December, 2011

My Mother was a master gatherer, whether it was Morell mushrooms, or the tender asparagus sprouts that would shoot up in Spring along the fence following the side of Iowa Highway 2 which bordered our farm, or the hazelnuts that grew wild just waiting to be spotted by someone with a discerning eye and no fear of crawling through a neighbor’s barbed wire fence to reach them. Indeed, one could say that nothing missed her keen eye. She found all these delicacies because that was part of her heritage as a child growing up on a farm in Nebraska where ‘hard scrabble’ was the way of life and those who lived there learned, of necessity, to see and use all around them in order to survive.

Then, of course, there was the corn my sisters and I helped her glean after school in the cold of a November day which I remember as a time of frost-bitten fingers and toes as we complained bitterly while walking the rows kicking the downed stocks looking for the bright yellow ears of corn that were hiding in their brown husks having been missed earlier by dad with his mechanical corn picker. She used this corn to feed her chickens who in return provided us with eggs and fried chicken.

Mother had the ability to create beauty with what she had at hand. At least it seemed so to my mind as I watched her work her magic time after time in our home. This was a gift that served her family well as she and dad struggled to stay afloat financially on a small family farm in the 1950′s. But no matter how grim our finances were she always managed to provide Christmas for the family. I particularly remember one year when there wasn’t enough money to buy a tree (that isn’t surprising considering my sister and I were both attending BYU) so she had dad go out to the back pasture and cut down one of the small cedar trees which, when strung with lights and ornaments did just fine as a substitute for the traditional pine tree. I remember her apologizing for it but to me it was beautiful—it was home. I like the thought expressed by Bob Hope: “When we recall Christmas past, we usually find that the simplest things-not the great occasions-give off the greatest glow of happiness.”

Gathering is what Christmas is about isn’t it.  Our deepest feelings are inextricably tied to family and the connections we have with one another.  I cherish the memories of my childhood home.  They are sweet to me.  Just as sweet are the memories of the family your dad and I were privileged to raise.  I treasure those memories.  I have lived long enough now to realize that the only ‘things’ of real worth in life are the relationships we build with each other.  How delightful it is to watch as each of you has gone on to create your own families which in turn gives us our precious grandchildren and now, our great-grandchildren as well.

Your father and I know that our time here on earth is growing shorter with each passing year. The thought of leaving those we love behind would be hard to bear without the knowledge that we will be reunited on the other side. This knowledge gives me comfort and great joy. I know God lives. I know Jesus is our Savior. I know that the real gift of Christmas, eternal life through Christ’s atoning sacrifice, began with His birth over 2000 years ago which to me, is why, at Christmas, the heart goes home and I am reminded again of what it will mean for us all as we are gathered together once more.
  
May this be a blessed Christmas for you all.

love, Mom

September 9, 2011

It’s official! Fall is in the air. This announcement used to be the purvey of MGH back in the day when he was up and about at an earlier hour than his current health allows. Now, though, we have to rely on our garage door for this information and as of two days ago, it has spoken.

At this point, I must explain that for the last several years said door will, thankfully, open when commanded by it’s master ‘the remote’. It will, however, not close no matter how often the signal is sent if it is the least bit chilled. I probably shouldn’t be writing this for fear that the fates will get wind of it and cause even more mischief but as of this moment it is possible to get the garage door to lower by first raising the door, backing the car out of the garage and then exiting and returning to the master switch positioned by the entrance to the kitchen and holding the control down until the door has lowered completely and I do mean completely as failure to do so results in the door answering it’s hidden muse to rise once more even if it is only inches away from complete closure. Please do not ask me how I know this, sigh. Having achieved closure one can then exit by the front door, keys to hand (required to lock the front door) and proceed to the car which has been patiently waiting for further instructions and proceed on ones merry way.

Lao-tzu, a Chinese philosopher (604 BC – 531 BC) is credited with “A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”. While I understand that there are deep philosophical connotations in this simple statement I feel I must amend it just a ‘titch to accommodate our present condition, “A journey of a thousand miles begins once the garage door is down”.

So, why then do I say that Fall is in the air? Simple. For the past two mornings I have had places to be that required me to leave the house by 8:30 and the garage door wouldn’t close because it was too cold. Summer is, indeed, over.

April 23, 2011

The window over my kitchen sink looks out across the Cedar Valley where a constant panorama awaits my sight as the seasons pass in review. Right now I am enjoying Spring as she shyly works her way into my view with hesitant bursts of tiny leaves appearing on bush and tree with here and there a willow already exploding into vibrant green.

As always, at this time of year my thoughts are drawn to the message this new life brings, a silent reminder lest I forget that Christ rose from the cold, Winter of the grave to live once more in full Heavenly glory with body and soul reunited never to be separated again.

Martin Luther expressed it this way: Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection, not in books alone, but in every leaf in spring-time.

May this joyous message uplift your heart. He lives and so shall we.

P.S. Sylvia and Tom along with Franklin left this morning for the return trip to their home in Wisconsin. It was so good to have them visit for a few days. I had to chuckle at the posting Sylvia put up on facebook. It went like this. New tires for car $400.00, replace transmission halfway through trip $1500.00, replace dropped cell phone $100.00. Seeing family, priceless.

March 2011

March is, and has always been, unpredictable caught as she is between Winter’s icy grip and Spring’s eager enthusiasm. This March has certainly been no different than all the others I have seen, which to be honest, makes me glad as I find it comforting to experience, once more, the familiar patterns that have gone before. Not, mind you that I enjoy the raging winds howling through the night as they did earlier in the month or the temporary inconvenience of a snow storm or two, which I can endure because I know they won’t last forever with bright sunny days just waiting ’round the corner.

While living in Saudi Arabia where MGH worked as a nutritionist on the world’s largest dairy farm I found myself with time on my hands due to the isolation of women from the larger world. To amuse myself I would sometimes write little ditties. Here is one that is somewhat apropo to the subject at hand: “Like the God’s we also travel one eternal round by laws bound lest all unravel.” Each year of my life has been different with just enough structure to hold me safe in this life’s embrace.

Trusting you are well, and as happy as one can be in an imperfect world, I leave one final thought with you. An Irish thought of course:)

May the road rise to meet you.
May the wind be always at your back.
May the sun shine warm upon your face.
And rains fall soft upon your fields.
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.

I had mixed feelings as my first Fast Friday in Saudi Arabia approached. There was no question in my mind about actually fasting. I felt the need to fast and attempt to bring myself into closer touch and greater harmony with my Father in Heaven. I felt the need to prepare myself to receive the Spirit. I wasn’t quite sure about holding a testimony meeting by myself but decided it would be no different from a regular sacrament meeting except that I would not need to prepare a talk. I did not hold a fast and testimony meeting that first Fast Friday however, as I would have had to go to the canteen for bread and didn’t feel like explaining why I would take only one piece of bread and walk out. I decided to wait until I had my own villa. It had been promised to me in about 10 more days which would be in time for next month.

I moved into my own villa on 19 February, a Wednesday, so declared 21 February to be fast day and held my first fast and testimony meeting by myself. I had been issued a tea set as part of the kitchen equipment for my private villa. The tea cups were tiny things, in the best Saudi tradition, not much more than twice as big as ordinary sacrament cups. I decided the tea set would be my sacrament service set. On Friday morning I carefully washed and sterilized all the cups and saucers in the tea set and put them aside on the end of one shelf in the kitchen cupboard.

When it came time for Fast and Testimony meeting I was surprised at the depths of my feelings. It was very humbling to bear my testimony out loud knowing that no one but God and, if any were present, angels could hear. After I stood up I spent a long time just crying quietly before I could say a word. It was one of those special times when I knew without doubt that God does live, we owe our very existence to him and the gospel is true. The Spirit witnessed to me as I stood there and I felt the presence of angels near me, watching over me.

Al Safi Dairy Establishment
Al Kharj, Saudi Arabia
21 February 1992

October 25, 2010

How quickly the days fly by now as this year seeks its conclusion with shortened days that rob us of the summers sun. Fall always brings thoughts to me of endings as I reflect on the year which is so rapidly approaching its close. Do you ever feel that way? I wonder sometimes why I worry about how much time, at age 70, I have left on this earth. It seems to me that I spend way too much time dwelling in the past or wishing for the future to come more quickly, which is why I like this little thought by Emily Dickenson, “Forever is composed of nows.”

For me this means the now of the rich gold leaves on the trees by the church which as they fall carpet the ground for a few brief days until the wind comes and scatters them away.

It is the now of the rose bush by my front porch filled with blossoms whose vibrant colors put it’s summer blooms to shame as they release their beauty in one final glorious burst before Winter’s icy hand puts them to sleep until Spring comes once more.

It is the now of standing in line to get fabric cut in the new JoAnn’s store watching as others stand there as well, their carts filled with bright fabrics waiting to be transformed into Halloween costumes or quilts or perhaps a pretty dress for an upcoming dance.

It is holding my good husband’s hand as we sit together in church as we have done now for almost 50 years.

It is the now of a grandchild’s laughter and hugs as they come to ‘play’ with grandma for a few brief hours.

Life is precious isn’t it. May God bless you and keep you safe as you rejoice in the ‘nows’ of your life.

October 3, 2010

Face book is an interesting phenomenon. Millions of people can connect with family/friends/friends of friends/everyone in the world if they so desire and aren’t too concerned with exposing themselves through comments/pictures/etc. to those they care about and those who could care less. Snippets of information are exchanged which often need a Rosetta Stone to interpret. I herein submit for your perusal the following thread which began when # 4 daughter wrote on her facebook ‘wall’.

SYLVIA: Outdoors to prep the windows for framing or indoors catching up on sewing projects? I don’t really feel motivated to do either.

MARIE: I’ll pick the sewing projects for you. That sounds fun to me. I’m not sure what’s involved with the window prep project?
October 1 at 10:58am

SYLVIA: I have a basket of mending that has been sitting under my sewing table for a half a dozen years. Sigh. I should probably just pitch it.
October 1 at 12:02pm

SYLVIA: Besides, you are too sick to be working! Stay in bed and drink herbal tea. (This was in response to an earlier posting by #1 daughter saying that she was ‘down for the count’ which forced her kicking and screaming to bed where even there she refused to yield to the need for rest.)
October 1 at 12:03

MARIE: Ya. The way we grow around here, nobody would fit into anything purchased more than a few years ago. Pitch it. Then you can do something fun.
October 1 at 7:04pm

MOM: Miss Randell’s rule of thumb for ‘pitching’ was, “if you haven’t thought about something or used it in the last year then it is safe to send it on to it’s reward”. Your conscience can be at peace if you find a new home for your mending.
Saturday at 6:16am

MARIE: See, there you go. When it comes to sewing or any home economics issue, Mom has Miss Randell’s answer for you.
Saturday at 7:23am via

SYLVIA: The trouble with Miss Randell’s advice is that after I pitch, I usually think of it again, along with a good use.
Saturday at 5:29pm.

SYLVIA: These are my curtains, BTW, which the window hasn’t outgrown, and I really don’t want to look at or think about because I sewed them wrong in the first place so I have to undo some work to get them to work.
Saturday at 5:30pm

MOM: Ah so, now we go to advice from Honorable Father which is–never throw anything away that you might have a need for even if that need might not occur in your lifetime. Isn’t it nice that you can take your pick! However, my advice is, when in doubt, throw it out. There have only been a few times that I have regretted throwing something out and, of course, by then it was too late.
Saturday at 5:46pm

MARIE: Ha ha. That’s true. Mom doesn’t regret throwing anything out until the complaints start chiming in from everyone else. And like you say, Mom, by then it’s too late. You’re so funny! You’d love Brittany, Mom. She is the pitch-out queen. I feel like I’ve won a victory if she lets me keep anything while we’re cleaning out. You should definitely save those curtains, Sylvia. Even if they don’t work, they could come in handy for something one day.
Sunday at 7:37am

MOM: Good grief Marie. That thought is the bane of all who wish for perfection in their house keeping which, by the way, is defined as something that is never noticed until it’s not done. I say this because in order to follow Brigham Young’s excellent advice of, “A place for everything and everything in its place” one must have many places for said ‘everythings’ to be placed and therein lies the heart of the matter as there is rarely enough space to meet the demand which is why ‘pitching’ is a good thing to learn. Of course if one doesn’t learn this while still alive one’s children will do it for them when they die. . . .
Sunday at 9:21am

SYLVIA: Good point, Mom. I am also finding my “places” getting taken by grown children who just want to store a few things. Not that I’ve ever left anything at your house! ;D

MARIE: There then, that decides it. Pitch them out. I was just kidding. Because something might come in handy one day is what all the hoarders say, don’t they? My rule now is: If something comes into the house, something else needs to leave. I just don’t always get around to deciding what needs to leave.
20 hours ago

MARIE: Ha. I love it when Mom says “good grief.” I can just hear her say it, can’t you? We love you, Mom.
23 hours ago.

And there you have it, a small glimpse of why we all love facebook!

BTW, another solution for those who are of the ‘saving’ persuasion and I truly believe that this is genetically programmed into the DNA of those so challenged, although this has not yet been scientifically proven, is to place all that you are ‘saving’ in an empty room. When that room is filled close the door and never enter it again. If kept up faithfully, by the time you die you will have just the right amount of space for your recliner (hopefully the kind that lifts you up to a standing position), and a television to help you sleep which is all the space you will need for the remainder of your life.

If anyone has anything to add they can post it on facebook. And yes Sylvia, you did leave a ‘few’ things when you left home. . . .

September 26, 2010

Today, near the end of the Gospel Doctrine class, Brother H., who is a former Bishop with a gazillion years of experience and service in the church, walked all the way from the back of the room, a distance I would guess of about 50 feet, in order to stand in the front of the class. He prefaced his answer to the question he was responding to by stating, along with naming names, that he assumed there had been an excellent discussion that day and that all those who had taken part would go home much enlightened but none of those sitting in the back of the room would as they couldn’t hear a word that was said. This brought an immediate response from HG, our class president, who wasted no time pointing out that that there were seats still available in the front of the room. She was quite correct as the whole front row was empty. Brother H. replied that while that was so there weren’t nearly enough seats available for all who desired them and would we, in the future, please speak LOUDER. His comments caused many who had been sitting in polite but somnolent posture to awaken and take a renewed interest in the lesson which was actually quite interesting, even if it was on Isaiah who while offering much enlightenment concerning past, present and future events does so in a manner that always gives me a headache.

To me it seemed as as if his comments brought a breath of fresh air into the room that mischievously tickled the funny bones of our usually docile group. For the remaining class time there were calls from the back of “louder” whilst those in the front laughed and responded with encouragement for them to ‘move on up’ to the front where the Celestial Kingdom (which is what some call the front row because so few make it there) awaited them. And to think that there are those who say nothing interesting ever happens in Sunday School class!

This, of course, raises the question of why the front seats of any meeting are so often sparsely filled. I can see the justification of being a back bencher if one has small children who need to be taken out or if one has arrived late and wishes to slip in as unnoticed as possible, but to have the majority of the ward sitting in the overflow area?

Not that is is a a problem for me as MGH, who, because of his failing hearing, prefers the front row where he can hear better which makes sense although I sometimes wonder about just how necessary it really is as he often sits with his eyes closed. When questioned he says he can hear just as well with his eyes closed as he can with them opened. As he never snores I take him at his word. But if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck then it probably is a duck. ‘Nuff said. . . . But please, while we are on the subject, can someone tell me why there are those who can sleep in a meeting without their head drooping or jerking? The fact that some can while I can’t leads me to conclude, once more, that life is often not fair!

That front rows encourage sprawl is a self evident truth to anyone who has ever sat there. Not that this matters to anyone except possibly the deacons who stand to be tripped by outstretched feet if they aren’t careful. I try to be polite and keep my feet tucked neatly away as the thought of being responsible for a fallen deacon is not something I wish to contemplate. No, the real problem for me isn’t sprawling but rather that I don’t know who is at church and who isn’t as my view is limited to just what is in front of me. Sigh.

MGH’s church calling requires him to attend meetings at the Cedar City Young Adult Singles Stake (formerly known as the Southern Utah University Third Stake) which was formed last month in the hopes of corralling the young people who fall through the cracks as they age out of Young Men/Young Women at eighteen and then go into inactivity by failing to attend meetings in either their home wards or transitioning to a singles ward. This has made for a few unintended consequences in our ward such as discovering that the daughter of one of the sisters my partner and I visit teach had been added to our list. When we heard this we looked at each other and shook our heads in disbelief — not that we weren’t willing but we couldn’t help but wonder how easy it would be for a twenty year old to relate to visiting teachers who are in their seventies. When I mentioned our concern to the RS President she laughed and said that it was only until they had all the membership records of the young adults in our ward switched over to the new singles wards and since they needed to have everyone assigned a visiting teacher until this took place they just decided to temporarily put them with their mother’s visiting teachers.

So anyway, when MGH is off doing his thing which is most of the time during the school year, I sit with the “unattached” women of the ward which includes the Bishop’s wife as well as the divorced, widowed or otherwise single sisters whose days of calling themselves ‘young’ are long gone. I will quickly admit that it is nice to be able to have someone welcome you when you enter the chapel alone. I really appreciate their kindness in including me in their ‘row’ which has the added benefit of allowing me to take in a little more of the ‘action’ going on in the chapel. Take for instance three year old Emma who, managed to wiggle out of her grandma’s arms not once but three times last week thereby achieving her goal of reaching the organ. If she failed in getting enough attention the first time, she had it the second time as the attention of the whole congregation was riveted on her as she took off once more with grandma in hot pursuit. By the third time she had Brother McAllister, who is a member of the Stake Presidency and was presiding at our meeting, out of his seat trying to catch her before she got to the organ again. Through it all I thought the speaker showed remarkable aplomb by completely ignoring the sideshow and steadfastly continuing on with her talk.

It would be nice if reverence reigned in our ward at all times but to be honest, children are not conducive to quiet. We do try, honest we do, to be reverent, but life is what it is and as Brother Neal A. Maxwell once commented, “the church is for the perfecting of the Saints not for the perfected”.