I stutter? Time to get up, bud." I get busy making breakfast, sweeping the floor, putting in a load of laundry. 9:00 arrives: My clearly irritated voice resonates upstairs and down, "DAVIN. UP!" I forgot what it's like to get boys out of bed. It would take less energy to single handedly clear the Manti La Sal Forest.

Then it gets good. As he enters the kitchen, I say, "Hey. Good to see you in the land of the living. Want to let the chickens out and see if we have any eggs while I wash Pogo's dish? Then you can feed him when you come back to the house." I wait for a reply. No words come from between his still unbrushed teeth. "Dav...you want to take the egg basket and gather the eggs after you let the chicks out of the coop?" I smile as I turn to face him. And there it is. The STARE. "Davin? You with me?" "What?" "You with me?" The STARE... "Hey, goodlookin... take the egg basket off the counter, go outside, let the chickens out, and check for eggs. Okay?" "What do you want me to do?" I hate to be redundant, here... but, Do I stutter?

Now, I ask you. (I ask you, rather than my grandson. From you... I may get an answer, From him, I will get the STARE.) Is this sounding more difficult than it ought to be? The entire day can go this way. It is not merely a morning affliction. It goes on all day... ie:

"Davin. You ready to go swimming?" "Where are we going swimming?" "Uhh... I thought we might try the pool." "What do you want me to wear?" Okay... this is getting ridiculous. But...we actually had this very conversation. "Davin. You may wear whatever you like. What do you think might be a logical choice to go swimming?" "Whaddaya mean?" sigh

"Davin. You want french toast or Dee's Cereal for breakfast?" "What do you mean?" "What do I mean? I mean, I'll go slowly this time, Do.. you.. want.. french.. toast.. or.. Dee's.. Cereal.. for.. breakfast?"

This is pretty straightfoward stuff. What's out of whack? Is it a problem with my speech? With his hearing? Is it a generational thing? Is it a "ten" thing? I forgot. Or did I forget? It really seems like I used to be able to just talk to my kids and they'd respond with words...in English. We didn't have to constantly reconstruct our sentences for one another. We weren't forever repeating and explaining. Maybe that's because there were four of them and they acted as translators for one another. I don't know.

For the record. I generally don't re-act with the amount of sarcasm idsplayed in this short epistle. But....ahhhhhh, it felt SO good to be able to express what runs through my mind at times like these.

And we do have coherent moments. I just asked him to pick the peas. He went to the kitchen, grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, and left for the garden. Easy pickins for both of us this morning.

Mended dreams... Kept Promise

2008-07-21T21:11:00.000-07:00

Our eldest son called and let us know he was planning to visit with us last week-end. He wanted to come down with his beloved son, and his beloved dog, and spend a few days fishing. He casually mentioned that he found something at his house the day before that he thought I might like and he was going to bring it down for me. It all sounded perfect. I got to see my boy.. and his boy.. and I got a present to boot. I admit it without shame... I LOVE presents!

He arrived, unloaded the car, and walked to the hammock to "rest a spell"... "Where's my present?" I asked. "Um. I dunno. Must be in the house somewhere, I'm guessin." "Okay. I'll see it later." "No. Why don't you go in and see if you can find it?" "Uhhhh.. that would be because I have no idea what I'm looking for. Why don't you go find it for me if you want me to have it now?" "Cuz I'm in the hammock... You're standing up. You can't miss it. It's probably by my suitcase."

I decided I could wait, so I stayed outside visiting and started to water the flowers.

"Mom. Would you please get me a drink? Please. Puhleeeeeze."

I'm a sucker for begging...so, I went to the house to pour him a tall, refreshing glass of cherry limeade. I opened the door, looked straight ahead, and there sitting on the couch was my second born son, who I was under the impression was still in Virginia. I reacted like a sophmore who was just asked to the prom by the senior captain of the football team. I giggled, I jumped, I squealed. I ran to the couch and hugged all 6'4" of him as best as my 5'2" frame could muster. Everytime I see this young man in my home, my heart does back flips!! He's my charmer, my most sensitive spirit, my "Pied Piper".

Perhaps I'll share one of the few pieces of "semi, sort of, unintended poetry" I've written. It explains the reason why it is such a gift to have him with me. It was written in the early morning hours, during a blizzard. He was 17 at the time, he'd been gone for weeks. He had walked in earlier that evening just after dinner dishes had been done. I can not express the relief and joy that settled over me when I saw him.

We sat on the heater in the living room, under a blanket, and remembered good times together. We were there until about 2:30 in the morning. We shared a few subdued laughs...and shed a few tears together. He finally held me close and said he was tired and wanted to go to bed. He went downstairs and I folded the blankets we had been snuggled under and climbed upstairs where I thanked God for his safe return. About 6:00, I went to his room just to watch him sleep. He was gone. And I wrote....

"The light from the streetlamp sliced through the low lying mist and shone in slivers on the freshly fallen snow. I saw the young scrub oak in Julie's yard that was already forming Rhine's Ice...that wonderful layer of ice that makes everything it touches resemble finely hand carved crystal. I saw the cottonwood that sheltered my front walkway with the snow settled on it's branches as soft and delicate as a soap bubble. I saw the untouched, clean, blue-white road leading away from my home and down the hill into town. Untouched, that is, except for his footsteps. They began where I stood in the open doorway and traveled down the front walkway, across the street, and through the neighbor's front yard. They continued to lead down the hill...away from home...away from me...away from the life we had tried to provide for him. I stared at the imprints and wondered what time it was when he left. How long had he been gone? How long would he stay away? I suppose I stood there staring, not feeling the cold chill in the air for a half hour or so before I could bring myself to close the door. I allowed myself to walk into the living room and sink into the cushions on the couch, and into despair. I wanted to cry or to scream, "I love you." loud enough for him to hear me wherever he was. I wanted to run after him, but I just sat in a room full of shadows and memories and let my mind drift.

Wasn't it just a moment ago that he came crashing in the back door full of Huckleberry Finn mischief? I cradled thoughts of him as a toddler, his eyes, fringed with long, lush, dark lashes, forever searching my soul. Then as a small child, wandering off to find some little known nook where he could discover a world of his own making. And as an adolescent, bursting with an eagerness to know and experience all of life. And as a teenager... What was he as a teenager? Tender, loving, deeply spiritual, witty, lonely, angry, confused, reaching out for understanding and a sense of belonging.

I wanted another chance to hold him and rock him as he slept, safe in my arms. I wished that I could take him on a picnic later that day...that we could photograph butterflies and set helium balloons free to disappear into the clouds. I wanted to watch him fill his plastic pool with pollywogs and giggle with complete delight when he caught a running chicken. All I could do was sit in the dark and feel the tears fall. ...They were hot. It seemed so odd. Everything about me was so cold; the house, the air outside, my hands, my heart. Yet as the tears fell down my cheeks, they were hot.

I stood, and walked to the door again. I peered through the side windows for some sign of his return. Perhaps, unable to sleep, he'd just gone for a walk. I flicked on the porch light and resolved to leave it on until he was home again. It would remain on a long, long time."

The porch light has been turned off many years, now. He did come home. We've had some rocky times, to be sure. He made his life so much harder than it needed to be. But, he found his way. He has mended most of the dreams I had for him that had been tattered so long. (I'd still like him to find a woman to love and protect.) And he is keeping his promise. Not a promise made to me, or to the universe, or to God. His promise. The promise of what he could be. He's a beautiful, generous, intelligent, caring, magical, young man. And I am SO HAPPY that he is downstairs this very minute watching some boring sport program. All is well

Cock-a-doodle-days

2008-07-18T13:52:00.000-07:00

Three things to know:

1: I am a realtor
2: I love perinnial gardening and have some lovely flowers beds
3: We are the proud caretakers of a rooster and five hens

I tell you these things so that I can try to make a point which SHOULD tie them together if you have the patience to stay with me for a minute.

1: Can I just tell you what a frustrating time this is to be in Real Estate? I quite like my job. It's always a good thing to be a part of the solution and not a part of the problem. Realtors help to solve problems. We build foudations under dreams. But, there are so many variables in my work. There are always half a dozen contingencies in a contract that can blow it up at any moment. So... my days are spent walking down the fairway, being disappoionted at losing money when a carnie cheats me, consoling myself with a sweet treat from the concession stand, and being on a constant roller coaster ride, with all it's ups and downs, twists and turns, and the ever present fear we could possibly derail.

2: My flower gardens bring me such pleasure! I like nurturing them and taking them from infancy to beautiful, blossoming adulthood. They are always gorgeous. But, when I know we're expecting company, I find myself wishing for the Asiatic Lilies to hold on for just a few more days. I beg the clematis to open quickly so thier breathtaking blooms will be on full display for our guests. My flowers are in a constant state of flux. Always lovely, true. But, I can't count on the hydrangeas, pansies, or foxglove to flaunt themselves on cue.

3: Our rooster, however, is a never changing constant on our land and in our lives. He can be relied on to herd the hens out of the coop in the morning. He always, always, always leads them back in at dusk. He wakes us every morning with his cock-a-doodle-doo, and keeps the "music" playing throughout every day. He has since the first night he spent here, and I know he always will.

I so often long for days like my rooster. Days that will not disappoint me, surprise me, catch me with my perverable drawers around my ankles. That sounds so restful....for about a minute and a half. What would a life be like that? No changes. Nothing to catch us offguard and force us to be creative and stretch our minds. It would be a vegetative state.

So, I have forsaken my dreams of cock-a-doodle-days. I think I'll buy a roll of tickets for the roller coaster, grab a cone of cotton candy and enjoy the butterflies, thrills, and let downs that are a part of living a carnival existance. When I grow weary of the clatter and confusion of the Fairway... I'll stroll through my gardens, lap up every ounce of newness and let myself be warmly surprised by what I find has given birth since my last visit.

You want me to do WHAT, again???

2008-07-17T19:46:00.000-07:00

Okay... Here's the scoop! I'm old, well... not ready for the compost pile ripe with age, but probably a little past prime for a good salad bar. But, I have a pretty good energy level for a fading diva. I may not be the hummingbird I used to be...but being someone, and being around someone, who flits from one project to another like that can get annoying anyway, so I'm okay with slowing down somewhat.

I digress... as I was saying, I'm in pretty good shape for someone who eats too many sweets, has a semi-sedentary job, and comes from a long line of chubby people.

I like to work around the property at the Hollow. I plant and transplant and weed and mow and change the water lines. Not a problem. The grandkids come to visit and I run from one end of our four acres to the other playing games with them. When we camp, and I love to camp... I go on the river runs, the hikes, and make an attempt at frisbee golf. I'm lousy at it, but I'm a good sport.

BUT... when Wayne came home and told me he wanted me to accompany him on a 45 mile UPHILL trek wearing pioneer garb in the middle of July, I thought he was was suffering from mild heatstroke. He continued to show me pictures of the area he wanted me to climb. There were a dozen rocky ridges that rose suddenly to the heavens at angles that were totally perpendicular to the earth. I could barely stuff my laughter at how preposterous it all seemed to me. THEN, he proceeded to tell me that he wanted me to pull a loaded handcart up one of those ridges...WITHOUT his superman strength to help me. WHAT!!!??? I figure if God had wanted me to climb those rocks, He'd have laid them flat.

And THEN... to frost this little cup cake of information just perfectly, he told me I'd only be allowed three potty stops, at assigned destinations, daily. ha ha ha ha ha aahhhhh... ha ha ha.

So, he packed his little sack with some granola bars, extra clean socks, and a pair of suspenders and left for his "adventure" without me.

He came home and regaled me with stories about what a good time he had. How proud he was of the hale and hardy women who pulled and pushed those handcarts over that blasted pile of stones. He almost choked up when he shared the fellowship he felt with the group of modern day "pioneers" that he walked, ooffed and sweated beside, sang with, and shared victuals with on the journey.

Dang! I could have done it.

So whaddaya think? Was I being stubborn? A weak kneed fraidy cat? Practical, insightful, and oh so wise? And what difference does it make now anyway? He went. I didn't. The opportunity has passed. He still likes me. I still like me. But a part of me really wishes I'd have grabed my apron and sunbonnet and made the trek. I wonder why we sometimes let apprehensions, some serious - some silly, talk us out of building a memory.

I Love US

2008-07-17T11:43:00.000-07:00

I have a small cross stitch in our bedroom that says, "I love us". I was thinking about that this morning while looking for a missing left shoe.

I love my husband, Wayne. I love him like breath. I love all 6"4" of him, his blue eyes, his broad shoulders and cute buns. I love his mischeivious sense of humor, his calm voice, his work ethic, and for the most part the way he loves me. But, even more than I love his own personal character traits, his virtues and his foibles...I love US.

I love the way we have intermingled with one another. I love the way we laugh together, the way we bouy one another up. I love the conversations we have sitting on the patio, the private jokes, the looks across the room. I love having someone to finish my sandwich, someone who's back I can scratch...and who occasionally scratches mine. I love holding hands in bed, knowing one anothers favorite kind of ice cream, and sharing the agony and ectasy that has been part of being parents to our four children. I love that we conceived, bore, and raised them together. I love feeling protected, worried about, mostly understood, and at times having him shake his head in bewilderment and mutter, "Why would you DO such a thing?". I love being asked, "Where's Wayne", and I love knowing where he is. I love belonging . I love US!

"If Only", "I Wish" and other forms of make believe...

2008-07-15T11:58:00.000-07:00

My mother passed away 15 years ago this month. The fourth of July, actually. I remember thinking that night as we watched the fireworks explode into splinters of light in the sky, how quietly she had died. The life went out of her as smoothly as a lamp ceases to burn when the oil is gone.

She has not left my heart nor my memory that easily. And I don't want her to. So often, as I walk through the day I think, "If only mom was here to see this". "I wish mom was here to talk to about this." "If only mom could have heard that story. She'd have laughed herself into mild hysteria." "I wish...." "If only...."

I wonder what she's doing? It's certainly not hard to envision her as an angel. I never saw her as anything other than that. She was always, each and every minute of every day she breathed, doing something for somebody. But, she can't be baking pies to take to the sick. She can't be writing letters to lonely widows. She can't be crocheting little dolls to give to the "mentally underdeveloped" Not if there's a heaven. Because if there is, she is definitely in it. But the sick, lonely, and handicapped will not be. So what is she doing?

Oh yeah... that could be one of the reasons that Iris grew were I planted Columbine, and Day Lilies are where the Sweet Peas are supposed to be climbing. She's been in the yard switching bulbs and re-arranging my flower beds just so she can giggle watching me scratch my head and wonder, "What in the heck happened?". That sounds like something she'd be doing. She's probably putting a fat leaf over random solar lights just so she can clap her hands and tee hee while we try to figure out why one of them just won't shine for no apparent reason. She must be the phantom friend we see the dog playing with in the yard from time to time. Yup! She must be around enjoying life at the Hollow with us. At least, I like to make believe.....

Tangled Lilies, Intertwined Souls

2008-07-15T09:05:00.000-07:00

I am constantly amazed at the ever changing beauty of our flower gardens this year. The delpheniums have been magnificent! The daisies, vibrant and full. The verbascum has seemed almost magical in it's old fashioned daintiness.

We have a few solar powered spotlights that we place in the garden here and there to allow us to see the blooms after nightfall. We live in the country, so it get's quite dark around 10:00 p.m. The only light is from the stars and the few lanterns on the pathway or under the cluster of Oaks.

Last night, I walked out onto the patio to sit in the Adirondack rocker our daughter gave us for Christmas and soak in the serenity. I noticed a tangle of lilies reflected in the soft, solar, light. There were several plants with varied shades from pale pink , to a tender magenta hue, that had been planted in what is known as "square foot gardening". The blooms had interspersed with one another and the effect was almost startling in the dark with one small spotlight shining only on them. They seemed to blend together effortlessly, yet each blossom highlighted another with it's contrast in form and color. Each individual flower was the more striking in the companionship of the others. And each flower seemed to be pointing to another as if to say, "Look at my friend. Isn't she beautiful?" And I was in awe.

As I sat there, the friendship between women came to mind. I thought of Lin. I reflected on how she draws people close to her, let's her mind and soul mingle with theirs. I thought of the other colorful women who's thoughts she has helped plant close to mine, and the way our souls have entertwined. Our ideas seem to blend so effortlessly as we share in one another's lives. I was struck with how each new friendship has highlighted another with the contrast's between us. We have been formed and colored by differing cultural upbringing and life experiences. As I pondered, I became aware of how each individual has become more striking, more stunning because of our differences, and in the companionship of one another. And then I realized how often Lin has pointed to one among us and said, "Look at my friend. Isn't she beautiful?" And I again, I was in awe.

How blessed I am. I have gardens of flowers with tangled lilies , and gardens of friends with intertwined souls.

Garage sales and Angels...

2008-07-12T21:40:00.000-07:00

I stopped at a few garage sales this week-end and came home with an armful of books. I am a garage sale NUT! I don't know that I like buying other peoples cast offs as much as I like rummaging through other people's lives. I can be so nosy.

Anyway...as I was saying... books.

I think that you can tell a lot about people when you see the books they've read and the movies they've watched. The varied items set out on tables and blankets on the lawn speak volumes about the lives that have been lived by the people that either carefully placed their belongings for display... or just tossed them out to be rummaged through. I have a great time striking up conversations with the temporary "shop owners" selling their wares. I love to ask questions and sort through their responses. Nosy, remember?

Anyway... as I was saying... books.

I was drawn to some "Life After Death Experience" and other semi-religious or spiritual writings. I usually pick up motivational books, self help books, biographies, murder mysteries, a recommended novel, and children's books....I have a special affinity for children's books. I'm not interested in paperback love novels, text books, cook books, craft books - ie: Flower Arranging, How to make Window Boxes from Rusty Pots, How to Make Hats out of Old Kitchen Curtains and Empty Toilet Paper Rolls, and other do it yourself books.

I read one of the "Life After Death" books this afternoon while laying in the hammock and sipping a tall glass of iced tea. It got me thinking, and I guess I'd like to know what some of you think about angels, the spirit world, an after life...
and what you feel is your purpose here. What legacy do you want to leave behind?
I'm deeply rooted in my religious upbringing... but, I'd love to believe that Fairies really exist. I don't believe in re-incarnation... but facets of it seem so logical to me. I beleive in guardian angels and answers to prayer. I also believe in serendipity. Anyway, if anyone out there has an opinion, a thought, or some insight... Please share it.

For once... I'd so much rather listen than talk.

Tag... I'm it.

2008-06-15T21:39:00.000-07:00

Tara tagged me with some questions that require at least some semblence of a memory. ha ha ha ha ha ahhhhhh ha ha ha. I can not remember what I was doing last Thursday and she wants to know:

What was I doing ten years ago?
1. Missing Chandi who had just become a bride.
2. Taking a great deal of pleasure in my first little grandson who was developing an extremely large vocabulary and making us all giggle a lot.
3. Working at North View Dental.
4. Loving Wayne and our children.

What was I doing five years ago?
1. Enjoying my second little grandson, who was full of vinegar and sweetness. A delightful combination.
2. Living too far away from my two cute grandbabies...
3. Gaining weight.
4. Loving Wayne and our children.

What was I doing five months ago.
1. If Chandi was on a cruise... then I was watching her three little boys.
2. Snuggling under a down comforter every chance I got cuz it was freaking COLD in Sanpete County!!!
3. Praying for summer to get here the first of April...shows you what kind of influence I've got.
4. Loving Wayne and our children.

Five things on my "To Do" list.
1. Call my high maintenance clients.
2. Write something on my blog. (well, something besides this)
3. Water and fertilize my flower gardens.
4. Throw something thru the t.v. screen (Wayne's watching "The Good, The Bad and The Ugly") Urp, Gag. Nasty movie!
5. Lose the weight I was gaining five years ago.

Five snacks I enjoy.
1. Hot Tapiocca pudding
2. Really high quality chocolates
3. 4. and 5. Grapes, tree ripened nectarines, cold crisp Gala apples (with p-nut butter), smoothies, cold cereal (dry... no milk) toasted English muffins (they make the best ones on the planet at a bakery in Ephraim). I think I overshot the mark, here.

Five things I'd do if I became a billionaire.
1. Write out a really hefty tithing check.
2. Set up scholarships at B.Y.U. Law School in my father's name, and missionary accounts for all my grandchildren and random needy families.
3. Set up trust accounts for my posterity.
4. Buy anything I wanted for anyone I felt like buying something for... yes, that means total strangers. Wouldn't that just be fun?? I'd have one whole bank account to use like a magic wand to grant wishes. I'd pay for dental work for a couple of my boys... Make a years house payments for lots of people to give them a chance to save and/or catch up. It also means me... flowers would be blooming everywhere at our little Kingdom at the Hollow. Wayne would have every piece of new farm equipment and cash to pay for a little help. sigh.....
5. Die with a smile on my face cuz I'd have had such a good time with my windfall. Heck... lots of people would have had a good time with my windfall.

Five bad habits
1. Eating in the car... from the minute I snap my seat belt to the time I take it off.
2. Putting off paying my bills just cuz I... well... I don't have a reason. It's just a bad habit. I open the bill, write out a check, put it in the envelope, place a stamp on it and carry it around in my purse until it's past due. Is that dumb or what?
3. Continue to drive without a license. I lost it... and I think it may be expired anyway. That's even dumber than item number two.
4. I "forget" to put my bra on. And when I do remember... I take it off in odd places.
5. I interrupt people when they're talking. Chandi loves me...but this particular habit of mine drives her nuts! And I give unsolicited advice... most of it probably bad.

Five places I have lived.
1. Southern and Northern California
2. Hawaii
3. Northern, Southern and Central Utah
4. The Pre-existance - not sure of the exact location
5. Paradise - The Hollow ... well, okay, it's not total paradise... but, it's close enough until I leave this mortal existance.

Five jobs I have had.
1. Hair stylist
2. Casualty Claims Adjuster - Allstate Insurance
3. Private Secretary
4. HIV/AIDS Director for American Red Cross
5. Realtor
and my FAVORITE:
WIFE, MOMMIE and GIGI

Five people I will tag.
Are you KIDDING me? I want to hang on to the few friends I've managed to make.

Spaghetti thoughts

2008-05-26T14:29:00.000-07:00

I sat in church yesterday and fought the urge to speak up and say something that would have made my husband want to sink into the floorboards. Since I controlled the urge then... I think I'll get it out of my system now.

It just bugs me sometimes to see and hear the collective ego that can run rampant amongst "righteous people". Im sure it's not just my faith... well, pretty sure, anyway. The Sunday School teacher yesterday said, "Can't you just tell who are the members of our church in a crowd? You can always tell them. They look happier, and have a more wholesome countenance. I love keeping my eye open for members and seeing if I can't pick them out." Then a couple of other class members shared experiences that they'd had to prove his point and the "yeas" rang throughout the room. WHA??? What on earth would cause any one group of people to presume that they held the market on joyfulness and purity, twinkling eyes and "Miss Dairy America" smiles? It irritates the ..bleep bleep.. out of me. Good grief! If it were possible to tell the "righteous" from the "not so righteous" a story like Ted Bundy's would never be told.

And why are we out there looking for "our people" anyway? If we're as godloving and righteous as we claim to be, shouldn't we at least occasionally be spending our time on the lookout for the lost and lonely? Shouldn't we find delight in finding those bereft of hope and giving a hand up to someone who's in a spiritual, emotional or financial slump? I'd rather have my arm around the shoulder of a weeping soul who's looking to find his way back to the good life he can barely remember, than around the shoulder of some pompous, arrogant twit who thinks that his breed of faith gives him the corner on a peaceful face.

And then... in the women's group we got into a discussion on the responsibilities of motherhood and ridiculous promises were thrown out that if we have family prayer, and teach the kiddies church songs, and take them to their youth group activities, and do all the other wonderful things that we all WISH we always did as mothers, that they will never stray from the path to God and eternal life in His Kingdom. Poppycock! In the first place... none of us, and no one that any of us has ever met, meets the criteria for being the Perfect mother...although, mine came close. Stepford mom's, like Stepford wives, are the invention of a somewhat troubled mind. And why would a kind heart speak words in a public meeting that could wound another's heart? I just don't understand how we can be that unaware that a myriad of experiences fill the chairs in every gathering. I promise you this... in any congregation, in any church in the nation... there are mothers whose sons and/or daughters are caught in a tangled web of alcohol or drugs. There is someone sitting in that room who has a child in prison, who's son is gay, who's daughter just had a child out of wedlock... She's hurting and feeling all sorts of misplaced guilt. She needs someone to help her through this heartache... to help her feel like she belongs among the "Norman Rockwell" families she perceives to be all around her. She doesn't need us to stomp all over her pain, or to clumsily intensify her feelings of isolation.

We all do the best we can as mothers. Some didn't have great examples of nurturing to follow. Some were mothers at such a young age that they hadn't grown up themselves yet. Some were completely overwhelmed when too many babies came to quickly. Some have husbands who are neglectful or cruel. Some are happy, intelligent, sweet, and loving women who have done everything right...And some of every one of these groups have a child who has, or is, stumbling along a darkened and rocky road. Almost all of us have regrets...something we wish we'd done more of, less of, or differently. But we did what we knew how to do, what we thought was best at the time.

I heard a speaker years ago who said something that will always stick with me. Not only because his words are a salve... but, because his words make sense. He said,
"So many of us are puffed up and proud because all of our children have served missions for the church, been married in the temple, and have accepted callings of high positions. We stand tall, behind our facade of humility our eyes search for those who applaude our great parenting. But, there are among us parents who have hearts torn in two because they have children who have strayed, become lost, and are struggling mightely along lifes paths. Behind their smiles, their eyes are soft and they search with longing for someone who will understand, who can lift the burden of sorrow for a while. Let me suggest something to you. Is it not entirely possible that God in all of His infinite wisdom, looked at a difficult, rebellious spirit waiting to enter this mortal existance and said, "If this child has any chance at all, it's going to be with the _____ family". And he gave some of his most difficult, challenging spirit offspring to those He knew He could trust to be the most patient...who would be strong enough to carry the difficulties and disappointments... who would never stop believing in the precious child He had entrusted to their care, who would defend them, encourage them, pray for them, plead with them, ..forever, and for always. He found some of His most stalwart and faithful young parents, those He knew could withstand the lessons that would give them an understanding of the pain our Father in Heaven feels at the loss of so many of His own dearly beloved sons and daughters."

Makes sense to me. Anyway... I just had to let pressure out of the cooker before the top blew off and I had a spaghetti dish of stringy thoughts hanging all over the kitchen walls. I feel better now. I hope you're still doing okay.

Round One ended with an OOF

2008-05-25T10:28:00.000-07:00

Dustin and Davin came down not long ago to join Wayne for some Jeep crawling in Moab for a week-end. Dustin brought down his beloved dog, Bronco, to stay with me while they were away. Now, Bronco is a beautiful German Short Hair Pointer! He's got more personality than 99.2% of the dogs on the planet. He's genuinely funny! And he's a pretty well behaved pup. You may know what I mean here, almost always comes after you've called him a dozen times or so. It should have been fun having him here to run and chase with Pogo, our generally sweet mutt. There was only one reason it wasn't a particularly good time....what am I saying? It was a royal pain in my sit spot. Our gentle by nature, happy little Pogo, seems to absolutely hate Dustin's bird dog. If they get within four feet of each other, Pogo snarls and growls and lunges and does his utmost to rip Bronco's throat out.

Bronco could take him...easy. And he knows it. However, that obvious fact, somehow, eludes our pup. It takes no less than an Olympic wrestling team to pull them apart.

So...since I am but one aging woman, with all the strength of your average hula hoop... I had to make sure they never got within sight of one another unless they were heavily chained to fence posts at opposite ends of the pasture. It was NOT a good time. If I put Bronco in the garage, he'd bark and howl and whine and slam his body against the door...for HOURS. So, I put Pogo in the garage and brought Bronco in with me at night.

Now, I can't even begin to explain how miserable it is having this animal sleep with you. He will NOT stay on the floor. Pogo will. He will NOT sleep at the foot of the bed. Pogo's lucky if he gets the chance. He will NOT stay on his own side of the bed. He will NOT stay on top of the covers. He has to crawl under the sheets with you and sprawl his two tons of dead weight across your legs... that is, until he decides to cram his head and co-co-cold nose into your jaw, throw his chest across your shoulder blades pinning your arms in place, and settle in for a while. I pushed and pleaded, "UGH"ed and "OOFed" half the night before I finally gave in, grabbed a gardening magazine I could barely reach off my nightstand, and pretended to read it until morning light.

Will I ever, ever, EVER be caught tending this nutty dog again? I'm pretty sure I will. So... the question is, I guess... Mirror, mirror, on the wall...who's the nutty one after all?

At this stage of the game...

2008-05-25T09:48:00.000-07:00

At this stage of the game, I've just about decided that the weather can carry on with the soft flutter of snowflakes in winter.... or spring can finally carry it's profusion of petals on a warm breeze to my land. I almost don't care. I just wish Mother Nature would make up her mind.

It doesn't matter what I pull out of my closet to wear in the morning, I'm almost always wrong. I've taken the flowering plants that I purchased for my container and perennial gardens out to place them where I want them twice now.... and had to carry them back in because of the news announcments that a freeze could be expected in the next night or two. What the heck?

I'm about ready to pack up my capri pants, flip flops and granola bars and head to Kauii. A few months of playing in the surf, slurping the juice of a fresh pineapple slice, and listening to IZ would be a great balm for my withering hopes for summer

Anyone care to join me

Am I the only one?

2008-04-08T22:33:00.001-07:00

Okay... I work. My husband's retired. Now, granted, I don't work every day. At least, I don't drive the 30 miles into my office every day. But, on those days when I do, I've asked my sweetie if he didn't think it would be nice for him to make the bed while I'm in the shower, or make a smoothie or a bowl of Quaker Oats for breakfast. I even suggested that it would be nice when I get home at 7:30, after putting in a 10 hour day, if he'd have dinner ready.

Well... I do happen to live with one of the twelve sweetest men on the planet. And as far as his sense of fun... he ranks up there in the top two. I wouldn't trade him! Not for anyone and not for anything.

But.... am I the only one who thinks he hasn't quite taken hold of the idea of "helping" when I come home from showing properties and find that his idea of making dinner is putting a couple of chicken breasts on a plate to thaw, and plugging in the George Foreman grill. If he wasn't so dang sincere about it, I'd be a tad ticked off... I think... But, he's just so proud of himself, that I can only laugh, season the chicken, place it in the grill, make a salad & some rice, set the table and thank him for helping with dinner.

I don't want those of you who have hubby's who are gourmet cooks, who do the wash, and vacuum the floors to go getting all cocky, now. Wayne has vacuumed, he's never done the wash, but he has made the bed... sort of. It's kinda hard to tell when he's finished that it's been made. He has made breakfast, at least he's taken the cold cereal box out of the cupboard and put it on the table, he's made hamburgers for dinner once, and smoothies for breakfast. Although I did catch him just in time to stop him from putting cottage cheese and a whole apple in our fruit smoothie a couple of weeks ago. I'm talking WHOLE apple, ..seeds, core, stem, price sticker. We have a pretty dang powerful machine, but why chance it! I kind of regretted not letting him try the cottage cheese. Who knows, it just might have been pretty good.

Anyway, he keeps his clothes up off the floor, cleans the shower every time he uses it, and always squeezes the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube... so, if you take all that into account, along with the fact that he listens to my blather whenever I want to talk...even if a Jazz game's on, and he makes me laugh every day, and he's always provided me with a home with a great view and a car that makes it every where I want to go and back home again without breaking down... well, except for the T-bird, oh, and the Suburban. I've had it, and continue to have it pretty good. Life has been bitter occasionally, but generally pretty sweet, and sometimes, just downright delicious! Maybe I've always had to season the chicken, but he's spiced up our life together.

What was that again?

2008-04-03T22:38:00.000-07:00

So... It's a typical evening at home. I'm sitting in my faded, tattered and torn, but very comfy, chair sharing a burrito with Wayne and watching Bill O'Reilly. He brings up the topic of a recent show on Oprah... OPRAH, a mainstream, nationally syndicated and respected program... featuring a MAN who is 12 weeks pregnant.

What did I just say? What was that again?

Yes. It's true! A transexual MAN who still had his ovaries in tact was artificially insemenated with "lil swimmers" and he became impregnated. He'll be delivering in three months. They actually showed a video of him walking out on stage on the "O" show. It was bordering on outright creepy to see a guy in a pair of maternity pants.

Now... I don't know what you think about that... but I'm thinking, if he wanted to have a baby... why didn't "he" stay a "she"? This "guy" is married (to a woman), so why couldn't they have made arrangements for her to have the baby?

And what the heck was with the ob/gyn who planted the eggs in this gender confused patient? Can we say, "Just make that check out to Dr. Blank Brain." boys and girls? What else could he have been thinking about other than his hefty fee for service? And where are the people who donated the eggs and pollywogs for this experiment? The whole thing gives me the willy's.

I understand that the world gets wackier by the minute, and that medicine is making great strides, and that once upon a time the general population couldnt' imagine prosthetic hands with fingers that move and grip. I know all that. But... this is just waaaay too wierd for me!! I can't convince myself that it's an "advancement" toward anywhere I think I care to go.

Cadbury Eggs

2008-03-03T09:57:00.000-08:00

Ask my daughter what her favorite Easter Candy is and she'll most lilkely say, "Minature Cadbury Eggs". Of course I know that's not true. She REALLY loves the caramel eggs from See's or Mrs. Cavanaugh's. But, let's just set that technicality aside for a minute....

She and I were invited to meet the "Stott women" at Olive Garden for some tasty food and a gab fest last Friday. Ten of us gathered around a table at the eatery while we chewed and chatted our way through a couple of hours of reminiscing, sharing, and passing around the two newest members of our close knit extended family.

The party spilled over to Trina's house for crepe's stuffed with napolean ice crem and covered with fresh strawberries and hot fudge. More laughter... more chatter...more warmth from one another's company.

It was perfect! Almost. My favorite thing to do with the gathering of sisters, cousins, daughters and best friends is to sit on a couch somewhere for an evening and soak up their sunshine. Well, almost my favorite. The technical truth is... I prefer a looong week-end, sitting in camping chairs somewhere in the mountains, in our menfolk's beloved Southern Utah, at Bear lake... wherever and anywhere.

So, if you ask me my favorite thing to do with the women who were either born or married into the Stott family, I would most like say, "Spend a Friday night eating and giggling together." But, like the Cadbury eggs sitting on the coffee table, it's technically a second favorite.

The Music of Sounds

2008-02-26T18:13:00.001-08:00

I opened my friend, Lin's blog this morning. She'd written about music and asked for a response from her readers telling her what their favorite music was. That should be pretty easy to answer... but, as is my habit, I had to make it difficult. Let me share some of my answer here:

There are moments when I hear Billy Joel's "It's my Life" and my feet all but run away with me. I just can't sit or stand stlill when I hear that song. It's joyous and exhilarating. I absolutely love music that makes me want to move.

I also love slightly melancholy songs and songs with great swells of sound (think The Lost Chord, Ave Maria, Rachmaninoff) I like country music with lyrics that make me smile, music of the 40's most of the 50's. Heck, I even like some elevator music. But, she asked for our favorite.

The truth of it is that I often turn on the sound system when I'm home alone, but I don't listen to it the majority of time. I really like natural sounds. Music to my ears is:
The crunch of gravel in the driveway when Wayne returns home from an errand, the dogs playing with each other in the yard, the rush of water in the creek. I love the sound of my kids talking to each other in the next room, the door closing when the kids come in late at night, the teapot whistling, water running in the shower, the refrigerator door opening and closing. I like the sound of flip flops and bathroom slippers, my family's footsteps no matter where they are and what's on their feet, a neighbor knocking at the door, and hearing the clack, clack, sputter, chugg of the lawnmower while I'm outside working in the flower gardens.

Sometimes the music of a piano, quitar, violins and harps, or a soothing baritone voice, although most pleasant, serves to filter out those sounds that bring me the most contenment. So, my favorite music? The soft noises that remind me just how lucky I am. I like enough silence in my world to enable me to hear them well...and often.

And I knew

2008-02-24T11:39:00.001-08:00

November was the month of my birth.

I was ushered into mortality and it's myriad adventures in the 11th month of 1941.

One such adventure began in another November nearly thirty years later.

He stood at the top of the stairs. His hair was sunstreaked with the same pale yellow as his shirt. He didn't speak, he didn't smile. He just pulled himself to his full height and looked down to where I stood. We were introduced. He turned and walked down the hall without uttering a sound.

"What an odd young man" was the only thought I had as I crossed the road and entered my apartment. I wondered if he was shy, ill and unable to speak, or possibly just rude.

Soon, I was pulled from my musings by the noise of roommates coming home and excitedly talking about the cute, new guy who had just moved into our B.Y.U. "family". "Did you see how tall he is?" "His eyes are so blue." "Did you hear what he said when I asked him where he'd been the first couple months of the semester?" "He was so funny." "I love the way he moves." "He does seem sort of quiet."

Quiet? Did I hear someone say quiet? Mute, was the word that popped into my mind. Aahhh, well. It looked like he'd be well received and befriended by the young women in our small group, anyway.

That evening we had a gathering in our yard to introduce him to all of the members of our family. He sat aloof in a corner watching the activities with detached interest. Hot chocolate was passed around to everyone. As I walked up to ask how he was feeling about the guys he shared his new home with, he offered me the steaming cup in his hand. "No thanks, I answered him. I prefer hot egg nog." We exchanged a few words and I moved on as several of the girls swooped in around him.

I saw him several times over the next couple of weeks. We spoke briefly on a few occasions. Then during a family fireside one night, he turned to me and asked, "Just how old are you, anyway?" I laughed, answered him directly, and turned to grab a cookie off the plate that was teetering precariously on the arm of the couch behind me. Then, I took a deep breath and made the plunge. "Tell me a little about what you want to do with the rest of your life." I full well expected him to pull back under his protective shell of silence. But, his soft voice began to weave dreams... he told me of his love for the outdoors, of his desire to work with young boys who society was prepared to toss aside and declare as lost. His goals to do something began to take a turn and be replaced with a purpose to become something. I was mesmerized.

The following night, we had a dinner at our apartment for all of our family members. I had invited my beautiful, best friend to meet this young man who had suddenly become enchanting. I also had invited my boyfriend. Just that evening I had knelt in prayer and told my Heavenly Father that Jerry and I had made the decision to take our relationship to the next level. We were talking eternity. I told Him that unless He did something to stop me, I had decided to become Jerry's bride.

I've learned that when you ask, be prepared to be answered. At one point during the evening I went into the kitchen to help carry out dessert. While I was away, Jerry leaned across my dinner plate and asked my best friend to do him the honor of accompanying him for a nice meal and a play later that week. When I was told by my startled friend what took place in my short absence, I was devestated. A set of blue eyes sitting across the table had been watching with sympahty and understanding as this minor drama unfolded.

After the dishes has been washed and put away and everyone had gone to their seperate destinations, I sat in darkness and talked with the Lord. "Okay, I get it. The message came through. He is NOT who you have in mind. Couldn't you have been a little less brutal in letting me know?"

There was a quiet knock at the door. There he was, blue eyes downcast. Snow was settled on his blonde hair like an old night cap. "I thought I'd go buy some ice cream. Would you like to tag along?" I didn't feel like going out in the storm... but somehow I found myself putting on a coat and following him out to his old grey Chevy. I waited in the car while he ran into the store. When we were back home, he invited himself in. I sat on the couch as he went in the kitchen and began to rattle in the cupboards for... well, I couldn't tell what. In a few minutes he was standing before me holding a cup of hot egg nog and extending it toward me. I began to cry. He pulled me from where I sat and said, "You silly Californians. I bet you think the sky is falling. It isn't. It's just snow. See, you have snowflakes melting in your eyes." Cheesy? Perhaps. But also sweet and full of tenderness and compassion.
And I knew.

That night, Wayne took my heart in his hands and ushered me toward our eventual marriage and it's myriad adventures. It was the 11th month of 1972. He has since nourished and watered my soul as you would a flower garden. Through his care, I have grown and blossomed.

November was the month of my re-birth.

Chicken nuggets and Superman

2008-02-14T12:53:00.000-08:00

In answer to my query... blog is the accepted abbreviation for
Web Log. I'd be willing to bet every last one of you knew that... but, since no one told me, I'm informing one and all that I'm no longer one of only 42 people in the entire universe who had no idea where the silly sounding word "blog" came from.

I'd really like to write more. But, when you lead a very quiet life in a very quiet town, there just isn't a whole lot of shakin goin on to report about.

There's a poem that I sent to Wayne in the early days of our marriage that sort of says it:

I think about you often
And I'd write you every day
But, there's so very little
That seems worthwhile to say

It either snows or doesn't snow
It's either warm or cold
The news is all uninteresting
Or else, it's all been told

The only thing that matters
Is the fact that you are there
I am here, without you
So it's lonesome everywhere

There's more, but it gets a little bit personal after this point.

I'm back to sitting in my office in Fairview looking out at the covered bridge and the mountains surrounding our valley. I'm no longer making chicken nuggets for the grandkids, but chicken sandwiches for Wayne. I'm no longer reading "Jan ran to the van to get a pan" with Brannock, but reading books that help an adult stretch her mind. I'm not playing hide and seek, but seeking for where the lost socks are hiding. And I'm no longer basking in the glow of hugs and smooches from tiny arms, but missing them terribly. It's true that when I'm away for a while I forget the noise quotient in a house full of little boys. And every time I visit with the grandkids I have to adjust to the rowdiness and high pitched voices that haven't learned to whisper. But, it's such a kick to be with them. They're so totally "without guile"... so full of surprises and sunshine for the soul. I love it! And, of course, it's always comforting to sleep in a house protected by superman himself.

young chicks, old dogs...

2008-02-09T16:08:00.000-08:00

I've been reading some of the posts written on my neice's, and some of Chandi's good friend's,

"blogs" There's Jade and Cali, Tessa, and Summer. There's Maria, Tara and Stacia. And, of course when she's not basking in the sun on a beach somewhere in the Bahama's...there's my own little girl, Chandelar. Young chicks all.

Those days are faded memories for me now. I'm all sqawk and not much strut anymore.

I was thinking about that this morning while looking at the towers of snow that are slowly melting in the yard. I've been telling myself that the productive, fertile days of being a young chick are behind me now. What a ridiculous thought!! Why in the world would anyone try to convince themselves that they're past the time to create, and develop their gifts, and contribute to the laughter and wisdom of their circle of influence. Pretty crazy. And I've decided that even if my feathers are falling out (that's a loose translation. I'm losing my hair) I can still strut what stuff I have left... and I can have a good time doing it. What's more, the old dog I share my life with still thinks I look like a tasty dish now and then. So what have I lost?? Not a thing that hasn't been replaced with something else of value. Do I look good in a swim suit? ha ha ha ha aahhhhh ha ha ha. Of course not! Can I wear really cute capri's and t's (you know, like Chandi wears) and not look silly? Not often... and less often than I try to, that's for sure. Can I chase kids around the yard and climb hills to fly kites with them? Certainly... but I can't do it without huffing and puffing and suffering mightily for it later that night.

So what? I have the time to read and paint and sculpt and write and think. I can listen to kith or kin as long as necessary to salve a breaking or sorrowing heart. I can go for a leisurely stroll and not have to worry about being home when school's out. I can leave my sculpture on the dining table and give no thought whatsoever to who might put their little fingers in it. Life is delicious at every stage! I don't want to go back. I want to move forward. But, oh! How I love to peek in on the lives of those who are in the mid morning years of their lives. It's such a treat for someone who is living in the twilight of hers.

Thank you one and all for allowing me to read and remember. I'm so very moved by each of you and the wisdom, insight, and joy that you express. Here's to youth, and old age, and everything in between!

The Bird, the Bug and the Bean

2008-02-09T12:25:00.001-08:00

The kids were playing, very ACTIVELY playing, in the family room Monday night. Brannock was flying from one couch to the other. They had every pillow and a third of the blankets in the house piled on the floor. Occasionally, Brannock would fly into the middle of the pile. Then he'd get up and flit from one room to another, a constant blur of motion. Ryson was sitting on the floor looking like the cute little bug that he is, when every now and then, his older brother would drop, almost mid flight, flat onto him, squishing him into the mound of pillows. Keaton, in the mean time, started to reek, as had been his habit every hour on the hour for the several days. So... I mentioned that I was going to call Brannock, "Bird" because he was always flitting and flying around the house... I was going to call Ryson, "Bug" because he was always getting squished and he was so darn cute... and I was going to call Keaton, "Bean" because he always smelled like he'd eaten too many beans, (I know you get my drift, we've talked about it before). Anyway, they thought it was funny. Keaton keeps saying, "I'm Bean, huh Gigi? I'm Bean" He's pretty taken with the name. (It may have somethihg to do with little boys and the strange affection they have for anything even closely related to bathroom humor.) Brannock has told several people who've popped in for visits that they have new names and proceeds to rattle them off. Let's see, that's Dustin, Davin, Dallin, Grandma, Lindsay, Trina and my good friend, Patti. So, Bird, Bug, Bean and Gigi are having a good time calling each other nicknames while listening to the snow and icicles fall off the roof. I suspect that we'll continue to have a good time with it until mom and dad come home and abolish the new handles. Isn't "handle" a strange thing to call a name? I wonder where and how that originated.

Going, going, gone...

2008-02-03T00:34:00.000-08:00

I just read something on my good friend, Lin's blog that got me to thinking a bit. Oh, oh, huh?

She mentioned that another month is gone. I don't know why that hit me the way it did. Another month has slipped past...almost unnoticed, barely recorded in my memory. Another cluster of moments... many mis-spent, some productive, too few filled with short, yet precious snippits of time that will comfort me during snowstorms, sleepless nights, and lone, introspective walks.

I want to take the days yet unlived in February and fill them with more of those moments that will wrap themselves like tentacles around my heart. I don't know how many more breaths I will be allowed to take, but I want to breathe in the love of family and friends with every last one of them. Less time looking for cobwebs, watching mindless television programming, and sitting in a real estate office while my husband is home, walking the dog, building a snowman, or reading a book by the fire without me. Lin suggested that perhaps we are trying to leave recorded history and wisdom on our blogs much like the ancients left notes for future generations with their rock art. Am I leaving words of wisdom? I can talk wisdom fairly well now and then, so perhaps a certain number of my words may lift one of them on occasion. But, I don't live very wisely. I would like to take on the maturity that should be a part of aging and live in such a way that what they have SEEN me do would be my legacy, and not what they have heard me say...or what they have read that I've written. It's so much easier to talk and write than to live with wisdom and clarity. So... I raise my glass to better times ahead in this month of loving and lovers. I make a toast to renewed commitments.

I will strive to keep my loved ones at the center of my actions, not just my thoughts. I will try with more energy to savor the moments of solitude, to taking in and digesting new thoughts, and to finding ways to make someone else's burden a little lighter. I'm finding that opportunities for prayer are made, not stumbled upon... and that they become more important and sweeter to me with each daybreak, each nightfall. I listen more, and remain still longer, when I pray. It helps me to know that the Savior is there, at that very moment, listening and comforting and whispering what He would have me do....that He is watching over my children, that He loves them as I do... and that He will stand with them and help them find companionship and purpose, and to feel accepted and complete.

This is Cordell, standing at the shore, with his poets heart, soaking in the serenity that he finds in the myriad beauties of creation. He's not always content with his solitude, but he no longer seems afraid of it. He has reached that point at a much younger age than I. So perhaps it is he who is showing the way to live wisely. Yet another example of my children teaching and leading me as they so often do. I am always and forever grateful that each of them has been a part of this mortal existance. I suspect that they were a part of my pre-existant state as well. They are premier among all that is holy in my life.

Paradise Found

2008-01-31T00:01:00.000-08:00

A portion of our Grove. I love this part of our property!
The foot bridge from the driveway to the Grove
A place for planting some wild flowers and bulbs
hopefully this spring.... if not, we'll do it next year
It's good to rest after planting wildflowers and bulbs..
what better place than our hammock with views of
the pastures, the mountains and the valley... sigh....
could this be why the larkspur and daffodils aren't growing
in rich abundance in the grove?? Could it be I'm resting before I plant?

Everyone should have a picture of their garage door.
But this includes a small shot of the park that is our side yard...
Our bridge is the permanent picture on the blog and is located at
the end of the gravel drive on the right. The home is humble that's for sure.

But, we do have a guest room and clean towels. Wayne will try his hand at barbecuing some chicken or burgers... maybe even a dutch oven dinner. I make a mean omelet for overnight guests. So this is an invitation for one and all to come and visit us at the Hollow. We LOVE company!

A Coco Wickie No

2008-01-30T13:27:00.000-08:00

Too perfect a day to be contained in one small space. This is a continuation ... and I somehow got two pics of the same thing on here and I'm too green at this stuff to be able to figure out how to get it off, so I guess you'll have to enjoy it twice.... Eden Valley truly is Eden revisited on earth.

Memories are Made of This

2008-01-30T12:48:00.000-08:00

Have you ever closed your eyes and tried to search through the channels of your mind the way you might browse through the pages of a well worn book... looking for a cherished memory or a favorite passage. I was watching the weather move in across the valley last night feeling the serenity that living in our little Kingdom affords me, and my mind drifted to last summer and a strawberry shortcake delicious day spent with my daughter and her boys in Eden Valley. Dessert for the soul!!! I've added a few photos to share some of the magic with you. I can only hope that everyone will taste such moments many times in their lives.

Where, oh where???

2008-01-27T15:46:00.000-08:00

Well, the boys packed up the car and left about an hour ago. I stood in the driveway as they drove away and felt a little emptiness creep over me. The house always seems like it's missing something for a day or two after the children visit. It isn't the house that's missing something, I know. It's me. I miss their laughter and teasing and digging through the kitchen cupboards for something more to eat.

It was a good time. We had meatloaf sandwiches today. I don't know why I don't make meatloaf more often... I love it. Well, I do too know why. I've been leaning away from meats and towards a more natural, vegetarian diet for a while now. But, they were might tasty! The guys went for walks and to the B.Y.U. game. We all discussed the results of the South Carolina primary, and the close Florida race between McCain and Romney. Whoa! Dustin is a little crazy when it comes to politics! He's sort of an uneven and ever shifting blend of Bill O'Reilly, Glen Beck and Michael Savage. It was interesting and I think we all stretched our minds and opened them to each others opinions. I like discussions where a free exchange of differing thoughts are explored. I get so bored when conversations consist of one person talking while the other sits and listens, bobble heading to everything said. It shows, to quote my dad, "A lack of spirit only to be admired in sheep". I like that all of my children are confident enough to express themselves and speak up when they're in disagreement with what's being said, and/or done.

Dallin mostly listened to us talk... at least when we weren't listening to him snore. He always sort of melts onto the couch and slips into some twilight space between consciousness and unconsciousness when he's here. (That's with a heavy leaning toward the unconscious side)

I love this!!... the feather touch of the evening sunbeams have just crept into the room. The scene through the upstairs window is breathtaking. It snowed earlier in the day (actually, just as my sons were driving across the bridge). It was one of those soft as soap bubble snows. Now, as the sun hits the trees in the grove, each delicate branch has the appearance of being adorned with diamond earrings. I need to stop and take a few minutes to let it soak into my memory.

sigh.....

That was nice! It's been overcast most of the day with dismal, drifting clouds, persistanty sheltering the sun from view. I remember when I moved to Sanpete County, I was told that, on average, the sun shone 360 days of the year. I sputtered, snorted and scoffed. Who was going to believe that Chamber of Commerce hype? But, you know what? I paid attention over the last two years and it's been true! Granted, it doesn't shine ALL day. But, it shines for a portion of almost EVERY day.

Well, I need to go find a book that a good friend gave to me when we left New Harmony. Shortly after reading it, I put it someplace for safekeeping. Unfortunately, for the life of me, I can't seem to remember where I was keeping it safely. Where, oh where could it be? I'm sure my children will stumble across it while packing my belongings for my move into assisted living. I can't understand how I can lose things in this tiny cabin. There just aren't that many places to hide. I'll sleep on it tonight and look again in the morning. There's an Arabic expression, "Bukra, inshallah". It means, Tomorrow, God willing". Seems appropriate, here.

I don't know how long it will be before I write again. I'm leaving for Chandi and John's Wednesday to watch their crew of munchkins while they sit poolside, and partake of the goodie laden tables, on a cruise. I'll take my laptop and hope I can keep it functioning. I have a few things stiring in my real estate pot that I need to keep an eye on. And, if I break this habit... I may not pick up the pieces and put it back together again.

All is well, here....

watching

2008-01-25T14:27:00.000-08:00

I have only a minute... lots to do yet today. But I wanted to share this great little thought that I came across this morning:

DON'T WORRY THAT CHILDREN NEVER LISTEN TO YOU.... WORRY THAT THEY ARE ALWAYS WATCHING YOU.

Gulp!
But, don't you think that's worth thinking about?

Hats off to today and all the joy it brings!

Working flushers and Eloquent thoughts

2008-01-24T08:10:00.000-08:00

Once again sleep eluded me last night. I was up late, late, late. I finally gulped down a 12 oz glass of hot milk to help drop my eyelids. While wishing I was dreaming instead of wishing I was dreaming, I thought of so many things I wanted to talk about this morning. But for someone who has a longer tongue than a Canadian Mountie's boot, I suddenly have nothing to say. How does that happen, I wonder. I so wanted to woo you with a few lovely turns of phrase and dazzle you with witty banter. Ahhh well... perhaps in a more creative moment.

My two oldest sons, Dustin and Dallin, and Dusty's boy Davin, are coming to spend the week-end with us. YeeHaw!!! I am so stoked.

I may end up liking this Blog thing, after all. Well, maybe not writing it so much, but...it was such a delicious surprise to get a comment from Maria, a beautiful you lady who shared our home and stole our hearts many long years ago. And my angel of a niece, Jade, typed in a few sweet words to brighten my spirits. I'm liking that! I also, somehow, accidently stumbled on a blog from an incredibly interesting young lady that fascinates me... so I may peek in on her musings from time to time. Kinda fun. I had to share her blog with Cordell, who I think might enjoy it as well. Not her, her blog... well, maybe her too, if she wasn't on the morning side of the mountain and he wasn't on the twilight side of the hill. I know she'd like him. I mean who can resist a gorgeous, successful, sensitive poet?

Gosh. I have a busy day coming up. I suppose I ought to do the "housewife" schtick and make the bed and throw in a load of laundry before heading into the office to scheme our getaway from Coldwell Banker's hefty fee's, and our principal broker's lack of concern about our crummy working conditions. He has an office seperate from ours. He told me he couldn't imagine why we didn't buy a couple gallon jugs of water to use in our "flusher" and wash our hands afterwards. I said, "Are you KIDDING me?? I can't believe you haven't furnished us an office with RUNNING water!!" So, that night, he forked out enough of his cash stash to purchase a couple gallon jugs to keep in the bathroom. Couldn't call a plumber. That's his m.o. A "prince of a guy" the twinkie! It's only been since December 6th that we've been without heat and water. Oh well... the temperature was only -13 Tuesday morning. Yup! You read that right. MINUS 13 degrees.

Before I leave, I want to tell Chandi how touching and eloquently expressed her last blog was. I made a copy of the first paragraph to carry with me. I also made a hard copy of her story about Brannock. Both are precious.

ta ta for now.

Three Broads and a Dog?

2008-01-23T17:25:00.000-08:00

It's been a delicious day! I slept in soooo late. Well, maybe slept in isn't technically correct. I stayed in bed much later than usual. I just luxuriated on our wonderful mattress surrounded by ultra soft cotton bedding, freshly fluffed, delicately scented down pillows, and a new, baby tummy/bum cuddly, down comforter. It felt absolutely decadent and I loved every minute of it. My mind was completely still and calm. Now that's a rarity! It was nice to just glance out the window at last nights snow fluttering to the ground as a gentle breeze tossed it from the branches in the grove. I was able to lie there with no distractions and just be reflective. A perfect way to start a day.

Then a long, hot shower where I could pray out loud and feel my muscles release the concerns of the outside world. Nice!

I volunteered at the Museum part of the day and spent some quality time with LaVay and Linda, two of the gals who work there. I taught them to make beaded bookmarks and we shared a spirited and motivating conversation while stringing glass balls on thread. It was delightful!

I also got a call from the broker in my office. She wants to open her... well... our own office. Just her, me and Maureen. I drove into the office so we could share ideas and come up with a game plan. She ordered some mighty fine veggie pizza and three drinks of rootbeer. Each of the drinks was about the size of your average kiddie pool. Not too smart when you work in an office without a working "flusher". Anyway, I digress. She wants to call it, "Three Broads and a Dog". Wha??? Really, what kind of name is that? Catchy? Maybe so. But, I have just a teense of concern over exactly what we'd catch with it. I suggested that we check into the possibility of renting a little red caboose in Mt Pleasant and call it the "On Track Realty". I could really get excited about the prospect. I hope we move on it. I have a zillion plus ideas on marketing and building the business.

Well.. that's my day. Wayne is finishing up a John Grishom novel. The house is quiet. I'm sure that before long it will be filled with the sounds of basketball games and political pundits. It is the evening habit of the sweet man who shares my life.

Annnnnnnnnnddd... heeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrs the t.v. That happened a might sooner than I thought it would. Guess I'll give a hefty OOF! and lift this body off the chair and cart it downstairs to spend some time with my hubby pretending like I care who wins the game.

Yikes. We just had a power outage. You'd think that would revert the house to silence. But, Wayne scrounged around and found our battered radio that plays more static than any other sound... so, we can still hear the politico's blather on and on and on. I'm sooo thrilled. My trusty old laptop is still chuggin right along for me... it switched to battery, I'm sure. So I could continue writing.... except that there's no light and I can't see the keyboard worth a tinkers da#@n. I have no idea why that expletive just turned blue. Is there a message here?
Anyway, so long for now..............

7 wierd things about me??? let me think.....

2008-01-22T13:24:00.000-08:00

1. I love peanut butter and dill pickle sandwiches, cold peas with mayonaise, and a cake my mother made from mashed pinto beans.

2. I love toe socks... if I had my way, I'd wear them to church all winter... Okay, truth of it is, I have worn them to church several times.

3. I prefer to sleep sideways on the bed. Not just my bed... any bed, anywhere.

4. I like asking semi personal questions of total strangers. I'm always amazed at how anxious people seem to be to have a willing listener.

mmmmmmmmm..... I'm running out of wierdness, here.

5. I like my apple pie warm, and served with a slice of cheese and a dollop of peanut butter.

6. It bugs me when Wayne drinks something cold from a mug. I mean it really bugs me. Mugs are for HOT drinks... GLASSES are for cold drinks. Why would any reasonable person care about this? And yet, I do.

7. I've watched "Dirty Dancing" over 40 times and would watch it again this afternoon if I could get our V.C.R. to work. I know it's a poorly written, poorly acted movie with a terrible moral message. But, I can't seem to help myself.

Tha-tha-tha-that's all Folks...
I don't know enough addresses to do whatever else it was you told me to do, Chandi.

He's still awake

2008-01-22T00:07:00.000-08:00

Poor Wayne, he struggles with getting to sleep. Me, too. But, I'll get on the computer and read some e-mails or write a letter to someone... or look on the multiple listing service for properties a client might be interested in....or experiment with "Uncle Petie's" blog to fritter away some time. He just ... waits ... and waits ...

It occured to me that even though I have some reservations about certain aspects of my life, there are some things that I absolutely know for sure. One of those things is that of all the things you can throw away money on... there are a few things that will always pay high dividends. Self esteem for your children and memories are two that come to mind. Self esteem is not readily won. Children need consant reinforcement of their intrinsic worth. The object lesson with the $50.00 bill is a fair example of a good way to express that. So, I don't want to suggest that self esteem can be bought. But, it helps to free up some cash for guitar lessons and basketball camps and the E.F.Y week-end experience. The abilities and insights they will glean from such activities add immeasurably to a child's belief that they have something to offer, that they have a talent, and to help them "fit in". Fitting in gets a bad rap now and then. But, it's important to all of us. We never outgrow the desire to be a part of a group and to contribute to a community of friends. I have come to know this the hard way.

Memories are the only thing that matter when you enter the twilight years. On snowy days at home, they add more warmth than a blazing fire to a parent who's children have moved into their own lives. Save and set aside for birthday bashes and vacations and science experiments at home. Make goofy costumes to wear in a parade around the neighborhood and buy lots of helium filled balloons to set free on a warm May morning. You don't have to spend a lot... but, you will not regret one penny used to purchase kites, or individual cereal boxes to hang on the trees for a breakfast treasure hunt. Run through the sprinklers together on a hot night... in your pajamas. Pour green food coloring into orange juice on St. Patti's Day. Have banana splits for breakfast on April Fool's Day. Have a water fight in public fountains, and eat ice cream cones at every possible opportunity.

At about the age of 55 or 60... you'll look around your home and wonder why you want to continue to dust all of those precious "things" you wanted so badly when you were 30. You'll love picture albums and a few favorite books... There will always be sweet memories attached to a few "things". But, the more age settles on your shoulders and begins to bend the body... the more your spirit will reach for the memories of laughter and tears and celebrations and struggles overcome together. You will close your eyes and see the faces of your babies sleeping on your husbands chest... you'll remember the first day you sent your oldest child to school and the first scout uniform you bought. You'll remember the times you read snuggled under the blanket on the heater, and the nights that you talked with your sons and daughters when they came home from a dance... You will not envision the mahogany dining table or the new lamps on the bedroom nightstands. You won't conjure up the sight of dishes and decorations or a great new pair of shoes. It will be the people who you have loved and who have loved you that will sustain and comfort you.
That is one of the things that I know with out doubt. Another is this:

It does not matter how often you let yourself down, how often you commit the "sins" that weigh heavy on your soul, how often you don't pray, how often you doubt a gospel principle.... it doesn't even matter if you begin to doubt the Savior and falter in your belief in Him. He will NEVER, NEVER, NEVER stop believing in you. He will always take your hand when you put it forth. His love is even stronger than a mother's love... And I don't need to tell you what it would take for your love for your child to be strangled beyond breath, or for your faith in him to be destroyed.
It is an integral part of your very being. And your childs worth to you... and your worth to the Lord never changes. Like the fifty dollar bill. You can step on it, toss it in the mud, mangle it, tear a portion of it away... it is still a fifty dollar bill... it is still worth fifty dollars. It doesn't matter if we've been stepped on or muddied up, if our spirits have been mangled and a part of our soul torn away. We are still sons and daughters of God and have the same eternal worth in His eyes.
And... you will always feel that same unending, unbreakable love for the children you raise. Be sure that they are always confident in that knowledge.

I think Wayne's sleeping soundly. I'm going to try and do the same. Right this very minute, I miss my children... I want to close my eyes and savor some tender memories of them sitting by the campfire listening intently to their father weave his tall tales of "Uncle Zedekiah".

Aagghhhhh....

2008-01-21T23:50:00.000-08:00

All I want to do is go to bed and get some sleep. Well, that's a total lie. I want lots and lots of other things. I want to be smarter, skinier, richer. I want a new set of chairs and a rug for my living room. I want a television that works and a deck off the french doors and a loft for the grandkids to sleep in and a second bathroom. I want my boys to find sweethearts and wives and to start to build their families. I want Ryson to be able to come and visit with me without also visiting the emergency room. I want tons of things. Right now, I want some popcorn. BUT...
I also want to go to bed. Here's the problem. I love sleeping in a cool, completely silent room. Wayne, likes the room warmer. Odd, I know. He's the one who keeps the house hovering just above freezing during the day, and I'm the one who constantly tries to sneak the thermostat up to 60. Anyway, he also likes to play the radio to lull himslef to sleep. It drives me totally NUTS!
I'm waiting most impatiently for him to fall deep enough into slumber for me to be able to click the off button on that static heavy sound box so I can go to bed before I have to wake up and shower for another boring day at the office.

I feel absolutly no better whatsoever after getting that off my chest.

G-Nite...

The Junkyard I call my mind

2008-01-21T22:38:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wish it were possible to rip the thoughts out of my brain, throw them into a colandar, strain out all the useless ideas sloshing around in there, and let them slip into oblivian as they slip down the drain. Then perhaps I might write a profound, life altering letter to share with my posterity out of the lump of wisdom that remains.

Well, we know that's not going to happen, right? Should some unsuspecting reader stumble upon my late night musings, he/she will just have to sift the wheat from the chaff for his/her self.

As for me, I can't tell anymore what's of value and what isn't. Let me see if I can expand a little on what I mean.

I volunteer at the local museum. While working there I've had the great pleasure of becoming acquainted with a delightful, extremely well educated and diverse, woman who has offered to mentor me as I struggle to grow in spirituality. I am completely and utterly fascinated with her life and everything she has to say. She makes total sense to me. She encourages me to read the scriptures and pray constantly and to "just talk" with my Father in Heaven and the Savior. She encourages me to make them my resource for having a solid understanding of what I need to know to live in their presence again. That sounds uncomplicated enough. Now for the big BUT... (that's BUT... not BUTT. Let's not get too personal, here) She also encourages me to go "beyond" the lessons in Relief Society and Sunday School. To "expand" and enlarge my spirituality by connecting to who she refers to as my "heavenly people". I want to do that. I all too often feel like I'm still a little hungry for a deeper understanding of gospel principles after hearing the lessons at church. And yet, the manuals tell us not to bring in outside material, to teach ONLY from the instruction manuals. I'm sorry... that doesn't quench my thirst. Is that really all that our Father wants us to hear and to know? I don't always feel the connection between what is said, and how to incorporate it into my daily living. Oh, to be sure, some Sundays I feel like I can't contain all of the insight and wisdom that was given to me. But, generally, I want to know so much more about who I was before I came to earth and what promises I made when I crossed the veil. What am I supposed to be doing here? Have I grown in stature in mortality? I don't feel like I have. I feel somehow that I've been diminished, like I know less and understand less, and will have less to offer in way of service to Him when I die. LaVay, my museum friend, says that I have the right and the responsibility to ask for guidance directly from Heaven and to follow the personal promptings of the spirit that I receive. I'm a little afraid of that. There are a few things that we're taught that I have a hard time accepting. For example, I love my children and I would NOT, under any circumstances, tell one of them that they could not enter my home unless they told me they loved me in a very specific and exact manner. In the same respect, I can not imagie that our Heavenly Father is going to close the door on a child who can't repeat the phrases learned in the temple in the precise manner that he heard them. I believe in the ordinances of the temple... but, I have doubts about the necessity of rote memory as a pre-requisite for entrance into my Father's home or my Father's arms. There's a lot to be said about this... I'm sure that if we attend regularly our minds will be relaxed and open and we'll remember. I have a good memory anyway, and I'm not worried about that. I just don't believe that a loving Father would be adament about it. I mean, He KNOWS whether or not we've been there. We certainly don't need to prove it to Him. He's perfectly aware of how dedicated we have or haven't been to our responsibilities as members of this church on earth. So, what DO I need to know? What DO I need to accomplish to feel worthy when I stand before Him? I have always wanted to know more...to dig deeper. My dad used to talk to me about my inquisitive nature endlessly when I was a child. It's so easy to find myself walking a tightrope... I want to stay safe within the confines of the organized church... and yet, I want to explore and research and fill every crevice of my mind with knowledge from several springs. I think the standard works are the foundation. A foundation gives every building it's strength... but, not it's warmth.

I'm not comfortable about sending this into cyberspace. I don't want my daughter to think that I'm teetering on the brink of apostasy. I'm not. I like e-mailing so much better than this "blog" thing. I like the privacy of "morning pages" and the freedom to ramble without fear of trampling on someone else's belief system or feeling the need to explain myself. I don't think I have the hang of the type of things you're supposed to talk about on these sights. Is it just to keep people posted on what you're DOING... not what you're FEELING? I hope it would entail the free and open exchange of ideas. I'm more than willing to be taught. I will learn from Chandi... she is forever and always teaching me something. I learn from my four sons. They have strength and courage, gentleness and generosity that inspire me beyond my ability to express. I would listen to and learn from the purity of Jade and Cali and Tara... but, they don't read what I write or respond to my words. It is important for me to say that I don't want doubts about my love of the Savior to ever creep into the hearts or minds of any of the precious young people who occupy my life.

What the heck??? I'm rambling and I have to stop.

I have read the sights of all of Chandi's blog pals. It's been great. I love the depth of their commitment to their families and to doing what they feel is right and true to their best selves. I love the sense of humor that keeps motherhood fun and full of giggles. I'm going to continue to sneak peeks at their experiences and refresh my memory and my soul. I may even comment now and then.

ugh, urp, gag

2008-01-18T00:57:00.000-08:00

It's 2:00 a.m and all reasonable people are tucked in their comfy beds and have drifted into dream land. The rest of us poor clouts are wondering what to do with ourselves until the sandman finally tosses some of his magic dust into our eyes.
I am particularly anxious to escape into sleep tonight since a skunk spewed his gaggy stuff all over our dog somewhere around eleven this evening. They were evidently just outside our garage, because when I opened the "man door" to get something out of our car, I was about forced to my knees with the nastiness of the stink. Our house is...um...uh... think of a room full of men who recently had their fill of refried bean dip. Now, think 82 times worse than that.
So, what can I ramble on about to fill up time?
I did have an extremely tender evening assisting my friend, Lin, with her mom's temple work Tuesday night. There were some very sweet moments. I loved seeing Lin holding her son's hand over the alter.
I spent the night with Norma Jean and Vance after the endowment and sealings were completed. It's always a good time when we get to see them. Wayne was going to go with me and spend the evening with his sister and her hubby, but he bugged out on me last minute. He was worried about leaving his @#**^%Z## dog home alone... (yes, that would be the very same dog who is currently sleeping in the garage wearing skunk squirt) so, he sent me off in the trusty old Outback "silver streak" to fend for myself. The turkey! There were crosswinds of about 80 m.p.h on Highway 89 and up through most of Spanish Fork Canyon. The roads were icy and the blowing snow made for white out conditions in a dozen different spots. I was holding the steering wheel in a death grip while clenching my teeth and cursing my husband in a most unladylike fashion. I always count on him to protect me from all the scary stuff. I tell you here and now, he came dangerously close to losing his "super hero" status.

I am excited about Lee and Trina coming to stay with us for a couple of days this week-end. We may duct tape them to the couch, so they'll have to stay through Monday. So, if no one hears from them for a few days... don't get to worried. They'll be safe. We'll sit them near the fire and feed them hot soup through a straw. Of course, if the master of the household doesn't grab his pet and give him a solid scrub down in V8 juice, they may just yelp and make a quick escape. I'm making Chandi's yummy for the tummy burrito recipe and I've stocked up on ice cream and lots of frozen fruit for smoothies. Come to think of it... maybe we'll just stick to hot chocolate and cookies. The temperature this morning was -12 degrees. brrrrr.... It hit 23 this afternoon and it felt like a tropical heatwave.

Time to say good night. Gonna make some hot milk and heat the handy body heater things that Dallin gave me for Christmas and snuggle under my down comforter. With a little luck, the fates will smile down on this weary body and bless me with a few hours of slumber.

Second chances....

2007-12-08T12:22:00.000-08:00

I love second chances.
If I can get the hang of this...maybe I'll use it for "morning musings"... Nah, probably not. I have a hard time thinking that blogging is a good way to have a private diary of sorts. Maybe we'll just keep those quiet ramblings that saunter through my mind now and then a little more personal. On a disk I can hide under the mattress or toss in the firepit.
Life is sweet here at the Hollow. It's a serene existance. I find myself liking the calmness of it. Of course, I am who I have always been. The California girl surfaces from time to time and screams to go for a ride or out shopping. She wants to have someone else prepare her lunch and clean up the mess after she eats. So, I do have to bundle her up and take her up Spanish Fork Canyon to stroll through the quaint shops in Springville and treat her to a stuffed breadstick at Magleby's. For the most part, though, she sleeps peacefully in the recesses if my memory and allows my spirt to bask in the quiet beauty of our little kingdom in Fairview.
I just read an e-mail from my good friend, Lin, who invited Wayne and I to go to a private (very private... two couples only) New Years Eve party in St. George. It sounds wonderful.
We're trying to figure out what we could do with Davin. We have him staying with us after Christmas. We may have to decline their gracious invitation and stay home and lift a glass of the bubbly with our ten year old grandson to ring in 2008. I call that making a good memory for ourselves and someone we love, so we'll be content with that decision. I think we'll have to make confetti sacks of birdseed, and throw long strips of orange and apple rinds out in the grove at midnight. We can let him make as much noise as he wants with whistles and bells and tin horns. Yes, that sounds like what we'll do. I'd love to spend the holiday with Lin and Allen, playing games and eating yummies in a warmer part of the state... perhaps another year. I want to make as many memories with my children and grandchildren as I can while I'm still here and able to make them. Lately I haven't been able to get enough of Chandi and John and their brood of three... or of staying with Dustin, Dallin and Davin and watcing them with each other and with their dad... I only get to talk with Cordell on my minimally functioning cell phone... but, it's so much fun to keep up with his daily activities. I think the only thing I enjoy more than I enjoy the Hollow.... is being with my five children and their families. aahhhh.... so good! I could slurp them up like hot soup.
Christmas is creeping up on me... well, not creeping, actually. It's more like a sprint. I have the shopping done (except for Dallin and John... they're the two that keep me so perplexed each year) I have wrapping paper and tape and am excited to get the packages wrapped. I can't decorate them until we get up north, however. I have ALL of my ribbon and package toppers stored at Chandi's home. Not too bright. I had to scrounge just to wrap a present for the office party. I never claimed to be a detail person.
Well... enough of this for now. I may write again tonight or tomorrow or in 2011. Who knows? Right now... there are important things that need to be taken care of, like making a sandwich for my man who has been spending his morning in the cold, make that extremely cold, as in about 12 degrees cold, garage fixing the headlights on the Outback. He's a sweetie!
C....