My Sunday FHE #2 (by invitation)

One of my favorite things the Saturday of spring conference is to wear ear buds, prepare the soil and plant my peas in my tiny garden. So snow changed that plan! (Interestingly, the sun broke through the still snowing clouds promptly at 10 a.m.) No accumulation, just cold.

Lest you think my comment in my last post about loneliness chimes in with the post prior, I’d best clarify. It’s largely from the cumulative effect of the gone-ness of my R. S. calling’s weekly visits on three days and at least one meeting on another, which has allowed me too much time to mull over my degenerative arthritis and all else that ails me. I’m going to plan on my new calling filling that gap: assistant C.S.L. The “real” C.S.L. needs an assistant when she’s busy with tax season and when she’s off visiting grands and great grands of whom there are many! She also, under her own magnification of her calling, visits the shut-ins, of whom I hope not to join ranks with other than accompanying her. I love visiting under the umbrella of a calling; otherwise, no. I won’t get to do it as much as I’d like, though, as she’s retired and won’t always be waiting around for me to get home.

Janeil’s blog last Sunday challenged us to write about a time our prayers were answered. I find it comforting that this can be for small things as well as big things.

Prov. 3:6 In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.

A small thing -

When Grant took care of Norma’s yard, he on one occasion pretty much ran the lawnmower out of oil, so it needed a bit of extra TLC but I had no means of taking it in. I called around to see if anyone provided a pick-up/return plan with no luck (and I’d no doubt have dismissed it anyway due to cost). Finally worked up my courage to ask a ward neighbor with a truck if he’d do the honors sometime when he was headed to/from Orem and he said sure. Time went by and the mowing season was approaching. A lot of time. So I prayed about it and woke up with the idea to pull it up onto the front porch, back my car up to the steps and maneuver it into the trunk. It worked like a charm, both the loading and unloading. (I had a serviceman lift it in and out at the shop.) It was a nice and appreciated boost, courtesy of Heavenly Father, in the self-sufficiency department.

A big thing -

This is an easy one, because long ago I went through my journal and paperclipped the extra meaningful experiences. (My journal is my psychiatrist and so at times I’d feel guilty about the negative introspection [called written whining] and search to mark the good.) There are a lot of paperclips! (Meaningful [good/bad], spiritual, humorous.) My journal is, however, also my prayer and I often talk to Heavenly Father in it and have had answers as a result, such as -

On July 1, 1983, I wrote:

“I have been feeling down some lately about it [adopting], though the two-year ‘average’ [from being approved to actually getting a baby] isn’t up until September. I remember the closeness between Janeil and Lois, and the lack of it in comparison between them and me due to age [I was born 5-1/4 years later], and I want Grant’s brother or sister to be closer in age. He’ll be four in October and it’s beginning to depress me, yet maybe I’m making too much of it. Maybe it wasn’t the age different between us but rather the lack of it between them [15 months].”

Social Services used to tell us that the whole process was based upon inspiration and so if we had concerns, not to bother them, take it to the Lord. Their ceiling for adopting was 40 and I was 38-1/2. I worried a great deal that I might be lower on the inspiration list from being higher on that list. Heavenly Father answered my prayer.

Next entry, July 29, 1983: “Interesting you [Jewel] were born the day after my last journal entry [also keeping in mind that the one prior to that was three months previous]. We got you when you were five days old. I love you so much. Before, I wondered how I could love another baby, I so loved Grant.”

This is Grant’s picture taken late the year Jewel was born, and this is Jewel’s hospital picture. It was a closed adoption but a UVRMC maternity ward employee identified the blanket (which the nurses made). They also forgot to take out the picture from the packet they’d written the local doctor’s name on the back! They took definite steps as standard procedure to keep it private and it was very unusual that they placed her with us based on that nearness. March 13, 1984 entry: "I feel strongly that one of the reasons Jewel came into our family was for the support she and Grant will be able to give each other. In my prayers while we were waiting, I asked that if we were to be able to adopt it be because another child was meant to be in our family and not just that we needed one for our own fulfillment." Over the years I’d always tell Jewel she was meant to be with us … warts and all.

My "Sunday" FHE #1

Grant inspired me to email Ruth the pictures that go belatedly with one of their Monday Night Flashbacks, and even though they aren’t the greatest (picture of a picture), it also inspired me (without invitation) to horn in on their idea. I mean, old people living alone are not exempt from FHE either, you know. And it’s a pretty fun version of it. The idea all came about at the time Carl and Brenda and families came to dinner last Sunday and I realized just how fun it was to reminisce and how extra lonely I’d been feeling. Only I’ll just do it for Sundays once a month, so it’s not deemed a running competition!  (It's actually Sunday and all of you are still in bed, but apparently blogger counts it still as Saturday night which is nice actually, considering the theme music I picked.)  

Now Jewel never has been and I suspect never will be warm to the idea of sharing her growing up pictures, but since they’re relatively small and indistinct, perhaps she’ll get over it. This is Jewel at six months. She was quite the attraction at church and people were always asking to hold her but she’d have none of it. Our ward had about thirty adults and children who had been adopted and new arrivals were duly noted and extra exciting. One of the group, a young married sister, said she had everything any girl could want: a natural tan, naturally curly hair, and dark beautiful eyes with extra long eyelashes.

One of the ward families had adopted five children and the dad would tease me relentlessly -- when were we going to get another one (as good Mormons are supposed to do, you know). I got so I’d say I got my six kids’ worth in Jewel, but he continued to tease and make me feel uncomfortable. Their last, number six, was a major handful. Their home had windows that were about four feet off the ground, yet the little guy at age three, when put down for a nap, crawled out the window and was found downtown (miles away), on his big wheel! (It was downhill, so the ease was what got him that far.)  After that I would say every Sunday, “So Dennis ... when are you getting the next one?” and his face would turn beet red.

Another of the adoptee group, a grandma, made the statement that the best thing they ever got their kids was a playhouse, hours of unsupervised entertainment for them and their friends. Sounded good to me and we outfitted ours with a table and chairs, cupboard (the one in my current playroom), dishes (plenty left for today's kids to play with), play phone, play t.v., play piano, but I actually hated it and was glad to finally see it go. The biggest attraction it created was Jewel and friends using the utensils to shovel gravel and dirt inside, through the door and the windows, where it stayed until mom shoveled all of it back out! Repeated ad nauseam. They also thought it was a great idea to drag everything out … and leave it out. When it was sold, and the man and his wife came to get it, we all stood around trying to figure out how to load it. The biggest problem was it wouldn’t fit flat into the truck bed and created too big of tipping load for the adults to deal with. They almost gave up the deal when Grant who was seven, piped up, “Why don’t you use the camper jacks.” (Direct quote from my journal.)

Notice Butch in the foreground. Butch met an untimely death when Jewel was three, and when she noticed his absence and learned why, she said, “He can’t be dead! I love him!!” It was a Sunday morning. We’d been packing up Saturday and planned to move on Monday, but in our sadness we decided to just move the beds up that day after church and sleep there as a diversion to get our minds off it.

Tune in for the next installment, the last Sunday in April.  

I found him! My Wealthy Man!! Thanks, ABBA!!!

(...Just kidding.)

But I have to tell you this story, at the full risk of reminding you that I have an amazingly bad track record....

A coworker had a St. Patty's day party and gave me leftover corned beef to take home. I love corned beef! And her fiancé made it exactly like I used to (as there is more than one way to skin THAT cat). So as I'm eating it again for supper last night, it reminded me of the fond memory I have of starting a crockpot of it the morning of moving, in AZ, from one apartment to another. The helpers, every time they arrived with a load would smell/mention it and I assured them they were welcome to join us. Some of them said they weren't sure they'd like it, but all of them tried it, exhausted and hungry by the end of the chore. Got tons of compliments and it was a nice ending to a long day.

So then I'm thinking, I wonder what's happened to that crowd who were numbered as bosom buddies for upwards of six years. I looked up Mark Bonsall, whom we called Kram Lla-snob, and he's doing very well, CFE of the Salt River Project. Then I looked up my ex's girlfriend (yes, at the two-timing time), and she's doing very well also, though sadly she's never had any children (well, sad to me, possibly not to her). She even got an advanced degree and taught at OSU in the late 80's. Amazing. And then I looked up the "other Nancy" (which technically is a misnomer - we all called the first one that) and found her interests steeped in family research including being a volunteer contact on "Random Acts of Genealogical Kindness." She apparently still resides where I last knew she lived over twenty years ago. So then I looked up my ex and he's now the CPO of Dean Foods Dairy Division -- Dean Foods, whom I pay almost $300,000 per year for milk products, so multiply that by a zillion school districts. Based now in Dallas after living in Houston several years and back east before that for over 25. Kram professed for the years we maintained contact, that he'd end up in the gutter for his choices, but ... he was wrong, as the atonement is obviously available for all of us! (And aren't we glad about that!) ((That or he's yet to get his just desserts - just like the rest of us.))

And while I'm at it, I might as well admit that probably part of my bad track record no doubt includes such things as the fact that, poised to type it into google, I actually couldn't think of his full name for quite some time (whereas Kram's and the rest came easy!).... (It's the flak impact from an 'oh what a tangled web we weave' reaction, I'm sure....)

And in conclusion I might just as well also mention, I really never have nor would recommend ABBA's cleverly cynical advice.  It didn't influence me then, by choice, and my stand hasn't changed.  Well, hopefully you all stayed sane and sober on the holiday, and do end up in general with a better track record than mine.  ;-)  My St. Pat's wish for you, and something we'll all celebrate one day I'm sure.

And so whether you're looking to find -or be- the right person in a relationship, this is good advice:

“A sound head, an honest heart, and an humble spirit are the three best guides through time and to eternity.” Sir Walter Scott

(I have heard of, met, know and admire, a goodly number of those over the years.  And if my experience counts for anything, I can attest:  two out of three won't do.)

[Beg the Irish forgiveness, for quoting a Scotsman!]

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.