Just now this was on the bottom of my clocks section. Humorous.

"Mormon Church
View 1000's of Pictures & Videos of Beautiful LDS Singles
-Join Free Now. Ads by Google."

And speaking of humorous, here's a graph I recently ran across:


Will be interesting to see how long the humor lasts.... My stock dividend is currently paying a whooping 5 cents per share as opposed to 35 cents the week before - the first time ever they've lowered it since the beginning of (their) time (60's). My 403-B has matured so I don't have to worry about the market fluctuation and it will flat-line just like my 401-K which is on the most conservative level. However. My 403-B is ING and I have a sneaking suspicion that ING though major-ly bigger is major-ly and scarily in worse shape than the "income" level of USR investments. Hummm. Someone should graph that for a local short-lived laugh.

When we were at the viewing last week, David Hanks, who has been to Europe twice on his retirement, is now contemplating kicking out his renters on what's left of his farm and going back to work so he has a means of survival. Hope it's not a dairy farm as that industry's on big skids of late.

Here's some more most interesting and varyingly humorous economy crisis blurbs (look quick before the humor bits kick the bucket):

Clever powerpoint by Jonathan Jarvis: http://crisisofcredit.com/
British Comedy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mzJmTCYmo9g
NPR audio "Giant Pool of Money" (short version): http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=90327686
Then if you're not "full," a New York Times article: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/03/19/business/19leonhardt.html
(Note how old it is - and now a year later, the continued and exponentially multiplying "unprecedented actions to restore confidence"!)

And lastly, I am DEEPLY grateful to the church for all the self-reliance direction provided over the years. In some circles I've been stuck in, that concept was not well respected. I may not end up with much of a nest egg, beyond the late start, but I'm grateful no debt collectors will show up on my doorstep. Cross-my-fingers-and-say-my-prayers!, I might add in odd anticipation of formerly unforeseen signs of the turn "enduring to the end" may be taking. Such as: Do I have a fence cropping up I'll consider sitting upon (or falling off) when the day comes gifts to charity are taxed?

Formal introductions are in order for Jewel’s family, soon to be expanding. Jewel moved to Las Vegas the summer she graduated from high school. She was almost 18 (2001). I was not keen on the idea and was standing (trying to) in the way, but Janeil convinced me to look at it in a positive light, which was smart and a comfort, since obviously she’d have soon gone anyway! She got a good job almost immediately as a receptionist at Rebel Oil Company. Johnny Scarborough was a coworker and she always spoke highly of him as being an easy going and supportive friend, who would do anything asked, for anybody. Recently he told her that early on when she worked there, he was with friends and his mom, her name came up, and Johnny told her, “That’s the girl I’m going to marry one day.” Upon a bit of quizzing, he also said if he could ‘build’ a girl, she’d be it. Jewel says she was oblivious to all this. She lived with three sets of girls prior to getting married in the fall of 2004 and worked at Rebel for three and a half years.

Jewel renewed her Rebel acquaintances a year and a half ago, and she and Johnny grew closer. He’s 28 and from Beatty, Nevada. Beatty is a town of around a thousand on the border of California, near Death Valley. He has one brother, younger, Seth. They have played together since high school, Seth guitar and vocal, Johnny drums. They occasionally still play together including back in Beatty. Their parents grew up near and still live in Beatty, and they have grandparents in Las Vegas and Georgia.

Johnny has worked for Rebel for over ten years. He is their “trouble-shooter” and he travels around to the various stations (of which there are many in and around Vegas) keeping things in good repair and working order, from sprinklers to AC to fuel equipment. Jewel appreciates his skills, as he also keeps things at home in working order and good condition. She says he is “finisher” - likes to do projects and always gets them done quickly and professionally.

He has a dog named Chuck and unfortunately Jewel doesn’t appreciate him very much so they live mostly in an uneasy truce. Jewel loves dogs and has her own, Roscoe, a Jack Russell, but Chuck, a large purebred English Bulldog (picture - his “cousin”), through no fault of his own, isn’t prone to keeping things in what could be termed good condition. ☺ It will be a true test of Johnny’s gentle nature being stuck in the middle!

Jewel had a very good job in Provo for a few months when she started her divorce (which took
f-o-r-e-v-e-r I might add!), and they let her stay in one of their contract homes when she went back to Vegas, where she lived a year and a half, up until December. (Turns out you should think long and hard about marrying/living in Nevada, because she would have had to obtain his permission to live anywhere else [and still retain ANY custody rights]!) The house ended up in foreclosure. Johnny bought another foreclosed house a few blocks away, same builder, as they prefer its floor plan and it was a much better deal. His mortgage is close to the same as he paid for the house he’d been renting.

Johnny is a skilled quad runner and has a large circle of friends and family with the same interest. He bought Hayden a child’s size quad for his third birthday last year (complete with kill switch). Johnny is a happy and grounded person, and has a very wry sense of humor. I tell him he should be a radio announcer (deep melodious voice).

Johnny has been a very good addition to Hayden and Jewel’s life. I see Hayden being much more respectful of his mom, and I see a calmness in Jewel’s life she’s never ever had. Her job, due to the economy (high-end high-rise leasing), ended in December, and she “gets” to be a stay-at-home mom, courtesy of Johnny. I can’t imagine how she’d have survived her housing and employment crisis, without him. (Other than the fact that she’s definitely a survivor and would have regrouped surprisingly well, as always.) But I’m also glad they were already committed to each other before those storms arose. Pretty big step for a guy who’s never even been engaged. I wish them the best as they meet the challenge of soon adding a sister for Hayden to the family.

[Was thinking of picking music to go with this, but actually, I think the one that’s at the top of the list from the last blog, still applies. Great drumming and musicality in general, upbeat, supportive … composed the year Jewel was born. ☺ (I know, I know, Jewel's rolling her eyes….)]

I’ve been flopping from annoyed to angry to irritated to worried to sad to scared over growing anti-Mormon online local newspaper comments, so a particular forwarded email struck a chord. I was thinking of sharing it, but googled it because there’s so much ‘fact’ phony baloney out there. Found one of my suspicions was correct --

Some time ago ‘In a local newspaper in Provo, Utah, there had been an ongoing series of articles written by individuals who wanted to persuade LDS Church members to leave the Church. In response to the highly critical and spirited remarks, a local member wrote this rebuttal….’

-- if it really occurred (couldn’t verify that, including the archives), from reading the text it was a v-e-r-y long time ago and whomever first started the forwarded email flow deceptively left off those first three words! (It’s still a good rebuttal however, and entitled “Quit the Church.")

In looking for the “proof” that it was actually a published editorial, I ran across the funniest long dialog on www.bycommonconsent.com. The subject was people’s feelings about how boring and long church is. I’m sure it’s a timeless issue. Reminds me of Grant saying it was boring when he was four, and I asked him what would improve it, and he said, “Vending machines in the foyer.” Some of the funnier ones:

One guy who is an organist said, more well thought out and prepared music would help and that he was called ‘the Van Halen of church organists.’ Someone took offense to that and said, “You say you’re the ‘Van Halen’ of church organists, but can you play the keyboard part from ‘Jump’? Well, I can, and as anyone can tell you, that makes me REALLY COOL!” [Bitter mockery=envy throughout comment.] Organist’s answer: “Of course I can, Aaron. I played in a rock cover band in the 80s.”

“One way to improve a boring lesson is to make a thought-provoking comment. I haven’t tried doing this during a sacrament meeting yet, though I’ve been tempted to raise my hand a few times.”

“People imitating GAs is often worse than people that don’t know how to speak at all--the creepy staring at people or trite poems.” [Like the vice/monster one? ☺]

“A lot of the responses seem to be very self-centered: ‘If only I were in charge, church would be much better.’ I’m rolling my eyes so fast the friction is keeping me warm on this cool autumn night.”

“I’m just biding my time for the day when my wife gets sick of it. It probably won’t happen, and that’s okay. I’ll attend weekly for the rest of my life, if needed, but if she comes around, I’m gone.”

“In my laziest, I’m-never-getting-out-of-bed-again moments, I honestly can’t remember or believe how uplifting it is to do something generous or spiritually replenishing. But I have enough experience to know not to trust that amnesia.”

“I tend to spend my meetings reading my NIV or some good gospel or scripture related book (which excludes most stuff coming out of Deseret, IMHO).” [In my humble opinion.]

“I finally realized that I wasn’t at church to be stimulated, intellectually challenged, or even inspired. Church wasn’t about me. [She admitted naively bringing a book to read until she realized people noticed and were deeply offended.] I was there to love the people. This should not have come as news to me since I’ve known this on one level for a long, long time.”

In response to a commenter named “Rosalynde”: “(P.S.–can I just say that it makes me unreasonably happy to see your name on the screen? It’s just such a great name, especially with the ‘y’. / gush mode off /)”

“I find myself dreading Gospel Doctrine every Sunday morning before I go to church because I know it will be full of idiotic Republican comments. And when I go, I get very mad at those people. But then I take a deep breath, say a prayer begging for the ability to forgive and forget, and to be able to focus on the lesson. And, quite often, what happens is that I do focus on the lesson and have some of the most spiritually uplifting experiences of my week.”

“To be honest I hear far more anti-business comments than stereotypical Republican comments. About the only exception might be gambling, pornography, and abortion.”

“He [God] makes do with what is available. There seems to be a correlation between simple faith and diligence and pigheaded prejudice. I’m sure God is as grieved by that as you or I am.”

“I hate going to church, and I enjoy it. I hate the members, and I admire them. But I don’t hate Heavenly Father. If this is the best he can do, it’s not his fault. It’s up to us to make the church better.”

Well, even though my drawing attention to this issue in this way could be termed grossly ‘irreverent’ all by itself ;), might I just add that taking one’s family to church regularly teaches them a lot more than the gospel!  Went to a funeral awhile back of a member in an extended family of whom most were inactive, where I witnessed: children roaming around behaving well beyond just irreverent, adults wandering in late, people answering their phones and getting up to go talk to some live person apparently more important than the dead (I guess I should be glad they left the room), people visiting with their neighbor during hymns, adults dressed in starkly nonchapel attire, a speaker having to go back down and spend five minutes hunting through her assorted odds and ends to find her speech, even the husband of the deceased had something so important to do that well into the program he left the chapel for 10 minutes! And to top it off, having to wait an extra 10 minutes at the end for the family to exit while the chatters in the group blocked the isle. At first I thought this was the biggest live demo I had ever witnessed of genetic ADHD. Finally realized it was due to the untaught/unexpected need for respect and self-control. Which you get, over time (some longer than others), if you attend church regularly:  three hours’ disambiguation a week (though you only recognize it in retrospect).

[Note to self: refer 11/08 Ensign pp. 17, 47.]

One of the nice things about getting old is contemplating your navel. Not literally, of course. I am fully content not to lead the transitional hectic life of most families, though I do still fully, and always have enjoyed living my children’s lives vicariously! ☺

Jewel is totally excited to be in the house on 1/28 after relying on her future brother-in-law’s good graces since 12/7! It so happened when Seth and Johnny were emptying the storage unit, the power went out on the whole neighborhood block so they had to unload in the dark. Just as they were by truck-light squeezing the last of it into the garage, the power came on, prompting Johnny to say with an understated tone, “I could feel a little angry right now.” They took Hayden over a few nights prior and in the tour when they came to the kitchen, Johnny said, “And this is where you mother will be cooking dinner every night.” With all the kitchen gear buried in storage, it’s been basically fast food for the last seven+ weeks, as the stay with Seth was initially expected to last 10 days. Grant should blog about his close escape from a personal injury lawsuit…which he probably won’t, but I peaked your interest, didn’t I! It has been wonderful witnessing Ruth’s chronicling of their Houston lives, as it shortens the distance considerably.

But back to the musings of the aged. Morning baths in the winter are a tad on the cool side in my house. Replacing the water heater is next on the list after kitchen and TV-room flooring. So sitting in the tub collecting body heat under a towel, it makes me think of pioneer day Indians cross-legged with their blanket wraps (also musing, around the fire), and how poorly I would fair in that circumstance. Which made me think of the logic in spending winters in the valleys (if not St. George!), where a few subsequent conflicts with settlers arose. Which made me wonder just what is the difference in temperature, mountains vs. valleys around here. Which caused me to get out of the tub and look on the internet, where I found the minimum temp overnight at a certain weather station in the mountains was 14.7 whereas in my very neighborhood it was 19.3. Not as big a difference as I figured. But: wind chill made a bigger difference that I would definitely notice, as I would notice the big diff in humidity, 88.2% vs. 59.8. The 10 a.m. temp wasn’t so bad, 23.3 vs. 26.5., which surprised me. Wind 5.5 mph in the mountains, zero in the valley.  Humm, looking for just the right Timpanogos picture to plug in here, I'm thinking this little speculation project is lacking in that ...
                                                 I'm sure an inversion changes everything!

Regardless, we all have our relative thanksgivings – Jewel getting settled, Grant dodging bankruptcy, me “comfortably” shivering.

This is NOT a postcard picture!

It's my lame attempt to record the size of the currently falling snowflakes.

You'll just have to take my word for it - they are super-sized!

When I started blogging I promised myself it would be once a month. Ha! There is an outré addictiveness, perhaps mostly because it’s a literal invitation to expose your self-centeredness, and which is pretty apparent in mine. Not all of you, mind you. You decide for yourself on your own. I think my favorite part is listening to everyone’s music and having instant access to grandchild pictures. And it has been wonderful to peek into the lives of relatives I get to see so infrequently and this has made them become much more “real” to me.

I have no desire whatsoever to “join” MySpace, as you can’t avoid the eyeball shock of so simple a thing as what people call or profile-picture themselves (and their so-called friends). And I would pitch to EVERY family to stand in the way of it for as long as possible! It’s just a plain fact that if you allow the exposure, you WILL be effected. I’ve alluded to this poem before, which my Dad would quote:

“Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As to be hated needs but to be seen; Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, we first endure, then pity, then embrace.” Alexander Pope (English Poet, 1688-1744)
Once I wanted to use this very poem in a R.S. lesson but the church-approved source guidelines excluded it. Then I stumbled upon it quoted by Monson so I got to use it after all. ☺ The “stumble” by the way was a very apparent spiritual gift, I must add. And speaks to the issue of preparing ahead, so you can have some interim spiritual opportunities.

As to facebook, people do seem to put a much better foot forward and behave themselves. Well, compared to MySpace, that is. I can’t say I’ve never seen anything inappropriate, but so far it’s been in the veiled catty indulgence category rather than in the monster vice realm. If it weren’t all so time-consuming, I’d be tempted. I spend entirely too much time on blogspot as it is. And other than moving snow on a rare occasional winter evening and bunches of yard work the rest of the year, that’s about all I “have” to do after work, so I don’t get how people manage who actually have “responsibilities”! Well, I can’t say I haven’t “joined,” having been first invited by an old friend I’d hear nothing from/of otherwise, who kept “poking” me last September, and a couple more along the way.

There was a recent news report as to some of the slimyness side of it all. A local child’s photo got anonymously Aryan-nationed and the family was so upset they hired a lawyer to find out who did it and were shocked it turned out it was within the immediate adult family circle. So let that give all of us pause and we all continue down this path of competing for the most friends and the longest blog list. For example, I wouldn’t recommend a facebook link to your blogspot. I’m sure all you more proficient participants could give us more/better advice, so the invite’s open. Obviously, if someone out there is innately devious, there’s no way to be perfectly protected sans bowing out to assuage one’s paranoia.

There is a good part to it all, of course, and the list is long. Just seeing Velvet’s bound family photo books is one pudding proof (not that hers began with blogging). It’s always good to develop your skills as to the ins and outs of the computer world no matter how involved you anticipate it might end up via your family or your employment. It’s a fun way to learn. Right now I have an elaborate Excel worksheet I’ve created to divvy up our cooks’ association profits for the upcoming annual convention registration based on each one’s involvement in earning those profits. Which is small potatoes --say potato pearls (as in instant) -- I’m sure, compared to --what was it?-- Ubuntu??!! ☺

Reminds me (not Ubuntu, just this post in general) of when I had to go to a group therapy session at the State Hospital. (No, I wasn’t a patient, it was a college major assignment.) They were discussing whether or not they thought various patients had earned the right for a weekend pass home. Several were “approved,” but the last one continued at length, and finally she blurted out, “I PROMISE, I won’t even look at the genealogy!” I was astounded. And then it came out that she had such an addiction to it that the group thought it the only reason for the request and therefore unhealthy to indulge! And apparently contributed to her incarceration.

So I guess what it boils down to is this: might not be a bad idea to give consideration as to the ramifications of what we end up picking for our own poison.

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow

There’s something nice about Friday nights, especially the one right after the monthly first week of stressful work deadlines. So I find myself in a bit of extra good humor. My version of it, that is. I had a conversation with Glenn Beck after work (which was amusing). He buys gold as “insurance” he claims, but the company he buys it from keeps it for him and supposedly down the road his kids might need it, say for food. I told him (but I could tell he wasn’t listening), if anyone needs gold for food and the gold isn’t on the premises, or say walking distance with your wheelbarrow, it’s the same as not having it at all. Somehow I doubt in those circumstances gold would be logically tradeable for edibles anyway, though there are certain forms of smart bartering. That’s why I have oatmeal (I tell him) and then laugh. (But I DO have a lot of oatmeal in metal cans, keep in mind should the occasion arise, assuming by the time you’re wanting to do some trading, you aren’t too uptight about expiration dates.)

There’s something about my garage that elicits loud singing. I think it’s the echo-y shower thing, and being glad to be home. I’d be embarrassed of course if someone were waiting for me in the back yard but then on the other hand that would not be a good thing either in and of itself! It might be precipitated, on Fridays anyway, from singing at work. My office coworker plays each of our picks of the year on Fridays, cranked up, which is because we’ve noticed often we’re the only ones left long before the official end of the day. Mine this school year is Spirit in the Sky. Bill’s is Little Willy Won’t Go Home. Colleen’s is Earl’s Gotta Die. Jenny’s has a semblance of decorum - I Can Only Imagine - so we usually play it first so as not to spoil it with the others. All of them are best appreciated tuned up.

Another fun thing these days is taking sinus pressure medication every day for a week and having normal blood pressure readings throughout, the first since pre-Christmas. So I’m optimistic having learned of another BP-lowering agent besides a daily diet of turkey! ;-)

I remember being annoyed by my mother’s sense of humor, which was so dumb. Not unlike my own these days. (Including the part about mostly not caring what anyone thinks about it.)

Had a fun conversation with Hayden yesterday, who doesn’t think I’m dumb yet, fortunately. Johnny had taught him how to ride his bike without training wheels at the ripe old age of 3-3/4. (His Dad will no doubt take pause at that fact should it be noticed/mentioned.) He was proud of himself, asked if I could come see it. Jewel in the background said I didn’t live in the same state. So very seriously he said, “Why don’t you live in the same state, GG?” I said, “I have no idea.” So then he said his usual closing comment about when was he coming to see me and I said, “Ask your Mom.”

Been wanting to take a picture of the hugeness of the snow pile built around my house, but the lighting was never right in the yard, so I took this one instead at my neighbor’s. Took some arthritis meds as a result, when the storms were back-to-back, but other than that, I LIKE dealing with snow. At home that is. It lets you know you're alive, in more ways than one, and makes me think back to the ancestors who lived in the dugout a few feet away and had lots bigger winter problems to maneuver than moving snow. The non-home versions of dealing with snow make you hope you’ll remain alive! I followed my boss to an SLC meeting this morning vicariously via commuterlink and empathized with the freeway parking lot she dealt with in Lehi as a result of 20 cars and two semis coming into inappropriate contact! It’s definitely good to be home.

Hayden is Most Amusing (cont'd. thru C-mas)

Hayden actually likes to 'help.'  I told him, "When you grow up, you're going to be a hard worker - I can tell!"  "I know," he responded confidently, "and I'll have my own shovel."

Hayden said he didn't have germs.  I said everybody has germs.  "Boy's don't."  "Who told you that?"   "Johnny."

H. seems to be developing well in the formal manners department.  That, and/or he's spontaneously thoughtful.  When Uncle Grant left, he ran to the door and hollered, "Thanks for the snowman!"  On one of our trips to the fruit room to get more decorations, he said, "You have nice Christmas stuff!"

When I unveiled a heavy box and Hayden and I slowly pushed it from the closet to the living room, it was a few more minutes before he realized it contained a train and his excitement grew.  By the time we cranked it up, he said, "This is the BEST Christmas!"  And in a few minutes, "I speak the next turn!", so I said he'd not be having a 'turn,' only grown-ups could run the train.  He continued to be a tad too friendly for the train's health, so we had a 'talk' about its history and how the cousins have had to follow the rules too, and he's been totally fine since.

Jewel bought some kosher dill pickle halves.  Hayden asked for one.  After he ate it, he asked for another one and Jewel said at this rate she'd need to buy another jar for Christmas dinner.  He cheerfully said as if he'd solved everything, "Just buy two!" (Holding up two fingers.)

After lunch and the snowman, Hazel and Hayden had cookies and 'lukewarm' chocolate.  I handed Hazel a wipe when she was done and it dipped slightly into her cup.  Hayden cautioned her not to use it now and I said it was okay.  "It's poison."  I said, "Who says!"  ....you guessed it ... "Johnny."

Playing with He-Man figures and wanting arms reattached, I said he'd just take them off again.  Passing the buck blame, he said, "My sisters took it off."  (Meaning Hazel and Lucy.)

[FYI, Johnny's in the same scapegoat family as Hazel and Lucy.]

Jewel left the room for a moment and Johnny asked Hayden to get a certain gift from under the tree.  He wasn't sure so I picked it up and handed it to him, as Jewel came in.  So then she thought it was from me and Johnny said it was from Hayden.  (J&J had "agreed" not to buy gifts for each other.)  Hayden piped up, "It's not from me, I can't buy anything!"

Jewel made lots of yummy things for Christmas, and Hayden was impressed with the desserts - red velvet cupcakes and frosted sugar cookies.  He said, giving her legs a hug, "Wow, Mom's amazing!"  By now he was catching on that I was keeping this list and as I repeated it to make sure I got it right, he said in a stage-whisper, "... and you're not."  (Made me laugh as well as fondly think back to Grant's lack of enthusiasm over my posterity note-taking habits.)

And lastly, it's a Christmas miracle!!  Hayden asked me where Hazel and Lucy were going and I said to see your Grandpa Larry, the grandpa who gave you the rifle, remember the rifle?  He said sadly, "The rifle broke," then cheerfully as he bounced off, "Maybe he'll give me a new gun!"  And sure, enough, he did.

Christmas 2008

It's a team effort!

Grant brought in the tracks & erected the tree.

Jewel fluffed.

Hayden and GG trimmed.

Jewel topped w/Angel.

Roscoe admired.

                                        Johnny bringing more presents!

Santa too!

Jest 'fore Christmas

When I was in junior Primary I memorized a long poem, Mom dressed me up for the part and had me recite it at a ward party.  I can remember standing on the stage in the old 3rd Ward upstairs cultural hall, and she sat down in front and would mouth the next word if I got stuck. It was written by Eugene Field, 1850-1895 (Wynken, Blynken, and Nod). I’m betting it took many hours of patience for her to teach it to me, as much of it I wouldn’t have had a clue as to it’s meaning and she’d have been determined I pronounce it well enough that the adults could. Unfortunately it didn’t “stick” in my brain (sad to say, Daddy’s memory skill didn’t pass down to me!), and by the time I started searching, it took me forever to find it on the internet.  All I could remember was it had to do with so-and-so “calls me” the various varieties of the name Bill. Not remembering who the “so-and-so’s” were, complicated the search.

JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS



Father calls me William, sister calls me Will,

Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill!


Mighty glad I ain't a girl---ruther be a boy,

Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy!

Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake---


Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache!


'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me,


But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!

Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat;


First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at!


Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide,


'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride!


But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross,


He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss,


An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!"


But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be!


Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man,


I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan,


As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle,


Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile!


But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show,


Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know


That Buff'lo Bill an' cowboys is good enough for me!


Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be!

[I think she modified the above paragraph, as I can't remember a thing about a

"missonarer" or "cannibuls" or "Ceylon's Isle." 

The last four lines ring bells, though, as does the rest of the poem.]

And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemnlike an' still,

His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?"


The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become


Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum!


But I am so perlite an' tend so earnestly to biz,


That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!"


But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me


When, jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be! 

For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys,


Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys;


So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's,


An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes;


Say "Yessum" to the ladies, and "Yessur" to the men,


An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again;


But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree,


Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be!

I must mention that this poem would have been descriptive of the years of her parents’ youth (both born 1882), and that her late teen/young adult years coincided with the Great Depression. Her family was very poor, as were many, even pre-depression. Her father made their shoes, and the children were expected to make them last a year. She said she tore hers somehow, beyond repair, and whenever he was around, she kept that shoe hidden - more out of recognition of the necessity for the anniversary date to arrive, than that she’d be in trouble. If she’d had a pantaloon problem, it would have been minor in comparison, as she was a skilled seamstress and designed her own patterns. She hired herself out to hoe beet fields. Once she walked to the lake (which was a lot further than she guessed), to fish, caught a catfish, which she proudly brought home and was informed it was too small to eat. So she put it in the cow’s trough where it grew to an approved edible size. She made hardship her friend, was remarkably industrious, and was valedictorian the year her high school class graduated. Once I accused her of being spoiled (by my Dad) and in truth she was, but she earned it. (So if you don’t get what you want, or what you figure you deserve, for Christmas, remember the hardships and hope of your heritage, and take heart.)

The Good, The Bad (but not necessarily The Ugly)

Those of you who really know me -- all two of you ☺ who would ever read this -- know I have a bizarre sense of humor. Of late I’ve been fending off BP issues. I’ve actually done quite well in that department, given history, but the last few weeks I’ve “cracked myself up,” as one of our kitchen managers would say. I must also say that having Jewel and her loved ones here for Thanksgiving gave me a much appreciated reprieve which goes on the Good List. But, unfortunately, some days are just plain Bad.

I go to the temple most Fridays and recently I ended up puttering at work late enough that it unsuspectingly put me in the heart of the date crowd. It was most annoying. Not that the crowd was that crowd, just that it was big which translated into getting there at 6:15 and home at t-e-n-f-o-r-t-y-f-i-v-e-! I managed to remain relatively calm in the temple, but when I got in my car and was waiting for neighborhood traffic, which one would think nonexistent at that time of night, to let me in, I said, out loud, “Come onnnnnn, get a move on, would ya!!” Arrived at the MTC roadway and a car was sitting there, in no hurry to venture forward, and I continued to vocally bellyache. Then it dawned on me, light bulb time - I’d just left the temple and my elevated BP was already “back” which made me laugh out loud and continue chuckling for several blocks. (It’s a good thing, even better if it is humorous [wacky or otherwise], to realize you are behaving badly.)

Then a few days after that, I was late leaving work again, heading up the diagonal, got in line to turn right on 8th East. Now a few years ago, I got pulled over on that corner. Until recently, the white lane divider lines were very faded, I’d forgotten there was more than one lane (there isn’t on that street, the other side of that intersection) and the cop warned me I couldn’t turn directly into the “inside” lane. It would have been pointless of course to mention the practically invisible markings, which were even worse in the dark. Nowadays they are totally noticeable, no excuses allowed. I was second in line to turn, the left-hand turn lane in front of us was flowing, and I was loudly advising that car to “GET going, there are TWO lanes you know,” and then I commented, instantly, calmly, at the same time the 18-wheeler made the turn and was hogging the “outside” lane, “Well… maybe not … if you would actually rather not get squashed,” and then laughed and laughed for miles at my so-called BP-induced observation.

Actually, it may not all be BP. At work they’ve finally converted from an ancient boiler to more modern HVAC methods and mucked out the furnace room which is nearby our department. It has been definitely on my irritation list, the noise, the stink, the mess, the ineptness (permanently there will be no heat in the restrooms for one thing; muck missing the mark in tossing it onto the truck at the bottom of the ramp, left for days, and the masses tracking the filth back in, which would have been a mud flood had it rained). They created a gas leak that lasted forever before they finally figured out how to stop it, amid macho/lame explanations such as it takes awhile to dissipate (8 days?!) or the gas monitor always goes wild when you enter a building. In BP-complimentary frustration, I commented that it was Phil’s way of finishing us off, which cracked up the rest of the department. You’d have to know Phil to get that one. And hopefully, there is NO ONE out there in the reading audience who … actually, I CAN think of one… ☺. I, lacking faith in our own people, finally called the gas company. If he said it six, he said it seven times (just like Proverbs!), natural gas can kill you from the explosion but it can’t make you sick. We were all feeling sickish, extra ornery, respiratory symptoms. Well, duh, it’s the stuff IN the gas that does that (per the MSDS sheet [not per the gas company]), and I don’t think very many people split distinguishing between “natural” gas and methyl mercaptan when they are complaining about leakage!

Some days are just so very Good. (And it’s a good thing or you’d just give up.) Just make the assumption upon arrival at church every week that you will be asked to give the closing prayer, and see how great it makes your day, actually paying attention in anticipation of that. It is going on five years I’ve attended Sacrament meeting, sans or as caboose. Of late it bothers me.  Well. It's bothered me, but of late it bothers me.  (BP "speaking," I'm sure.)  The week before, the nicest elderly sister came in late, sat beside me, whisper-chatted amiably. Came time for the next meeting which would be in the same room. A sister who has taken to ‘tending’ her wanted her to move and sit by her. She uses a walker and protested, the ‘tender’ persisted, so I got up and moved so she could have my seat and not make her move. Sigh. Once in Sacrament meeting the family who came after me and sat in the same row and then had more visitor family arrive, asked me to move. Double sigh. Once a married couple came along, two empty seats to the side of me and the husband took the one next to me. The wife chewed on his ear a moment and they switched seats. Triple sigh. (I suppose I should have been flattered at my age/appearance to be perceived as a threat.) But as I said, some days are extra Good.

I was not hep at going the following week, knowing I was going to purposefully put myself outside the possibility of having to move (or exacerbate my current sensitivities). I was asked to give the closing prayer. The theme was treating Sacrament meetings and the sacrament with more sacredness. It was good for my temporarily tender soul to have to pay better attention. The next meeting (still safe in my corner of the room), I was in a better position and frame of mind to notice things. Other things beside how I-I-I felt about life. The prior bishop who so kindly gave me such a good start in this ward, stopped to congratulate a sister who is about my age and has just gotten her recommend after 13 years. It was a joy, observing both their joy, and thinking back of his kindness to me and the great callings he gave me to help me adjust.

My growing up neighbor came in late and sat beside me (hopefully he dares do that in future should his wife hear about it! ☺). At one point the people who sit by the audio knobs were fiddling and the teacher asked what the problem was. His dad, who is rather crotchety, said he couldn’t hear a word and his son gave a big sigh. Me, I thought that as confirming the crotchety-ness, but then he whispered - ‘Watch, she’ll tone her voice down to offset the upped mike’ and sure enough. So his sigh was in sympathy, not criticism of his dad, which was a tender revelation.

The lesson was the book of Mormon. We summarized the signs of those times with the question, which ones apply to this day? …wars, wickedness, unbelief, sorceries, witchcraft. One of the older folks commented in a very matter of fact nonconfrontational way, the possibly potential stepping stone of all the book/movie hype that of the last few years consumes the “popular” interest. (The “vice is a monster” adage.) I thought of all the older folks I get to mingle with, many of them still hanging in from my growing up years, and what a blessing that is, even for me, if not aged myself, for sure old.

We talked about being worthy of having the Holy Ghost as a constant companion, and concluded from D&C 121:44-46, that to get it, we must have charity towards all men and unceasingly virtuous thoughts. I always appreciate the concepts that are covenants; do this=get this. Another question, who were Mormon’s words written for? Sister Bastian, probably the oldest woman in the ward, said, “Me!” Who else, was the question, “Raymond!” (Her husband.) We all laughed.

Then sacrament meeting was the icing on the cake, the HC speaker was our prior bishopric counselor, which was a treat. (Both former bc’s are HC’s.) He talked about how blessed we were that in this day our meetings let out at a set time, that they often droned on in “the olden days.” Once when J. Golden Kimball was partnered with an apostle, it was a fast Sunday and the meeting went way over, and the apostle instead of closing the meeting, asked him to get up and speak of the virtues of the newly published Era magazine, to boost subscriptions. He got up and said, ‘If all of you will raise your hands that you will subscribe to the Era, we will conclude this meeting,’ to which they did, and he sat down. The HCman also stated (quoting) that “The Lord is in the details,” meaning He knows, don’t ever think He doesn’t, and that the details do matter. He told of a farmer who lost his peach crop and quit coming to church, thinking God didn’t care about him so why should he. The bishop paid him a visit and said he didn’t know if God sent the frost to kill his peaches, but he knew God sent the frost to firm the farmer’s spiritual commitment. The farmer came back. Soul food, all of it, just because I walked in the door and was handed a need to pay better attention. And reconfirm that my spiritual commitment matters … it’s all in the details.

Last year's card from Jewel & Hayden:

"There's only one thing better than what we find on our Thanksgiving table...

(Plays the Charlie Brown theme when you open it.)

...It's what we find around it!"

(And now it's part of the centerpiece tradition.)

In Honor of the Season...

... I’m posting my latest set of thanksgivings:

I love sunny Saturdays and Sundays when I can spend a bit of the day reading in the “sunroom.” (South addition my Mom had my Dad build on grandpa’s house, when they moved in, because she found it harder to deal with the cold the older she got. And what a considerate man he was to do that for her.) I also look forward to hopefully retiring one day and have plenty of daylight to putter in the yard and have a larger portion left over to spend in the sunroom. I’m also grateful for Norma’s pastels as opposed to the former hues. ☺ I can still fondly visualize Daddy napping on the floor, in the sun, with a newspaper page over his face.

I’m grateful Jewel’s shelter is a bit more secure (house she was renting ended up in foreclosure as a consequence of the owner’s inability to keep up with three mortgages!), and that her pantries aren’t bare (from the economy taking its inevitable hit in her corner of the employment world).

I’m grateful Hayden has fond memories of visits here (though little does he know Utah trips will be considerably less exciting what with our diminished numbers here). Every time we talk on the phone he asks me when he’s coming up, the sweetheart!, and is disgruntled in response to my ambiguity! Jewel says they’ll be in the car and he’ll ask to hit the road for my house. He’s been on enough road trips at his young age, back and forth, that it’s also nice to know he still thinks those long drives are worth it!

I’m grateful for the internet. I was able to follow the possibilities in housing re Jewel’s move and take some vicarious enjoyment therein. I’ve gotten better acquainted with Janeil’s posterity by joining the blogging world. I found a childhood poem I’ve been searching for, for years! (I’m going to post it for Christmas.) I bookmarked the t.v. fall schedule so I can waste less time in general and less time hunting and pecking with the remote. I have been able to follow my Dad’s Wells Fargo stock daily (if not hourly!) the last few months. ☺ I’ve been following the FDIC receiver failed bank list, three in 2007, 19 so far in 2008. Odd thing to be grateful for, I know, but it’s always good to widen one’s view, and that particular item takes the economy’s pulse rather dramatically. Even that provides a bit of amusement (at the expense of many I’m sure): Integrity Bank and First Integrity Bank bit the dust. Hummm, think the i-word had anything to do with it?? “Freedom” Bank recently joined the ranks - another foretelling hummm? I signed up for Google alerts and learned I’m grateful I didn’t develop my blood disease in childbearing years as my chances were already ifish without adding an extra live birth reduction rate of 50-70%! From watching Accuweather during Ike I developed a broader interest in weather patterns. Just never occurred to me that something going on so far away in the deep Atlantic can effect weather in Utah, etc. (I can’t, however, recommend being thankful for Google severe weather alerts - received 11 emails re one piddling storm that left an inch of snow which promptly melted - but, interestingly, was from Norbert! [and other interaction].)

I’m grateful for an occasional small raspberry shake from Purple Turtle (which they conveniently make it easy to spread over two days). And, that my cholesterol is 168 in spite of it! (So far.) Which prompts an apology to Grant and Jewel who used to occasionally desire their own P.T. shake to which I’d always reply that I’d rather buy Russell’s ice cream by the gallon from the grocery story, as it would be cheaper (but I don’t think I actually ever did that!).

And lastly, I’m grateful for obtaining and retaining my testimony, for it is the greatest gift I’ve ever received, and I perch on the verge of having it longer than not. I was (truly) converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints by Sterling W. Sill in 1977, when he was 74 years old and I was 32. My favorite church calling of all time was Primary music, which I was blessed to be able to do five times in four different wards, for approximately 12 years. And what fun that was, doing it in my childhood Primary room with the SMP in my childhood chapel.

Have a great holiday, everyone! And be sure not to take any wooden nickels (nor ditch any unpopped kernels of corn).

The Faith of our Forefathers (steps included!)

N.C.W.F. died 25 Aug 2004 at the age of 87.  She was reading the Book of Mormon for the 49th time that summer.  She was a pillar in every community she ever lived.  She was stake R.S. president at the age of 78.  I was blessed to know her and know that she loved me.  She was the only maternal grandmother my children ever knew. Almost every time she saw Jewel, she would hug her and say, "Are you as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside?"  That this house exists is a tribute to her love and honor of our family heritage.  [Grant, note the remnants of your huge painting project that mostly and promptly fed the flames.]  I often think of her but today's S.S. lesson reminded me once more of her example.  

President Marion G. Romney said "the efficacy of our prayers depends upon our liberality to the poor."  Norma was actually famous for the faith and power of her prayers.  I discovered that in detail when I moved into her house just over four years ago, and dealt with her "junk" mail.  She not only forever paid a full tithe and constantly had a humanitarian project in progress, she donated to a dozen by-mail charities.  One of them, a convent,  called and upon learning she had died, immediately and sincerely said, "We'll pray for her!"  It was kind and sweet but also amusing, considering, I'm sure, Norma prayed for t-h-e-m, as well as untold others.

Her eldest son, a BYU veep as well as a stake president at the time of her passing, said they all turned to her in time of need.   One of her grandsons had the desire but lacked the grades to be admitted into dental school, and he said she prayed him in and prayed his success to completion.  The year before she died, she prayed away the need for Jewel's scheduled pre-cancer cell procedure.

The peace I found the very night I moved in, and still find, I attribute to her 18 years here, 13 alone, as well of course to all the relatives who were residents throughout the 75 years before, since my grandpa and his brothers built this house.

It was a long day....

Halloween Past

In 1978 we had a seven-year-old foster son who though he’d had a hard life, had a tender heart. His mom visited him once in the year we had him. She told him she’d be coming to get him and take him trick-or-treating. I doubted it so prepared behind the scenes and along about 8 p.m. and he’d given up the wait, I unveiled a costume and we set out to the relatives’ houses so he’d not totally miss out. When we got back home he got ready for bed and as I tucked him in he (optimistically but so sadly) said, “She must have meant next year.”

One evening visiting my parents, the subject of respecting elders came up, reminding my dad of a long poem he’d learned years before, which he then recited. Dale listened “respectfully” and didn’t let on that he was “moved” by it until the first words out of his mouth the next morning when he woke up were, with much relief, “Well, them Black Things didn’t get me!”

LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

LITTLE Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,

An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,

An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,

An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;

An' all us other childern, when the supper-things is done,

We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun

A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,

An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you 
Ef you 
Don't 
Watch 
Out!

Wunst they wuz a little boy wouldn't say his prayers,--

An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,

His Mammy heerd him holler, an' his Daddy heerd him bawl,

An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!

An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press,

An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;

But all they ever found wuz thist his pants an' roundabout:--

An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you 
Ef you 
Don't 
Watch 
Out!

An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,

An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;

An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks wuz there,

She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!

An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,

They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,

An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!

An' the Gobble-uns 'll git you 
Ef you 
Don't 
Watch 
Out!

An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,

An' the lamp-wick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo!

An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,

An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away,--

You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,

An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,

An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,

Er the Gobble-uns 'll git you 
Ef you 
Don't 
Watch 
Out!

INSCRIBED WITH ALL FAITH AND AFFECTION
To all the little children: -- The happy ones; and sad ones;
The sober and the silent ones; the boisterous and glad ones;
The good ones -- Yes, the good ones, too; and all the lovely bad ones.

MORE GRATITUDES...

Today is a good day, in spite of my headache (a few too many work hours but which will be ending soon).

Got the work I brought home done just before conference started. Don and Lois came in between sessions to get Italian prunes so I had him leave the ladder out there and I got a batch to put up during the second session. Ummmm. Stewed prunes. Sweet. Lovely. Yummy. (Takes longer but tastier than just bottling the halves.) I'll do another batch this afternoon (if the rain slows to a drizzle). And now I feel energized to continue a batch a day next week until I get them done. Juice to follow stewed. Grape juice to follow prune juice.

I was a tad worried they might go to waste. I've found there are many people who are grateful to have me share them, but few who will come pick their own! (Many called but few chosen?) Last year I didn't have time to do them, but was determined to get them picked and delivered. This year, what with the state of economy woes, it seems extremely foolish to not get them put up.

Mom would be proud of me. Well... appalled actually. An eensy-weensy bit pleased, perhaps? (She'd have had the whole tree done by now, no matter what other irons were in her fire.) My parents' gardening efforts bring back fond memories. I well remember wheelbarrows of corn, shucking them on this very back porch, to then be cut and frozen, and so much corn juice running down my arms, a rash developed. Being the youngest and acknowledgingly spoiled, my mom was innovative in her attempts to get me to actually "work." She'd tell me the Black-eyed Susans needed a haircut. Or that the carrots needed thinning and how'd I like to pretend I was a rabbit. My favorite was climbing the apricot tree and eating to my heart's content. Or taking the salt-shaker along up the green-apple tree. I didn't care to be sent out to the garden after dark to get a tomato for the dinner table. (We often ate late due to her "other-iron" approach to life.) I remember expressing my boredom one late summer day. She sent me to the garden to pick the largest squash I could find, and then suggested I carve it like a Halloween pumpkin! She used to make our costumes. One year she bought a soft rubber pumpkin head mask and then made me a circle skirt to go around my neck with a vine and leaf pattern. I'd go out in the garden, sit down cross legged, fully outfitted, spread out my "skirt" and pretend I was one of them. Which also reminds me of her talent when she was involved with the Central School spook alley. It was in the subbasement among the pipes. She took a sheet and made a hole in it so that my head fit through it as it hung smoothly down from upper pipes, and I sat comfortably on a lower pipe behind the sheet as the children came through. She even - annoying perfectionist that she was - face stitched the opening. She tied my hair to the pipe above and then poured (home-canned, of course) beet juice down the front of the sheet. You get the idea. I'd have my eyes closed and in the dimness the kids would comment, "Is it real?" and I'd open my eyes, which caused them to scream and scatter.

Hearing the lids seal yields confirming pleasure. I need to get my shelves lined with grip rubber to give my bottles a chance of survival should there be a trembling. I got the upstairs done but put off the fruit room. Don suggested bungie cords to accommodate a bit more of a jiggling. Great idea! Thanks, Don! I'm off to Wal-mart! after ending this with my grateful expression that I can bring a lot of my work home to do, thanks to a VPN connection to the district. That way, I'm home before dark to pick next week, and get back to the job's odds and ends after. We are very blessed, technologically. To be able to reach my Houston-IKE's was very comforting. Well, I can't say I'm grateful for my cherry trees ;-), but I extend much gratitude to my Heavenly Father for the rest of my little "harvest."

Gratitude

It’s my turn for the next Relief Society presidency message. I picked the theme a long time ago, then kept it on the back burner for if/when I would be able to use it just pre Thanksgiving. (Which, I might add, in and of itself [the back-burner plan], is totally inappropriate. [Read on and you’ll see why….])

When I was in the Primary years ago I found enough scriptures on gratitude for all the senior Primary kids to come to the podium (had them line up in a circle around the room - maybe 50 of them) and read one. Fifty-ish that they would ‘get’ as they read them. (There are MANY more than that!) Did you know that we are commanded to be grateful? Did you know that we are commanded to express that to our Father in Heaven? Did you know that as with all covenants, it too holds a promise?

D&C 59:21 And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments.

1 Thes. 5: 18
 In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.

Alma 37: 37
 Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the morning let thy heart be full of thanks unto God; and if ye do these things, ye shall be lifted up at the last day.

I’ve been so buried at work (thoughts far distant from planning a lesson) I decided I’d better ramp up my own obedience and start noting it in writing on a daily basis, or I could hardly presume to give a lesson on it!

So these are my Gratitudes to God of late -

Harvested corn from Uncle Boyd, left Friday 8/29 and again Wednesday 9/3.
Skiff, more than a dusting of snow, on Timp, observed in all its glory, Monday morning 9/1.
Cooler weather so the lawn grows slower, since I don’t have time to mow it! (Turned off the AC on 8/29 with no need since to turn it back on.)
A well insulated house (or I’d have turned on the heat a couple times, like some of my neighbors!).
Salmon-colored raspberries to pick and eat each evening. (And the red ones are almost as tasty.)
Garden produce shared at Enrichment, of which mine to take home and savor was a peach, a small zucchini, and a green pepper.
Humor along the path of life, such as observing the older couple arriving for church, parking near the dumpster and depositing three large bags before going on in.
I’m grateful … for a competent BYU intern!! (Who got me out of the work woods by Friday, 9/5.)
… for a supportive and courageous boss!! (Who has a great work ethic and demands OT pay for me from a government system which would just as soon, and used to, turn a blind eye!)
… for passing a test on Saturday 9/6 based on a 260-page textbook, after working over 200 hours in less than three weeks, with questions like this:
“Foodhandlers can’t work in their operation if they have an illness caused by which pathogen? Vibrio vulnificus, Salmonella Typhi, Clostridium botulinum, or Clostridium perfringens.” (The correct answer is Salmonella Typhi.)
… that when your eyeballs feel like they’ll fall out of your head, they really won’t.
… that when the rest of your tiny family moves over 2,000 miles away, taking the last of your grandchildren with them (how rude!), you are (almost) too busy to cry much.
… for a yummy Sunday morning breakfast consisting of whole wheat pancakes topped with syrup and real blue berries. (But no, lest you think I actually cook - they’re Eggo’s.)
… that my knee is up to walking me down to and back from the stake center (north of the cemetery) for the Saturday and Sunday conference sessions.
… that I was actually glad I went (in lieu of sleeping!).
… for the large length of grass surrounding the junior high to feel between my toes on the way home.
… for a few wild potawatomi plums to gather along the ditch bank above the tennis courts.
… for a daughter who is like a cat (does what it takes to land productively on her feet in difficult times).
… for a daughter-in-law who loves me. (And doesn’t let on if/when I ever bug her.)
… for a son who gets the big picture.
… for a Father in Heaven I know loves me as He loves all of his children, but also lets me know in many comforting ways that He actually cares.

Alma 34: 38 …worship God, in whatsoever place ye may be in, in spirit and in truth; and … live in thanksgiving daily, for the many mercies and blessings which he doth bestow upon you. 


Ps. 63: 3 Because thy lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee.