We had a family reunion last week for my brothers and sisters. There were so many men at the party. This only seems notable because I grew up in a world of girls. Our parents had eight children: six girls and two boys. Four girls were born during the first twelve years of their marriage. My two brothers were still in elementary school when I graduated from high school, so there wasn't much machismo in my life. (My dad was very manly, but he was definitely outnumbered.) It was more balanced for the second phase of their childrearing, as the next four born were a boy, then a girl, then a boy, and last, another girl. They were known as The Little Kids.
I'm number three of the first four (aka: The Big Kids) and we girls got married within a few years of each other and managed to give birth to ten boys!! We had some girls, too, in that first batch of grandchildren, but seriously, it was grandson, grandson, grandson for several years. These boys have grown into men, and at the reunion I was just impressed at all the men there. We original children all married and produced 18 boys and 11 girls. This generation has reached adulthood, (the final one graduated from high school this spring...) and many of them are married, and lots of this generation came to our party. So there was a crowd of young and not so young men there.
I was reflecting on this today in Sacrament meeting as I watched the young men in our ward pass the Sacrament out to the congregation. Since I play the organ and my back is to that table, I didn't see who had set it up and was sitting there waiting to prepare the bread and water as the people sang the song. I finished playing, slid off the bench into my seat and immediately closed my eyes. As the person started praying, I realized that I didn't recognize the voice. When he finished the prayer, I looked up and two of the "boys" standing there passing out trays to the deacons were actually men who have joined the Church in the last few years in our congregation. For one of them, it was the first time I've seen him participate in this capacity. It was really great to see them, standing there with their third partner, a seventeen-year old young man. I thought how fine it is to be part of an organization where these men can make such a big change in their lives, even in middle age (as one of them is) and then become part of a peer group where it is irrelevant when you got the Aaronic priesthood---12 years old or 45 years old---because you have the same authority and opportunities for service and growth.
Now, what does that have to do with my family reunion? Well, as a girl, growing up in my house-o-girls, we did all the chores. We did the outside work, we did the inside work. I'm pretty sure my little brothers learned to make their beds, and probably did some dishes, as well as feed calves and haul hay. But, I really didn't understand boys well until I got married, became a mom, and started raising boys. GoolGuy taught me about the life of boys, and I read a lot of books. But, I learned to really appreciate the Church because it gave me a resource where other men could be involved in the lives of my boys and back up our parental ideals. It was also a place where, just when boys recognize that they aren't little kids anymore, and maybe they want their mothers to just back off a little, these boys are gathered up into an organization that gives them authority and purpose backed up with spirituality. Twelve year old boys really need the priesthood right then.
Yes, yes, family reunion....I loved seeing that my girl-centric childhood has blossomed into such a great bunch of men. Our dad died when the oldest of these little grandsons was only eight, so Daddy missed seeing the legions of missionaries, (and a granddaughter served, too). But he would have loved it on Saturday, watching the softball game with in-laws and cousins and men and women and children out there competing. He'd have loved the way a group of our grown sons unhesitatingly donned gloves and helped an uncle go haul a big load of hay out of a field and bring it home, stacked neatly on his trailer. He'd have smiled at dads hauling babies around, lifting them onto the swings, bravely riding behind a 10 year driver on the four-wheeler, holding onto the little ones as they rode the horses plodding around and around the pasture. It was a pleasure to see how our parents' love story has resulted in this crowd of really fine adults in our "Third Crop."
I also know that we all got help from the Priesthood organization at church in raising these fine men. We all had help from our dear farmer brother who willingly took on a 14/15 year old "hired hand" each summer from the ranks of the nephews. We all got help from other people who also raised great men to marry the granddaughters in our family and start new generations for us to love and enjoy. My experience in teaching boys all these years has made me appreciate the genius of the Priesthood. Right when a young boy starts to see himself as growing into manhood, he is invited into a group where he can have some authority, some structure, some teaching, some fun, some opportunity to serve others. There are other men who can back up his parents and provide an example of goodness (manly goodness) right when a boy needs it. Like I said, it's a genius plan...
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
First Time
We were in Wyoming, again, over the weekend. This time it was the family reunion for my sisters and brothers. It was well attended, with three generations and lots of babies. We had a great time. I'll tell you about it later.
One of the things I did this weekend, however, was to ride the motorcycle with CoolGuy for the first time, ever, in our hometown valley. My children expressed their surprise, but, I wasn't his girlfriend in high school, so I didn't go for any rides with him. The only other time we took the bike up there, I was quite pregnant, so I didn't ride it then, either.
What a wonderful place to ride a motorcycle! It was cool and pleasant and green. One evening we went into town to pick up a couple of items for the campfire cookout. Amusingly, we pulled into the parking lot of the market, just as two of my brother's daughters were coming out with their cart. They walked up to us and we all recognized each other at the same time with a cheerful "Hi!" We exchanged pleasantries and they loaded up the truck and one girl said, "You guys look really cool!" That was a nice compliment from some authentically cool people to a couple of geezers. But, hey we were on a vintage Harley, wearing our leather vests and boots.
Another afternoon we headed out on some of the back roads that were only gravel coated when we were youngsters, but now have pavement. We headed across the valley toward the western hills where aspens and sagebrush share the scene with lupines and sunflowers. It was so beautiful! There were sprinklers spritzing the pastures and the breeze would blow a little mist our way. Some fields had rows of drying cut alfalfa and some were dotted with bales. The fragrance of freshly cut hay was just as intoxicating as ever, and even a little better than usual, since I knew I didn't have to mess around hauling and stacking any of it. We both laughed when I mentioned that to CoolGuy. He's handled his share of bales, too.
The little community we drove through was the one where both his parents spent their childhoods. We commented about which of our old friends used to live where, and we drove by the old homestead of his relatives. I noticed that there is a park now where once was a rodeo arena. I'd ridden a cow in one of the Pioneer Day rodeos they used to hold each summer. Well, I did make it out of the chute, but not much further. I can't even remember how old I was---probably 11 or 12. It all felt so familiar, but we've been gone so long from our former home that we probably don't even know most of the people in those houses we passed.
One of the things I did this weekend, however, was to ride the motorcycle with CoolGuy for the first time, ever, in our hometown valley. My children expressed their surprise, but, I wasn't his girlfriend in high school, so I didn't go for any rides with him. The only other time we took the bike up there, I was quite pregnant, so I didn't ride it then, either.
What a wonderful place to ride a motorcycle! It was cool and pleasant and green. One evening we went into town to pick up a couple of items for the campfire cookout. Amusingly, we pulled into the parking lot of the market, just as two of my brother's daughters were coming out with their cart. They walked up to us and we all recognized each other at the same time with a cheerful "Hi!" We exchanged pleasantries and they loaded up the truck and one girl said, "You guys look really cool!" That was a nice compliment from some authentically cool people to a couple of geezers. But, hey we were on a vintage Harley, wearing our leather vests and boots.
Another afternoon we headed out on some of the back roads that were only gravel coated when we were youngsters, but now have pavement. We headed across the valley toward the western hills where aspens and sagebrush share the scene with lupines and sunflowers. It was so beautiful! There were sprinklers spritzing the pastures and the breeze would blow a little mist our way. Some fields had rows of drying cut alfalfa and some were dotted with bales. The fragrance of freshly cut hay was just as intoxicating as ever, and even a little better than usual, since I knew I didn't have to mess around hauling and stacking any of it. We both laughed when I mentioned that to CoolGuy. He's handled his share of bales, too.
The little community we drove through was the one where both his parents spent their childhoods. We commented about which of our old friends used to live where, and we drove by the old homestead of his relatives. I noticed that there is a park now where once was a rodeo arena. I'd ridden a cow in one of the Pioneer Day rodeos they used to hold each summer. Well, I did make it out of the chute, but not much further. I can't even remember how old I was---probably 11 or 12. It all felt so familiar, but we've been gone so long from our former home that we probably don't even know most of the people in those houses we passed.
It was such a marvelous afternoon. The sun was warm, but the breeze was cool at 40 mph as we moseyed around. As we drove east again on a main road, CoolGuy pointed out that this was the road where he'd first driven a two-wheeled motored vehicle. His dad had gotten him a little scooter with a two-cycle engine, and had taken it out to a machinist to have something welded on it. Then, CoolGuy--about 13 years old---got on and took off down this country road and was immediately hooked. I asked who taught him how to ride it. He replied, "I just got on, twisted the throttle, and kept it pointed straight. There wasn't anything to learn." He's been twisting the throttle ever since and I'm just glad I get to ride behind...especially on such a beautiful afternoon in such a lovely place.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Keep On the Sunny Side
Many years ago, I was asked to give a talk in church and the topic was "Happiness" which was quite vague to me. I gave it some thought and wrote this talk. I recently found a copy of it, and I still like it. So today, we go back in time to the person I was a decade ago, and listen to her ideas on happiness.
This is very simple, but I think important to realize that we can choose to do just that: decide to be a positive person.
Now, back at Psalms---“This is the day which the Lord hath made, we will rejoice and be glad in it.”
It doesn’t say, “I’ll think about rejoicing” or “If nothing goes wrong today, I’ll rejoice” Or “If my children/spouse/boss/best friend/customers---whoever---aren’t really annoying today, I’ll rejoice.” I feel really strongly that an important part of the agency that we’ve been given by our Father in Heaven is the requirement for us to be in charge of our personal happiness. We know that happiness is part of the plan of salvation. In 2 Nephi2:25
we are taught that ...”men are that they might have joy...” It was as much a
part of the plan as the creation, and our mortality.
It goes on in 2 Nephi to admonish us that we are “free, knowing good from evil, to act for [our]selves and not to be acted upon.” It also explains that this privilege allows us the choice to follow the Messiah, or to follow the devil and that choosing the devil will lead to us being miserable like he is.
T hese scriptures
are talking about our eternal salvation, but I feel that it is also clear that
our Heavenly Father want us to spend our mortal life in a state of happiness,
not misery.
How do we choose happiness? By rejoicing in each day that the Lord gives us. By not living in the past in the many ways we do: wishing we were living somewhere else...wishing we were with someone else…wishing we hadn’t done something stupid/daring/rude/mean to someone that time (or those many times). The past has definitely passed. When we focus on our regrets or past mistakes we are rejecting the Atonement. Christ suffered for all of our sins and mistakes. He has taken that burden on Him and you don’t need to carry it anymore. If you have truly repented of your sins and mistakes, and asked God’s forgiveness, then you need to accept it. If you don’t allow the past to be the past, then you waste Christ’s gift. In the same vein, if we continually dwell on what could have been, you waste what is now. And if you really understand God’s role, then you’ll believe what King Benjamin said when he pointed out that our very existence is a gift from God; that we depend on Him for our very lives and all that we have and are. Will you waste that on wishing away today for something that is over? Let the past go.
We choose happiness by accepting people as they are, and not expend our efforts in trying to make them be the way we want them to be. The most important advice I got from anyone was when a counselor, who had listened to me complain and gripe about my husband and all his inadequacies and failings (in my eyes) got very impatient and pointed out that I was never going to be happy as long as my happiness depended on someone else changing. I couldn’t change anyone else and I shouldn’t be able to either. And it was wrong of me to think that I should or could. He went on to say that the only way to treat our spouse was to accept them the way they were. They weren’t just potential or clay for us to mold into our desire. If we acted and spoke as if our spouse was just fine they way they were, then when that person made a positive change, we could just enjoy it and accept it as a gift and not act as though we were entitled to this change, and why did they take so long to make it? If we accepted the change as a free will gift, we could just enjoy and not have any bitterness, or make the spouse feel that they were finally okay or improved.
It was an eye-opening moment for me. I realized I’d been living my life as though I was driving the big stagecoach of the universe. You know how in the old western movies the driver would sit up on his perch with all those reins threaded through his fingers, his feet braced, his arms sawing back and forth, keeping those horses in line, being responsible for them and his passengers, and the gold in the box under the seat? He is definitely not relaxed or having a good time. I was afflicted with all the syndromes: I’m a big sister to five younger ones, I’m a woman, a mother, a teacher, a wife, I come from a long line of people who feel they need to tell everyone what to do! So, I had to learn to get down off that stagecoach seat, and let go of those reins.
I stopped trying to control the future. I started concentrating on today. I started appreciating the current characteristics of my spouse. I just gave up trying to run his life. Sometimes he did an awful job of it, in my opinion. But instead of giving advice, I just gave love. I did not accomplish this overnight. It was not a smooth upward arc. He’ll tell you. But I gained the perspective that God can give you. If you truly rejoice in each day, and just live it, and not try to relive the past, or manipulate the future by controlling your loved ones, you will be a happier person. (Of course, I’m not referring to your little children—they need your guidance—but again-- not your manipulation).
Along with this philosophy of rejoicing in and living in this day, I’ve learned to do as it teaches in Proverbs 3:5.
Instead of me thinking I had to drive that stagecoach, I realized that God was doing it, and doing a fine job, too. All I had to do was ride shotgun—the person who sits alongside the driver and watches out. I started watching out for things I could control—myself—my attitude, my reactions, my spirituality—things that I should be in charge of rather than other people’s lives. We will never have everything be just like we think it should be. There are many things in life that are out of our control, and many things that we think are that actually aren’t. If you truly learn to trust in the Lord and not try to outthink Him, but lean not unto thine own understanding, your happiness will increase. He will direct you.
I wish to end with the rest of the old song “The Sunny Side of Life”:
Psalms 118:24
This is
the day which the Lord hath made,
we will rejoice and be glad in it.
There’s
a dark and troubled side of life.
There’s
a bright and sunny side too.
Though
you meet with the darkness and strife,
The
sunny side may also find you.
Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny
side, it will help us everyday.
It will brighten all the way, if you keep
on the sunny side of life.
This is very simple, but I think important to realize that we can choose to do just that: decide to be a positive person.
Now, back at Psalms---“This is the day which the Lord hath made, we will rejoice and be glad in it.”
It doesn’t say, “I’ll think about rejoicing” or “If nothing goes wrong today, I’ll rejoice” Or “If my children/spouse/boss/best friend/customers---whoever---aren’t really annoying today, I’ll rejoice.” I feel really strongly that an important part of the agency that we’ve been given by our Father in Heaven is the requirement for us to be in charge of our personal happiness. We know that happiness is part of the plan of salvation. In 2 Nephi
It goes on in 2 Nephi to admonish us that we are “free, knowing good from evil, to act for [our]selves and not to be acted upon.” It also explains that this privilege allows us the choice to follow the Messiah, or to follow the devil and that choosing the devil will lead to us being miserable like he is.
How do we choose happiness? By rejoicing in each day that the Lord gives us. By not living in the past in the many ways we do: wishing we were living somewhere else...wishing we were with someone else…wishing we hadn’t done something stupid/daring/rude/mean to someone that time (or those many times). The past has definitely passed. When we focus on our regrets or past mistakes we are rejecting the Atonement. Christ suffered for all of our sins and mistakes. He has taken that burden on Him and you don’t need to carry it anymore. If you have truly repented of your sins and mistakes, and asked God’s forgiveness, then you need to accept it. If you don’t allow the past to be the past, then you waste Christ’s gift. In the same vein, if we continually dwell on what could have been, you waste what is now. And if you really understand God’s role, then you’ll believe what King Benjamin said when he pointed out that our very existence is a gift from God; that we depend on Him for our very lives and all that we have and are. Will you waste that on wishing away today for something that is over? Let the past go.
We choose happiness by accepting people as they are, and not expend our efforts in trying to make them be the way we want them to be. The most important advice I got from anyone was when a counselor, who had listened to me complain and gripe about my husband and all his inadequacies and failings (in my eyes) got very impatient and pointed out that I was never going to be happy as long as my happiness depended on someone else changing. I couldn’t change anyone else and I shouldn’t be able to either. And it was wrong of me to think that I should or could. He went on to say that the only way to treat our spouse was to accept them the way they were. They weren’t just potential or clay for us to mold into our desire. If we acted and spoke as if our spouse was just fine they way they were, then when that person made a positive change, we could just enjoy it and accept it as a gift and not act as though we were entitled to this change, and why did they take so long to make it? If we accepted the change as a free will gift, we could just enjoy and not have any bitterness, or make the spouse feel that they were finally okay or improved.
It was an eye-opening moment for me. I realized I’d been living my life as though I was driving the big stagecoach of the universe. You know how in the old western movies the driver would sit up on his perch with all those reins threaded through his fingers, his feet braced, his arms sawing back and forth, keeping those horses in line, being responsible for them and his passengers, and the gold in the box under the seat? He is definitely not relaxed or having a good time. I was afflicted with all the syndromes: I’m a big sister to five younger ones, I’m a woman, a mother, a teacher, a wife, I come from a long line of people who feel they need to tell everyone what to do! So, I had to learn to get down off that stagecoach seat, and let go of those reins.
I stopped trying to control the future. I started concentrating on today. I started appreciating the current characteristics of my spouse. I just gave up trying to run his life. Sometimes he did an awful job of it, in my opinion. But instead of giving advice, I just gave love. I did not accomplish this overnight. It was not a smooth upward arc. He’ll tell you. But I gained the perspective that God can give you. If you truly rejoice in each day, and just live it, and not try to relive the past, or manipulate the future by controlling your loved ones, you will be a happier person. (Of course, I’m not referring to your little children—they need your guidance—but again-- not your manipulation).
Along with this philosophy of rejoicing in and living in this day, I’ve learned to do as it teaches in Proverbs 3:5.
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; lean
not unto thine own understanding.
In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”
Instead of me thinking I had to drive that stagecoach, I realized that God was doing it, and doing a fine job, too. All I had to do was ride shotgun—the person who sits alongside the driver and watches out. I started watching out for things I could control—myself—my attitude, my reactions, my spirituality—things that I should be in charge of rather than other people’s lives. We will never have everything be just like we think it should be. There are many things in life that are out of our control, and many things that we think are that actually aren’t. If you truly learn to trust in the Lord and not try to outthink Him, but lean not unto thine own understanding, your happiness will increase. He will direct you.
I wish to end with the rest of the old song “The Sunny Side of Life”:
Oh,
the storm in its fury broke today,
Crushing
hopes that we cherish so dear.
Clouds
and storms will in time pass away,
The
sun again will shine bright and clear.
Let
us greet with a song of hope each day
Though
the moment be cloudy or fair
Let
us trust in our Savior’s way
To
keep us everyone in His care.
Keep
on the sunny side, always on the sunny side of life.
It
will help us everyday
It
will brighten all the way
If
you keep on the sunny side of life.
Tuesday, July 09, 2013
Beating the Heat
One of my recent posts was about the extreme heat we've been having here in the desert southwest. And then you didn't hear from me whining about it for several days. It's because I went north to enjoy a family event, and left behind the furnace weather. The first night we arrived in Wyoming, we actually were in a rain storm that poured down on us as we drove out to my sister's house and the temperature on the truck read 51 degrees. Yes...there just wasn't anything about the weather to complain about for the four days we were gone from here.
But we were visiting where the altitude is 6600 feet above sea level. I noticed on our return trip, that as we were descending in altitude, we were also ascending in temperature. In southern Utah, it was about 6000 feet and the temperature was 83 degrees. We began the descent down the mountain, and every few miles the temperature ticked upward. It was 90 at 4000 feet, then 95, then, we drove into the valley of the red rocks and eroded arches and --there it was---100 again! Not that we were exactly celebrating. CoolGuy had taken his motorcycle up north on the trailer. Then, he parked the trailer at our daughter's house in Utah and rode the 200 miles up to Wyoming and back on the bike. It was terrific riding weather. He was caught in a few thunderstorms, and he put on his jacket after dark, because, it's just a bit chilly at night in the mountains when you're going 70 mph.
We attended a wonderful event honoring his oldest brother in our hometown, and then we watched a parade and ate lunch with lots of relatives. It was a huge family gathering, and my daughter-in-law and our grandson came with us at the last minute, and I'm so glad she did. It was a delightful day with lots of traditional activities and family pride and memories. She and our grandson have usually only visited up there with us for funerals and this was completely opposite. We just enjoyed the beauty and the nice weather and camaraderie of being with a lot of relatives.
We got everyone back home to Utah and we put the motorcycle back on the trailer for the trip to Nevada. We knew we'd miss the pleasant cool mornings and dewy grass in the shadow of the pine-covered mountains. When we arrived back in the Mojave, it wasn't as hot as when we'd left, so that's a relief. But there's a huge wildfire on the back of mountains that line the west side of the valley, so the sky is filled with smoke and the sunset is brilliant orange for an extended period of time.
This traveling back and forth into different climate zones is strange, but this weekend had an added dimension of time travel for me, too. We spent the two days we were in our hometown immersed in the past. My daughter-in-law and I spent a lot of time talking about how CoolGuy and I lived as children. As we drove around, I pointed out the school where he and I first met. We passed our childhood homes, the church where we married, our high school site. We talked about the chores we'd each done. We even went to my parent's farm and looked around the old wooden barn where I'd spent so much of my youth. We drove part way up into the fields where my sisters and I had hauled bales every summer. She was fascinated by all the work we'd done just to earn a living. She'd never really understood before, I think, that I was just a farm girl. She'd only known me as a teacher, an adult, my son's mother. It was interesting for her to see where I'd lived and what I done as a child and a teen, and it gave her a new understanding of me. I assured her that, as children, we didn't have an expectation that our lives were going to be any different from what they'd been. She was raised in a large, sophisticated city in South America. I was just a farm girl. I really am hardly any different than that girl who went into that barn twice a day and milked those cows with her sister. I'm older, more tired and I certainly couldn't do the chores I once did. But, I'm still that girl who loves the mountains and reading and my horse. I'm still that girl who knows that, if I'm willing to do the work, I'll accomplish my goals. I'm still that girl who has a big crush on CoolGuy. So, it was a great weekend for going back in time and showing someone I care about, who I am and where I came from.
But we were visiting where the altitude is 6600 feet above sea level. I noticed on our return trip, that as we were descending in altitude, we were also ascending in temperature. In southern Utah, it was about 6000 feet and the temperature was 83 degrees. We began the descent down the mountain, and every few miles the temperature ticked upward. It was 90 at 4000 feet, then 95, then, we drove into the valley of the red rocks and eroded arches and --there it was---100 again! Not that we were exactly celebrating. CoolGuy had taken his motorcycle up north on the trailer. Then, he parked the trailer at our daughter's house in Utah and rode the 200 miles up to Wyoming and back on the bike. It was terrific riding weather. He was caught in a few thunderstorms, and he put on his jacket after dark, because, it's just a bit chilly at night in the mountains when you're going 70 mph.
We attended a wonderful event honoring his oldest brother in our hometown, and then we watched a parade and ate lunch with lots of relatives. It was a huge family gathering, and my daughter-in-law and our grandson came with us at the last minute, and I'm so glad she did. It was a delightful day with lots of traditional activities and family pride and memories. She and our grandson have usually only visited up there with us for funerals and this was completely opposite. We just enjoyed the beauty and the nice weather and camaraderie of being with a lot of relatives.
We got everyone back home to Utah and we put the motorcycle back on the trailer for the trip to Nevada. We knew we'd miss the pleasant cool mornings and dewy grass in the shadow of the pine-covered mountains. When we arrived back in the Mojave, it wasn't as hot as when we'd left, so that's a relief. But there's a huge wildfire on the back of mountains that line the west side of the valley, so the sky is filled with smoke and the sunset is brilliant orange for an extended period of time.
This traveling back and forth into different climate zones is strange, but this weekend had an added dimension of time travel for me, too. We spent the two days we were in our hometown immersed in the past. My daughter-in-law and I spent a lot of time talking about how CoolGuy and I lived as children. As we drove around, I pointed out the school where he and I first met. We passed our childhood homes, the church where we married, our high school site. We talked about the chores we'd each done. We even went to my parent's farm and looked around the old wooden barn where I'd spent so much of my youth. We drove part way up into the fields where my sisters and I had hauled bales every summer. She was fascinated by all the work we'd done just to earn a living. She'd never really understood before, I think, that I was just a farm girl. She'd only known me as a teacher, an adult, my son's mother. It was interesting for her to see where I'd lived and what I done as a child and a teen, and it gave her a new understanding of me. I assured her that, as children, we didn't have an expectation that our lives were going to be any different from what they'd been. She was raised in a large, sophisticated city in South America. I was just a farm girl. I really am hardly any different than that girl who went into that barn twice a day and milked those cows with her sister. I'm older, more tired and I certainly couldn't do the chores I once did. But, I'm still that girl who loves the mountains and reading and my horse. I'm still that girl who knows that, if I'm willing to do the work, I'll accomplish my goals. I'm still that girl who has a big crush on CoolGuy. So, it was a great weekend for going back in time and showing someone I care about, who I am and where I came from.
This is the swing set that was on the playground of my one-room school when I was little. It was being sold and so my sister bought it and installed it in her backyard. I spent a lot of time on this slide when I was a little kid.
That boy waving is our grandson. He's riding in a beautiful wagon being pulled by mules, and the other people in there with him are all relatives. They were honoring CoolGuy's brother.
Here's the photo of a grandpa and a grandson. They're next to the portrait of the great-uncle who was honored in the parade and the ceremony at our home town.
Thursday, July 04, 2013
Happy Birthday, America
Don't know why, but this is one of my all-time favorite holidays! I like Christmas, I revere Easter, I'm even up for Thanksgiving. But July 4th, Independence Day, America's Birthday---it just makes me feel happy! So, today, celebrate--hang out the flag, wear your red/white/blue clothes. Go watch fireworks, or set off some yourself (watch out for those fingers...) Eat hot dogs and blueberry/strawberry/whipped cream frosted cake. It's a celebration for a great Lady--Lady Liberty.
I've spent seventeen years teaching fourth graders, in two different states. I love teaching them history and the reasons why we have the United States of America. For eight years, one of my curriculum items was the Constitution. First, we learned all about the Magna Carta, then we moved into the events that led to the colonists declaring independence from Great Britain. We studied the Revolutionary War, and then, we were ready to study the Constitution. You might be thinking that it seems like a fairly advanced subject for nine year olds. Yes, and no. They were very interested in the all of it, for a variety of reasons.
First: It was the real thing! It wasn't abstract, or fictional. Real people had done real things. We lived quite near Washington D.C. and other historical areas. One of our favorite field trips was to Fort McHenry, where the Battle of Baltimore took place. We sang the National Anthem while standing on the very ramparts mentioned in the song. So, my Maryland students had a sense of history.
Second: It appealed to their childhood sense of fairness. Fourth graders are hyper aware of "fair" and have a strong need for order. As we'd learn about the various taxes, orders, boycotts, and burdens placed on the colonists as King George tried to extract repayment for the expenses of the French and Indian War, the students developed a growing sense of irritation and were so ready to declare independence themselves.
Third: It's an exciting story. Many of my students back east were children of military families. Their parents worked at the Navy base just across the river from our school. Some parents worked further north in the nation's capital or at the Pentagon. From our playground, we often saw Air Force One on its final approach to land at the base just forty miles north. Their family members worked every day for our nation, and the children knew it. And the stories of how we became our own country inspired them and gave them a sense of being part of long chain of people who were willing to do their part for America.
I was always amused when we'd get to the Constitution and especially the Bill of Rights. We'd read the content, then we'd talk about what it meant. I'd refer to the incidents during the years that led up to the Declaration of Independence. The students could connect those events to the prohibitions or guarantees laid forth in the document written to frame our government. There was often outrage expressed that anyone could even try to take away some of the freedoms stated in the Constitution. Imagine: you being forced to quarter soldiers in your home! You not being allowed to complain about government leaders! You being forced to give your taxes for a church you don't even go to!
So, today, or tomorrow...take some time to read a little history. Find out why we declared independence from Britain. Find out why those signers were willing to pledge their "lives, fortunes and sacred honor" to go up against the most powerful military might in the world at that time. They were all British citizens--no small thing in the 18th century. But they took a huge risk to cast off that privileged state to keep the rights they knew belonged to them as a birthright from their God.
Eat hot dogs, wave sparklers, wear your flag shirt! And offer up a prayer to the Father of us all and thank Him for the blessing we have to live in this great country. Ask Him to bless us to be wise enough to maintain it as the beacon of freedom and rights for many years to come.
I've spent seventeen years teaching fourth graders, in two different states. I love teaching them history and the reasons why we have the United States of America. For eight years, one of my curriculum items was the Constitution. First, we learned all about the Magna Carta, then we moved into the events that led to the colonists declaring independence from Great Britain. We studied the Revolutionary War, and then, we were ready to study the Constitution. You might be thinking that it seems like a fairly advanced subject for nine year olds. Yes, and no. They were very interested in the all of it, for a variety of reasons.
First: It was the real thing! It wasn't abstract, or fictional. Real people had done real things. We lived quite near Washington D.C. and other historical areas. One of our favorite field trips was to Fort McHenry, where the Battle of Baltimore took place. We sang the National Anthem while standing on the very ramparts mentioned in the song. So, my Maryland students had a sense of history.
Second: It appealed to their childhood sense of fairness. Fourth graders are hyper aware of "fair" and have a strong need for order. As we'd learn about the various taxes, orders, boycotts, and burdens placed on the colonists as King George tried to extract repayment for the expenses of the French and Indian War, the students developed a growing sense of irritation and were so ready to declare independence themselves.
Third: It's an exciting story. Many of my students back east were children of military families. Their parents worked at the Navy base just across the river from our school. Some parents worked further north in the nation's capital or at the Pentagon. From our playground, we often saw Air Force One on its final approach to land at the base just forty miles north. Their family members worked every day for our nation, and the children knew it. And the stories of how we became our own country inspired them and gave them a sense of being part of long chain of people who were willing to do their part for America.
I was always amused when we'd get to the Constitution and especially the Bill of Rights. We'd read the content, then we'd talk about what it meant. I'd refer to the incidents during the years that led up to the Declaration of Independence. The students could connect those events to the prohibitions or guarantees laid forth in the document written to frame our government. There was often outrage expressed that anyone could even try to take away some of the freedoms stated in the Constitution. Imagine: you being forced to quarter soldiers in your home! You not being allowed to complain about government leaders! You being forced to give your taxes for a church you don't even go to!
So, today, or tomorrow...take some time to read a little history. Find out why we declared independence from Britain. Find out why those signers were willing to pledge their "lives, fortunes and sacred honor" to go up against the most powerful military might in the world at that time. They were all British citizens--no small thing in the 18th century. But they took a huge risk to cast off that privileged state to keep the rights they knew belonged to them as a birthright from their God.
Eat hot dogs, wave sparklers, wear your flag shirt! And offer up a prayer to the Father of us all and thank Him for the blessing we have to live in this great country. Ask Him to bless us to be wise enough to maintain it as the beacon of freedom and rights for many years to come.
USS Bowfin--naturally--a submarine, in honor of our son.
Monday, July 01, 2013
Feliz Cumpleanos
When he was born, our first son came right on his due date. How's that for a really compassionate child? And he is one of the few babies I know who've done that for their mother. He was born just three days before the big Bi-Centennial celebration for the USA, so I always associate his birthday with flags and fireworks. However, this also makes him a mature, grown adult man. Time flies...
It's time to celebrate him!! Every moment of his birth, babyhood and childhood are etched vividly into his parents' minds and we love to reminisce. Here is a small tour of some of those groovy days.
It's time to celebrate him!! Every moment of his birth, babyhood and childhood are etched vividly into his parents' minds and we love to reminisce. Here is a small tour of some of those groovy days.
Having a tasty snack. Old enough to stand up, but not yet walking.
Such a happy baby (probably cause he didn't know his mother had dressed him in a flowered night gown...)
Age two--trying on Dad's boots.
He's about 4 years old in the yard with his sister.
5th birthday party to which we invited all the friends and all their brothers and sisters...
About 4 years old being tossed into the air by a family friend.
At the beach
Laying on the floor with our giant kitty cat.
Hugging (mugging) baby sister, all dressed up for church.
After his baptism in a Wyoming river, with Grandpa and Dad.
Hanging out in So Cal on a hike somewhere. This was high school.
The main feature of this fine person's life is his mellow ability to keep calm and carry on. He gets along with everyone, everywhere. He can quietly smooth over stresses with people and technology and he is a loyal and true friend. He's funny, witty, thoughtful and kind. We love him and wish him a happy, happy birthday and many, many more.
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Sunday, After Church: 2:30 P.M.
And that was after I drove home and parked in the shade. We all hail Willis Carrier for his ingenious brain, because without the modern convenience of air conditioning....there's NO WAY I'd live here in the summer. Swimming pool was my friend for about an hour around 6:30 P.M. The sun was an orange orb shimmering just above the horizon at that point. The air temperature had dropped to 110 degrees. The water was perfection...
I saw this on Facebook tonight! Tee hee...I think that Utah and parts of California are in there, too.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Well, Yes...
It is HOT. Even for Las Vegas in the summer, it is definitely hot. I remember one of our first drives from San Diego to Wyoming after we were married. It was also the last week of June. We got to Baker, CA. (I think it was probably named for some person, but a more apt name couldn't be for one is truly baked in Baker, California, in the summer.) It was about 5:00 P.M. and we went into a restaurant to cool off for a bit. We didn't have air conditioning in our 1950 blue Ford pick-up, and we were feeling quite fried, having left the cool ocean air about noon. We had one little kid then; he was almost a year old. We asked the waitress when it would start to cool down. She replied, "About midnight." Little did we know that the "cool down" she referenced meant it would drop from 105 to about 95. So, we just girded our loins and kept driving northward, through Vegas, the Virgin River Gorge, St. George, and then finally we got up the hill into Cedar City where the altitude made the night air cool enough for us to feel that we might survive this summer trip after all. For our future journeys to visit the grandmothers, we learned to time our departure from the seaside so that we were driving through Las Vegas around midnight.
Last night, about 11:00 P.M. we went out to do a little hot tubbing (really it was just 99 degrees in the water) and the air temperature was still about 95 degrees. Without the sun shining down, however, it's really quite pleasant. I actually swam a lap in the pool first--the water there is 88 and it feels fine.
Last night, about 11:00 P.M. we went out to do a little hot tubbing (really it was just 99 degrees in the water) and the air temperature was still about 95 degrees. Without the sun shining down, however, it's really quite pleasant. I actually swam a lap in the pool first--the water there is 88 and it feels fine.
Today, as I drove around to do a few errands, I took this photo of my truck's thermometer at noon.
So when you listen to your newsreaders today, whether it is radio or television, and they breathlessly exclaim about the Western heatwave, they're only exaggerating a little. (I heard an opening line today in which the speaker declared "millions of people's lives at risk today" because of the heat. Well, yeessss....if they go outside and lay on the ground and don't drink any water...sheesh). But, even the homeless people are being gathered up and put into shelters where they can be in the air conditioning and drink water during the really hottest parts of the day. Local officials open "cooling shelters" in school gyms and rec centers when it's super hot. Some people don't have decent air conditioning, so they come over, too.
I often say, "Well, it's a dry heat" or "It's the desert in the summer" in discounting the heat. But, not today. Today, I agree: IT IS HOT and IT IS UNCOMFORTABLE. That's right. It is. We'll lie low inside and when the sun starts to set, we'll head to the pool. Too hot for daytime, but perfect for night.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Franken Feet--The Never Ending Saga
After Grandma Camp ended, I returned to the Mojave Desert (!!) and went in for a small surgery the next morning. Yes, yes....yet another attempt to make walking a pain-free event. This time, we were after the sural nerve. Each and every step I have taken with my right foot, for over a year, has resulted in the feeling of an ice-pick jabbing into my foot. As first, I thought it just needed more healing from the initial tendon repair surgery. However, as time passed, I knew it had to be more than that. The doctor tried to kill certain nerve ends in that area by injecting alcohol there to sclerose the nerve. But, those ultimately didn't work. He sent me to a neurologist and who experimented with a couple of different options....none of which were the solution. But, when I commented to this doctor that I thought the trouble was with my Achilles tendon and told him my symptoms, his eyes lit up and he exclaimed, "Oh, that's not your Achilles tendon. That's the sural nerve!." He injected it with Lidocain, and for eight hours, no pain! So, we scheduled this surgery on June 19th.
It's a little crazy when the nurses at the hospital surgical suite recognize you! Oh, she's back! But, we did the procedure, I laid around on the couch for several days resting and clearing my head from the drugs. It involved a deep incision at the top of my calf muscle, so it was important to just rest and heal for a while. Then, after week I took off the bandage and it looks like it's healing very nicely. The outer incision is closed with skin glue, so it takes a great deal of concentration to avoid picking at it. But, I learned from the first nerve surgery to just leave it alone and as my leg heals, the glue will dry up and peel off on its own. I can shower, but not soak. So, I'm out of the swimming pool for a few more days, but I'll be ready by Sunday afternoon. (It's supposed to reach 117 degrees by then...and yes, even I agree that it's hot. It's simply ridiculously hot.)
So, the result? NO ICE PICK!! I can walk without winching every step. Right now, I still have the tingling/burning effect in my leg and foot from the nerve being cut, but I know that will go away soon. The ability to use both of my feet equally when I walk is simply awesome! I have been limping and trying to avoid using my right foot for sooooo long, that I actually have to think about my gait as I walk. I need to use a proper stride instead of my gimpy-don't-use-the-whole-foot thing I've done for months and months. I walked down a flight of stairs on Tuesday, and realized that my foot only felt sore because I was using muscles and tendons that had been under-utilized this past year. It is an exciting time. I've been exer-cycling and doing sit-ups and (before the surgery) working out in the pool for about three weeks, and I already feel the difference in my core strength and my cardio/breathing. It's very exciting...I'll go see the nerve doctor in another couple of weeks and he's going to be excited too, I know.
I realize that this may not be the end of my stupid feet troubles, but to have it been the end of the Ice-Pick-in-the-Foot is a delightful phase. I missed walking correctly....so did my hips. They already feel better, too. Actually, I don't know how much to attribute to not standing up all day and how much to the renewed gait. But, I'll take it, no matter why!
It's a little crazy when the nurses at the hospital surgical suite recognize you! Oh, she's back! But, we did the procedure, I laid around on the couch for several days resting and clearing my head from the drugs. It involved a deep incision at the top of my calf muscle, so it was important to just rest and heal for a while. Then, after week I took off the bandage and it looks like it's healing very nicely. The outer incision is closed with skin glue, so it takes a great deal of concentration to avoid picking at it. But, I learned from the first nerve surgery to just leave it alone and as my leg heals, the glue will dry up and peel off on its own. I can shower, but not soak. So, I'm out of the swimming pool for a few more days, but I'll be ready by Sunday afternoon. (It's supposed to reach 117 degrees by then...and yes, even I agree that it's hot. It's simply ridiculously hot.)
So, the result? NO ICE PICK!! I can walk without winching every step. Right now, I still have the tingling/burning effect in my leg and foot from the nerve being cut, but I know that will go away soon. The ability to use both of my feet equally when I walk is simply awesome! I have been limping and trying to avoid using my right foot for sooooo long, that I actually have to think about my gait as I walk. I need to use a proper stride instead of my gimpy-don't-use-the-whole-foot thing I've done for months and months. I walked down a flight of stairs on Tuesday, and realized that my foot only felt sore because I was using muscles and tendons that had been under-utilized this past year. It is an exciting time. I've been exer-cycling and doing sit-ups and (before the surgery) working out in the pool for about three weeks, and I already feel the difference in my core strength and my cardio/breathing. It's very exciting...I'll go see the nerve doctor in another couple of weeks and he's going to be excited too, I know.
I realize that this may not be the end of my stupid feet troubles, but to have it been the end of the Ice-Pick-in-the-Foot is a delightful phase. I missed walking correctly....so did my hips. They already feel better, too. Actually, I don't know how much to attribute to not standing up all day and how much to the renewed gait. But, I'll take it, no matter why!
This makes five surgical scars on the right leg and foot, and five on the left foot. Some of the surgeries resulted in multiple sites, so that doesn't reflect the number of surgeries. Let's see...for the left leg/foot: there have been three operations. For the right foot/leg: there have been three as well. So, there you go! Franken Feet---hopefully there will be NO MORE sequels.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Family Fun
I was going through my phone and found a few more photos of Grandma Camp. This guitar shot is great because of the resemblance to an uncle who used to make a similar face.
And, a popular favorite: We went to Tournament of Kings. There are similar medieval-themed dinner shows in several other cities, and if you haven't gone, I highly recommend it. First, you get to eat with your hands. They bring dinner, but no silverware. You can tear apart the chicken with your fingers and raise your mug high and shout "Huzzah!!" In fact, you are instructed in the proper way to shout it and how to raise the mug. It is a very interactive event. It's like a rodeo in armor. Nice horses, daring riders and dancing girls. Very family friendly...Plus they sell swords and helmets.
It runs in the family to imitate Billy Idol, I guess.
He makes music for a career now.
(all-star Baltimore engineer...)
Here's sister riffing, too.
And, a popular favorite: We went to Tournament of Kings. There are similar medieval-themed dinner shows in several other cities, and if you haven't gone, I highly recommend it. First, you get to eat with your hands. They bring dinner, but no silverware. You can tear apart the chicken with your fingers and raise your mug high and shout "Huzzah!!" In fact, you are instructed in the proper way to shout it and how to raise the mug. It is a very interactive event. It's like a rodeo in armor. Nice horses, daring riders and dancing girls. Very family friendly...Plus they sell swords and helmets.
Somehow, I need to incorporate this into my classroom to let
my students realize that I am the boss and they can't mess with me.
Sister was leaning back and trying to avoid the sword play.
So I gave her the helmet to show that she had the authority to tell them to behave.
Monday, June 24, 2013
Being Grandma
The reason I live in the desert is because of the geographic location of the grandchildren. I live here because it is close enough to visit them regularly and I could find a good job. Friends ask why I don't live even closer than I do now. Well...because it doesn't snow here and it does snow where they live. And that is pretty much the main reason. You know how I go on and on about the sunshine. But, I do live within a few hours' drive and previously I lived a very long three days drive away. So, this is completely tolerable. This proximity permits frequent visits from them and even more frequent visits by us. We can buzz up there for a weekend event, like baptisms and baby blessings or even birthdays or performances. We end up traveling north most of the time for the big holidays because it is easier for us to go to them than for their lives to be uprooted on those events. It's all good. And, we've instituted Grandma Camp.
This year was the Third Annual Grandma Camp, as the seven year old Captain of Precision Language son of our daughter continually referenced it. He's the one who also pointed out each time we passed Mojave Street in our travels about town because -- hey! It's Mojave Street and we're in the Mojave Desert! Finally his almost-ten-year-old sister rebelled against this mention and shut down that repeated exclamation. See? Just one of the awesome opportunities you get to enjoy when attending Grandma Camp! (No, seriously---it's just their parents' childhoods redux---we LOVE it!!)
So, after the wedding, I loaded up the two kids who were free to attend this summer, and we headed south. When one travels on the interstate actually going from one state to the next, one passes so many enticing signs. They direct you to stop here to see that, and they mark historic events and buildings and routes. Usually, when driving up and back, we're on a mission to just travel as quickly as possible, with as few stops as possible. But, Grandma Camp is different. So, this trip we stopped at one of those sites that had teased us the many years we've been driving up and down I-15: The Utah Territorial Statehouse in Fillmore. Our granddaughter just finished a year of learning Utah state history in her fourth grade class, so we were ready to see it for real. It was an excellent state park and you should all plan to stop in someday. It also was a perfect opportunity to stretch our legs about 1/3 of the way along our drive.
Then we arrived in the Mojave, at last. When I plan this week of fun, I usually try to think of new things to do that we haven't done in previous years, but, silly me! That's because I'm a grown-up! The kids want to do all the things we've done before! So, the agenda is mostly: swim, eat, swim, go to Shark Reef, swim, watch movies, stay up late, go to another museum, swim, eat, play with their parents' old toys, swim. This year we also went to the Tournament of Kings show, too. The whole purpose is to spend a lot of time talking, laughing, swimming and just enjoying one another's company. We've gotten quite good at it.
So, if you have grandchildren, don't fail to spend time with them. I don't mean just a couple of hours, or a trip to Disneyland. I mean bring them to your house and spend a few days. We scrubbed the bathrooms, cooked dinner, cleaned up the kitchen. They had to make their beds each day. CoolGuy and the little brother spent some time in the garage tinkering with the motorcycle. We had some down time in which each of them just read books or worked on a craft they'd brought.
Real life....it was fun for me because it reminded me of the days being mom. Which days seemed like they'd go on forever, yet zoomed past in record time. Now that these kids are back home, it also reminded me why it's good to be mom in your 20's and 30's: you have a lot more energy and vim and vigor at that point! One of the great parts of Grandma Camp is that it is voluntary and can end when we choose. We try to conclude while people are still feeling like our grandson on the last night. "Grandma, do you know what is the worst part of Grandma Camp? The end!" Yes, but we'll do it again next year for sure!
This year was the Third Annual Grandma Camp, as the seven year old Captain of Precision Language son of our daughter continually referenced it. He's the one who also pointed out each time we passed Mojave Street in our travels about town because -- hey! It's Mojave Street and we're in the Mojave Desert! Finally his almost-ten-year-old sister rebelled against this mention and shut down that repeated exclamation. See? Just one of the awesome opportunities you get to enjoy when attending Grandma Camp! (No, seriously---it's just their parents' childhoods redux---we LOVE it!!)
So, after the wedding, I loaded up the two kids who were free to attend this summer, and we headed south. When one travels on the interstate actually going from one state to the next, one passes so many enticing signs. They direct you to stop here to see that, and they mark historic events and buildings and routes. Usually, when driving up and back, we're on a mission to just travel as quickly as possible, with as few stops as possible. But, Grandma Camp is different. So, this trip we stopped at one of those sites that had teased us the many years we've been driving up and down I-15: The Utah Territorial Statehouse in Fillmore. Our granddaughter just finished a year of learning Utah state history in her fourth grade class, so we were ready to see it for real. It was an excellent state park and you should all plan to stop in someday. It also was a perfect opportunity to stretch our legs about 1/3 of the way along our drive.
Then we arrived in the Mojave, at last. When I plan this week of fun, I usually try to think of new things to do that we haven't done in previous years, but, silly me! That's because I'm a grown-up! The kids want to do all the things we've done before! So, the agenda is mostly: swim, eat, swim, go to Shark Reef, swim, watch movies, stay up late, go to another museum, swim, eat, play with their parents' old toys, swim. This year we also went to the Tournament of Kings show, too. The whole purpose is to spend a lot of time talking, laughing, swimming and just enjoying one another's company. We've gotten quite good at it.
So, if you have grandchildren, don't fail to spend time with them. I don't mean just a couple of hours, or a trip to Disneyland. I mean bring them to your house and spend a few days. We scrubbed the bathrooms, cooked dinner, cleaned up the kitchen. They had to make their beds each day. CoolGuy and the little brother spent some time in the garage tinkering with the motorcycle. We had some down time in which each of them just read books or worked on a craft they'd brought.
Real life....it was fun for me because it reminded me of the days being mom. Which days seemed like they'd go on forever, yet zoomed past in record time. Now that these kids are back home, it also reminded me why it's good to be mom in your 20's and 30's: you have a lot more energy and vim and vigor at that point! One of the great parts of Grandma Camp is that it is voluntary and can end when we choose. We try to conclude while people are still feeling like our grandson on the last night. "Grandma, do you know what is the worst part of Grandma Camp? The end!" Yes, but we'll do it again next year for sure!
Friday, June 21, 2013
Busy, Busy, Busy
Really, I'm still around. But, that's part of why this blog has had no new posts: I've been around! After the Oregon graduation, I returned to finish the last crazy three days of school. We did the usual: awards assembly, memory book autographs, cleaned out our desks. Then on the final day, it was Pancake Day and stack-up-the-desks and all the final fun moments of The Last Day of School. We teachers rushed about filing, filling out, packing up and tearing down. I checked out from my school on Thursday afternoon early, went home and unloaded a couple of boxes of junk.
Then, I pack my suitcase and hopped in the truck for the drive north. On Friday, I attended a beautiful wedding for my niece at the Salt Lake Temple. On Saturday, I drove even further north for the reception in their family's exquisite yard in the most beautiful place in the world in June: Star Valley, Wyoming. Don't believe me? Just look:
Then, I pack my suitcase and hopped in the truck for the drive north. On Friday, I attended a beautiful wedding for my niece at the Salt Lake Temple. On Saturday, I drove even further north for the reception in their family's exquisite yard in the most beautiful place in the world in June: Star Valley, Wyoming. Don't believe me? Just look:
I also got to hang out with family members and line up for the photo that we've been taking for nearly fifty years:
June 2013
December 1963
Yes, there are only seven of us in each photo. In the top photo, we're missing Trish, who left us eight years ago. In the bottom photo, we don't yet have Shelly, the mother of the bride in the top one.
So, after the wedding fun, I drove half-way back to my daughter's house in Utah, then stayed in a motel. The next morning, I drove the final two hours and we attended church. My son's family came down for dinner that evening. Much playing and shrieking followed in the basement while the adults talked and laughed up stairs. Monday, I had a wonderful day with an old friend, talking and eating and catching up. Tuesday, I loaded up a couple of grandchildren and we headed south for the desert. It was Grandma Camp time!! Stay tuned tomorrow for more adventures.
But today, enjoy the Summer Solstice---the Longest Day of the Year. That fine, fine day when sunshine rules and cold darkness drools. I'd really love to go to Stonehenge some time on June 21st and watch the celebrants. But, mostly, it would be to honor those ancient ones who recognized how delightful it is to enjoy the sun on this great day of its Northern Hemisphere apex. Yes, yes, now the days will gradually grow shorter and we will be aware of that in a few weeks. But, today, revel--glory--celebrate with swimming, picnics, hiking, whatever. Enjoy Old Sol. Here's my take on those two photos up there: Winter vs Summer in Star Valley, Wyoming.
(In the early 90's, I was enrolled in college to finish a bachelor's degree and one class was a writing course. I learned a great deal from that teacher, so I'll always appreciate my time there. The other reason it was a great experience is that it forced me to write regularly. Here's an essay from that class in which I had to compare/contrast something.)
Milking in January or June
Growing up on a dairy farm, I had the cow milking as an ever present part of my life. It was as constant as the change from darkness to day, as the sunlight spilled over the mountains that formed the backdrop to our farm. Every day it happened: the cows never had a vacation. The only thing that changed was the weather--the extremes of the region creating a dramatic contrast in the conditions of our never-ending ritual.
Winter prevailed for more than half of the year. It made milking cows in our old wooden barn an endurance contest. Each January afternoon the school bus deposited us at home and, with great determination, my sister and I would resolve to get right out to the barn. The sooner we got to it, the sooner we could be finished. But, once inside the house, it was so hard to leave. If mama had baked cinnamon rolls or cookies, the air smelled so enticing. Even the damp, clean scent of the drying laundry, hung in the stairway, created a coziness that drew us closer to the heater and slowed the donning of our chore clothes, chilled from hanging on the porch.
I pulled on layer after layer---thermal, denim, knits---whatever I thought could ward off the outdoor chill visible in the ice crystals creeping up the inside of the kitchen window. Two or three socks on each rubber-booted foot, a dishtowel tied around my hair and arms jutting out from my sides because of the thick layers, I stepped out the door with the house-milk bucket swinging from the crook of my arm, while my hands hid in my pockets.
The first breath of that tingling air shocked my lungs, and my nose and cheeks immediately began to chill. The sun was still hovering over the west hills, but its pale light was useless as a source of warmth. The atmosphere was thin and brittle, and the snow squeaked dryly under my feet. I walked quickly to the barn just to get under shelter and hopefully find relief from the sharpness of the cold. Leaving the bucket in the milkhouse, I went through the gate to fetch the cows from their housing shed. Even the cows were reluctant to come out on a night like that. I had to prod, coax and threaten them with the dog to roust them from the the coziness of the shed where their collective warmth and moist breath gave a foggy boost to the temperature by many degrees over that outside.
Tripping over frozen cow pies in the gathering twilight, I slipped and trudged behind them as we approached the barnyard. By now, my dad, finished with the school bus route, was on his way out, similarly bundled, to refill all the feed mangers and carry loads of hay to sustain the other animals in the rest of the pastures. We exchanged signals, not wanting to open our mouths in greeting because then the cold air went straight into our chests without any prewarming.
If the vacuum lines weren't blocked by ice, the milking proceeded smoothly. During the few minutes it took each cow's milk to be extracted into the machine's bucket, I slid my freezing hands into the warm place between her leg and udder until my fingers tingled, signifying the return of blood flow. With the outside temperature dropping to a negative twenty-five degrees and only the wooden walls of the barn to protect us, I appreciated the living hand-warmers.
If it was storming, I had another sensory delight: dripping snow sliding off the cows as they warmed up standing in the stalls awaiting their turn. It usually landed right on the back of my neck and quickly slid down inside my coverall. Often an irritated animal would stamp her foot and flick her tail threateningly This was a tail that ended in a mass of of ice coating each hair so that you could hear clicking as it flew through the air, straight for your face.
At long last, the two hours came to an end. I turned the last cow out to return to her warm bed, washed out the milkers, and put the cans of warm milk in the cooling trough, always stepping with great care to avoid slipping on the thick sheet of ice that inevitably coated the cement floor of the milkhouse. As I turned out the lights and crossed the barnyard by the light of the millions of stars shining over the brittle landscape, just seeing the glow from the house windows began to warm me, knowing I'd be inside in moments, comfortable---for another ten hours at least.
One might ask, "How could you endure this, twice a day, for the whole winter?" Because I knew that winter would end, and spring would come and so would June. June in Star Valley, Wyoming was worth the entire seven months of winter. Summer had truly come by June with leaves on the trees, flowers blooming, pastures lush with grass, and long, warm days.
At milking time in June I was almost grateful for an excuse to be outside. A refuge in winter, in the summer our house was only a barrier to the sensory pleasures of the outdoors. Dressed only in cut-off jeans and a light blouse, barefoot in my rubber boots, I cheerfully whistled up the dog to accompany me up the field to call in the herd of cows. I broke off a sprig of lilacs as I went through the gate, and buried my face in the sweet purple trumpets clustered along the twig. I could see the cows had wandered halfway to the mountain. They were scattered across the deep green landscape: fawn colored Jerseys, orange and white Guernseys, and the standard black and white Holsteins, grazing in clover up to their ankles. Meadowlarks, perched on the fence posts whistled their distinctive melody as a mother kill-deer ran along in front of us, doing the broken wing diversion, to keep us from her babies nestled in the tall grass by the ditch.
The sun was low enough in the sky to be comfortable, but the evening chill had not begun. The heat of the day rose up from the grass and combined with the slight dust from the herd's hooves as they trailed leisurely down the road to the barnyard, sending a soft cloud shimmering aloft. Through this cloud a flock of tiny white and yellow butterflies swirled, disturbed from their resting place as the cows passed.
In the barn, with the top half of the divided door open, the sunbeams stretched through the hay dust from the loft and striped the cows as they stood, sleek and clean from living outdoors, away from the close quarters of the sheds. Their sun-warmed hides felt soft against my bare arms as I crouched down to attach the milkers. Waiting for the milk, I gazed out the open door watching lambs caper in the adjoining field. The cats, bulging from the day's mouse hunt, twined around my ankles purring for warm milk in their dish. Since no one but cows could hear, I usually sang Rogers and Hammerstein songs. Sometimes, I brought my mother's radio out and tuned into rock and roll before the sun set and the station went off the air.
Even when all the clean-up was finished, and the milkhouse floor was swept dry, I lingered outdoors. I'd go for a ride on my horse, or play softball with my sister, or hang around on the lawn watching my mother work in her flower beds. The sun went down behind the mountains, but twilight lasted for another hour. It was the best time of day to swing, or pull tiny carrots from the garden. As it got darker, we'd scare ourselves with a game of "No Bears Are Out Tonight." Only the total darkness finally forced us inside.
June was a month to be outdoors. January is a month to live in Southern California.
Wednesday, June 05, 2013
The Graduates
We attended our daughter's graduation on Monday. She is now a Master of Nursing Practice. We went up to Portland to eat and visit and applaud and we accomplished all three. Here are some photos we took to commemorate the grand event.
Yes, she is tall. However, she was also wearing four-inch heels
therefore dwarf-izing her parents.
Dad and daughter beaming with joy and pride.
Matching outfits---aren't we cute??
Friday, May 31, 2013
A Little Break
My job this week has been somewhat like juggling live grenades. The students are about ready to blast off. We brought it on ourselves. On Friday, a week ago, there was a staff development day. The students were off, the teachers mostly worked. Then it was a three-day weekend to celebrate Memorial Day. So the children had four long days to realize that summer is here and they want to be FREE!!!
I don't blame them. I really, really didn't want to return to school on Tuesday. What a drag...However, we had a lot of things to do and we jumped back into the harnesses and shouted, "Giddy-up!"
The key word there being "giddy"....Everyone is just so over the school year. Good news for me---I'm going to Oregon tomorrow morning to visit my daughter and watch her graduate with her master's degree in nursing practice. The graduation is actually on Monday, so we return to Nevada late Monday night. I don't have to deal with the wild people on Monday! My poor substitute....
When I get back, we'll be very busy. On Tuesday, it is clean out your desk day, put together our Memory Books day, awards assembly day, Memory Book/Yearbook signing party. Then, on Wednesday it is Pancake Breakfast day. It's my end of year tradition started in my poverty school when I realized that some of my students might not get any lunch when they went home at noon. Plus, it really burns up that final three hours, especially now that I have 96 fourth graders to shovel pancakes into. It's fun and I have help and, seriously, the day just zooms past till---suddenly---it's 12:15 and everyone can go home.
Except the teachers. But, finally, we can put everything away and pack up and stack up and take a deep breath. I keep reading these proposals to make all schools into year-round or some other version that eliminates the ten week summer break. And I say "Please...you don't know how intense it is to be a teacher. We really need that break, so that we can recover and generate enthusiasm for the next fall." Seriously. I was in a year-round school for two years. I was exhausted. There was never an "end"---it just went on and on. Three weeks is simply not enough time to regenerate and recover.
I stayed tonight until 8:30 to finish copying the Memory Book pages so lovingly written and illustrated by my students. The copy machines were ridiculous and obstreperous, but I finally managed to outwit them. Three class sets from 33 students in each room. They're so awesome, too. Each student wrote about an event or a class from fourth grade, then drew a little picture. I copy them back to back, and we assemble the books in class. Then, everyone gets a memento from our year. You'd be impressed how grateful they are, too, because many of them can't afford a yearbook. So the "free" Memory Book (card stock bought by me, hours of copying done by me on my time) is a wonderful gift.
So, off to Portland I go tomorrow. I'll eat the succulent food we always find up there. I'll cheer on my amazing daughter for her awesome accomplishment. I'll relax and I won't even think about my class for three whole days. Whew...I just hope none of the grenades go off for the substitute. She is my hero this weekend.
I don't blame them. I really, really didn't want to return to school on Tuesday. What a drag...However, we had a lot of things to do and we jumped back into the harnesses and shouted, "Giddy-up!"
The key word there being "giddy"....Everyone is just so over the school year. Good news for me---I'm going to Oregon tomorrow morning to visit my daughter and watch her graduate with her master's degree in nursing practice. The graduation is actually on Monday, so we return to Nevada late Monday night. I don't have to deal with the wild people on Monday! My poor substitute....
When I get back, we'll be very busy. On Tuesday, it is clean out your desk day, put together our Memory Books day, awards assembly day, Memory Book/Yearbook signing party. Then, on Wednesday it is Pancake Breakfast day. It's my end of year tradition started in my poverty school when I realized that some of my students might not get any lunch when they went home at noon. Plus, it really burns up that final three hours, especially now that I have 96 fourth graders to shovel pancakes into. It's fun and I have help and, seriously, the day just zooms past till---suddenly---it's 12:15 and everyone can go home.
Except the teachers. But, finally, we can put everything away and pack up and stack up and take a deep breath. I keep reading these proposals to make all schools into year-round or some other version that eliminates the ten week summer break. And I say "Please...you don't know how intense it is to be a teacher. We really need that break, so that we can recover and generate enthusiasm for the next fall." Seriously. I was in a year-round school for two years. I was exhausted. There was never an "end"---it just went on and on. Three weeks is simply not enough time to regenerate and recover.
I stayed tonight until 8:30 to finish copying the Memory Book pages so lovingly written and illustrated by my students. The copy machines were ridiculous and obstreperous, but I finally managed to outwit them. Three class sets from 33 students in each room. They're so awesome, too. Each student wrote about an event or a class from fourth grade, then drew a little picture. I copy them back to back, and we assemble the books in class. Then, everyone gets a memento from our year. You'd be impressed how grateful they are, too, because many of them can't afford a yearbook. So the "free" Memory Book (card stock bought by me, hours of copying done by me on my time) is a wonderful gift.
So, off to Portland I go tomorrow. I'll eat the succulent food we always find up there. I'll cheer on my amazing daughter for her awesome accomplishment. I'll relax and I won't even think about my class for three whole days. Whew...I just hope none of the grenades go off for the substitute. She is my hero this weekend.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Memorial Day
When I was a child, Memorial Day was May 30th. The Federal Holiday act was passed in 1971, the year I graduated from high school. That moved the official celebration to the last Monday of May. Memorial Day was always the first event of summer vacation--school was over. Since so many people in our community back then had farms, the students were needed at home that time of year to work with their parents. The calendar said Spring, but in the Rocky Mountain valley where we grew up, that just meant that the storms were less likely to leave snow that lasted more than a day. Many Memorial Days of my childhood featured cold rain and, occasionally, sleet or actual snow.
My mom had several cemeteries to visit and many relatives to whom she paid homage with flowers. I especially liked to be present when our visit coincided with the Presentation of The Colors by the local chapter of the VFW. A bugler played "Taps" and the (usually) older men would stand at attention with the flags whipping around in the wind, or lying wet and still against the flagpoles.
I'm proud to be part of a family who served our country in the military. I have a veteran grandfather, father, husband and son. Several uncles, brothers-in-law, both my father & mother-in-law, nephews and one niece are veterans. So Memorial Day is a day of remembrance and honor in our family. We do miss those who have left this life, but I also like this quote from General Patton:
My mom had several cemeteries to visit and many relatives to whom she paid homage with flowers. I especially liked to be present when our visit coincided with the Presentation of The Colors by the local chapter of the VFW. A bugler played "Taps" and the (usually) older men would stand at attention with the flags whipping around in the wind, or lying wet and still against the flagpoles.
I'm proud to be part of a family who served our country in the military. I have a veteran grandfather, father, husband and son. Several uncles, brothers-in-law, both my father & mother-in-law, nephews and one niece are veterans. So Memorial Day is a day of remembrance and honor in our family. We do miss those who have left this life, but I also like this quote from General Patton:
"It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died.
Rather we should thank God that such men lived."
Lynn Ray Welch
U.S. Navy 1941-1945
Radioman
Kelly C. Frome
U.S. Navy 1972-1986
TRADEVMAN
Peter Kelly Frome
U.S. Navy 2011-present
Sonar Technician
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