LaurieBee's Family Hive

One Day

2012-02-01T23:23:00.000-08:00

Note: I'm participating in an on-line writers exercise. Each day we are given a picture to prompt us to write something. Yesterday's picture of a teapot was easy for me, as it immediately brought fond memories to mind. Today's picture is more difficult for me and actually required me to use my brain.

Today's prompt comes from images_improbables on Flickr, via a Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs Creative Commons license.http://www.flickr.com/photos/images_improbables/6748409757/

Unfortunately, (technologically challenged that I am) I can't figure out how to load the picture so that it's not blurry, but you can pull it up from the link.

________________

One day the gates will open. One day. My soul waits for the great resurrection day. I've waited so long for my body to reunite with my soul. There was such a long wait to receive it, and then in a flash it was gone again. I didn't take care of it, or even appreciate it. There were so many imperfections that I didn't see the whole picture. I forgot to look forward to eternity when all will be perfected.

One day the gates will open. One day. I'll not take my body for granted again. I'll cherish my perfected body. I'll hold my head high and remember who I am. I'll walk with God and angels. One day.

One day the gates will open. One day. I'll reach down and summon, and it will follow. Clouds will part and make way for the great resurrection day.

One day the gates will open. One day.

We're In the Big Time!

2012-02-01T16:44:00.000-08:00

It doesn't take much to amuse or make me happy. We moved into our little neighborhood almost 35 years ago. It's a cute little neighborhood, but the streets are narrow. I can live with narrow streets, but parking is a bit of a bear.

It was pretty difficult all those years ago to drive our neighborhood at night. There were no street lights. That problem was solved 5 or 6 years after we moved in. A couple of years ago extra fire hydrants were added. Unfortunately, one of them is in front of our house -- remember narrow streets and lack of parking. I didn't think our house insurance company would appreciate us complaining about a fire hydrant, so we deal with it.

Sidewalks, though, were sparse. We had a sidewalk in front of our home, but a lot of people didn't. Apparently, each homeowner installed their own sidewalk if desired. We were fortunate to have one when we moved in. The City is finally installing sidewalks for those homes that don't have them. Finally, after all these years, we can actually walk all the way up and down the street without having to walk on the street or on a neighbor's muddy grass! Our street is now complete, and they are working on the other streets in the neighborhood. It won't be long before we will actually be able to walk all the way around the block! How cool is that?!

Yep, it doesn't take much to make me happy. Or maybe it's just sweeter after the long 35-year wait.

The Teapot

2012-01-31T23:43:00.000-08:00

I can't look at a teapot without remembering the smell of firewood, hearing the crackling of a wood stove, and feeling a chill in the air.

My grandfather built a little one-room cabin in the mountains where his grandchildren could play in the summer. Evenings were often chilly. Mom would delegate one of us to bring in a supply of wood from the wood pile, and she would light the wood stove. The wood stove heated the water in the water tank, but it was a small tank and there were always lots of children to bathe. So the old silver teapot sat on the back of the wood stove to heat water to put in the washtub to bathe children.

Mom was very modest, so a shower curtain was carefully hung around the washtub. I hated that shower curtain. There is nothing as shocking to the system as the wind whipping a cold wet piece of plastic against your backside.

Babies were bathed in the kitchen sink with nice warm water. My father loved to watch babies get bathed. He would turn on the cold water faucet to barely a drip and watch the babies play with that cold water drip. He would chuckle and giggle, and the babies loved it.

I can still see the flicker of the fire on the wall of the cabin. The walls were rough unfinished boards. I can hear the roar of the fire in my ears. I can hear Mom saying, "Somebody better go put the water pipe back in the water box before this water heater is a missile." My grandfather built his own water system with a box in the creek (or "crick") that had screens filtering the water. It was pure genius except the deer often pulled the water pipe out of the box as they crossed the "crick." If there wasn't water flowing into the water heater, then the wood stove was making it's own bomb. Countless times I put my boots on, grabbed a flashlight, and headed for the water box to shove the pipe back in the box.

Bath time was always the prelude for our nightly game of hearts. No one plays hearts dirtier than my family! Laughter echoed through the canyon often until way past all our bedtimes. We taught my little sister how to play solitaire when she was about four years old so that she wouldn't be in our hair for the heart games.

All those memories--and more--flash through my head at the sight of a teapot. Teapots are a warm reminder of a very lovely childhood.

Mystery Morning

2012-01-31T09:54:00.000-08:00

There's something about a foggy morning. It puts me in a different sort of mood. I wouldn't say it's a magical mood--more like mysterious. It's the kind of mood that makes me wonder what's around the corner waiting to jump out at me and say, "Hey, I'm here." It's the kind of mood that makes me want to curl up with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book. Peaceful, yet mysterious.

There's something hanging in the air. I feel it right around the corner, yet I can't reach it. I can't see it, but I can feel it. It's exciting, yet joyful. There's a curiosity or a wonder about the day ahead. Do I walk outside and feel the mist on my face? Do I watch from the window and enjoy the warmth of my afghan? Fog is quiet like snow--yet different. Fog stirs my soul.

The occasional foggy day is just wondrous! Too many days of fog will depress me. Apparently, my soul also needs sunshine. How can something so glorious lead me into depression after many days? I don't know, but I'll figure that out some other time because this is the occasional wondrous foggy day!

Tatting Isn't for the Faint of Heart

2012-01-27T19:59:00.000-08:00

(Picture from here.)

All my life I've wanted to learn how to tat. It is really a lost art. My grandfather tatted baby clothes for my mother when she was a baby, and it was beautiful work! My husband has a cousin who tats, but Idaho is too far to go for her to teach me.

A couple of years ago, I found an older woman in our ward (church congregation) who tats. Now that I'm not working, I finally have the time to learn. I spent two hours the other day with her for my first tatting lesson. I was thrilled that she was willing to teach me. She is blind, which makes it even more intimidating for me -- if she can do it without sight, I should be able to do this. Right???

This is not easy stuff! After 1 1/2 hours working with tatting thread (which is very fine), she told me that I needed to go home and practice on bigger thread. I pulled out some crochet thread which is much larger, and I've been practicing all week with that. Once I figured out how to do the stitches, it was a matter of perfecting the stitches so they are even and pretty. Tonight I went back to the tatting thread. I'm getting it -- but this is going to be a LOT of work!

May I just say that this would have been easier had I learned how to do this before arthritis set in? My fingers don't bend the way they used to, and they cramp up too!

I will do this! I think I can, I think I can, I think I can! Toot! Toot!

Doomed to Be Last

2012-01-24T13:20:00.000-08:00

When I married a man 12 years older than me, I assumed he would be passing first, and I learned to live with that. I wasn't too surprised that most of our friends turned out to be older than me. Indeed, I was always the baby.

We moved into a neighborhood of mostly elderly people, and I became accustomed to lots of parental advice and counsel. It was good. I needed that counsel. Our ward (church congregation) was made up of elderly folks too. Again, I was the baby with lots of loving arms to pull me up when I was drowning -- and it was good.

Many years have passed, and the demographics are changing. One by one, my friends are moving on to greener pastures.

We attended the funeral this morning for the last of our "parental" neighbors. We didn't go to the cemetery, as I told my husband I needed to go to a "happy" place. Happy to my husband means food, so we ended up at the closest fast food restaurant. We had only been sitting for a moment when a friend came in and stopped by our table to chat. I told her we had just been to a funeral and needed a "happy" place. She said she needed a "happy" place too, since she had just learned that a mutual friend was now in hospice care. So much for happy.

While it really helps for me to know the plan of salvation, it is sometimes a little depressing to watch your friends dropping like flies. I knew when I married Danny that there was a good chance I would outlive him, but I hadn't counted on outliving all my friends, as well. The last couple of years, we've lost some very dear friends. I'm either going to have to hunt for some younger friends, or I'm going to be an awfully lonely old lady. Then again, my family line dies out pretty young. I've already outlived a younger cousin. This could be my excuse for eating chocolate, drinking soda, and not exercising. Dying young may not be such a bad thing. Enduring to the end may be fine--unless you're alone.

Moot Court Meets Mice

2012-01-19T21:39:00.000-08:00

Back in the days when I worked part-time in law offices in the evenings to help with the family finances, I became quite creative to bring in a little extra money. Sometimes it meant doing things that I didn't like to do. Okay, folks, get your minds out of the gutter. I'm talking about moot court briefs. Once a year, McGeorge Law School held moot court for law students. It was a great exercise in "how to be a lawyer," as opposed to "this is the law." As much as I love the "how to be a lawyer" concept and think there should be much more of that happening, McGeorge has discontinued moot court--which is actually okay for me since I no longer get wrangled into typing moot court briefs for law students. Trust me, it wasn't worth the tiny amount of money law students could afford to pay me--but I needed the money at the time.

One particular law student, Terry, was a great guy. He was our LDS home teacher. His wife, Marilyn, and I were good friends and our children were good friends. We used to exchange babysitting from time to time. Marilyn and I were pregnant at the same time once and had our babies on the same day, in the same hospital, and had hospital rooms next door to each other.

Law students were teamed up with a partner for moot court. Terry was very organized and prepared, but his partner was as scatterbrained as they get. He had no idea what he was doing. I had received permission from the law office where I worked part-time to use their office one evening to type Terry's moot court brief. Terry and his partner met me at the office after the office closed, and we went to work. Well, Terry and I went to work. Terry's partner spun his wheels--forever.

At the time, I was used to leaving the office around 9:00 p.m. Everything was always quiet when I left; no problems. I had no idea that about 10:00 p.m. the mice came out to play. Now, I'm not talking about a mouse. I'm not talking about a family of mice. I'm talking about 25 or 30 mice--at least. The mice literally played at our feet all night while we worked on the moot court brief. It didn't bother me that much because I had grown up going to our family cabin in the mountains where mice were a constant battle. Terry, on the other hand, was quite bothered. The more drafts his partner produced, the more angry he became at his partner. Terry kept apologizing to me, but about 2:30 a.m., he almost decked his partner. I managed to get them both calmed down, and we finished about 3:00 a.m. It was not the best moot court brief I ever read, but it must have been okay because Terry graduated from McGeorge and passed the bar exam on his first try.

I've often wondered how many more drafts of that moot court brief would have been produced if Terry hadn't gotten tired of mice crawling between his feet!

January in Sacramento (Wordless Wednesday)

2012-01-18T08:54:00.000-08:00

Rose

Camelia Bush

Camelia

Rose

Ruth

2012-01-17T15:02:00.000-08:00

Our 92-year-old neighbor, Ruth, passed away. Just before Christmas she was taken to the hospital by the paramedics. She didn't want to go, so she took a swing at one of them and bloodied his nose (a girl after my own heart). She came home after a couple of days and was home for Christmas. Shortly after Christmas she took her second trip the hospital, but after a couple of days they sent her home. There was nothing else they could do for her.

Ruth has a large family, and the last couple of weeks they have all come to see her. My husband went over and said his goodbyes, as well. Goodbye is something I don't do well. I worked up the courage twice. The first time I looked out the window and saw a whole lot of cars, so I knew there was a lot of family over there. I didn't go. The second time I saw her son's bicycle on her lawn. I knew he had not yet had a chance to say goodbye, so I didn't want to intrude. I was never able to work up the courage again. I was afraid I would cry in front of her, and I didn't want to do that.

Ruth was a good lady. She was a little Catholic lady who went to church every day while she was able to do so. The other day we found out from her daughter that Ruth used to pray for us. I was quite touched by that. There must be a special place in heaven for people who pray for the likes of me. I didn't deserve this sweet lady's prayers.

Ruth and Raymond (who passed a number of years ago) were good neighbors. We've had a lot of good neighbors. We moved into the neighborhood as youngsters, really--the neighborhood rookies, if you will. Our neighbors took care of us. There was endless advice given about how to take care of our home and how to repair things that broke. There were cans of paint that suddenly appeared from garages. Tools were loaned. If we began a house repair job of any kind, we could be sure that Raymond, Harry, and Shorty would have their heads together in Harry's driveway deciding if there was an easier way to do it, and whether they should step in and help. Raymond and Harry each lifted several of my children through the bathroom window on numerous occasions to unlock the bathroom door when someone accidentally locked themselves in the bathroom. After the addition to our home was built, there was no longer a bathroom window. The inevitable day came when our youngest locked herself in the bathroom. The kid panicked and was hysterical. (I never want to be in an emergency situation with this kid!) Raymond broke down the bathroom door for me.

When my first two children were little, Ruth was providing day care for her grandson. He was older than my kids. My oldest, Molly, would sit on the curb with her little red wagon with her head on her knees because she didn't have anyone to play with. Ruth's grandson would come across the street, pick Molly up and put her in the wagon, and pull her up and down the street. I suspect that was Ruth's idea. My kids grew to love Ruth's grandson, and they were often in Ruth's home playing. I never had to worry about them when they were with Ruth.

It occurred to me this morning that all the old neighbors are now gone. We are no longer the rookies. It made me look at what kind of neighbor I am. My husband is a good neighbor, but I guess I need to step it up a notch.

Communication Is Key

2012-01-13T09:21:00.000-08:00

My husband and I went for a short drive the other day. He had a prescription to pick up, and I had a couple of letters to mail. We picked up the prescription first. I was driving, and I thought he might want to go for a ride or do something else after we went to the post office, so I asked him which post office he wanted me to head toward.

For 35 years, he has referred to the post office on Broadway as the Broadway Post Office. He has also referred to the post office on 35th Street and 5th Avenue as the 35th Street Post Office. For the benefit of readers who are not local, the 35th Street post office is also not far from Broadway--shall we say "off Broadway." Tee-hee. But it is NOT, I repeat, NOT ON BROADWAY!

So he answered my question, "Broadway." I may be mistaken, but after 35 years, I think it was entirely logical for me to assume that he meant he wanted to go to the Broadway Post Office--meaning the post office on Broadway, right? Communication (or lack of it) is key here.

He said something about which exit he wanted me to take, and I said, "I thought you wanted to go to the Broadway Post Office?" Big mistake. Apparently, I'm the most stupid person in the world because I didn't know that the Broadway Post Office is now the 35th Street Post Office. After 35 years, he's decided to rename the post office on 35th Street.

There are few things in this life that will make my blood boil faster than someone talking to me like I'm stupid. After 35 years, one would think that my husband would have learned that. He doesn't do it very often, but when he does, the powers of hell descend upon him. Since my letters don't have to be mailed until the end of the month, I took the 12th Street exit and headed home. I went in my office, closed the door (which I almost never do), and totally ignored him the rest of the day.

No, I didn't go to college, but when you say to me the Broadway Post Office, I'm going to logically assume that you mean the post office on Broadway. If you change your mind after 35 years as to what you will call something, then you'd better communicate that information to me. That is all.

Shattered Glass

2012-01-12T16:08:00.000-08:00

The night before Dad died I was looking for his Bible. I was surprised that it wasn't on the back of the toilet, because that is where I had last seen it. I knew it wouldn't be far, so I looked on his desk. When it wasn't there, I opened the cupboard door above his desk and saw it sitting right in front. I'm only 5'1" tall, which is often a problem for reaching things from cupboards. So until three years ago when I fell down a flight of stairs and had a metal plate put in my ankle, I was in the habit of climbing like a monkey.

It seemed so easy. I'd done this kind of stuff thousands of times. Without giving it a second thought (yeah, I know, that's always my problem), I pulled out the chair, stood on it, and leaned my right knee on the desk as I reached for the Bible in the cupboard. Glass shattered under my knee. I don't know why it never occurred to me that the glass surface on the desk would break. Dad always kept a flat glass top on his desk so that he could put pictures and his favorite quotations underneath. It was my "Oh Crap" moment of a very long day.

The next morning, the decision was made to remove the breathing tubes, discontinue all medication (other than for pain, if needed), and say our goodbyes. We all met at the hospital. Laughter has always been part of any family gathering, and this was a moment that definitely needed an ice breaker and a little laughter. I'm not exactly sure who said what, but somehow it came out that I'd broken the glass on Dad's desk, and someone said, "I told Laurie you'd be mad!" Dad laughed. We all laughed, including Dad's nurse. Then we went about the business of letting my Dad pass through the veil. My sister, Colleen, read Dad's favorite Bible scriptures to him, and I read his favorite Book of Mormon scriptures to him -- or it could have been in reverse, I'm not sure. At any rate, we traded back and forth. Dad listened to us read for a long time, and seemed to receive comfort from the scriptures.

I don't know why I went looking for his Bible that night, but I'm glad I did. I've thought about that shattered glass many times over the last 26 years. As much as I regretted breaking it at the time, I think it was supposed to break that night. We needed something to laugh about, and the glass provided it (at my expense, of course). I sure hope there is laughter on the other side of the veil. If not, the Janes family is in an awful lot of trouble! Whatever will we do with ourselves!

Grief and The Plan of Salvation

2012-01-11T00:48:00.000-08:00

We all grieve in different ways. I'm old enough now to have dealt with grief on multiple occasions. There is no right way or wrong way to grieve. A person can deal with grief one way one time and then completely different the next time. I have made some observations over the years, and for what it's worth I'm putting my thoughts down in case it might help someone. Disclaimer: I am not a grief counselor, nor do I have any training on the subject. These are just my own observations from my personal experiences.

My first observation is that those people who have a knowledge of the plan of salvation seem to have a much easier time dealing with the death of a loved one. A great lesson on the plan of salvation can be found here. It explains the premortal existence, mortal life, and life after death. There is great peace in understanding that Heavenly Father's plan includes death, but also includes the reunification of families for eternity. What greater blessing can be given than the gift of living with our families after this life? Knowledge of the plan of salvation is key to finding peace quickly at the death of a loved one.

Second, children need a chance to vocalize their grief. So often we try to shelter children from hurt they need to feel. As a child, my parents kept me away from my paternal grandmother's funeral because they felt I was too young to attend. It wasn't until after the wake on the long drive home when it finally hit me that I wasn't going to see my grandmother again in this life. Dad had to stop the car and talk to me.

Several years later, when my maternal grandfather passed, I asked my parents to go to the viewing prior to the funeral. My parents had not planned on going themselves and were just planning to attend the funeral. They talked about it in light of the first experience, and it was decided that my father should take me to the viewing. It was a life changing experience for me. I looked at the body in the casket, reached out my hand and touched the body and said, "He's not there." Dad was surprised at my ability to realize that, and he confirmed to me that I was right. We then read the 23rd Psalm together that was framed on the wall. At this time we were not yet members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, so our knowledge of the plan of salvation was limited. It was very important, however, that I was able to discern the difference between a body and a spirit.

Having said all this, each child deals with death differently, and I absolutely do not agree with forcing a child to attend a funeral or a viewing. I'm also not a fan of expecting that all the adults in the family attend a funeral or a viewing. Funerals are for the living if it helps, but not everyone can cope with attending, and I think we need to be respectful of that.

Third, there are phases in the grief process. What one is feeling today may not necessarily be what one is feeling tomorrow. There are many emotions that are tangled in grieving -- shock, sadness, anger, hurt, loss, depression, guilt, joy (yes, I really said joy), and much more. Joy can be felt when thinking about the great reunion that the loved one is having with family and friends who have passed on previously. Joy can also be felt when thinking about a future time when you will be reunited with the loved one who has passed. Conflicting emotions can be felt at the same time. Joy and loss, for instance, are often felt at the same time. Sometimes the cycle of emotions can be repeated several times.

Fourth, it is necessary to forgive before one can move on. Sometimes we can be angry at a loved one for leaving us behind. We might be angry at another person who might have caused an accident. We might be angry at ourselves for not expressing enough love prior to the death of a loved one. We might be angry with God. Forgiveness is imperative in order to have closure. In the case of anger against God, knowledge that death is part of God's original plan in order to live with Him and our families for eternity can bring great peace.

We can grieve differently each time. In July, 1985, my father passed. I grieved with painting supplies. I painted the entire inside of my house, then moved outside. I painted the cement on the patio, walkways, and the front porch. When there was absolutely nothing left to paint, I went to the legal office where I was working part-time in the evenings. I worked late into the night so that I couldn't think about it. Then one night on the way home from the office a song came on the radio that was special to Dad and me. I pulled off on an exit, got out of my car, slammed the door so hard that I actually sprung the door, leaned on the hood of the car and just sobbed. I had a beautiful spiritual experience at that point which I won't go into here. After that, I was okay. I was able to move on.

In December, 2007, my stepson was killed in a tragic Caltrans accident. The family situation at the time was such that I felt I had to "keep it together." I kept it together and spoke at the funeral. I kept it together and testified before the California legislature to help pass the "move over" law. I kept it together for a full year waiting for the Highway Patrol report to come out. I kept it together to read and summarize the report so that other family members didn't have to read it. I shed a few tears off and on, but basically I kept it together for three years -- and then I fell apart at the seams. I don't remember what triggered it, but I do remember that unfortunately I was at work when it happened. I don't recommend that form of grief, by the way. I think I did much better with a paint roller.

However we grieve, it is important to remember that it is a process, and there is no right or wrong way to grieve. It is also very important to let others go through the process in their own way.

Extra Tips Learned from the Highway Patrol Chaplain: It is important to drink lots of water and eat lots of fruit during the grief process as the body dehydrates. This is especially important in the days prior to the funeral so that it is easier to get through the funeral. It works. Really.

Tear Down That Wall

2012-01-06T21:14:00.000-08:00

Someone on social media asked people to share the most important or valuable lesson they have learned in their lifetime. This was my answer:

"I've learned many valuable lessons, but the one that hits me right now is that building brick walls around myself doesn't protect me; it makes me lonely. Every brick I tear down lets love trickle inside my circle. If I tear down enough bricks, the dam breaks and I'm swallowed in love."

My whole life I've been told how "tough" I am and that I am "rough around the edges." Those who really know me understand the fallacy in those statements. I'm not tough at all; just scared. Fear has always permeated my existence. Fear of acceptance, mostly. I was not accepted by my peers as a child, and I was a "square" as a teenager. So I built a wall. I built a wall so thick, tall, and strong that seemingly nothing could penetrate it. Then my husband came along. Danny is nothing if not persistent. After he proposed to me, I gave him the ring back three times. Try as I might, I couldn't shake him. He was like a pit bull after the kill -- except he had a gentle heart. By the time we were married, I'd dropped a few bricks.

Children came along, and many more bricks were dropped. I loved those babies. As they got older, they had needs. They needed a Camp Fire leader. They needed someone on the candy committee and other committees. They needed an area candy chair. This was way out of my comfort zone, but I dropped more bricks in order to meet their needs. As bricks fell and broke, I found love and friendship with people I dealt with in Camp Fire.

Lovely little children grew into teenagers who seemed to instinctively know where all the old wounds were. Bricks began to build again. One at a time they went up. This time the wall was higher and fortified. Guards were placed at all gateways. No one was ever going to hurt me again -- or so I thought.

A difficult "calling" came in church. The Bishop called me to be Relief Society President (head of the women's organization) for the congregation. I was stunned. I spent the first year trying to do the job with the wall still in place. It didn't work. The next 2 1/2 years, the wall began to come down again, one little brick at a time. I learned to love the sisters I served -- something I never thought would happen because I've always worked much better with men than with women.

I was released from that calling a little more than a year ago. I removed myself from everyone I had been dealing with and buried my head in the sand. The wall was mostly down, and I felt vulnerable. If I hid myself away, maybe I wouldn't get hurt. Hurt comes from lots of sources. It came.

This time I discovered something. Hurt is a part of life. It's unavoidable. I finally understand that love sometimes hurts. I'm trying to keep the wall down. It's not easy. When the pain comes, I want to go right back out there and build those bricks. Then I remember those little moments of love when the wall fell.

So I'm trying. Be patient with me. Be kind. I'm not the tough guy everyone thinks I am. On the contrary, I break easily. This was not an easy blog post to write. I'm vulnerable. The wall is down.

Aromatic Memories

2012-01-04T20:05:00.000-08:00

Margaret and Dick Janes

Few things muster childhood memories like the smell of a good roast saturated deep with garlic. This evening I put a roast and potatoes in the oven, charging my husband with keeping an eye on things while I took a short snooze in my chair. I awoke to an aroma which permeated every square inch of our home. In my groggy state, I was immediately taken to a time long ago when my mother concocted delightful meals from her kitchen as I watched icicles form outside the living room window.

Mom was a good cook. There was nothing gourmet or exotic about her cooking, but she had a knack for taking the simplest meal and making it delectable. Dad sold meat for Swift & Company for many years, and he did the grocery shopping. Long after he changed careers, he used his knowledge of meat and his natural thriftiness to find the most flavorful cuts of meat at really good prices. They were quite a team, Mom and Dad.

As I sat in my chair collecting my senses, feeling the warmth of the oven fill our previously chilly home, I could almost hear the laughter coming from Mom's kitchen of long ago. Tennis balls bounced down the long hallway for the dog to chase. Business decisions were discussed. Teasing was a constant. Music was never far away. TV westerns were never ending. Political discussions became teaching opportunities. All this seemed to be done with garlic wafting through the air. Money was never plentiful in my parents' home, but Mom could make anything she cooked smell like a piece of heaven!

I'm warm tonight. My home is warm from the additional heat of the oven, yes, but it has more to do with the warmth being generated from my soul. I was so blessed to have loving parents who provided me with an environment where I could thrive. I'm blessed that I can still vividly feel that love slash through time itself. I'm grateful for that nap in my chair, and for slowly coming to a conscious state while feeling that love once again.

Hopes and Dreams

2011-12-31T11:04:00.000-08:00

It's that time again. The end of one year and the beginning of a new one. Once a year it's good to take stock of our lives. There's nothing wrong with looking at what is working and what needs fixing. Goals are good, as long as they are reasonable.

The last few days I've talked to people about New Year's resolutions and goals. It was interesting how many people don't like to call them "resolutions" -- maybe because "resolutions" seem to get broken. Those same people seem to assess their lives and set goals, however. It doesn't matter what we call it, there is value in taking a long look at our lives, the people in them, and how we relate to those people. It is important to look at where we have been and where we are going. It's good to measure success against failure and revise the plan, if necessary.

Courage is necessary to really evaluate our lives. There will be some things we won't like about what we see. The key is to look backwards a few years and realize how far we've come. As long as there is constant progression, even if the increments seem small, we are on the right path. There is no need to feel discouraged about what we have not accomplished, for in every life a little rain must fall. This is a time for rebirth of long forgotten dreams -- a time to throw out the garbage and welcome new challenges.

As we begin the new year, let us revive within ourselves the hopes and dreams of our childhood. We need innocent perspective once again. All is not lost. On the contrary, this is a new beginning -- the dawning of a brand new day or even a brand new life. We can be all that we want to be. All it takes is a little courage.

May all your dreams come true. Happy New Year!

LaurieBee

Christmas Talk for Church 12-25-11

2011-12-25T14:00:00.000-08:00

This talk was given by me in Sacrament Meeting (Worship Service), Sacramento First Ward, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Christmas Day, December 25, 2011.

The topic the Bishop gave me was "What would you tell all your children if they were here today?" One of my children is here today with her family. I was given a similar challenge in August of 1994 by a couple of writers, Bob Greene and D. G. Fulford, and at that time I wrote down a few thoughts which I will read today. A few lines of what I'm about to read were published in this little book, Notes on the Kitchen Table--my five minutes of fame.

To My Children, My Grandchildren, My Posterity for Generations to Come:

I’ve tried to live my life as an example to others. I’ve tried to raise my children to be good people. I’ve tried to be a good person myself. I’ve tried to be a good wife. But I’ve made some mistakes. I’m not perfect.

If there is one thing I’ve learned in this life, it’s that you have to be forgiving of others, as well as forgiving of yourself. If you can’t forgive yourself, how can you expect others to forgive you?

Religion is a very personal thing. We all have to find our Heavenly Father in our own way, in our own time. I testify to all who read this note, that you do have a Heavenly Father. Your Heavenly Father loves you, and wants only the best for you. He is close by when you need Him. Pray always. Pray with a sincere heart. Pray in the name of Jesus Christ. Listen for the answers to your prayers. It has been said that prayer is like a telephone conversation; it works two ways. If you don’t listen, you’ll never hear an answer.

I know with all my heart and soul that my Heavenly Father loves me. I know that my family will be together after this life. I long to meet my ancestors who passed through this life before me. I long to hold in my arms the baby I lost. I know I’ll do that. I have not a doubt in my mind!

Please look at my life as a whole; don’t pick it apart and criticize my weaknesses. I have made mistakes, many of them. I’ve done things and said things that hurt people. I know that. Please know that it was not intentional. I never intentionally went out to hurt another person in my life. Please forgive me for any weaknesses, and for anything I’ve done which may have hurt you, or someone else.

Have courage to live your lives in these times. These are not easy times. It is not long before Jesus Christ will again come to this earth. The way is being prepared. It is said that our Heavenly Father saved his strongest children to come to earth in the last days. I know my children are stronger than I am. I’ve seen that time and time again. I’ve watched them endure many things that I would not have been able to endure. Don’t be afraid of what is to come; welcome it with open arms.

Live each day to the fullest, with great joy! Don’t brood over hard times—I’ve done that at times, and can tell you that it doesn’t do anyone any good. Watch the simple things in life. Don’t be too busy to watch a sunrise, or a sunset. Watch a mother bird feed her babies in the next. Spend time watching an ant colony bury its dead. More importantly, share these things with your children! While you share these things with them, watch your children! See their faces light up when they discover that ice cream melts when exposed to heat. Watch their eyes as they pet a new puppy. Be there when they take their first steps, and when they drive a car for the first time. Don’t miss a moment of their growing up years! Teach them to pray. Listen to them when they talk to you!

Always retain a sense of humor. If you can laugh, you’ll have a wonderful life. Never be afraid to laugh at yourself. Don’t take yourself too seriously, or those around you.

Set goals for yourself, but reasonable goals. Don’t overwhelm yourself with trying to be perfect. Take one step at a time, then build on each step. When you stumble, pick yourself up and go on. When you think you can’t pick yourself up, pray for help. He’ll be there, or he’ll provide someone in your life to help you. Remember that your Heavenly Father often helps you through the arms of others. Reach out to people. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Don’t be afraid to love.

I’ve heard it said that our Heavenly Father never hands us a trial that we can’t handle. He knows our limitations and our abilities. Have faith that He knows how strong we are, or how weak we are.

Learn from past experiences. If it didn’t work last time, it won’t work this time. If it did work last time, don’t change the method just for the sake of change.

Be kind to yourself. You can’t be kind to others until you learn to love yourself.

Seek out your Heavenly Father. He’s there for the asking. He loves you, Jesus loves you, and I love you.

All my love,

Mom

August 10, 1994

A Time to Forgive

2011-12-22T10:52:00.000-08:00

It's almost Christmas, and that always makes me step back and evaluate where I am in the process of life, who I am, and what I'm becoming. It's about the analysis of my progression, I guess. I'm 57 years old. There's been a lot of living in that time, and a lot of time to get into trouble. Trouble seems to be my middle name. As we walk through life, hopefully we learn a few things. One of the things I've learned is that there is no way you can please everyone. There is always going to be someone who doesn't understand your intentions, doesn't like what you do, or just plain doesn't like you. That's okay. What matters is that you never intentionally hurt someone, that try to make amends to those who you unintentionally hurt, and that you forgive those who misunderstand.

It has not been easy for me to learn to forgive. Actually, I've spent my whole life attempting to learn the principle. I'm getting better, but I have not completely mastered it.

On January 3, 1971, Elder Richard L. Evans had this to say about forgiveness in a broadcast of Music and the Spoken Word:

"Once a year—or oftener—all of us should clear out the clutter, the things that are useless to us, that get in our way and add confusion to our lives and impede our progress. But even oftener we should look at our unforgiving grudges, and not nurse them or hold to them or keep them alive. An unresolved grudge gnaws at our hearts, disturbs our peace, and is a burden we would well be rid of. God will forgive whom he will, but of us it is required to forgive. We should forgive not only for what it does for others, but as a favor to ourselves, because forgiving relieves us of a lingering uneasiness inside ourselves. Oh, what easing of our relationships with loved ones, and with others also, with a lightening of our own lives, as we learn to forgive!"

The older I get, the more I realize how short our time is here on earth. The kinds of things that would infuriate me in my youth don't seem to bother me anymore. Little injustices just don't seem to matter. There was a time when I could really hold a grudge. I don't anymore. I get angry. I get hurt. I get over it. There is just so little time for drama, and I don't have the energy for it. What good is it? Does it serve any purpose?

We're coming to the end of a year and the beginning of a new one. It is the time of year we think about the Christ child, His life, and the atonement. What better time to throw out the meanness in our hearts. Bitterness breeds more bitterness and even hatred. Forgiveness breeds forgiveness and kindness.

Roderick J. Linton said in The Forgiving Heart, April 1993 Ensign:

"Forgiveness is a personal attribute, not just a decision we make from time to time when we feel we should. To have a forgiving heart is to see the world in a different light. It is to forsake the tendency to judge, condemn, exclude, or hate any human soul. A forgiving heart seeks to love and to be patient with imperfection. The forgiving heart understands that we are all in need of the atonement of Jesus Christ.

A forgiving heart is one of the most Christlike virtues we can possess. If we have a forgiving heart, our very nature will be kind, patient, long-suffering, and charitable. Forgiveness plants and nourishes the seeds of Christlike love in both the giver and the receiver. Indeed, forgiveness, in its fullest expression, is synonymous with charity, the pure love of Christ."

There is our challenge. Will it be the status quo, or shall we stand a little taller? Will we make forgiveness our own personal attribute? Will we learn to have a forgiving heart? Having a forgiving heart takes effort. It isn't something that comes naturally to most people. How much effort are we willing to devote to have a forgiving heart? I would venture to say that probably the most important thing we can hope to learn in this life is the principle of forgiveness. It is attainable. We just need to put forth the effort. Through prayer, we can have His help. I publicly promise this day that I will do my best to stand a little taller.

Take Time to Ponder

2011-12-19T19:17:00.000-08:00

Picture from Here

I've always loved Christmas. I love the season. I love the lights, the decorations, the smells, the music, and when I lived in the proper climate for it, I loved the snow. Fog isn't my favorite thing, but I'll settle. I've always loved the story of Christmas. I love thinking about the baby Jesus. I've pondered on the miracle, and I've sympathized and agonized with Mary. Nothing can spoil Christmas for me; not even the year my stepson was killed in December. Life moves on.

Life gets busy, however, during the Christmas season. I'm not above getting frazzled with everyone else at the hustle and bustle of the season. When my children were small, I sometimes wondered if I would get through it all with my sanity in tact. I loved it all just the same.

This year is different. Now that I'm not working, there is more time. The other morning we got out of bed, went to the living room, turned on the Christmas lights and some Christmas music and cuddled on the couch for about an hour before breakfast. We didn't really talk much. We just looked at the lights, the nativity sets, and contemplated on the birth of the Saviour. That hour was very special to me, and it has completely dominated my thoughts and changed my attitude ever since. It has improved my outlook, and changed my interactions with others.

There are a few days left before Christmas. I know life is busy, but take a few minutes -- or even an hour -- and contemplate the reason we all do what we do. Maybe it will mean getting up before the children, or staying up a little longer at night. It will be worth it to renew your bond with Jesus Christ.

Christmas Wrapping Made Easy, Beautiful, and Green

2011-12-16T15:07:00.000-08:00

Admittedly, wrapping presents was never my favorite part of the holidays. Then one day I was introduced to cloth wrapping bags or envelopes by my sisters. One sister could never remember to buy wrapping paper, so all her gifts appeared in paper bags for every occasion. The other sister made her some cloth wrapping bags to shove gifts into quickly. Then when a gift was opened, we returned the cloth bag for the next time.

Let me tell you, I was sold! I went to my favorite fabric store after Christmas and bought a variety of Christmas fabric on clearance. I cut the fabric into a variety of sizes. Each piece of fabric was then folded in half and sewn up three sides, leaving the fourth side open. When I "wrap," I simply close the fourth side with a safety pin on a bow. (I also attach the gift tag to the safety pin.) If you really want to get fancy, you could use velcrow to close the envelopes, but I didn't spend that much time.

The bags look absolutely lovely under the tree! Since they are reused every year, I not only am being "green" and helping the environment, but I'm saving a TON of money on wrapping paper and scotch tape. My "wrapping" is done in a jiffy!

Just a Reminder (Wordless Wednesday)

2011-12-14T15:37:00.000-08:00

Decking the Halls - Wordless Wednesday (Almost)

2011-12-07T00:00:00.000-08:00

Grandpa's Christmas Toy Table

Snowflakes on the Sliding Glass Door in the Family Room (Oreo Wants In)

China Cabinet -- Looks Gorgeous When the
Lights are on, but I Couldn't Get a Good Picture.

All My Kids' School Christmas Crafts Were Saved and Displayed
Every Year and Returned to Them When They Had a Home
of Their Own -- Kaylonnie's are Still Displayed
(Even While She is Serving and LDS Mission in Brazil).

Ribbon Between Kitchen and Family Room

Refrigerator Magnets for the Grandchildren

Kitchen Table

Mistletoe Between Living Room and Kitchen

Buffet in Living Room

Nativity at the Base of the Christmas Tree Sturdy
Enough for the Grandchildren to Play With

Christmas Jigsaw Puzzles

Granny's Christmas Toy Table

My Mom and Dad Decorated the Windows of Their Car About 1981
When They Visited for Christmas and Then Gave Them to Our Kids.
These Pictures Have Hung in the Hallway Every Year. Mom Said
that Some Decorations Need to Be Hung Low Enough for the
Kids to Enjoy, So I Hang Them Low Every Year.

Danny's Office/Guest Room No. 1

Laurie's Office/Guest Room No. 2/Kaylonnie's
TEMPORARY Room When She Returns from
LDS Mission in Brazil

Front Porch

Doesn't Everyone Have Two Christmas Trees??

Picture Does NOT Do This Justice --
Gorgeous Purple Lights on the Orange Tree

MUCH Prettier in Person

Mistletoe on Our Headboard

Romantic Getaway (In a Tacky Sort of Way)

Stand Back and Admire Your Work

2011-11-18T20:27:00.000-08:00

Margaret and Dick Janes

"When you've worked hard, stand back and admire your work." -- Dick Janes (my dad)

All who knew my parents, can testify that they were hard workers. They believed in working hard, and they taught their children to do the same. Mom thought that a house was never really clean until she moved all the furniture and vacuumed behind and underneath it. She also felt that if she was going to move it to vacuum, she may as well change the furniture around, so each week the furniture was in a different place. My parents also believed that a good job and good work ethic should never go unnoticed -- especially by the person doing the work.

I remember working along side my parents doing many things. There were times when I would be absolutely exhausted at the end of a project. It was then that Dad would sit me down, pour me a glass of ice water, and say, "Stand back and admire your work."

In late August, I quit my job to stay home and enjoy life with my husband. Before I could do that, however, I needed to get control of my house again. You see, 35 years of raising kids produced a lot of "stuff." I was not about to grow old in a house full of unorganized "stuff." My house became more disorganized when I went back to work full-time, and only got worse as we made room to store boxes for kids who were in college or on LDS missions. While it wasn't in "hoarder" condition, it was definitely out of control. I told myself that if I would do something every day, that eventually I would have a house that I could actually enjoy.

So beginning August 27, 2011, every day (with the exception of an 8-day vacation), I have worked on my house. I have done something every day. Systematically, I went through every room of my house, including the garage, closet by closet, shelf by shelf. Each day I sorted, gave away, donated, tossed, and then began anew the next day. I'm almost done. There are a couple of little things left, but not much. I cleaned the carpet in the living room today. Sometime this weekend I'll clean the carpet in the family room. I want to clean off a couple of marks on my office wall or use some "touch up" paint on them if they won't clean. I want to use Murphy's Oil Soap on my old oak table and then wax it, and I still need to stablize the track on the pantry door. I need to shave the bottom of the linen closet door so it doesn't drag on the carpet. Then I think I'm done.

I'll admit that I left the spice cabinet until almost the last thing. I'll also admit to waiting until Danny went to bed last night before starting that project so that I could shed a few tears in the process. You see, my mother always cleaned my spice cabinet for me. Every time I had a baby, she would come and help me, and she never left without cleaning my spice cabinet. I don't know why she did that. Maybe she thought she was good at it. Maybe she thought I was bad at it. Maybe she just chose this uniquely weird way to give service to her daughter. I don't know if she gave the same service to her other children, or if she did something else for them. I've never asked. All I know is that I appreciated it immensely! Danny used to tease me that it was time to have another baby because the spice cabinet needed help. I don't think I've ever cleaned it until last night. After Mom died, I coerced children to do it for me because I couldn't do it. It just didn't seem right. Mom died in 1991 -- I decided last night that it was time to be a big girl. It looks nice -- maybe not the way Mom would have done it, but I can work with it.

When my youngest returns from her LDS mission in Brazil and moves her stuff out of her closet, then I will move the Christmas bins out of the garage and into that closet. Then for the first time in many years, we'll be able to fit a car in our one-car garage. That is something that hasn't happened since the first year a semi-truck parked in front of my house and filled my garage with boxes of Camp Fire candy.

I'm close enough to finishing my project that I'm beginning to stand back and admire my work. I'm actually pretty proud of myself and the quality of my work. It has taken me less than three months to get this house in shape, and I thought it would take me much longer than that. I should finish just in time to decorate for Christmas.

After the holidays, I'll really begin retirement. I have a long list of things I want to do. At the top of the list is calling Sister Grover and making an appointment so she can teach me how to tat (the lost art of lace making).

A Day of Reflection and Contrast

2011-11-09T17:35:00.000-08:00

I had a late night last night, and was feeling a little down. Sometimes temple trips are planned for just the right time it seems, because we had planned to go to the temple today, and I was in desperate need of the peace that I find there.

After sleeping about six hours, I logged on the computer to find the weekly e-mail from our missionary in Brazil. I didn't think we would get it before we left for the temple, so that was a pleasant surprise. It was particularly nice since it is the best e-mail or letter we have received so far. She appears to be thriving -- and I would know if she wasn't because my children aren't very good at "putting on a happy face."

We arrived at the temple later than we anticipated, only 15 minutes prior to the session. We were asked to be the witness couple, which was wonderful because we have never had a chance to do that in the Sacramento Temple, although we frequently did it in the Oakland Temple. I was surprised that we arrived that late and they were still looking for a witness couple. After a beautiful session, we saw our Stake Patriarch, Brother Judd, in the celestial room. He is also a sealer in the temple, so he asked us to do a sealing session. Danny and I both love sealing families together for eternity in the temple, and it is particularly wonderful when Brother Judd is the sealer. Although, Brother Judd did embarrass me in the middle of the session by thanking me in front of the other people in the room for spending several years helping him type his family history. At the end of the session, I made a point of telling those same people that Brother Judd had left out the part about it being one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. I left the temple with such peace in my heart -- the kind you only find in the temple.

Danny and I went to lunch at Brookfields. We had a really quiet, pleasant time there. Before we left the restaurant, I went to the ladies' room. By stark contrast to the rest of the morning, there were two women in the restroom discussing their impending divorces. It struck me that these two women were older than me; one in her mid-60's, and the other in her mid-70's. One woman said that she was just now getting divorced because she had felt "trapped" in her marriage for years because she didn't feel self-sufficient or prepared financially to "do it on her own." The other said that she had not felt "trapped," that she appreciated the good things, but that there were things she wanted to change. She said she'd spent 15 years thinking about this (yes, you heard that right, 15 YEARS), and she just felt this was now the right time to strike out on her own. It hit me that if she had spent the last 15 years working on her marriage instead of planning for her divorce, she might be happier.

Since we were on that side of town, and since Veterans' Day is in two days, we decided to stop by the cemetery and put flowers on Matt's grave (my stepson), and to the other cemetery to put flowers on Danny's friend Cy's grave. Cy passed away this last year. He was a prisoner of war in World War II, and it seemed appropriate to decorate his grave as well. I drove to Save Mart so Danny could pick up some flowers. I waited in the car while he ran into the store, and I couldn't stop thinking about the stark contrast of our sealing session in the temple to the conversation in the ladies' room which I overheard. It was a little surreal.

Our experience in Mt. Vernon Cemetery put all those thoughts to rest. My husband is the most kind and loving man I've ever met. I don't think he's ever gone through a day in his life without serving someone. After we decorated Matt's grave, Danny looked up and realized there was something else we needed to do. He didn't have to say anything to me because we've been married long enough that I know what he's thinking. Not far from Matt's grave are three graves without stones. They just have small markers. There was a bunch of flowers lying on one of those markers. Most gravestones have built-in vases for flowers, but the little markers don't have them. Apparently, whoever left the flowers on the marker didn't know that the office has plastic vases available on stakes that can be pushed into the ground. Danny's trained landscaper eyes quickly searched the area for a place where someone mowing the lawn would throw a plastic vase to get it out of the way. It wasn't more than five seconds before he spotted one, picked it up, and headed to the water fountain for water. I picked up the bunch of flowers, cut off the stems somewhat, and we placed the flowers in the plastic vase and placed it next to the little marker. We then drove on down the street a couple of miles to East Lawn Cemetery to decorate Cy's grave.

We drove home listening to a Mormon Tabernacle Choir CD. Words weren't necessary between us. It had been a good day. We were left to our own thoughts. We were left to contemplate and ponder the sacred experiences of the day.

I'm so grateful for the knowledge that families are eternal. I can't even imagine at this point in our lives thinking about divorce instead of growing old together and looking forward to what comes after this life on earth. As discouraging as some days get, and as frustrated as we get sometimes as parents, we have hope. I'm so thankful for hope. I'm grateful that Heavenly Father let me overhear that conversation today. It was a great reminder that I have it pretty good. I'm so blessed!

Who Is Watching?

2011-11-01T19:14:00.000-07:00

Today I was thinking about all the senior citizens who had an impact on my kids when they were growing up. There were many. We lived in a neighborhood of senior citizens, so they all adopted my kids as their grand kids. That was wonderful since my parents lived in Nevada, and Danny's parents lived in Idaho. My kids loved their own grandparents, but it was nice to have California grandparents too. We also go to church in an LDS ward or congregation that has traditionally been made up of mostly senior citizens.

The couple I was thinking about today were the Ellsworths. Meriem and Heber were the sweetest couple! Heber must have been about 6' 6" or taller, and Meriem stood maybe 4' 8" on tiptoes! For several years, there were not many children in our ward. Our main worship meeting, Sacrament Meeting, was on the three-hour church block. Our kids used to dart out the side door of the church as soon as the "amen" was said on closing prayer, so they could be outside to watch Brother and Sister Ellsworth come out that door holding hands. My kids thought it was the sweetest thing that this old couple still held hands. The Ellsworths never knew that my kids were watching them.

Heber wasn't very well, and one Sunday in Sacrament Meeting he just sort of tipped over in the pew and passed out. The problem was, that he tipped over on top of Meriem! I thought he was going to completely crush little Meriem! Paramedics were called, and Heber recovered to see another Sunday.

Eventually, both Heber and Meriem passed away. I remember at Meriem's funeral a story was told about them. Every night of their marriage until Heber was just too frail to do it, he picked Meriem up and carried her up the stairs to bed. Now that's love!

My kids had some really fine role models, that's for sure. It makes me wonder what kind of role model I'm making for my grandchildren and other children who unknowingly watch everything I do and listen to every word I say. I used to tell my kids that when they walked out the front door they represented themselves, their family, their ancestors, Camp Fire Boys and Girls, their school, their athletic teams, their ward, the church, and the Saviour. As I grow older, I think I need to remind myself of that when I walk out the door. I never know who may be watching.

Family Favorite Holiday Recipe

2011-10-31T09:09:00.000-07:00

This family favorite is a Bisquick recipe! It's so easy! Modifications for diabetics included.

PUMPKIN BARS

2 cups sugar (or 2 cups Splenda for Baking)
1/2 cup vegetable oil (or 1/2 cup apple sauce)
1 can (16 oz.) pumpkin
4 eggs, beaten
2 cups Bisquick baking mix (reduced fat)
2 tsps. ground cinnamon
1/2 cup raisins

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Grease 13 X 9 X 2 inch pan. Beat sugar, oil, pumpkin, and eggs in large mixer bowl on medium speed, scraping bowl occasionally. Stir in baking mix, cinnamon, and raisins. Pour into pan. Bake until wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean, 25-30 minutes. Cool. Frost with cream cheese frosting, cut into bars, refrigerate leftover bars.

CREAM CHEESE FROSTING

3 oz. cream cheese
1/3 cup margarine
1 tbs milk
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups powdered sugar

Beat together.

Note: I received no compensation from Bisquick or Splenda for this post. The diabetic modifications are my own.

Apple Hill Splendor

2011-10-26T16:16:00.000-07:00

Wordless Wednesday (almost).

These pictures were taken at Apple Hill, Cameron Park (just above Placerville), California on October 26, 2011. We've been going up there for years and years and I don't believe we've ever been down this particular road. For the locals, this is Orchard 35 (Bill's Apples and Felicia's Dolls). Very cool place. We saw a doe just a couple hundred feet down the road from here.

Snapped this because I heard Brother Judd's voice in my head,
"Don't take pictures of things; take pictures of people. When you get old,
you'll throw all the pictures of things in the garbage."

My Beef with Medical People

2011-10-25T16:46:00.000-07:00

I have a problem with medical personnel, and I'm curious to see how many of my readers have had similar experiences. I'd love to hear what you have to say. This is indeed my pet peeve.

My first beef with medical people: They don't listen.

Several years ago, I went to see a doctor because I was having acute stomach pain. Since several of my family members had previously had experience with this same type of pain, I told the doctor that I believed I may have gall stones. I was sent for a series of tests -- and I mean serious testing. Three weeks later, I received a phone call at work from a doctor I'd never met, who basically told me I was dying of lung cancer. While I know that it is possible to have lung cancer when you've never smoked in your life, but I also know that's pretty rare. At any rate, I was obviously quite upset at work, and my cubicle was not at all private, so basically everyone at work came to my rescue. It was later determined that I just had scar tissue on my lung from several bouts of pneumonia. When the doctor told me this, I said, "Yep, and I'll bet you've even forgotten what I originally came in here for." As he began shuffling papers like crazy, I told him not to bother. I told him that if I really did have gall stones, that they weren't going to miraculously disappear, and that the next time I had an attack, I would just go to the emergency room and have it taken care of that way. He said, "Oh, no, you don't want to do that." I told him that's exactly what I wanted to do, and that's exactly what I did two years later.

There was also the time that a doctor prescribed medication for me that literally made me crazy. I was a raving maniac. I went back to him and told him that he needed to give me something different because the medicine made me crazy. He said, "Oh, that should have the opposite effect. It should make you very mellow." I told him again (and again), that it made me crazy, and he kept telling me that it shouldn't have that effect. I finally said, "Look, I don't care what it should do, I'm telling you what it does do, and I'm NOT taking these meds." He threatened me with cancer if I didn't take them. So I said, "My children will understand if I die from cancer. They will not understand if I get up on the freeway driving the wrong direction and take out an entire family with me!" He left the room, slammed the door, left me sitting there for 20 minutes, and then came back with another doctor who prescribed a different medication (which was much better).

My second beef with medical people:   They are becoming extremely aggressive.

Then there was the time I went in for a PAP smear. After he yelled at me for not having one for 18 years, he proceeded to tell me that a certain part of my anatomy was red and itchy. I told him I did not itch. He argued with me and told me that I indeed had an itch. I repeated that I had no such problem, and that I didn't care if it was red or not because no one (including me) could see it. He wrote me a prescription for the nonexistent itch. I took it from him, ripped it up, and threw it in the garbage.

This brings me to my current problem.  I was recently due for a stool test. They sent me two stool tests in the mail, and then several letters reminding me to do it. I finally gave in and did the stool test under duress. It really bugs me, however, that this stuff goes through the mail. I mean, I'd hate to be the postal worker who has to deal with my poop if the postage machine accidentally destroys the packaging!

I am also due for a mammogram and PAP smear -- neither of which I have any intention of getting -- mostly because just before I retired I received a voicemail at my place of employment, asking me to call back and schedule the appointment. I was really ticked! I called and told them that they needed to call my home number and leave a message on my answering machine. They have called me a couple of times at home since then, and each time I've told them I don't have the inclination to do that right now. At least those phone calls were live human beings.   This afternoon I received an automated phone call from my medical care provider telling me that they had information for me, but I had to verify who I was by saying my medical record number into the automated system. So I had to run to the other room for my purse to find my record number. After saying my number, the automated system repeated the number correctly, and then proceeded to tell me that it couldn't find any records for me. I had to say the number again, and the process was repeated that I had no records. "Please hold while I transfer you to an operator." After holding, a live voice asked me for the purpose of my call. "I have no idea! You called me with your automated system!" It turns out it was yet another reminder about the tests they want me to have. With the help of the operator, I have now sent my doctor a nastygram telling him that I don't want his stinking tests, and I doubly don't want any more phone calls (especially the automated ones) about it!

My third beef with medical people: They blame EVERYTHING on my weight.

I don't care if I go to the doctor for an ingrown toenail, it will be blamed on my weight. As a kid, everything was blamed on the fact that I was skinny. Now, it's because I'm "obese." And what's with that awful term "obese," anyway! I'm heavy. Okay? I'm fat. Okay? Obese?!! Come on! Way to make me totally depressed!

My fourth beef with medical people: They think they are God.

I have a right to say how my medical care will be managed. I have a right to turn down medical care. I have a right to turn down medication. By the way, most people in this country are so over-medicated, it saddens me. A friend of mine who has some medical problems tells her doctors that she will only take six pills a day -- no more. If they want to give her a new medication, they have to discontinue one. I'll be 57 years old in December. I have some arthritis in my hands and feet, which is creeping to my elbows and knees. Now that I have a metal plate in my right ankle, arthritis is setting in there too. I've had mild arthritis in my fingers since I was 18 years old. To date, I have not taken any medication. If I had decided to take meds at 18 years old, by now I would be immune to every arthritis medication out there. At some point in the future when I really need to take something, I want it to work. In the meantime, I run hot water on all sore joints in the morning. I type and crochet to keep my fingers limber. I make a point of wiggling my toes throughout the day to keep them limber.

So that's my rant for the day. I'd be interested to hear if anyone besides me gets as irritated with medical people.

Halloween Baby

2011-10-24T13:44:00.000-07:00

Joey as Buzz Lightyear 2011

Ella as Lion (with Hannah) 2011

The pictures above were taken at the church "Trunk-or-Treat" party on October 22, 2011 of two of my grandchildren. These are Hannah and Dale's children, Joey, and Ella.

Trunk-or-Treat reminded me that I needed to buy Halloween candy. As I purchased Halloween candy this morning, I was thinking of the first Halloween after my first child was born. Molly was born October 3, 1977. She was born with a lung cyst the size of a baseball, which is very rare and has the same symptoms as a diaphragmatic hernia, so her condition was originally misdiagnosed. She had two major surgeries before she was 12 hours old, and we weren't sure for quite a while how long she would be with us. Obviously, she didn't come home from the hospital right away. As a matter of fact, she had only been home a few days prior to Halloween.

Danny was a very proud father! He still is a very proud father of all his children! As I purchased Halloween candy this morning, Danny was busy filling in the cashier on the latest news from one of our children. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry on the street knows every detail of our lives because Danny will talk to anyone and everyone about his family!

The weather turned very cold for Halloween that year. Proud Daddy decided he should put a San Francisco Giants baseball cap on our tiny little baby and take her trick-or-treating. As I said, she had only been out of the hospital a few short days after a life-threatening illness. Her surgical scars were not even completely healed! Yeah, right -- trick-or-treating over my dead body! We had a huge argument over this, and this was one argument that I was not about to lose!

After we both calmed down a bit and were able to discuss the matter in civil tones, the real issue surfaced. Danny had not really been allowed to be much of a parent to his son, Matt, by his previous marriage -- an issue that continued for many more years to come. He was afraid that I would be over-protective and not let him be a father to our children. Apparently, that was his biggest fear. I was able to ease his fears and let him know that he would be able take his children trick-or-treating and fully participate as a father. I wouldn't have had it any other way! Through the years I encouraged him to do all those fun things with his children, and I think I was particularly careful to do so because I realized how important it was for him. He is a great Dad! I hope my four children appreciate the great Dad they have. I'm grateful that Danny was able to get closer to Matt at a later date before Matt died. I wish for Matt's sake that it had been possible for Danny to be more a part of his life when he was younger. Matt missed out on so much!

Each year after that, I would help the kids into their costumes and make-up, and Danny would take the kids trick-or-treating while I heated apple cider and got the donuts ready for consumption while I checked the collected candy for safety.

Well, the kids are gone, but now there are grandchildren to enjoy. Danny is a great grandpa too!

Polly and Hedda's Day at the Dolly Spa

2011-10-13T22:06:00.000-07:00

That's a hot water bottle under her head.

It's hard to see in the picture, but she has measles.

My mother instilled in me a great love of dolls, doll clothes, doll houses, and all things that have anything to do with dolls.

Mom had agoraphobia (one of those people who are afraid to leave their home) long before anyone knew what it was, so it was never diagnosed. All Christmas shopping was done by the Speigel catalog. I looked through the catalog one Christmas season and found these absolutely lovable little dolls, Polly-the-Lolly and Hedda-Get-Bedda. Polly had pink hair with braids wired to stand straight up in the air. Hedda had three faces; happy, asleep, and sick with measles. I dog-eared the page and left the catalog open where the dolls could be seen. Every time anyone left the catalog closed, I would open it back up to the proper page. That Christmas Santa brought me Polly-the-Lolly. Hedda-Get- Bedda arrived the following Christmas. Now I loved these little dolls! They were just the sweetest little things ever! Unfortunately, I loved them so much that after a few years, they were a plastic bag full of stuffing.

As any little girl, I eventually grew up. I got married. I had children of my own. There was always a little empty spot in my heart, however, for the little dolls that passed beyond the veil. Mom went to a doll show, and who did she see??? Lo and behold, Polly-the-Lolly and Hedda-Get-Bedda apparently were in the first resurrection! Mom paid more than double the price she originally paid for the dolls, but I received a special Christmas surprise. She made clothes for the dolls that were as close as possible to the original wardrobe. I loved those dolls! A couple of years ago, I found Hedda's original accessories on E-bay and bought them.

Unfortunately, in the busy life that is raising children, I eventually had to put the dolls in my closet to make room for everyone else's "stuff." We recently became "empty nesters," and I'm reclaiming my house. I've been through every room in the house organizing closets and cupboards and throwing out the excess baggage that a family of six accumulates over 35 years. I'm finally down to my closet and the garage. I started on my closet this morning, and found Polly-the-Lolly and Hedda-Get-Bedda. They were a tad bit dusty (cough, cough), and Polly's pink hair had faded to almost white. Hedda's plastic nightcap was cracked because plastic wasn't as durable in the 1950's as it is now.

Needless to say, all work ceased on my closet until my babies had a day at the spa. Clothes were washed, bodies were washed, Hedda's nightcap was repaired, and Polly's hair was washed, conditioned, dyed, braided, and curled. They will now be displayed on the spare bed in my office. (I love saying "my office," as opposed to a kid's bedroom!)

Thanks, Mom! It took a good number of years, but Polly and Hedda finally have a home -- and I had an absolutely marvelous day!

Vacation Fun Is Exhausting!

2011-10-07T17:50:00.000-07:00

We've just had 8 lovely days! We drove to Salt Lake City for LDS General Conference, then on to Idaho to visit family and enjoy the desert scenery. Conference was wonderful, and I'm still on a spiritual high! There is nothing more relaxing to me that a drive through the desert, and we drove through some of the most beautiful desert scenery in the country this last week. I told Danny that photographs and even an artist's painting can't do justice to the desert. The shadows on the hillsides, the colors of pinks, browns, purples, and blues all blending together amidst puffs of clouds that you feel you can reach up and grab from the sky -- none of that can be recreated. It truly takes the hand of the Master.

After leaving Salt Lake, we stopped in Brigham City to visit the grave site of my third great grandmother, Ingeborg M. Nielsen Jensen, who was a handcart pioneer. A few years ago, our family took up a collection to place a grave stone for Ingeborg. We finally purchased the stone, took it to Brigham City, but there was too much snow to place the stone, so the cemetery had to place the stone after we left Utah. So this time I was able to get pictures of the stone placed in the cemetery for the family.

We traveled to Pocatello, Idaho, which is one of the few places in Idaho I had never seen. Quite by accident, we discovered Garrett Road, and the Garrett Business Center. My father-in-law, Lon White, was a truck driver for Garrett Freightlines for 25 years. A few years ago, Garrett went out of business, so the old trucking facility in Pocatello has been turned into a business park. It was so much fun to walk around and take pictures. I only wish I could have gotten a good picture of the street sign, but it would have required standing in the middle of a very busy 4-lane street, and I value my life.

Trust me, there's a road sign there that says "Garrett Way."

Neely, Idaho is the site of a beautiful cemetery which has a great number of relatives, so we stopped there for a bit and marveled at the beautiful view on all sides of the cemetery! We stopped briefly in Burley, Idaho to see a cousin, Dale Whipple. It was pouring down rain when we got to Burley, but by the time we left, the sun was beginning to shine again. I always feel so much at home in Dale's house, and he's a real sweet man. I was glad we were able to connect with him, even if it was only for a few minutes.

We spent that night in Twin Falls -- and Danny scored with the hotel room! The Shilo Inn in Twin Falls is beautiful, and for $76, we had a full suite -- with not one, but two television sets! Actually, we didn't have a bad room for the entire trip, but the Shilo Inn in Twin Falls and the Best Western Plus in Winnemucca were the best. (Best Western Plus was a little more expensive.) Danny was born in Twin Falls, so we enjoyed cruising the area, especially around the new temple. We had the opportunity on a previous trip to Idaho to attend the open house of the Twin Falls Temple, and it is a really beautiful temple.

We drove to the Nampa/Caldwell area, and spent two nights in Nampa visiting Danny's brother and sister-in-law. It is always fun to spend time with Dick and Barbara. We took a tour of all the old stomping grounds in Caldwell where Danny was raised, and visited Danny's parents' graves, as well as the grave of his best friend, Colin Lamb, who was killed in Vietnam. (I had been inspired the day before to get all the details on the Lamb family in the cemetery, because now that Colin's parents have passed, we can easily do the temple ordinances for Colin and his family. Danny was thrilled at the thought, and especially that we might be able to get our son, Ezra, whose middle name is Colin, to do some of the work.)

We also checked up on my daughter's rental home in Caldwell to make sure it is looking good.

One night we went to Boise to have dinner with Danny's nephew's ex-wife and her husband. Diane will always be my special friend, and she will always be part of our family. I made up my mind that Ed and Diane may have divorced, but we didn't divorce Ed OR Diane. Her second husband, Fred, is a really fine man, and it turns out that Danny went to school with Fred's brother. Diane's youngest, Spencer, was with us for dinner, and it was fun to see him again. He was very young the last time we saw him, and he didn't remember us, but we remember him!

The 20 or 30-mile trip back from Boise to Nampa that night was eventful -- to say the least! I don't know how we got back to the hotel alive! Some roads were extremely confusing on our trip -- and that night trip back from Boise included my navigator directing me down the wrong way on a freeway ramp -- among other things!

We had a truly lovely drive from Nampa to Winnemucca, Nevada. We got into Winnemucca about 2:00 or 2:30 p.m., so we had some time to explore. We walked a block or two down to the only theater in Winnemucca to see the movie "Dolphin Tale." We were the only people there, so we had a private showing, which was really kind of fun! After a bite to eat, we vegged in front of a wide flat screen television in our room.

Today we drove from Winnemucca through Reno and back to Sacramento over Donner Summit. It was a beautiful drive. The sun was shining, and the snow had all melted from the road, but the snow was still on the trees, making a splendid winter wonderland! It was a wonderful trip, but I'm glad to be home -- and from the looks of it, my dog is glad we're home too. We had a house sitter for the first time, and it was great to know that everything was being watched over while we were gone, and that our dog was in good hands. We have had dog watchers before, but we've never had someone (other than our kids) actually stay in the house and take care of things, but I'm so glad we did it.

Just a bit of commentary: While California gave back some of their "stimulus money" because they didn't spend it on road construction fast enough, Utah, Idaho, and Nevada apparently spent every penny offered to them. The roads will be beautiful when they are finished, but I'm here to tell you that there is an abundance of road construction projects! I love the fact that we are restoring the infrastructure in this country, but I would like it even more if they would just say, "Hey, our roads stink, and we're going to spend a gazillion dollars fixing them." While they are putting lots of road construction crews to work (at least in three states), I'm not sure what that is doing to "stimulate" the rest of the economy. Hey, Washington, D.C., there are plenty of other people out of work besides road crews! Also, a reminder to those of us driving through these construction zones -- please be careful, slow down, and remember that these highway workers want to go home to their families at the end of the day just as we do!

General Conference October 2011

2011-10-03T19:23:00.000-07:00

I'm blogging from a hotel in Twin Falls, Idaho, so if someone comes to use the computer, this may be cut short.

My husband and I just attended General Conference for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You call us Mormons. It was an absolutely wonderful conference! I felt so at peace to be there with thousands of people who share one common goal: To try a little harder each day to become more like the Saviour. There were talks from the prophet and President of the Church, President Thomas S. Monson, members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and other general officers of the Church. I took great notes, but I won't try to summarize them because they are in one of my suitcases, and I'm not sure which one at this point -- and I'm pretty tired tonight.

The one talk that does stand out in my mind, however, was a talk by Elaine S. Dalton (oh, I do hope I got her name right), the Young Women's General President. Usually, when a member of the Young Women's Presidency speaks, she speaks to the young women of the Church. This time, this wonderfully inspired leader spoke to the fathers of the Church. It was quite apparent that she knows that families are falling apart, and she felt inspired to speak to fathers about keeping their families together, honoring their priesthood responsibilities, and staying close to their daughters (and sons). It was a powerful and moving talk.

I was also thrilled at the new temples that were announced in Wyoming, the Congo, Columbia, and South Africa, and that the Church is going ahead with plans for a temple in Paris, France. The historic tabernacle in Provo, Utah that burned down a few months back will be completely restored -- but not as a tabernacle -- as a new temple!

It was also announced that a new fund has been set up to help families who live far away from a temple to make a one-time trip to a temple to do family ordinances and seal their families together for eternity. What a wonderful opportunity! I can definitely sink my teeth into that, and will be making my first donation to the fund shortly.

On a more personal note, between the Saturday sessions of conference, I was thrilled to be able to personally meet Kathryn Skaggs (aka LDSNana, aka A Well-Behaved Mormon Woman). I have been in awe of this woman's talents since I first "met" her on Twitter a couple of years ago. Kathryn has her own story to tell about conference, and I won't tell it here and spoil her fun. She's probably already done it, but the hotel where I'm staying doesn't allow patrons to use social media on the hotel computer, so I can't check to see what she's posted to Facebook, Twitter, or Google+ about conference -- that will have to wait until I can get to a more "friendly" computer. By the way, Kathryn is as beautiful as her pictures -- besides being a completely genuine person.

The main lesson learned from attending conference: When I was walking back and forth between the hotel and the conference center, I kept telling myself to fight through the pain because my third great grandmother, Ingeborg Mortensen Jensen, pushed a handcart all the way across the country to the Salt Lake Valley, and I shouldn't complain. As I recall (and my family will correct me if I'm wrong, I'm sure), Ingeborg was about 15 years old (or at least a young woman), she was a little bit of a thing (not overweight), and she did not have a metal plate and several screws in her ankle. Those Vicodin that I didn't take after my surgery and just threw in the 72-hour kit in case somebody needed them someday -- yeah, I should have grabbed them for the trip. Let's just say that I had two nights of total agony, and I made Danny go find food last night (walking because the whole area around the hotel was a huge construction site) and bring it back to the room.

I'll blog about our trip to Idaho in a couple of days.

The Power of Music

2011-09-28T08:56:00.000-07:00

Dad Making Breakfast While Listening To My Stereo
With My Headphones So He Didn't Wake Anyone Up

In the wake of finally becoming empty nesters, we are doing some major reorganizing at my house. I'm cleaning out "kid stuff" and reclaiming my home. The kids should all thank me for this; I could just wait until I die and let them deal with this stuff. Somewhere in the reorganization process yesterday, I was struck by the power that music has had in my life.

My music has been in plastic bins for a couple of years. It was necessary to put most of it away to make room for other things kid related -- you know, one kid's "independence chest" stuff, another kid's storage boxes during college and missionary years. I've now just got one closet full of a missionary's boxes. The rest of the house is mine, so I unpacked my music and found a more permanent place for it.

As I lovingly unpacked 45s, record albums, cassette tapes, and CDs, I was struck by the variety of music that I have listened to in my lifetime. There's a sample of pretty much everything except hard rock. The selection runs from The Beach Boys to the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Neil Diamond, Mantovani, Patsy Cline, Bobby Sherman, Helen Reddy, Rod McKuen, Tony Orlando, Al Martino, Andy Williams, Mike Douglas, Glen Campbell, Wayne Newton, Bobby Vale, Jim Nabors, The Kingston Trio, Donny Osmond, Kenny Rodgers, Roger Whittaker, Carol Burnett, Nat King Cole, Perry Como, Percy Faith, Lawrence Welk, Anita Bryant, Tex Ritter, Apollo 100, The Mills Brothers, Johnny Mathis -- and it goes on and on and on. I have country collections, a big band of the 40s collection, a huge Christmas music collection, and a ton of Broadway musicals.

How can one person love the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Jesus Christ Superstar? How can a person who loves Nat King Cole also love Neil Diamond and The Beach Boys? How can I listen to traditional Irish music, Finian's Rainbow, My Fair Lady, Herb Albert and the Tijuana Brass, and Frank Sinatra all in the course of one morning? I'm like a 3,000-piece jigsaw puzzle waiting for the keys to be unlocked that put me together.

The amazing thing about this is that I can't carry a tune (which doesn't prevent me from singing), have never played a musical instrument, and can't even read music! I love music. I love how it makes me feel. I love what it does for my life. I remember when my kids were little and I needed to speed up the house cleaning for the day, I would put on the fastest music I could find. Apollo 100 is good for cleaning house. On Saturday mornings the sound of Carol Burnett singing "Saturday Morning Confusion" wafted in the air. When the kids would finally go to bed at night, Johnny Mathis kept us remembering why we got married in the first place. On those days when I needed peace in my life, Rod McKuen's gloriously poetic lyrics and raspy voice was there for me.

Sunday morning has always meant the Mormon Tabernacle Choir -- since I was a kid growing up in my parents' home. Dad would set his transistor radio on the ledge of the fence and listen to "Music and the Spoken Word" while he weeded his yard with me at his knee. Mom used to "sing" (and I use that term liberally) "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" and "A Big Uh-Uh Makes a Little Uh-Uh" to us when we were kids. I have my parents to thank for my love of music. We didn't have a radio in the car until I was in high school. Getting in the car meant singing together. I remember one particular trip from Reno, Nevada to Salt Lake City, Utah that we decided not to sing the same song more than once. Somewhere in the Bonneville Salt Flats we began making up our own songs (mostly about how sore our behinds were from sitting in the car).

Thanks to Brett Nordquist for the idea for this blog post. You can read about his musical experience here.

Stand for Truth and Righteousness

2011-09-23T09:49:00.000-07:00

Several things reminded this week about an incident that happened in a pizza parlor 12 or 13 years ago, so I guess it's time to write about it. My kids have teased me about this for years, but I still contend I did the right thing.

My family was enjoying pizza at the best pizza parlor in the Sacramento area, Roma's Pizzeria. Suddenly, there was quite a disturbance from one of the customers. This incredibly inebriated man was yelling at his wife. The language was foul and abusive. This seemingly never-ending disgusting diatribe was not stopped by the management--quite to my dismay. This is a family restaurant, and there are always children present. I don't know about that particular evening, but very often soccer teams and baseball teams will celebrate at Roma's, and there is usually a birthday party or two. I know that my children were not the only children present that evening.

My husband and I hustled the kids to finish their pizza, and then we removed ourselves from the restaurant. My family walked out ahead of me, and it was necessary to walk right past the offending party. On my way out, I felt obligated to say something to this man (since management had failed to do so--or eject him from the restaurant). In a calm voice, I thanked him for making my evening with my children so pleasant. Then I walked out the door. The man followed me and began to yell at me. He tried to throw his beer at me, but my brawny defender husband walked out the door after paying the bill just in time to roar like a cannon as he flung himself at the beer-throwing arm, scaring the daylights out of this man (and I used the word "man" liberally). Most of the beer was deflected, but I still had to have my coat cleaned--worth every penny.

Roma's owner and staff came out to investigate, and I gave the owner a tongue lashing for not removing this man from the restaurant. He apologized to me profusely. We avoided going to Roma's for two or three years after the incident, which made my children a little disgruntled, but I wanted the owner to know that we were displeased with the experience (and we had been very regular customers). When we finally reappeared in the restaurant, we received red carpet service, and have never experienced another incident.

As I said in the beginning, I've taken quite a ribbing from my family about this, but I stand behind my actions. The world is becoming increasingly evil. There is right, and there is wrong. At some point, we all need to take a stand. We either are on the side of good, or we are on the side of evil. There is no fence sitting. That night I had two choices: (1) Say and do nothing, which would have taught my daughter (8 or 9 years old at the time) that using the "F" word three times in a sentence is appropriate, and my teenage son that being abusive to your wife is acceptable; or (2) take a stand and teach my children that there are some things in life we are not obliged to tolerate, and a restaurant owner that he has a duty to protect his clientele from such abuse.

I took a risk that night that I might get hurt. There are some risks worth taking for principle. It saddens my heart that so many people are afraid to stand up and say enough is enough. This is wrong, and I don't have to put up with this. It is fine to teach children principles at home where the environment is quiet and peaceful (well, usually), but they will be out in a tumultuous world. I wanted my children to be able to plant their feet on terra firma and say, "This is wrong, and I don't have to take this."

Daughters in My Kingdom -- Book Review

2011-09-20T15:43:00.000-07:00

I've been waiting a full year to read Daughters in My Kingdom: The History and Work of Relief Society. I was very excited last year to hear Sister Julie Beck talk about it at the Relief Society General Meeting. It sounded like it was a truly inspired book -- and the book does not disappoint.

Aside from being an absolutely beautifully designed book, with wonderful pictures and inspirational quotes from leaders, the book reaches out and touches my heart through the history of Relief Society and the wonderful heritage of the sisters in the Lord's church.

It's been almost a year since I was released as Relief Society President in my ward. The 3 1/2 years that I spent in that calling was one of the hardest periods of my life, but one of the most fulfilling. There is so much service that sisters do quietly behind the scenes, and so much love that is given! It never ceased to amaze me at the goodness of some of these sisters that I served. Daughters of My Kingdom tells the story of the service of the sisters through the years. It brings to life that great heritage of service. After all, the Relief Society motto is "Charity Never Faileth."

The story is told of how Relief Society was organized, and how it progressed through the years. There are beautiful quotes from past Relief Society General Presidents, as well as modern day prophets. As the story unfolds, we find that the sisters of Relief Society were involved in every important program of the church to some degree or another. The sisters worked together with the priesthood in accomplishing common goals. I found the stories inspiring, but more importantly as I read, I found in myself a new resolve to be of service to my fellow sisters.

As much as I have been amazed at the goodness of the sisters, and of the marvelous service they give, I have also found that at times some of the sisters don't understand the capacity for good that the Relief Society organization has within its grasp. I believe that was my biggest frustration as Relief Society President. Relief Society is not just a Sunday class. Relief Society is sisters taking care of other sisters. It is sisters caring for families. It is sisters with one common goal -- to serve each other, our communities, and the Lord.

The purposes of Relief Society are to (1) "Increase faith and personal righteousness," (2) "strengthen families and homes", and (3) "seek out and help those in need." Emma Smith told the sisters, "We are going to do something extraordinary." As I read the history of this great organization, I became resolved to take another look at those around me. How can I serve them? How can I live up to the heritage I've been given as a sister in Relief Society? Obviously, for me at least, Daughters in My Kingdom succeeded in its goal of making us more aware of our great heritage.

I not only highly recommend reading Daughters in My Kingdom, I pray that you will.

Anticipation Is Almost Over

2011-09-17T23:11:00.000-07:00

It's finally almost here. The day in some ways we've been waiting for our whole marriage. Our youngest child is leaving the nest in three days. I'm writing this on Saturday night, and she leaves early Wednesday morning.

There are a whole lot of emotions at this time. I'm excited for her. She is going on a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She will be serving the Lord in the country of Brasil. There has been a boatload of preparation for this wonderful adventure. Of course, we will miss her. I'll do the same thing every night at bedtime that I did when the other kids served their missions. As I lock the sliding glass door, I'll look out at the stars and the moon, wish her goodnight, and ask Heavenly Father to watch over her. Then I'll express gratitude that she has this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

While we will miss her, there is something different this time from when the other kids left on their missions. This time Danny and I will be empty nesters -- alone for the first time in our whole marriage. I became pregnant with our first child two weeks after we were married -- so we've waited for the "alone time" almost 35 years. We start our marriage anew Wednesday morning.

We will miss raising kids. It was a fun period of our lives. It was also hard -- very hard. The best things in life are hard. No one ever said raising kids is easy. My kids may not know it yet, but we were pretty darned good parents. We made some enormous mistakes, but we did our best. They are terrific adults, and I'd like to think we can take credit for at least a portion of that. I don't think I've ever said that publicly before. People have told me over the years that we're good parents, and I shrug it off and tell them that we were blessed with good kids. We were blessed with good kids -- but even the good ones need some direction. So for the first time in 35 years, I'm going to forget humility and take credit for Danny and I being good parents.

It is with great anticipation that I look forward to the next chapter of our lives together. I love being Danny's wife. I'm going to love spending quality time with him every day. By nature, I'm a spontaneous person. I'm going to love waking up in the morning and being spontaneous about what the day brings. You can't do that when you're raising children.

Danny just had his 69th birthday. My father died when he was 64. For about a year before Danny turned 64, I could not stop thinking about that. It was then that I wanted to quit my job and stay home with my husband, but financially, it was not in the cards. I'm grateful that Danny is still in good health. I'm even more grateful that we will have this time together. I just quit working, and I won't be 57 years old for another couple of months. Our finances would be in better shape if I kept working a few more years, but money isn't everything. There are some things that are just too important to wait. At some point, I may end up working again. As long as I can still type, I can work. The arthritis in my fingers will just have to understand that!

I love being a granny, and Danny loves being a grandpa. We look forward to the opportunity to be better grandparents.

Sitting in this seat tonight feels pretty good. All is well with the world. We're healthy, we're happy, and none of the kids are in therapy from our parenting (yet). All five of them (my stepson included in that number) have served missions. Three of them have marriages sealed in the temple for time and all eternity. We have every reason to believe that my youngest will come back from her mission and find an eternal companion. And someday, hopefully, my stepson can be sealed to his wife in the temple by proxy. After all the years of parental worry and sleepless nights, I think we're seeing the light at the end of the temple -- and all is well.

What Defines You?

2011-09-16T15:47:00.000-07:00

Recently, I wrote a post that was very well received by my regular readers and was reposted by two people. It was not as well written as I would have liked it to be, but it had heart. Many people related to the post, and two people told me that it touched their hearts and made them cry. One person, however, slapped my hands and told me that I was trying to "define" someone.

I was not offended by the criticism. In fact, one of the purposes of this blog is to generate feedback on my writing so that I become a better writer. I would never want to write anything hurtful, or that could be interpreted by someone as hurtful. I'm not naive enough to think that everyone is going to like what I write, either. The discussion did, however, make me think quite a bit about what "defines" people. Is it possible that something I write could later have a negative impact on how another person sees himself or herself? So how are we "defined" as people?

In discussing this with several people (I love social media), I learned that there seems to be a lot of feelings out there about what that really means. I've heard that religion defines who we are as people. I've heard that the decisions we make between good and bad define us. Someone told me that what we do in the present, regardless of our past, or our thought patterns, is what defines us. All of those are good answers. I would add to that, imagination, determination, and spunk. I believe that we are born with personality and character. I've seen that in my children. Maybe how we use that personality and character in this life defines us.

Every person who has ever been, is now, or who will live on this earth in the future has a certain amount of adversity to deal with. I think it is how we deal with that adversity that defines us. We need to use our character, talents, imagination, determination, spunk, religion, and a variety of other things to do what is right. As I learned in my social media discussion, we also need to be cognizant of our thought process. While we need to control our thoughts, we also need to understand that there is a repentance process if we mess things up a bit. What we do today doesn't have to be based on the mistakes we made yesterday. We need to accept who we are at this moment in time, always striving to be better. We accomplish nothing by living in the past, or dwelling on our mistakes or our circumstances.

"Our character has been forged in the furnace of adversity. We know what pain feels like. We cannot change the past. However, we can choose to use these reference points as a rich resource to assist us in better understanding and connecting with people. When we use our life experiences in the service of others, we will finally find purpose in our suffering, joy in our journey, and much needed healing in our souls." — Dave Blanchard — (Thanks Sheila Du Bois for sharing this quote on Google+.) Thanks also to those who shared thoughts and ideas with me on Google+.

Become As Little Children

2011-09-11T21:52:00.000-07:00

This is a love story of sorts. It started out as a Primary lesson. (Primary is the equivalent of Sunday School for my readers who are not of the Mormon faith.) I teach the 3-year-old (Sunbeam) class. It is now September, so most (if not all) of them have turned into 4-year-olds. The lesson I was teaching from the manual today was "I Can Love Others." The stated purpose of the lesson is: "To encourage each child to express love for others through kind words and deeds."

The lesson manual asked that I teach the story of the Good Samaritan, as well as teaching them about Jesus having the children come unto Him when they were being turned away. I was also supposed to remind them about Jesus healing the blind man, and to teach them that Jesus' whole life was about being kind to others. This lesson was a great follow-up lesson to last week's "I Can Be A Friend" lesson.

For some reason my class was smaller than usual. I only had two children: Caleb and Jocelyn. I began my lesson by showing this picture of my granddaughters, Haley and Kaitlyn.

Haley (Left) and Kaitlyn (Right)

The conversation went something like this:

Me: This is a picture of two little girls. Do you think you could be friends with these little girls?

Caleb and Jocelyn: Yes.

Me: They look like nice little girls. Do you think you could be nice to them?

Caleb and Jocelyn: Yes.

Then I showed this picture of Haley as a baby.

Haley -- Notice the Smile -- Definitely NOT Gas

Me: This is another picture of a little girl. Do you think you could be friends with her?

Caleb and Jocelyn: Yes.

Me: That's good. I'm so glad. Is there something a little different about this little girl?

Caleb: She's a baby.

Me: That's right. Is there anything else that you can see that's different?

Caleb: Her nose is different.

Me: That's right. Her nose and her mouth are a little different.

I then placed Haley's baby picture over Kaitlyn's picture so that Haley's baby picture was next to the current picture of Haley.

Me: I'm so glad that you could be friends with this baby, because she is my granddaughter. And this other picture is Haley as she looks today at 5 years old.

I explained that Haley had been to the hospital a couple of times, and that the doctors had fixed her nose and mouth. I then explained that while Haley looks more like we do now, that she still has some problems talking, and that her voice sounds a little different. I explained that she is going to go into the hospital very soon so that the doctors can help her with that problem. I asked the children if they could be friends with someone who talked differently, and they agreed they could do that.

We then discussed people in wheelchairs, and people who were blind or deaf. The children agreed that they could be friends with and love those people too.

My assistant, Sister Moore, is African-American. I took a breath and began what could have been a tricky situation.

Me: What about someone who has skin that is a different color from yours? Sister Moore's skin is different from yours.

At this point, Caleb and Jocelyn almost simultaneously jumped out of their chairs, threw their little arms around Sister Moore, and said, "I love you, Sister Moore." Sister Moore was obviously quite touched, and I have to admit to a little catch in my throat, as well.

Sister Moore: I love you too!!!

I taught this lesson on the anniversary of 9/11/01, so I had to take this one step further. I asked if the children had heard about 9/11, and they said no. I explained that some bad people who lived in a different country flew planes into two big buildings in New York City, and it had hurt some people. (I avoided the word "kill" because they are very young.) They said they had heard about that. I asked them if they could love someone who lived in a different country, and they said they could. I asked them if they could forgive the bad men who had done this, and they said they could. I explained that it is important to love everyone and reminded them of a previous lesson that we need to forgive. They said they could do that.

I then went into the meat of the lesson about the Good Samaritan, and the rest as outlined in the manual.

Since the stated purpose of the lesson was: "To encourage each child to express love for others through kind words and deeds," I couldn't help but wonder who had taught this lesson--me, or the children. When they threw their little arms around Sister Moore and told her that they loved her, I think I could have ended the lesson right there.

I was reminded of the Book of Mormon scripture, Mosiah 3:19:

"For the natural man is an enemy to God, and has been from the fall of Adam, and will be, forever and ever, unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit, and putteth off the natural man and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father." (Emphasis added.)

It is my prayer that we all try to be more like little Caleb and Jocelyn. The world would be a much better place.

Blessings of Modern Times

2011-09-08T19:26:00.000-07:00

Corsets are not for me. I would never have survived them. I doubt I would have survived a wagon train or pushing a handcart across the plains to the Great Salt Lake Valley. I certainly would not have survived long dresses with long sleeves and petticoats in desert heat. I appreciated drugs during childbirth, and the fact that because of modern medicine, my babies survived a variety of life-threatening events at their birth. I believe Heavenly Father saved me for 1954 because he knew if I'd been born any earlier, it would have spelled disaster.

I feel so blessed to live in these times. I can't imagine having to follow Moses in the desert for 40 years to hear a prophet's voice, or walk from village to village following the savior to learn about God's eternal plan. I don't think I would have done very well camping in a tent to hear King Benjamin speak words of prophecy.

On October 1 - 2, 2011, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints will hold their General Conference. This regularly happens every six months; the first weekend in April, and the first weekend in October. I have always been in awe of the fact that I can listen to the prophets and apostles speak from the comfort of my recliner through the miracle of television. General Conference can now be seen via cable systems, satellite, and can be streamed via the Internet. The printed word can be read and studied in the May and November issues of the church publication, the Ensign.

Today I read a guest blog from the prophet, Thomas S. Monson, in the Washington Post. I find that completely amazing! A prophet of God blogs! How cool is that!

Now more than ever before in the history of man, we have the opportunity to hear Heavenly Father's word. We have been given living prophets and apostles who have technology available to them to reach more people on the planet than ever before. It makes me think that possibly it is more imperative that we hear what He has to say now.

How well do I listen? If I lived in Noah's time, would I have jumped on the arc, or would I have played in the rain? If I had been in Nauvoo, Illinois when the mobs came, would I have walked on the ice and snow and wallowed in the mud to Winter Quarters, or would I have cowered in a corner hoping the mobs wouldn't notice? If I had been with my 3rd great grandmother in Denmark, would I have been willing to sail to America and push a handcart across the desert plains knowing there was a very good chance I would die in the process?

Just six months ago, I heard the words of inspiration from prophets and apostles during the April General Conference. President Monson admonished us to attend the temple more often. He talked about the great sacrifices that others have made to attend the temple, and reminded us how blessed we are to live in such close proximity to temples. He asked us to be good citizens of the nations in which we live, and to reach out to others of different faiths. He reminded us that maintaining a strong testimony and studying the scriptures would see us safely through the sin around us. Others at April's Conference gave us so many more words of advice and good counsel. I find it interesting to look back over the last six months and evaluate how far I've actually reached for the "arc." Sometimes I've run up the plank, and sometimes I've clung to a tree and hoped for a life line.

October's General Conference will be exciting for me. My husband and I are travelling to Salt Lake City to sit at the prophet's feet in the Conference Center. This is only the second time we've been able to make the trip to Salt Lake for conference. I pray that I'll be a sponge to soak up the inspiration that will be given. I pray that I'll be humble and teachable enough to run up the plank to the arc in the next six months -- do not pass go; do not collect $200. I pray that I'll take advantage of the great blessings available to me in these modern times and not waste them on worldly things.

What Will They Remember?

2011-08-22T18:53:00.000-07:00

My grandchildren after a day in the dirt
Top step, Left to Right: Jocelyn, Michael, Kaitlyn
Bottom Step, Left to Right, Joey, Ella, Haley

This past weekend we had a family event (missionary farewell for my daughter who will be serving an LDS mission in Brazil), and my kids and grand kids were here. As these six darling little grandchildren played together as cousins, it brought back memories of my own cousins, and visits with my grandparents.

I remember visiting Nana and Pa in Carson City, Nevada. There was a clothesline in the back yard. It was a square clothesline on a rotating pole. We had a great time hanging from a rope as one of the cousins twirled the clothesline around like a merry-go-round. In the front yard, there were bushes that had hard little gray berries that were great for throwing at each other. Inside was a staircase with a long banister to slide down. One of the upstairs bedrooms had a slanting ceiling that always fascinated me. I loved to lay on the bed and look at the ceiling. I remember sitting with Pa at the kitchen table and discussing very important stuff that little kids talk to their grandparents about. Pa had a cookie jar that he would fill and wait for us to steal his cookies. He introduced me to gingersnaps.

Visiting Nana Janes in Portola, California was fun too. I remember looking at the patterns in the carpet in her living room. All the cousins looked for money that my father apparently hid in a secret place in his old room when he was a kid, but to my knowledge, nobody ever struck gold. I startled Nana Janes one time when she was getting dressed in the morning, and her facial expression is forever etched in my memory. I remember Nana Janes organizing family reunions in Portola park.

I remember making mud pies and picking berries with cousin Valerie. I remember swimming in Portola Municipal swimming pool with cousins Debbie, Dennis, and Paula. I had nightmares for years after Debbie, Dennis, and Paula let me watch the movie "The Tingler" with them. I remember cousin Jim at the family cabin playing (and cheating) at cards with us -- and I remember him laughing. I rode cousin Lana's horse.

I watched my grandchildren play together this weekend and wondered what they will remember about these visits together. Will they remember playing in the dirt? Will they remember swinging in the old swing hanging from the end of the clothesline? Will they remember asking Granny how to "glue" bricks together? Will they remember Granny explaining mortar and cement? Will they remember taking spoons to the yard and Granny making them count how many they took out and how many they brought back in? What about Haley's imaginary apple tree? Will she remember gathering Grandpa's gently placed apple at the bottom of the stick she stuck in the ground every time she came to Grandpa's house? Will they remember how much fun they had with their cousins running from monsters in the back yard? Will Jocelyn remember taking ice from the ice chest in the kitchen when we weren't looking and making a lake in the kitchen floor? Will they remember sitting on Granny's lap for a story? Or will they remember things that I haven't even thought about?

Whatever the memories of tomorrow are, I hope they are good ones. I've certainly enjoyed watching them make their memories!

Civil Disobedience or Mob Rule?

2011-08-10T13:46:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was conversing on-line with a couple of people who are British citizens, but who live in the United States. We were discussing the rioting and violence that is happening in Britain. One of the gentlemen commented that this was a day of shame for Britain. In an effort to make him feel better, I told him that this is more than Britain's problem, it is a world wide problem. It's mob rule. I told him that the United States has also had "days of shame." He asked me to point to a time in the United States where there had been rioting. I told him that I hadn't seen it to the extent that I'm seeing it now in Britain, but that I remembered the Rodney King riots in Southern California, and that I also remembered the race riots of the 1960s and 1970s. He conceded that he did remember the Rodney King riots, but told me that he put the riots of the 1960s and 1970s in a "different class" because they were for a "purpose." It was at that point that I extracted myself from the conversation.

So is rioting ever justified? Is mob rule okay, because it's for a cause? Who determines whether the cause warrants the violence? Is there a visible line in the sand between "civil disobedience" and "mob rule?" Merriam Webster on-line gives this definition for civil disobedience: "Refusal to obey governmental demands or commands especially as a nonviolent and usually collective means of forcing concessions from the government." That does not sound like the race riots of the 1960s and 1970s to me, and it certainly is not the rioting and burning of London and other British cities.

I have always been a big proponent of civil rights, and as a teenager tested the limits at home because I did not want my parents to apply for a variance from the high school that the district wanted me to attend for desegregation reasons. I lost that battle, but it was a battle worth fighting.

I watched in horror the police brutality during the 1968 Democratic National Convention after a year of over a hundred riots in cities across the nation. I also remember with disgust the Kent State Massacre in 1970 after a student protest of the American invasion of Cambodia. Both these incidents prove to me that there is also potential for wrong doing within our own government agencies--even mob rule.

I've always treated people as I would want to be treated, regardless of the color of skin, nationality, or what religion they are (or aren't). Things are still not perfect for all segments of society, but I'm glad that we've had a great deal of success in my lifetime. However, I would never set fire to a city, beat people with sticks, kick a person's head in with cowboy boots (an incident I remember from my childhood), throw rocks through windows, and terrorize my neighbors "for the cause." There is a right way and a wrong way to bring about change.

My Dad used to say that mob rule is ugly, and "when you find yourself in a crowd, be on the 'outside looking in,' not on the 'inside looking out.'" That's an incredibly vivid picture for me that I've always remembered. I've been in the middle of crowds, and I've watched things begin to turn sour. At some point, you have to remove yourself from the crowd and then take a look at what is happening around you. If it smells foul, back away. That foul smell is mob rule.

I don't live in Great Britain, and I won't pretend to understand what is happening, or the reasons behind what is happening. I do agree with my on-line friend that it is a very sad day in British history. I don't agree with him that it would have somehow been justified "for cause." Civility is paramount to the survival of society. How we treat our fellow human beings and their property shouldn't be based on some "theory" of who is right or wrong. There is a line in the sand that I will not cross, no matter how justified the cause.

Memory Lane

2011-08-06T22:06:00.000-07:00

Memories have been floating around Facebook today about growing up in Reno, Nevada during the 1960s and 1970s. It has been fun to share good times with others who remember those days with fondness.

Every summer the fire department would open up the fire hydrants to clean the sediment out, and they would let the neighborhood kids play in the water which came out with great force. It was always the high point of the summer. They don't do that anymore--probably their liability insurance won't cover it. I remember talking with the fire fighters and thinking they were the best!

We lived on Ives Avenue, the last street before Peavine Mountain. There was a dam on the mountain to prevent flash floods from taking out the neighborhood. (They have now built homes above the dam--go figure.) Dad took me up on the dam to give me driving practice.

Rancho San Raphael had fences that were not repaired often enough. Frequently, we discovered cattle stomping down the grass in the neighborhood. Dad was able to train the neighborhood dogs to cross the street when they came to our house to avoid his BB gun through the front window, but he never was able to train the cattle and the jack rabbits from playing in his rock garden.

In the summertime, it was necessary to always look carefully before sitting on the chaise lounge on the patio, because you never knew when a rattlesnake would be curled up in it sunbathing.

Snow storms and icicles were lovely to watch. I used to hope for snow on my birthday, December 16th. I was never very good at sledding. Ives Avenue was quite a hill, almost straight up and down, and the fence at the bottom was barbed wire (the only part of Rancho San Raphael's fence that ever stayed in tact). I don't know how many times I put a sled into that barbed wire fence, but every year it was the same old thing!

Near my elementary school was a neighborhood park with a pond. It was called Lake Park. People who owned the homes around Lake Park would always decorate their homes with lots of Christmas lights that would reflect on the pond. There was one home that played Christmas music outside. It was magical to a kid.

Driving in downtown Reno was far worse than driving in San Francisco. In Reno, you had to dodge drunks from the clubs. Driving down Virginia Street was a real experience for a teenager.

Reno High School has a study hall in the basement (Room 4, the dungeon). It had the old school desks with the ink wells (which we didn't use since the ball point pen had been invented). If you so much as dropped a piece of paper, it echoed like a Mack truck had hit the ground.

Tony's Deli on First Street and Virginia Street was the best! Roast beef or turkey on sour dough bread, with a big pickle right out of the pickle barrel. At noon people would line up for two blocks to get into Tony's. When I was 18, I worked at Breuner's Furniture, which was very near Tony's, so I spent a good deal of time standing in that line--but it was always worth it!

Since we lived at the base of Peavine Mountain, evenings were filled with cricket chirps, and mornings with meadow lark song. If I close my eyes in a quiet room, I can still hear it in my mind. It blows me away that the Reno LDS Temple now stands on Peavine where we used to play.

Those were such wonderful days in a much simpler time.

Intelligence Quotient Versus Habitually Dull

2011-07-29T20:14:00.000-07:00

I fully admit that I'm not the brightest bulb on the planet. While I may not be 300 watts, I'm certainly more than 60 watts. I'm not a college graduate--by circumstance--not by choice. I do have a certificate from a great business college which will have to do.

I admit to being more than a little self-conscious about my lack of education and "wattage" because of some of the circles I've traveled in my lifetime. Having said that, it was ingrained in me from birth, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

Internet Explorer works for me. It's not broken. I have no desire to fix what isn't broken. I don't have gadgets like Blackberries, ipads, and whatchamacallits. I don't own a cell phone, nor do I want one. I admit that I didn't replace my old DOS computer until nobody knew how to fix it anymore (not that long ago). I buy technology (as well as cars, clothes, shoes, and everything else I own) with the intention of using it until it dies. I use computer programs until they stop working for what I need them to do.

Last night, someone was taking a social media poll about what Internet connection (I guess that's the right terminology) that people were using. This person never told us why he was taking the poll. I responded that I use Internet Explorer. I'm sure he got a good belly laugh from that one. He obviously already knew what I did not hear until today. Apparently, according to some "study," Internet Explorer users are supposed to have very low intelligence. Thanks, ever so much, sir, for making me look like a total jerk!

I've been quite annoyed all day (partly because I'm suffering from an ear infection, and partly because of the admitted self-consciousness about not being a college graduate, or a 300 watt bulb). After a doctor's appointment (and drugs), I'm finally beginning to see the humor in this. I'm also wondering which one of Internet Explorer's competitors paid for that study. I've also considered that I really do have a lifetime of habitual, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it," attitudes, so I think I'm okay with it for now--or maybe it's the drugs kicking in.

If there is a way to make me feel stupid, someone out there will find it. Oh well, tomorrow is another day.

Guest Post: Dad's VW Bug

2011-07-27T20:15:00.000-07:00

Picture from HERE
We didn't have a sun roof, nor the luggage rack. The first VW was
black, not green. The second one we had was green, and my
brother, Rick, in later years built a huge box for the top to store
scuba diving equipment and first aide supplies.

Today I have a special guest post, by my older sister, Cheri (Janes) Scott. My blog is full of references to my eccentric father. I'm sure my readers think I make up this stuff--but you can't make this stuff up. I feel very validated after reading Cheri's story.
_______________

About 1962, our father decided it was time to replace our 1949 Pontiac. We were all thrilled because Dad bought this swoop-backed Pontiac right after the war, and right before the car companies came out with huge fenders and big grills. It had been an embarrassing stigma upon the children of the family for some time because we lived in a neighborhood where people bought new cars every couple of years. At any rate, Dad looked around and Volkswagen Bugs were just becoming popular. The fact that Dad had a wife and four kids and this would be our only car, was not a deterrent to buying such a small vehicle because he was also cheap and could see the gas savings mounting into a giant savings account.

Dad was thrilled with his (almost new) car. Of course he and Mom sat in the front seats, and Rick (age 13) and I (aged 15) rode in the backseat. One of us had to hold Colleen who was two. Now just because all the seats were filled, or double-filled didn't phase our father. The motor is under the back hood of a VW so there is a small compartment in the back for groceries etc. He put a pillow back there, and that is where eight year old Laurie was to ride Luckily, she was so tiny she fit, or he may have just tied her on the roof!

We quickly began to notice that there was a camaraderie among VW owners because it was such a new thing. When you'd pass another VW Bug, everyone would honk and wave. Dad also began noticing that about this time men started wearing Bermuda shorts. He was making fun of the old guys with hairy legs and knobby knees until he noticed a lot of VW owners were wearing Bermudas. Not to be outdone, Dad had to have Bermuda shorts. Of course at this point, you have to go back to the point that he was cheap. I will also have to add, more than a little, eccentric. He decided he needed German style Bermuda shorts with suspenders to go with his German car. He had Mom cut off a pair of old brown suit pants, and make him suspenders from the cut off legs. That wasn't decorative enough, so he told Mom he needed fancy trim like the German shorts had. By this time, I'm sure Mom had had enough of him. With her get-even, sick-sense of humor, she sewed little felt flowers all around the bottom of the legs, and all over the suspenders. She found him a jaunty cap and attached a feather. He looked like a goof-ball! It didn't bother him a bit. He made us all get in the car and we headed for a family reunion. I remember tenderly thinking back to the old Pontiac and wishing we had it back!

__________

Note from LaurieBee: I remember very well sitting in the "cubby hole." Nana Janes gave me a red plaid blanket to put back there. Please note this was long before seat belt laws and horrendous traffic. I didn't remember the Bermuda shorts -- but this is VERY typical of Dad and Mom.

Snow Flowers and Dice

2011-07-26T09:25:00.000-07:00

An acquaintance on Google+ this morning mentioned that he was taking his five-year-old on a business trip today. Shivers of good memories came over me.

I grew up in Reno, Nevada, which is about 60 or 70 miles south of Susanville, California. Dad planned a business trip to Susanville. He was selling life insurance to the prison guards at the prison in Susanville. Dad decided to take me along on the trip. It was a gorgeous trip up to Susanville. Snow still lingered on the ground, while sunshine parted the leaves on the trees then rested as tiny sparkles on the snow.

The new camera I'd saved more than a year to purchase was ready to break in. Dad pulled alongside the road, showed me a bright red snow flower blooming smack dab in the middle of a snowbank. I took a picture of it, and somewhere I'm sure that picture still exists.

The prison guards were very sweet to me, and one of them gave me a pair of dice that had been confiscated from a prisoner. I saved those for many years, but I think they finally made their way into a kid's board game that was missing dice.

I don't know why Dad decided to take me on that trip, but I'm so grateful for those memories. To a child, there's nothing in the world like having a special day with a parent -- just one on one.

17 Miracles Review

2011-07-22T20:55:00.000-07:00

This isn't my usual post. I've just been to see the movie 17 Miracles, which is the true story of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. There is nothing closer to my heart than the history of the handcart pioneers of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My third great grandmother, Ingeborg Mortensen Jensen was a handcart pioneer. Although she was not in the Willie or Martin handcart companies, she endured many trials. (Please note that the link to Ingeborg shows a picture of the old metal grave marker. A couple of years ago, my family put together "the Ingeborg fund," and placed a proper grave stone -- including the words "handcart pioneer" with her name and the proper dates. I have sent a message to the owner of the website with that information.)

I found this movie compelling as a descendant of pioneer stock, but there are other reasons to see this movie. It is a story of the human spirit. It tells the story of those great immigrant Americans who paved the way for us today. We are reminded of what we can be, if we hold fast to truth and righteousness.

If you have not yet seen 17 Miracles, I would highly recommend that you do -- whether you are a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormon) or not. Take a box of tissue with you.

Gift of Humor

2011-07-22T14:25:00.000-07:00

Today I laughed at something that a friend posted on Facebook. Most of the country is in the throws of an awful heat wave. The picture that was posted was a sign that said, "Satan called. He wants his weather back." I responded that someone had not lost his/her sense of humor. My friend said that she personally believes a sense of humor is "essential survival equipment."

That reminded me of my Dad. Dad never had much in the way of material things. Financial debt from serving in World War II and the Korean Conflict, mixed with raising four children on salesman's commissions, never afforded him luxury items of any kind. He always saw to it that we had food on the table and clothes on our backs. While we didn't have luxury items, we never thought of ourselves as poor. We were rich in family, and that's what counted.

As Dad got older, he used to say to us, "When I go, you won't inherit anything. The only thing I have to give you is my sense of humor." Dad and Mom both had a wonderful sense of humor. It didn't matter what was going on in our lives, they could find the humor in things. I wonder if Mom and Dad realize what a valuable inheritance that was? What an incredible legacy?

Sometimes when all is very quiet, if I listen carefully, I can still hear Dad laugh, and I can still see Mom belly laughing. Mom and Dad left us more than a sense of humor, though. They left us integrity, honesty, and love. What more could children ask?

Life Moves On

2011-07-15T17:53:00.000-07:00

I finally did it. I gave notice at work today that I'll be leaving the end of August. I'm going home. Home to be with my husband. We will be empty nesters when Kaylonnie leaves on her mission on September 20th. Since I became pregnant with Molly two weeks after we were married, we've spent almost 35 years (in December) raising kids. It is finally time for Danny and I to spend some alone time.

Change is never easy. The first 17 years of our marriage, I stayed at home with my kids, and worked part-time in law offices in the evenings a couple of nights a week. It was not easy to go back to work full-time. I had hoped for two more years at home until Kaylonnie was in the first grade, but we really needed me to work, so I went back two years earlier than planned. Quitting my job is not easy now. There will be adjustments (mostly financial), but other adjustments, as well. We'll need to keep me busy, and we'll need to adjust to being home with each other -- but that's the part I'm looking forward to doing.

There is some sadness involved with this change. Over the years, I've worked in many law offices. Some wonderful, some not so wonderful. This last four years, I have really enjoyed my job. I've been working for a nonprofit organization, Pacific Legal Foundation, as a legal secretary making sure that the Constitution is upheld, and defending the little guy from big government. These four years I have really felt like I was doing something important -- something more than the ordinary.

I will move on to other projects now. I've always wanted to write. I don't know if I'm any good at it. I only have a high school diploma with a year of business college. There was a time when I really cared about someday actually writing the great American novel. Actually, my real desire was to write children's books. I'm guessing that I'll never be published, and that I'll never make any money at this. At this point in my life, that doesn't matter -- what matters is that I write for myself. If I write a couple of children's stories that are not published, at least my grandchildren will have them. Maybe I'll write short stories. Maybe I'll just continue writing this blog. I don't know yet. Whatever I do, it will be what feels right for me. I write for me.

So, in about six weeks, if you are local, you may see me walking around Curtis Park with Danny, hand in hand. More likely you'll see Danny 100 feet ahead of me, with me struggling to keep up! I'll be taking back the grocery shopping, or some of it. I'll be doing most of the cooking again. I've missed that. I'll be getting healthy again. Mostly, I'll be enjoying my marriage, my kids, and my grand kids.

Test Patterns

2011-07-13T19:27:00.000-07:00

Picture from Wikipedia is in the Public Domain

Remember test patterns? Remember when insomniacs listened to "Taps" played by an Air Force Band while watching the flag lowered, and then there was the static we called "snow," until television reappeared in the morning via the test patterns?

Off and on during my childhood, we didn't own a television. When we did, it was not like TV is today. Reno only had one channel until I was in junior high school when the second channel was added. When I was in high school, we received a third channel.

We had a little black and white TV with a "rabbit ear" antenna. Mom was a marvel at adjusting the rabbit ears just right to get optimum reception -- even if it required aluminum foil or a clothes hanger be attached. Sometimes an assignment was made to sit next to the TV and hold the rabbit ears.

Television used to come with tubes inside, which would burn out and have to be replaced. Mom was the master of finding, testing, and replacing bad tubes.

At some point the sound began to fizzle on our little black and white TV. Mom showed us how to hit the top of the TV in just the right spot to get the sound on again. That worked for a time, then it became so bad that an assignment was made to sit next to the TV and keep banging on it.

When my grandmother Janes passed away, we inherited her television. At first we were thrilled because it was somewhat larger than our little TV, but the big one had a bad picture tube, which was too expensive to replace. It only lasted a few weeks. As usual, Mom saved the day, and the "piggy back" TV was born. She put the small TV with no sound on top of the larger TV with no picture, and we were back in business.

Television used to be a family activity. It was charming to gather every Sunday evening for The Ed Sullivan Show. Dad loved westerns, so we all grew up on Gunsmoke, Bonanza, Have Gun, Will Travel, and a western that I only remember by Dad's name for it, "Tight Pants" -- or maybe that was his name for Paladin on Have Gun, Will Travel -- I don't remember. Dad loved the movie, The High and the Mighty with John Wayne as an airplane pilot. We watched it over and over again. We were visiting Mom in the hospital when she had double pneumonia, and The High and the Mighty came on TV. We all gathered around her bed to watch it -- me perched on the window sill. Later, Mom told us that she just wished we had all left her alone so she could rest.

Lorne Greene in Bonanza
Picture from Wikipedia is in the Public Domain

Ironically, the best part of TV was the commercials -- especially cigarette commercials. I can still hear the music from the Marlboro Man, and I remember the slogan, "I'd walk a mile for a Camel." Although my siblings and I can still remember some of the lyrics, they must not have been very effective because none of us smoke. I would much rather have children watching cigarette commercials than male enhancement commercials or feminine hygiene product commercials!

As I sit mindlessly watching reality TV some evenings, I long for those days of simplicity sitting on the floor, propped up with my pillow, dog curled up beside me, watching Bonanza or Big Valley. During each commercial, someone would take a potty break. It was then the responsibility of those left in the room to yell, "It's on!" when the show returned.

Dad sometimes made homemade milkshakes for us, or sliced two Milky Way candy bars into thin slices on a plate to share during the show.

Memories are good -- especially those memories of a much less complicated time.

Independence Days Gone By

2011-07-04T08:28:00.000-07:00

My grandson, Michael, a couple of years ago

Happy Independence Day everyone! I was just sitting here going down memory lane. I was thinking about family traditions my family had when I was a kid.

Mom and Dad always talked with us about what the 4th of July meant. If we were in Reno, we would go to the drive-in and watch a movie because when the city fireworks show began, we had a perfect view behind the movie screen.

Personal fireworks are illegal in Nevada, so I didn't even know what that was until I was an adult and moved to Sacramento and saw the crazy Californians trying to blow each other up.

If we were at the cabin for the holiday, we would make signs that said "honk for freedom," and sit on the edge of the highway and wave to people as they honked. At night, we would bang pots and pans together for noisemakers, make smores, and blow bubbles in the meadow.

Fun times!

Have a safe and lovely 4th of July!

Acceptance

2011-07-03T07:59:00.000-07:00

Over the last week, I've read bits an pieces of Twitter "tweets", Facebook "status updates", and blog posts about the new guidelines for sister missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a very busy week, and I wish I could have read the whole discussion. The snippets of discussion that I was able to peruse were fascinating. There were objections about the guidelines for makeup by some, and a whole discussion about the lack of acceptance of dress in general amongst members of the church. I thought a lot about my past, and how frustrated it was for me not to be accepted. After giving it some thought, however, I realized that it was not only in church that I was not accepted. I was pretty much on the outs with my peers my whole childhood -- not accepted by any "group." There were individuals who embraced me, but not a single "circle" of friends.
So why is it that it is so hurtful when we are not accepted at church? Maybe it's because that's the one place on earth (other than in our own homes) that we feel we should be accepted. Didn't Jesus teach that we should love all of Heavenly Father's children?

The internet blogosphere discussion this past week wasn't really about the guidelines for sister missionaries, as I don't think anyone would argue that the Church doesn't have a right to say how the missionaries should be dressed to represent the Church (indeed, the Saviour Himself). The discussion went much deeper into how we feel about each other, and what we expect of each other.

A good friend (and my first counselor when I was Relief Society President at church) often reminds me that we are all on different levels spiritually. Remembering that is the key to not judging others -- especially for outward appearance.

When I was Relief Society President, two wards were dissolved and merged into our ward. We gained 101 new sisters from all walks of life. Most people embraced the change and realized what an inspired decision this had been. There was one sister, however, from our old established ward who cornered me in the parking lot and told me that she was going to attend a new ward because some of the new people "smelled bad." I was floored. You could have knocked me over with a feather. I kept hearing my first counselor's voice in my head, "We are all on different levels spiritually." Resisting the temptation to punch this sister's lights out, I calmly told her that it was her choice, but that she would be missing a great opportunity to help these new sisters grow -- and to grow her own testimony in the process. I didn't see this sister for a few weeks, then she came to me to apologize. I've watched this sister grow in so many ways because of her change of heart and willingness to include others into her circle who took her out of her comfort zone. I'm happy to say that we are a very cohesive ward now. While there will always be personality clashes (as with any family or group of people), I truly believe that we all love each other.

May we all strive to love as Jesus loves.

Colleen and Donna Reed Paper Dolls

2011-06-30T08:56:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you just get inspired. Such was the Christmas of 2007.

For years my family had listened to Colleen (Coke) grumble about how Mom threw away her Donna Reed paper dolls. Now, we all know that paper dolls don't last forever. I'm sure Mom was trying to clean out some of the family clutter, and obviously didn't know how much the Donna Reed paper dolls meant to Coke.

I went through my "eBay stage" in 2007. I decided that Christmas 2007 should be done via eBay, so I went hunting for things that I thought my family would like. One day, I was inspired to search for Donna Reed paper dolls. Low and behold, I found them -- brand new, never been cut! I solicited the help of other family members, and even Coke's friend, Lana. I got a top money commitment from people and went to work. The more the bidding went up, the more people I got involved. I was absolutely determined that these paper dolls were going to belong to Coke.

Well, it was worth every penny, nickel, dime, quarter, dollar (and hundred(s) dollars) to "get Coke." Well, we got her. She's going to hate me for posting these pictures, but her face says it all! It was one of the best Christmases ever for me, because we definitely got her! I wrapped them in multiple boxes, and she had to pull each box out of a large box, so it took her a while to reach them.

Two of My Favorite Men

2011-06-26T21:48:00.000-07:00

Dick Janes (About 1960)

Lon White (About 1959)

The two men above made an incredible impact on my life. Dick Janes was my father, and Lon White was my father-in-law. I've written a great deal on this blog about my dad. He was a very kind, loving, wonderful man. He was also the most eccentric person that I've ever met. I've never written about Lon White.
Like Dad, Lon was one of a kind. When I met him, he was already retired, but he had been a truck driver for Garrett Freight Lines in Idaho. He was fun loving, and was always up for a tease. Lon's life had not been easy, especially during the great depression, but he always managed to land on his feet. Long before I met him, he was an alcoholic. It made life difficult for his family for a number of years. One day, however, he drove through some mailboxes. A kind man loaned him the money to have the mailboxes replaced on the condition that he never take another drink. Lon was true to his word. By the time I met him, he not only was sober, but had been sealed to his wife and two of his sons in the LDS Temple for time and all eternity. I was young and very impressionable when I met Lon, and that always stuck with me. The power of repentance is real. The power of forgiveness is also real. His family was able to embrace the changes and love him for who he had become. When I met Lon, I had some issues with forgiveness, and this was a great lesson for me.

The first time I met Lon was quite an experience. Danny and I had driven from Sacramento to Reno, spent the night with my parents, and then driven to Idaho the next day. It was an incredibly hot summer day to drive through the desert, and I had a horrible cold. I suspicioned that Lon and Lois White were about to become my father and mother-in-law. I don't know what I was expecting, but whatever I expected, did not come to pass. I was totally surprised. As I got out of the car in Caldwell, Idaho, Lon greeted me with "Hi, daughter! Do you want a cheese and onion sandwich?" I'd never had a cheese and onion sandwich before, but I like cheese, and I like onions, and I like bread -- and this was probably going to be my new father-in-law. "Sure!" The two of us sat down and enjoyed sandwiches together -- and we were instant friends forever.

As much as I try not to compare these two men, I can't help but do so. They were both self-made men. They both were incredibly honest and trustworthy men. They both had a great sense of family. They were both very sensitive men. In other ways, they were as different as night and day. As fun loving as Dad was, he was also very reserved in a lot of ways. Lon just laid it all out there. The first day I was in Idaho, I remember Lon pinching Lois on the rear. I had a moment of culture shock. My parents did those things (I assume) behind closed doors. They had four children, but public displays of affection were nonexistent in the Janes family. Lon obviously noticed my embarrassment (I'm sure I was blushing), because he delighted over the years in trying to shock me.

Lon and I had a mutual respect for one another. I think he respected the fact that I stood up for myself in the White family. I'm not a pushover in any stretch of the imagination, and Lon liked that. I admired his strength and tenacity. I admired his ability to turn his life around and become the man he wanted to be.

I learned from my father a great love of God and family. I learned from Dad to never take blessings for granted. Dad taught me to be a lady, but one with spunk. I learned from my father-in-law, that life doesn't end when you make mistakes. I learned from Lon to pick myself up by my bootstraps and move on. Lon taught me that life deals the cards, but it's up to me to play the game.

A Motley Crew

2011-06-20T23:36:00.000-07:00

Janes Kids With Spouses Behind
Couples Left to Right: Cheri and Dave, Rick and Kathy, Laurie and Danny, Colleen and George

June 17 - 19, 2011 marked the Janes Family Reunion. I think it was the nicest gathering of our family that we have had in many years. All that being said, I'm exhausted!

Janes Family Reunion 2011

I have to put two group pictures in here because we couldn't get a picture with everyone looking at the camera at the same time.

Janes Family Reunion 2011

This reunion was planned for a full year--and then at the last minute, we had to move to Plan B. The original plan was to go camping. Then it kept snowing long into the spring. A couple of weeks prior to the reunion, we realized there was still three feet of snow at the camp site. My sister, Colleen, managed to get us last minute reservations at St. Mary's Art Center in Virginia City, Nevada. (Yes, folks, I finally learned how to add a link inside my blog--baby steps in technology for me--just baby steps!) The building was originally St. Mary Louise Hospital when Virginia City was in its boom. It is a beautiful building, and a perfect place for a family reunion! There is just one little itty bitty problem, however. It is four stories--with stairs only. If you take a look at the first picture of all the "senior citizens," and then take a look at the other pictures with all the "little folk" to chase, you can see that some of us are in a world of hurt after the fact.

SOME of the kids
Left to Right: Kaitlyn, Ella, Haley, Darci, Joey

For the record, Ella is 8 months old, not walking, but learned to climb stairs this weekend.

St. Mary's Art Center, Virginia City, Nevada

This wonderful historic building is now used for several purposes. It is used as a retreat for artists, where they can come to be inspired and to paint.

View from Front Porch of St. Mary's Art Center

As you can see above, there's plenty of view to inspire artists.

The building is also used for historic public tours. The third purpose gives it a little extra color. It is used by ghost hunters to have paranormal experiences. Wait--don't turn me off now--it gets better.

A few months ago, a few family members went on a ghost tour at the art center. My family has mixed feelings about the wisdom of dabbling with the paranormal. Those of us who did not participate in the event, did so for a variety of reasons. Personally, I did not participate because at the time my calling in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was Relief Society President (the women's organization), and I felt that I should not put myself in the position of possibly being tempted by Satan. While I have not discussed this with my niece's husband, my guess is that the reason his family did not participate is because he is a Bishop. There were other family members who did not participate.

This weekend, we decided would strictly be just a family reunion, and that we would not be looking for any paranormal experiences, or discussing these things--especially around the children and adults who are uncomfortable about such things. We did, however, have an interesting experience.

Saturday morning we were eating breakfast in shifts as people woke up. My nephew, Josh, came in for his portion of pancakes. Someone asked him how he slept. Josh has this wonderful "curmudgeonly" personality on the surface, but he has a heart of gold. In his best "curmudgeon" voice, he said he hadn't slept at all. He kept hearing this "cart" going up and down the hallway. Later, my brother, Rick, (not having spoken with Josh) said he had heard it too. My sister, Colleen, interviewed them separately, and they both described the experience to be identical. One of them estimated this went on about two hours, and the other said about an hour and 45 minutes. This happened somewhere between 2:00 and 4:00 a.m. Neither one of them knew what Colleen had privately told me the day before: People often hear gurneys going up and down the long hallway on the main floor, and describe it as metal wheels on hardwood floors. The main hall is now carpeted, but that's what they hear. In the days when the building was a hospital, that long hallway was quite busy, as it took patients from admitting to their rooms.

Coincidentally--or maybe not--my sister Cheri was awake during this same period of time hearing what she described as water dripping, but she could never find any dripping water or leaking pipes.

So what does it all mean? I don't know, and I don't really care. It was a fun experience in an old building at a wonderfully fun family reunion. If you look for evil, you will find surely find evil; but if you look for the good in life, you will find choice experiences. This weekend was a truly choice experience.

Cheri, George, and Kaitlyn
in "the" hallway

Many thanks to my sister, Colleen; daughter-in-law, Rachel, and cousin, Jim, for taking wonderful pictures this weekend. I didn't take a single picture with my brand new camera. I was simply having too much fun to bother. My hat also goes off to Colleen and Cheri for long hours putting this thing together. Jodi and Hannah, Josh, and Wayne get my thanks for cooking (as well as everyone for the pot luck). Mark, thanks for shadowing Rick so that he didn't fall down the stairs or get hurt! Katie Vick, thanks for organizing all the little kids and making it such a fun time for them! Thanks to all who participated and made this a really fun family time. I look forward to next year--on a hopefully more flat surface--and my ankles, legs, back, and butt cheeks will thank you next year.

Strong Women

2011-06-12T20:58:00.000-07:00

Nana Janes (Juanita Clare Janes)

Nana Janes (Taken on First Date with Grandpa Janes)

Nana Bernard (Eliza DeLone Bernard--She went by DeLone)

Mom (Margaret VeLoy (Bernard) Janes)

I come from a line of strong women. My siblings give me a hard time about being strong and stubborn, but they are every bit as strong and stubborn as I am. I was looking at some pictures today of the women in my family. You can tell by the looks on their faces that nothing gets past them. They mean business, and they're not taking no for an answer. On the other hand, they all had the ability to laugh.

Looking at these women, is it any wonder that my sisters and I still seem to be suffragettes? We come from strong stock. The women in my family are not weasels, and we don't lie down and die just because some man thinks they know better than we do. That's not a bad thing, though, in my humble opinion. I believe that Heavenly Father meant us to be equal to our counterparts, not subservient. So to the women who preceded me: Thank you! Thanks for showing us the way. Thanks for showing us that it could be done. Thanks for not being marshmallows to be squished and fired over hot coals. I salute you!

Operation Smile

2011-06-07T19:21:00.000-07:00

Haley

Kaitlyn (left), Haley (right)

My little granddaughter, Haley, will soon be starting Kindergarten. I've been thinking about Haley a lot lately, and all the other little Haleys out there who are not as fortunate as our Haley. Haley was born with a double cleft lip and cleft palate. Through a lot of prayer and the miracle of modern medicine, Haley is living a totally normal life. She still has some issues, and will have to have further surgeries as she grows, but you couldn't ask for a more self-assured, spunky kid.

Haley was fortunate enough to have been born in a country with wonderful medical care. Other children are not so fortunate. That's where Operation Smile comes in handy. Operation Smile is a charity organization of medical experts who literally give children smiles by correcting facial deformities.

Many people don't know that the biggest problem for parents of a baby with a cleft palate is being able to feed the baby. Having seen the process for myself, I can't imagine how children in third world countries survive. Cleft palates can also be a marker for other problems, such as lung and heart problems. Haley is very lucky that she is perfectly healthy.

As you can see from the pictures above, Haley's team of doctors have done a superior job in giving her a meaningful life. I'd like other children to have that same gift. Will you take a moment, go to the following website, and donate to Operation Smile? (I'm sorry I'm not technologically savvy enough to shorten the link.) Haley, I love you!

https://secure.operationsmile.org/site/Donation2?df_id=8440&8440.donation=form1&9gtype=search&9gkw=operation%20smile&9gad=9966566622.1&9gag=1678021127&utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_term=operation%20smile&utm_campaign=paid

Starry, Starry Night

2011-06-02T10:05:00.000-07:00

Margaret & Dick Janes
Surprise 40th Anniversary Party
12-8-82

Dad Christmas 1976

Dad had a business appointment in a client's home one evening. The client had just remodeled his home. He showed Dad a room with sparkles on the ceiling. This must have been the beginning of the "popcorn" ceilings. Dad was fascinated by the glittery substance on the ceiling, and he said it looked like a star filled desert night. He told me that someday he was going to have a ceiling like that.

Dad began buying a box of stars each time he went to the store--you know, the kind you put on a first grader's good spelling test. Those were in the days when you had to lick the back of the stars. He had a huge amount of stars before he told me his plan. He said that when he got enough stars, he was going to "surprise" Mom and put them on the ceiling of their mobile home. Dad was sick, and I knew that he wasn't going to live long enough to actually follow through with this, so I opted to keep my mouth shut about it. Dad was a dreamer, and what was the harm in a little dream if it made him happy?

One day not long after Dad died, Mom told me about all the stars she had found among Dad's things. She wondered what on earth he was planning to do with them. I told her that I knew. When I told her his plan to "surprise" her, she was furious with me! "Why didn't you tell me?! I can't believe you were actually going to let him DO that!" Hey, Mom, it's not like he could actually follow through with it. Man, oh man, was she mad at me--and doubly mad at Dad!

My sister, Cheri, was teaching Kindergarten at the time. I don't know how many years she used those stars, but I'm quite certain that she never had to buy another star.

Apparently, starry nights are all in your perspective. If you have a great imagination, anything can be a beautiful desert starry night. Let me tell you, Dad did not lack for imagination.

Newspaper Clippings & Mirrors

2011-05-31T14:45:00.000-07:00

I was reading a blog post from one of my favorite bloggers, Andrea Merriman, today, and she reminded me of a childhood memory. You can read Andrea's post here: http://andreamerriman.wordpress.com/2011/05/

I've explained in earlier posts that my Dad was an extremely eccentric person; lovable, but weird. Dad read the newspaper in a fashion like nobody else. He spent a few minutes in the morning looking at the headlines with a pair of scissors. If there was something that caught his eye, he cut it out and put it in his inside suit coat pocket. Throughout the day, as he had a few minutes, he would take out an article and read it.

Now this system worked for Dad, but it didn't work for anyone else in the family. The only way to read the newspaper in our home was to get up very early prior to Dad's date with the scissors. Dad didn't think it was a problem. If he saw an article that he thought applied to one of his children, he cut it out and taped it to our bedroom mirror--selective reading, of sorts. I didn't get to read anything but Dad's "selections," until I left home. I did, however, look forward to seeing clippings appear on my bedroom mirror.

Leaving home didn't stop Dad from saving articles for us. Dad would carefully address an envelope to each of his children, and to his friends. When he saw articles that he thought we would like, or a cartoon that applied to our lives, he would place it in our envelope. When there were two or three clippings, he would put a stamp on the envelope and mail it to us. When Dad died, Mom asked me to go through his desk. There were several envelopes in his desk waiting for mailing, including one to his deer hunting buddy (which we mailed with a note).

I've never figured out why he read the paper this way, but then again, I've never figured out the why behind many things my father did. Dad gave us lots of things to laugh about when he was here, and now that he's gone, we're still laughing. I do miss those clippings coming in the mail.

Spending Time Together

2011-05-24T10:31:00.000-07:00

Sports really isn't my thing. I just don't "get it." The only sport I can understand to any degree at all is baseball, but even with baseball there are certain rules I just don't understand no matter how many times they are explained to me.

It doesn't really matter whether I understand sports, because I do enjoy spending time with my husband doing something that he enjoys, and he reciprocates and does things for me that probably wouldn't be his first choice. It's all about time together.

Last night we had tickets to a Sacramento River Cats (minor league) baseball game. It was a bad game, which was really over by the end of the second inning. We lost 14-1. To top it off, it was cold and windy. The wind made spring allergies pretty intolerable. Somehow none of that mattered. As a matter of fact, we stayed until the very last pitch. There is something to be said for sitting next to each other in the stands at a baseball field, wrapped up in a blanket, eating hot dogs, sharing peanuts and popcorn, taking in the aromas of the various food stands, and hearing "Cotton candy, get your cotton candy here!" I wouldn't have wanted to be anywhere else last night.

Two nights earlier, my husband went with me for a cultural experience. We went to a Hindu 50th birthday party for the father of one of my co-workers. I love cultural experiences, and Danny has learned to take them all in with me, just like I take in sports with him. We watched Indian dancers, and took in the lovely saris. We ate Indian food. We even watched a man dance Indian dances dressed as a woman. We had a terrific time.

It's all about spending time together. It doesn't matter what you do or where you go, as long as you enjoy spending time with each other. Sharing a $5.00 foot long Subway sandwich is as much fun as eating a $20.00 steak -- it's all time together. All I want in the world is to sit next to the guy I married, and leave the craziness of the world behind.

They Are Too Innocent

2011-05-17T13:58:00.000-07:00

There was a picture on Facebook the other day of a baby who has heart problems. Those close to the family were asking for others to fast and pray on behalf of the baby, the family, and the medical staff who will be performing surgery shortly. I don't know the family, but immediately my heart went out to them, as it always does when I hear of little ones suffering. We have been there.

My first pregnancy was very difficult. I gained 80 pounds, and it was not because I was eating. As a matter of fact, about the only things I could consistently keep down for nine months was Jello and raisins. Meanwhile, the doctor was yelling at me for eating "fried foods." Yeah, right. Whatever! If it had not been my first pregnancy, I would have known something was wrong. Molly would kick me until I would double over in pain. I didn't know that was not normal. Two weeks past (the doctor's) due date (only three days past mine), my water broke, and it was green. I didn't know that was not normal either, but soon found out that meant trouble.

To make a very long story short, Molly had a lung cyst the size of a baseball. Unfortunately, only one in 100,000 babies has this problem, and the symptoms are the same for a diaphragmatic hernia, so she was originally misdiagnosed. A diaphragmatic hernia is caused by the lack of a diaphragm so the bowels move up into the lungs. They go in, put everything where it belongs, and then try to form a diaphragm. They originally gave her a 50/50 chance of survival. Before she was 12 hours old, she underwent two separate surgeries. They took her in for surgery originally for the diaphragmatic hernia, but after five hours of surgery, came back and told us that she had the lung cyst. She was still under the anesthesia, and they were about to do the second surgery. They told us that they might have to remove part or all of one lung, but that the other lung would probably grow to twice the size to compensate. It turned out that they were able to remove the cyst without removing any of the lung. The recovery process was long and hard, but she is now my rocket scientist with a family of her own.

Hannah was my most healthy child, but when she was four months old they almost put her back in the hospital because she wasn't gaining weight (which was a problem with all my children). They waited one more week, and then she began to pick up a little. There is actually a note in Hannah's medical chart that says, "Nonthriving child; good mom." (In other words, don't call Child Protective Services.) Like Molly, Hannah too survived, has a career and a family of her own.

After Hannah, I had a miscarriage. I wasn't very far along, but I still think about that baby. I wonder if we'll have the opportunity in heaven to raise the baby. We don't know, because it is one of those things that Heavenly Father has not yet revealed. I hope I'm prepared for the answer when it comes.

I was borderline diabetic when I was pregnant with Ezra, so he was born addicted to sugar. I wasn't even allowed to hold him when he was born. They ripped him away and began pumping sugar down him. He was followed by an endocrinologist until he was 15 years old because of his odd growth patterns. He was short for a very long time. There was a point where they wanted to give him growth hormones, and we said no. I'm so glad we did, because he finally caught up. If we had given him hormones, he might have been eight feet tall! Ezra also grew to adulthood, and he also has a family of his own.

I had the flu when I was pregnant with Kaylonnie, and the amniotic fluid was contaminated. When she was born, instead of taking a large breath and getting all the fluid out of her lungs, she took a tiny breath and left most of the contaminated fluid in her lungs. We almost lost her to pneumonia. I had never heard of a newborn with pneumonia. I came home from the hospital on Mother's Day, leaving Kaylonnie in the Nursery Intensive Care Unit. Kaylonnie is a fine young woman--now 21 years old and will soon be off to serve a mission in Brazil.

These little babies are much too innocent and precious to have to deal with all these problems. There were obviously some lessons that we needed to learn as parents. Someday, one of the first questions I'm going to ask Heavenly Father is if there might have been a better way to teach me those lessons without my children having to deal with all that. I know there must be a reason that I can't now comprehend.

So what did I learn from all this? I learned that my marriage can withstand anything if my husband and I stick together through thick and thin. I learned that every tiny baby is a fragile and precious gift from God. I learned to rely on Heavenly Father when there is nothing that I can do on my own. I learned that life is not easy, but well worth it.

Stained Glass Curtains

2011-05-15T16:49:00.000-07:00

My Stained Glass Curtains

I was about six years old when my parents bought a new house. At first, they couldn't afford to buy curtains for the sliding glass door in the family room, so Mom retrieved her collection of fabric scraps. Mom made patchwork curtains for the sliding glass door. They were supposed to be a very temporary solution, so she didn't even line them. When the sun came through those curtains, it was magic! The whole room lit up! It was like a beautiful stained glass window. We all loved them so much, that Mom left them there until they completely rotted away before replacing them.

I always said that someday, I would have "stained glass curtains" in my house. We built the addition to our home the winter of 1986 - 1987, I believe. For the first time, we had a sliding glass door. I didn't have a collection of sewing scraps because I'm not the sewing wizard that my mother was, but I bought some fabric to make curtains. I wanted all the colors of the rainbow. I wanted them to last a long time, so I bought white muslin and lined them. I thought they were beautiful, and I was very proud of them. I loved being in that room!

As my children became older, however, they referred to my work of art as "gay" curtains. It's was very odd to me that "all the colors of the rainbow" meant something completely different to my children. About a year ago, I finally had to replace those old curtains. It was a sad day for me. The curtains I made this time around are from one fabric. It was a much more expensive fabric than my original curtains. I lined them with better fabric, as well. I like them. They go with my family room. quite nicely -- but nothing could ever replace my stained glass curtains!

Kids, laugh all you want -- but sunshine coming through the colors of the rainbow still make me happy. Mom, thanks for teaching me that beauty is seen in many ways -- and it doesn't have to be expensive. I miss you.

Paper Maze Post 9/11

2011-05-04T21:01:00.000-07:00

It is increasingly difficult to move freely in a world that seems otherwise to move too quickly. It is becoming very difficult to prove who you are to those who need (or may not need) to know. To say that "Big Brother" is watching is pure understatement.

Anticipating that my daughter would be serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I encouraged her a couple of months ago to get her passport in case she was called to serve outside of the United States. Kids being kids, she ignored me until she actually received the mission call to Brazil. Then I insisted she move quickly because we both have heard that getting a visa to Brazil takes time.

First revelation: The website for information for a passport says, "Warning, the rules have changed," or something to that effect. As of April 1, 2011, a passport applicant has to submit a birth certificate that has been issued within the last year! In addition, that birth certificate must list the full names of the parents. We now were faced with having to get a new birth certificate for our little missionary.

Second revelation: My daughter's original birth certificate listed my husband's middle name as "LER," when it should be "LEROY." This put Mom into panic mode. I could not imagine that I would not have caught that error when my daughter was born -- I'm a legal secretary -- trained to look at legal documents with careful eyes. On closer examination, it looked like there was a possibility that the "OY" might have just rubbed off over the last 21 years, as other letters were starting to become faint. (I was hoping that I didn't miss an error because she was the fourth child instead of the first.)

At first, we were going to fill out paperwork for an amended birth certificate just in case we needed it. My research uncovered the fact that an amended birth certificate would take MONTHS to complete. Notarized statements are required from both parents, as well as one from the hospital medical records department stating the error. An "Amendment Specialist" is assigned to the "case." We decided to go to the County Recorder's office, order her birth certificate, and just see what it said. FORTUNATELY, my husband's name really is LEROY on her birth certificate. After we had the new one in our hands, we pulled out the old one to show the County Recorder. She was absolutely amazed that the old birth certificate had deteriorated to that extent. She also verified that had my daughter needed an amended birth certificate, it would have taken "a very long time." This is really interesting to me because my first-born child has an amended birth certificate because of an error in my husband's age -- and that only took a couple of weeks to accomplish -- but then that was in 1977 -- long before 9/11.

In spite of the birth certificate scare, her passport application was submitted (expedited) Monday afternoon -- which is great since she only received her mission call last Thursday evening. She should have her passport in the next two weeks. Hopefully, the process for the visa will move as quickly.

In this fast-paced world, it seems crazy that our freedom to move around has become so entangled in red tape and scary paperwork. We may not have numbers engraved in our foreheads, but have you tried to do anything without a Social Security number, birth certificate (issued within the last year remember), driver's license, and proof of insurance lately? If you book an airline flight, you have to give them your birth date and your name exactly as it is on your driver's license. Passports now have "chips" so we can be tracked -- of course, so do cell phones these days. I get lectured by bank tellers (until I put them in their place) each time I go to the bank because I don't own an ATM card. I don't need or want an ATM card!! If they want my business, they can give me customer service!

Where do we draw the line between fear and privacy? Osama Bin Laden may be dead, but in a lot of ways, he won -- we no longer live in a land of the free and the home of the brave. We live in a land of fear and red tape. I'm not an expert on the scriptures by any stretch of the imagination, but if I were a betting woman, I'd bet we aren't too far from the Second Coming.

The White Envelope Has Arrived

2011-04-28T22:52:00.000-07:00

Kaylonnie Reading Her Mission Call

This is an update of a blog post I wrote on April 13, 2011, "Waiting For The White Envelope." The white envelope has arrived. My lovely daughter, Kaylonnie will be serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in -- drum roll please -- the Brazil, Brazilia mission.

She is about as excited as I have ever seen her in her life. I don't think she will be getting much sleep tonight. She reports to the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Brazil (not Provo, Utah) on September 21, 2011. We are very proud of her. She is well prepared to be a missionary, and she will serve the Brazilian people with all her heart.

A Day to Remember

2011-04-28T17:16:00.000-07:00

Caltrans 2011 Memorial Service --
Matt White's Cone is in front with orange roses

Two highway workers are killed every day and one injured every fifteen minutes in the United States. My stepson, Matthew White, was killed on December 14, 2007, while filling a pothole on Elk Grove Boulevard in Sacramento, California. He left a wife and three children. His youngest children were 8 and 10 years old when he died.

Every April Caltrans has a memorial service for fallen workers at the State Capitol. It is a fitting tribute with an honor guard, a choir, and bagpipes. While it is difficult for our family to attend each year, we do so to support the families of the fallen workers within the last year. Unfortunately, every year there is at least one. I had begun to think that 2010 would be a safe year, but last November Gary Smith was killed. My husband, Danny, retired from Caltrans seven years ago after 35 years of service. He had worked with Gary for a short time years ago. Gary's wife spoke at the service today, and I don't know how she had the strength! She is an amazing woman! Also, a Caltrans worker spoke who had been in an accident where his coworker died. He also did a wonderful job.

Caltrans is a family, and we all support one another. The service is part of that. But there is a more important reason for this annual tribute. We MUST bring awareness to the public to use caution around our highway workers, construction workers, highway patrol officers, tow truck drivers, and emergency vehicles.

A family member told me a story today. She had taken her car to a mechanic. The workers were joking around about lazy Caltrans workers. She set them straight, and then talked to the manager about Matt's death, how it had affected us, and how the employees at the mechanic shop needed to realize that this kind of attitude doesn't make the shop look very good. If the public only knew how hard these guys really work, in all kinds of weather -- rain, snow, fog, 110 degree heat -- dodging cars moving 70 mph plus -- and sometimes coming within inches of being killed -- the attitude might be a whole lot different.

Another family member told me this week that when she sees highway workers in a restaurant, she does the same thing she does for servicemen -- she quietly buys their meal and then leaves the restaurant before they find out who paid.

As we all travel in our very busy lives, let's please remember to be aware of others around us. These men and women who serve on our highways want to go home at the end of the day to their families. PLEASE, PLEASE, SLOW FOR THE CONE ZONE!

Caltrans 2011 Memorial to Fallen Workers

Matt 7 Months Old - 1972

Matt 5 Years Old - 1977

Matt 12 Years Old - 1984

Matt 12 Years Old

Matt Christmas High School

Matt Christmas 1988

Matt and Savana 2007

Burnt Toast

2011-04-22T11:16:00.000-07:00

Some people in my family are creatures of habit. There is one way of doing things, and it happens the same way every day with no deviation. I used to wonder where that came from until I remembered the burnt toast.

My grandfather Bernard (Pa) was the ultimate creature of habit. Pa's morning routine: Dress, make coffee, put toast in the toaster, go outside and run the American flag up the flag pole, come back inside and scrape the burnt toast to make it edible. Now, logic would tell him that waiting to put the toast down until after the flag flew high would have saved the time and energy of scraping burnt toast -- as well as having the luxury of eating a decent piece of toast. No. We must not deviate from the routine.

The Bernard genes run strong in my family. I pride myself in being the rebel -- yet I must admit there are certain things in my routine which absolutely are set in stone. I rebel at taking the same route home from work every night because change is good, I tell myself. I rebel at eating at the same restaurant all the time. I cringe at the thought of a "laundry day," because laundry can be done on any day. I will not deviate, however, from ordering either pizza or lasagna at Roma's Pizzeria -- nothing else will suffice. Gunther's ice cream needs to be one scoop of fudge brownie, but I will deviate with the second scoop. I won't budge about the order in which I put my clothes on in the morning. My desk must be completely clear from all clutter. Only current projects are allowed on my desk, and they must be organized just so! A box of Kleenex must be in close proximity to me at all times. There must be Kleenex in every room in the house, in my purse, in my car (even if in the trunk), and on my desk. Hand soap must be placed to the left of the sink in the bathroom, but to the right of the sink in the kitchen.

A therapist could make a bundle with my family, I'm sure. It might take years of research and analysis! In the meantime, I'm left to wonder how our brains work and what makes us tick.

Eggceptional Eggspertise

2011-04-21T08:33:00.000-07:00

Dad and Hannah

Dad loved to dye Easter eggs. I don't know why, but he did. In fact, he loved it so much that he would dye the same egg over and over again. Most kids gather brightly colored Easter eggs in their baskets -- you know, pink, blue, orange, yellow, green. We gathered khaki colored eggs on Easter morning. Dad dyed them carefully in one color at a time, over and over again, until they were the ugliest eggs on the planet. But he had SUCH a good time doing it! We loved dying eggs with Dad, and so did his grandchildren! I'll always think of you, Dad, as I dye my eggs each year. Love you, and miss you!

Waiting for the White Envelope

2011-04-13T22:59:00.000-07:00

It's happened again. I have another child waiting for that famous white envelope from Salt Lake City. You know, the one from the First Presidency of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints telling her where she will be serving her mission. We've been through this before with our other children. This is an exciting time. Where in the world (literally) will she be serving?

With everyone it's the same; but with everyone it's different. The similarities are the anxious excitement, the preparation and clothes shopping, the scripture study, and prayer. The differences come in personalities and life experience.

Along with the scripture study and prayer, Kaylonnie has had extra preparation for her mission. She's had the character building experience of spending two years getting her body into good physical condition to be able to withstand the rigours of a mission -- including the loss of 144 pounds to date. She has learned more from that experience than I can tell you. She is a completely different person now than she was two years ago.

Where will she go? What experiences will she have? What will she be like when she comes home? These are all unanswered questions. This will be so good for her! As parents, we cheer them on as little missionaries, but more than that, we cheer them on as the people they will become in the mission field. The next year and a half will bring so much change to her life -- all in a good way. We know that the Lord will send her where she is needed, but also where she will grow.

I will do a future blog post when we know where she will be serving.

I Could Have Danced All Night

2011-03-23T22:15:00.000-07:00

As a parent, there are certain moments that are priceless. The picture above memorializes one of those moments. AFJROTC was important to all of my children, and they all went to the military ball. My second daughter, Hannah, attended one year with this fine young man. As you can tell by the smile on his face, he was thrilled to be her escort that night. She towered over him, and he looked like he was ten years old, but they were good friends. The weather that night was miserable, and our street was flooded when he came to pick her up. The young man and his father put a blanket or tarp between the sidewalk and their car to protect Hannah's shoes from getting wet. I don't remember the kid's name, but I will never forget the look of total joy on his face when he picked her up that night. I'm sure Hannah has no idea how happy she made that kid!

Another dance -- and I believe this was also a military ball. Molly will correct me if I'm wrong, I'm sure. This is my oldest daughter, Molly, with her date. At first glance, you would think this picture isn't quite as silly as Hannah's picture -- until you understand the facts. The fine young man in this picture, John, has something in common with Molly. They share the same half-brother. John was kind enough to take Cinderella to the ball. If you look closely at the top right, you'll see a picture of Matt, their half-brother. Matt is the child of my husband Danny and his first wife, Gloria. John is the child of Gloria and her second husband, Don. John has always been one of my favorite kids. He's married to a sweet gal now and they have beautiful children. I have often thought about how sweet he was on that one special night.

Sunday Memories

2011-03-11T15:15:00.000-08:00

First Church of Christ Scientist, Reno, Nevada

Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division,

FSA/OWI Collection,

[reproduction number, e.g., LC-USF34-9058-C]

First Church of Christ Scientist, Reno, Nevada

Photograph courtesy of Sam Brackstone, 2010

Paul R. Williams Project

Images we receive as a child can stick with us for a lifetime. One of those images for me is the First Church of Christ Scientist in Reno, Nevada (pictures above). My father was raised as a Christian Scientist. He read Bible verses to me from the time I could first sit still. Occasionally, he would take me to the Christian Science Church for Sunday School.

As you can see from the pictures above, this was a gorgeous building! I was very little (as evidenced below), and I can remember climbing up those massive stairs and feeling like I was climbing to heaven.

Little LaurieBee

There was a very large room (or at least it seemed very large to my 4-year-old mind) where several classes met. Because several classes met in this large room, every class spoke in whispers so as not to disturb the other classes. There was a feeling of reverence that was very special to me. I often think about this on Sunday when I'm teaching the 3-year-olds in our Mormon Primary (the equivalent of Sunday School). There is a vast difference in decibel levels between Mormon Primary and Christian Science Sunday School. Some Sundays I long for that reverence!

My Sunday School teacher taught us to memorize the ten commandments. Each week, as we memorized one of the commandments, she placed a gold star on the inside cover of our Bible, or Science and Health, with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy. I was using my Dad's Bible and Science and Health, and he kept them there until he died. I now have them. Two of the stars have fallen off and been lost, but eight of them still survive.

I learned things in Sunday School that have stayed with me all my life. I learned the 5 G's: God, Good, Guides, Guards, and Governs me. About 15 years ago or so, I came out of the building where I worked very late at night. The doors locked behind me, and I looked up to see three very large men sitting on the hood of my Honda. I had this overwhelming feeling that if panic set it, I was dead. I heard the words in my head: God, Good, Guides, Guards, and Governs me. I held up my head, walked to my car, got in, locked the doors, started the engine, and slowly drove off. It was not until I put the car in gear that the men jumped off my hood. I had not thought of the 5 G's in many years -- but I'll never forget them now!

I also learned this: Thy kingdom come. Let the reign of divine truth, light, and love be established in me and rule out of me all sin. And my thy word enrich the affections of all mankind and govern them. -- Mary Baker Eddy

As I grew older, sometimes Dad would take me to the adult Wednesday evening meetings. It was a special time for the two of us.

Part of my Sunday School experience was Dad; part of it was the Sunday School teachers; and part of it was this "heavenly" building. I did a little research on the building. The architect was Paul Revere Williams, who was a 20th century designer. He is the first documented African American member of the American Institute of Architects, and the first to become an AIA Fellow. The building was sold in 1998 to Moya Lear, wife of Bill Lear, who built the Lear jets. Mrs. Lear donated the building to the Reno-Sparks Theater Community Coalition for restoration. (My sisters need to take me there the next time I'm in Reno.)

There is a website devoted to Williams' works, and it is certainly worth a look. It's called the Paul Williams Project at the Art Museum, University of Memphis. You can find more pictures of this beautiful building on the site here:
http://www.paulrwilliamsproject.org/gallery/first-church-of-christ-scientistlear-theater-reno-nv/

Many thanks to Deborah Brackstone and Lisa Francisco at the University of Memphis for their help in supplying Sam Brackstone's wonderful picture, as well as pointing me in the direction of the Library of Congress for the other picture.

Guest Post: Trying to Be Like Daddy

2011-03-10T08:44:00.000-08:00

My guest blogger today is my sweet daughter, Hannah. She is a wife and mother with a beautiful family. I was quite touched by this post, and I'm sure you will be too.

___________

About a week ago I was going through a bag of hand-me-downs for my son, Joey, looking for some pants that might fit him better. I pulled out several long-sleeved, button-down, collared shirts in different colors. My son, who is 20 months old, picked one up and said, “Dada shirt, dada shirt!” Unable to contain his excitement at finding a shirt just like the ones daddy wears to work, he picked it up and clutched it to his chest. I asked him if he wanted to try it on and we spent the next few minutes with him in his “dada shirt” and diaper while I tried various pairs of pants on him. (I’m sneaky, in case you were wondering.)

His excitement amused me as he wears white shirts to church every Sunday, and I was reminded yet again how much he notices. Even at 20 months he knows that the shirts daddy wears to work are different from the white shirt and tie daddy wears to church.

Fast forward a few minutes and I am in the kids’ room changing my daughter’s diaper with my son looking on, still in his dada shirt and diaper. My husband comes home, and comes in to talk to us, leaning with one hand on the door frame, weight braced on one leg, with the other leg bent and crossed over in front. My son takes one look at his father, runs over to the doorway, puts one hand on the frame and stands just like my husband. I couldn’t help but laugh and frantically tried to take a picture on my husband’s phone, but Joey moved a little with all the fuss. You’ll have to take my word for it that originally his pose exactly mirrored my husband’s.

Since this incident I’ve been thinking about how much my son tries to be like his daddy. I am fortunate to have been blessed with a wonderful man to spend my life with and I have no fears about Joey mimicking him. If he grows up to be like his father he will be a wonderful man someday. But I know that I also had a hand in this; when dating, I always considered how the person I was with would be as a father.

What if teenage girls didn’t have babies because they are lonely and craving love but instead thought of what it would be like for their child, growing up trying to find someone to emulate, being influenced more by what they see on TV than a stable parent in their home. Think how much better the world would be if instead of looking at how much money someone makes or the kind of car they drive, we considered the example they will set for our future children. Is he helpful? Is he respectful and friendly to people and the things around him? Can he laugh at his own mistakes? Can he deal with disappointment and stress without becoming violent or relying on some kind of chemical dependency?

No one is perfect, but watching my son the other night reminded me that we have two little children who are always watching us, who see everything. My little boy in a “dada shirt” reminded me to try to be the kind of person I hope he will become someday.

Ten Things I'd Do If Alone for Seven Days

2011-03-09T14:34:00.000-08:00

I like people -- to some degree. Sometimes, however, it's nice to be alone. If I had seven whole days all by myself, without seeing another soul, and with absolutely no interruptions--and no responsibilities, I would feel so rested! These are the things I would do to entertain and pamper myself:

1) Crochet an afghan just for me! I've never done that before. I've made them for family members and friends. I've made afghans to display on my couches and the foot of my bed. I've never made one just for me to curl up in -- one big enough to wrap around everything except my face to keep me warm and cozy.

2) Read a book cover to cover without stopping -- maybe a good mystery, or a good historical novel.

3) Play all the old music albums I never have time to listen to anymore.

4) Sing favorite songs from my childhood and my children's childhood.

5) Make a big pot of spaghetti and eat it every meal until it was gone.

6) Pray meaningful prayers that go beyond the ceiling.

7) Read the scriptures.

8) Put together a jigsaw puzzle.

9) Find a warm sunny spot and take a long nap.

10) Take a hot bath by candlelight.

Okay, enough daydreaming for today -- because I'm not alone, and I do have responsibilities. It was stress relief just to dream!

Guest Post: How To Make Pudding (This really isn't about cooking.)

2011-03-07T16:19:00.000-08:00

Guest Blogger: Today's, guest blogger is my younger sister, Colleen. Colleen has a passion for life! She loves to have a good time, she loves to laugh, she loves to travel, and she loves a good adventure. I loved reading her "life's motto," and I hope you will too.

***

“Pudding!” has been my life’s motto. I took it from the film, “The Matchmaker,” where two young men, Barnaby and Cornelius, set out to have an adventure in New York City. They set up a code word as a way for Cornelius to let the less-worldly Barnaby know that they are in the middle of an adventure. They get in a bit of trouble, and Barnaby calls out, “Pudding, Cornelius?" and Cornelius replies, "Pudding, Barnaby!” It’s all great fun.

Seeing that film when I was very young convinced me that I wanted my life to be “Pudding.” I am pleased to say that I’ve had my fair share.

Want more pudding, but you aren’t quite sure where to find it? Try these:

• Roll out of bed and ask yourself what you can do that day that you’ve never done before. If you can’t think of anything, consult your local newspaper.

• Get out of your comfort zone whenever possible. If you’re used to going to a library, go to a pool hall. If you’re used to going to a pool hall, go to a library. (Just one example, there are many others.)

• Go down any road you’ve never been down before. You can only occupy one small spot on this earth at any given time. Try some new spots. Pudding often lurks just around an unknown bend in the road.

• If you’re used to being alone, find people. If you’re used to being with people, spend some time alone.

Pudding exists everywhere and each and every day, but it takes a trained and imaginative eye to see it. The smallest puddings are easily missed by the novice adventurist. Pudding is nothing more than a marvelous zest for life, Barnaby!

Guest Post: The Lord's Law of Health

2011-03-06T15:36:00.000-08:00

My lovely daughter, Kaylonnie, is my guest blogger today. She is waiting for her 21st birthday in May, and more importantly, will be submitting her papers shortly to serve a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons). More than any other prospective missionary I've ever known, Kaylonnie as put everything on the table to become a missionary. She had huge obstacles to overcome in order to be healthy enough to serve a mission.  She has worked very hard to overcome those obstacles, and this post is a testament to her hard work. I'm sure you'll enjoy this thoughtful post as much as I did.

***

Growing up LDS (Mormon), I heard teachers say almost every Sunday that they were grateful for their opportunity to teach a lesson that Sunday because they had learned so much from their preparation and felt that the topic they were assigned to teach was exactly what they needed to carry them through the week or get them through a particular trial. I often used to wonder if that is something that teachers just said, or if they really felt that way. I have learned the last few months that very often, we need to teach certain gospel principles more than the students in the class need to hear them. Heavenly Father knows us. He knows our strengths and weaknesses. He knows what we are committed to, and how committed we are, to all of our thoughts and endeavors. He knows how we learn and feel the Spirit, and what lessons we still need to learn.

Recently, I mentioned to one of my best friends that the next Relief Society lesson I have to teach is "The Lord's Law of Health." He remarked about how simple that would be and began to list the do's and don'ts of the Word of Wisdom. As Mormons, we do follow the Word of Wisdom and abstain from alcohol, tea, coffee, tobacco, and illegal substances. We are also counseled to eat whole grains, fruits, and vegetables, and to eat meat sparingly. But, the Lord's law of health is so much more than a list of "forbidden fruits." We have been given the Word of Wisdom and other good health guidelines to help protect one of the most precious gifts Heavenly Father has given us, our bodies.

Our bodies are literally the temples that house our spirits. The Lord's law of health encourages our minds and bodies. For the first two decades of my life, I did not truly live the Lord's law of health. I can honestly say that I had never had any desire to partake of coffee, alcohol, drugs, or anything of the sort. But, by not exercising self control, overindulging, and completely ignoring my physical health, I was damaging my temple.

The Word of Wisdom was given for the weakest of Saints, and I am definitely one of them. I now know that the Lord's law of health is more than a list of do's and don'ts. It is a way of life that shows our commitment to the Lord. Today, I commit to continue to protect, honor, and respect my body as a token of my affection for myself, my family, and my Heavenly Father. I know that as we live the law of health, we are blessed with strong bodies, alert minds, and joyous lives.

Doctrine and Covenants, Section 89

1. A Word of Wisdom, for the benefit of the council of high priests, assembled in Kirtland, and the church, and also the saints in Zion—

2. To be sent greeting; not by commandment or constraint, but by revelation and the word of wisdom, showing forth the order and will of God in the temporal salvation of all saints in the last days—

3. Given for a principle with promise, adapted to the capacity of the weak and the weakest of all saints, who are or can be called saints.

4. Behold, verily, thus saith the Lord unto you: In consequence of evils and designs which do and will exist in the hearts of conspiring men in the last days, I have warned you, and forewarn you, by giving unto you this word of wisdom by revelation—

5. That inasmuch as any man drinketh wine or strong drink among you, behold it is not good, neither meet in the sight of your Father, only in assembling yourselves together to offer up your sacraments before him.

6. And, behold, this should be wine, yea  pure wine of the grape of the vine, of your own make.

7. And, again, strong drinks are not for the belly, but for the washing of your bodies.

8. And again, tobacco is not for the body, neither for the belly, and is not good for man, but is an herb for bruises and all sick cattle, to be used with judgment and skill.

9. And again, hot drinks are not for the body or belly.

10. And again, verily I say unto you, all wholesome herbs God hath ordained for the constitution, nature, and use of man—

11. Every herb in the season thereof, and every fruit in the season thereof; all these to be used with prudence and thanksgiving.

12. Yea, flesh also of beasts and of the fowls of the air, I, the Lord, have ordained for the use of man with thanksgiving; nevertheless they are to be used sparingly;

13. And it is pleasing unto me that they should not be used, only in times of winter, or of cold, or famine.

14. All grain is ordained for the use of man and of beasts, to be the staff of life, not only for man but for the beasts of the field, and the fowls of heaven, and all wild animals that run or creep on the earth;

15. And these hath God made for the use of man only in times of famine and excess of hunger.

16. All grain is good for the food of man; as also the fruit of the vine; that which yieldeth fruit, whether in the ground or above the ground—

17. Nevertheless, wheat for man, and corn for the ox, and oats for the horse, and rye for the fowls and for swine, and for all beasts of the field, and barley for all useful animals, and for mild drinks, as also other grain.

18. And all saints who remember to keep and do these sayings, walking in obedience to the commandments, shall receive health in their navel and marrow to their bones;

19. And shall find wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures;

20. And shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint.

21. And I, the Lord, give unto them a promise, that the destroying angel shall pass by them, as the children of Israel, and not slay them. Amen.

He-Man/She-Ra/Ezra

2011-03-05T08:30:00.000-08:00

My children (especially my son Ezra) loved the He-Man/She-Ra cartoons when they were growing up. Their cousins in Nevada didn't get that television channel. We spent Christmas in Nevada every year at my sister's home. It was a wonderful place to have Christmas! My sister owned an old boarding house which was an historic building. Christmas at Cheri and Dave's house was truly an old-fashioned Christmas.

As the years went on, however, it became time for us to stay home and have our own family traditions. It was also getting to be quite a hassle to travel over Donner Summit with a car load of kids, gifts, and tubs of cookies fighting the weather. I finally told my family that we wouldn't be going to Nevada for Christmas the next year. Then my Dad died. Cheri convinced me that we all needed to spend one last Christmas together. So we made one last trek over Donner Summit to Dayton, Nevada.

The adults were all going through the motions for the kids, but we were really missing Dad. Then two things happened: 1) The kids found the whoopee cushions that Santa left in their stockings (no other comment necessary); and 2) Ezra opened his inflatable He-Man sword. Ezra's eyes became as big as baseballs. He lifted the sword over his head yelling, "By the power of Grayskull, I HAVE THE POWER!" His cousins looked at him like he was crazy nuts because they had no idea what he was doing -- and all we could do was laugh.

So I guess He-Man/She-Ra/Ezra/Whoopee Cushions saved Christmas that year. In case you're wondering, my children did learn the following year that Christmas could be fun at our house too.

Recently, reruns of the old He-Man/She-Ra cartoons are being played on television. Ezra is quite tickled that his little girls LOVE to watch them with him. They love them as much as he did.