I Like to Look for Rainbows...

While in Salt Lake City, I got up early on Saturday morning in hopes of getting some nice pictures of the Salt Lake Temple.  I was hoping that the early morning light would give me some really great highlights and shadows and that would translate into really interesting photographs and perhaps something I might want to watercolor.  My hotel was several blocks away, and I walked there early enough to be there when the sun came up.  I found a nice spot across from the church office building and waited for the sun.  But as the sky turned lighter my prospects did not look good.  The sky was blanketed with grey clouds, and I was worried that when the sun did come up over the Eastern mountains, the clouds would hamper any hopes of shadows.  I had time, so I decided to sit and wait, in hopes that the clouds might blow off.  While I waited, I pulled out my scriptures and started to read.  It started to rain, and I relocated myself under a large tree, reading my scriptures, periodically looking up to the east, to watch the sun making its ascent up over the mountains, hoping the clouds would part, and the sun would come out so that I could get my bright light and shadows that I had been hoping for.  As I read my scriptures, and tried to keep them out of the mist and sprinkles, the sun finally came up above the eastern hills.  But the clouds had thickened instead of blown off and I knew my hopes of great morning light on the temple were not to be.  Then I turned my head away from the rising sun that I had been watching and toward the temple.  What I saw there took my breath away!  There, curving perfectly over the house of the Lord, was a luminous rainbow!   I looked around to see if anyone was around to share the wonderful sight, but I was all alone.  This wonderful scene was a gift, just for me!  My heart skipped a beat as I grabbed my camera and took several pictures of it before it faded away into the mist, as suddenly as it had come.

I sat back down under the big tree as the rain began to fall more steadily.  The sun never peeked through the clouds again.  Soon there were a few people around, on their way to the temple and such.  As I sat there I was completely overwhelmed with what I had just experienced, and the gift the Lord had just given me.  I realized that I had come this morning really wanting something - really wanting to take some nice pictures of the Salt Lake Temple.  So I was looking for the sunlight, and the accompanying great light and shadows.  That was what I was hoping for, and I had been disappointed by the rain.  But the Lord had something different in mind for me - something so much better.  He sent me a rare and wonderful rainbow, curving perfectly over his house - a gift of beauty and light, but one that is only visible in the rain.  I had been keeping my eyes, and my hopes on the rising sun - hoping and praying that the light would come and the clouds would clear, and was feeling disappointed and despairing that it would not happen.  It wasn't until I turned to look at the temple, that I saw the rainbow.

What would have happened if I had kept my eyes on the sunrise and had never turned to see that temple when I did?  Surely I would have missed the rainbow all together.  I realized that there was a profound lesson for me here.  Sometimes we want something and hope and pray that we will get our desires.  But when the rainclouds hang overhead and threaten, and when the sprinkles start falling on our hopes and dreams, we think that the Lord had decided not to give us what we think we need and want.  This may be true, but he may not give us what we ask for because he has something better in mind for us, something greater than we would ever hope for or even imagine for ourselves.  I wanted bright morning sun, and he sent me a rainbow instead.  Most mornings there is usually bright morning sun on that temple.  I would certainly get my chance on another trip to Salt Lake.  But a perfect rainbow curving gracefully over the temple was a rare and beautiful gift - something I could never have planned .  Even a professional photographer could not have planned it like this.  It made for a beautiful (albeit amateur) picture, and an even lovelier memory.  I knew at that moment that the Lord loves me.  ME!  This rainbow was a tender mercy of a loving father for his imperfect, yet beloved daughter.  The spirit bore witness of his love for me at that moment.

In life, we have challenges and problems, and we think we know what we need to make things better - if the Lord would just send us what we think we need.  But the Lord who loves us and knows us often has something else in mind for us, something infinitely more wonderful, and often those blessing are to be given only in the rainy, stormy moments of our lives.  If I had gotten my bright morning sun, there would have been no rainbow. 

 Rain is necessary for any rainbow - and so is a ray of light.  When life is stormy and rainy, we don't need clear skies, but merely a ray of light, to have a miracle.  

I thought how wonderful it was that I didn't see the rainbow while looking for the immediate sunrise, but only when I turned away from the sun and looked at the temple.  What powerful symbolism!  When we keep our eyes on the horizon, looking for the answers to our prayers in the here and now, we may miss the really best blessings that the Lord is sending us.  We might even get bitter that the sun is not rising as fast as we think it should, and that there are still too many clouds in the way when it does come.  But when we stop watching and waiting for the immediate sunrise, and instead look toward the temple, and the eternal perspective that it gives us, that is when we see the blessings - the rainbows in the rain.  

Some blessing require the perspective of the temple to be seen for what they really are.  The primary song says "I like to look for rainbows, when ever there is rain..."  Well, I have been reminded that when life gives us rain, we can look for rainbows in the temple.

Old

I am old.  It just hit me.  Hard.

This weekend we had  Young Women retreat, and a darling (and young) friend of mine, Lillie, was sweet enough to come share her amazing talents and take pictures of our girls.  She snapped several of the leaders as well.  She did a terrific job.  The pictures of the girls came out just adorable.  She was even able to capture their personalities perfectly.  What talent!

But when I saw the pictures of myself, I was literally SHOCKED!  I looked SO OLD!  I guess I am usually behind the camera, so I haven't seen a close up of myself for a long time.  Oh My!  I really was amazed at how old I looked, especially after looking at those pictures of those fresh young faces of the YW.

Please don't get me wrong.  Lillie takes beautiful pictures.  It wasn't her.  It was me.  Truth is truth, and wrinkles are wrinkles.  I just wasn't expecting so many of them on MY face.  Sure, I look in the mirror everyday, but I don't see them.  I guess I should get in the practice of smiling at myself in the mirror more, or just not smiling to everyone else, 'cause it is the smiling that displays the wrinkles so well, as fate would have it.

I guess it really is true that stress makes you age.  I look, and feel, like I have aged ten years in the past several months, which is perfect because I have also gained ten pounds in that time.  I feel disgusting.  But I am exercising and back on Weight Watchers again, and feel fairly confident that I can drop those ten to 15 pounds.  However, I am also fairly certain that those extra ten years are here to stay.

I saw this coming.  A few months ago I ran into the mom of one of my good friends from elementary school.  She was happy to see me.  I asked about her daughter, my friend, and she gave me the scoop.  Then she asked me about my daughters.  I was baffled, and told her I had only sons.  Then she was baffled.  "How are Shelly, and Lisa?" she asked.  "I am Shelly," I answered, still confused.  "Oh, I thought you were Zola," she confessed.  She thought I was my mother!

See. Old.

Of course, I must remember that my mom was near my age when they knew each other, (never mind that Mom is a brunette, and I am blond.  Maybe she just thought mom was going through a phase.)

I know that I am not old old.  I still plenty of years left for that.  But I am old enough to definitley not be "young" anymore.  It is just that I think of myself as young - young with, mysteriously enough, six kids, including a teenager.  

So I have been moping around the house for the last few days, feeling sorry for my old self, eating a lot of chocolate (like that will help!)  I never thought I would be this way.  Not old, I mean I never thought I would feel so bad about getting older.  My own vanity has surprised me!  After all, I really wouldn't want to go back to when I was younger.  Life is progress, so if I went back, that would be regressing, wouldn't it?  I have no regrets, and have made good choices that have gotten me where I am right now.  And I like where I a right now.  If I had a do-over, I might risk making the wrong decisions.  No thanks.  I mean, I loved college, but I wouldn't want to do that again, and I am happy as heck to finally be out of the baby stage.  I'm not so sure how this teenage thing is gonna go, but I'm willing to give it a try.  I'm sure my kids will do their best to add a lot more wrinkles to my face before it is all said and done.

I look at all of my dear friends that are older than myself, and I think they look absolutely beautiful.  I don't see the wrinkles at all.  I think of them as lovely, classy, and perfect.  But I sure see my own wrinkles.  Are we all like that?  We don't recognize ourselves in the mirror? Or is it just me and my vanity?

So I have been debating whether or not to post the pictures Lillie took, because I really have a hard time looking at them.  But, like I said, truth is truth, and besides, this is probably exactly what I look like to you, because I probably smile at you (if you're nice).  You won't be shocked.  But I sure was!  

(This reminds me of what my Grandma Jones would say when looking at pictures of herself that were less than flattering.  She'd say "Oh, that picture was taken back when I was older.  I am much younger now."  Great line.  I'll have to remember to use that one.)

Here goes: (Please, DO NOT blow these pictures up to full screen!  I cannot be responsible for the damage it might do to your computer or your psyche.)

 
 

There.  Putting it online for all the world to see is one step closer to my own healthy acceptance of the fact that I really am old...er.  

The irony is that someday, no doubt, I'll look back at this picture and exclaim how young I was!

Isn't life grand?

"To Sleep: Perchance to Dream!" - Hamlet

good line

just popped into my head for some reason

shakespeare was a genius

wishful thinking

oh my, just look at the time

ay, there's the rub!

Why Can't Anything Ever Just Work Out?

It all started Friday morning when I went to give Dylan his 8am infusion.  When I pushed the syringe to flush his line, saline squirted everywhere.  There was a leak in his line.  It was coming out where the connector and the tubing met.  I didn't give him his medicine, since I figured it would just leak out everywhere.  So I just clamped it off and called the home nurses.  They sent out a nurse right away, who confirmed that there was a problem, and got on the phone to try to find someone who could fix it, but first they had to know what size tubing was used so they could get the correct fix-it kit.  So she called the hospital to find out, but they wouldn't release the information because it is confidential (She was asking for a size of tubing, not a full release of medical history.  Geeze!).  So she had to go back to the office and fax in a signed request, then they had to locate the right size fix it kit, and then they had to locate the one nurse qualified to fix it.  I'm thinking it is basically changing the nozzle on a very small garden hose.  It really shouldn't be that complicated!  Meanwhile, hours pass, and the time comes and goes for his 11 o'clock dose.  Finally I call the nurse and say that I am just going to put tape on it too keep it from leaking, so I can give him his medicine.  She freaked out about that a bit, since it isn't sterile, but whatever.  The kid needs his meds, and he is taking so many strong antibiotics that any germ stuck to the tape wouldn't have a chance.  Besides, I used medical tape, not duct tape or anything.  The tape worked - no leaking.  We waited for the qualified nurse, who was found, but very busy.  Finally it is afternoon, and I am getting ready for my trip to Hollywood to see Phantom of the Opera.  The nurse calls back and says the one qualified nurse is too busy to come, and just to take Dylan to the ER to have them do it there.  I love the "JUST", like hopping over to Loma Linda is no big deal.  I told her the tape was working fine, but she insisted I take him right to the ER. If not, she could come fix it on Monday.  I was furious.  It wasn't like this was a sudden emergency.  I had called them at 8am, as soon as I knew it was a problem, and now it was after 3pm, and they couldn't get their act together to help us.  I was not about to miss Phantom, especially when the tape was working just fine.  So stressful.  I went on a tyraid.  Why can't anything ever just work out???

So I went to Phantom, and forget my frustrations for one glorious evening!  

Saturday morning the tape was still working, but my mom-guilt started working too.  "You should really take him to the ER", said the good mom voice.  "But the tape is working just fine.  It will last until Monday", said the dominant bad-mom voice. " But the nurse was really concerned," said the good-mom voice.  "If she was so concerned, she would have found a way to come over and get it fixed," argued the bad-mom voice.  You don't want to spend the whole Saturday driving to and from, and waiting in the ER .  Besides, you have righteous plans.  You are going to work on disaster preparedness all day, remember?"  

The argument in my head continued all day, and the two voices were about to get into a cat fight when Dylan made my mind up for me.  He had been at my mom's house, helping her paint the fence.  He was running around, and his medicine got caught on something and the whole PICC line pulled right out.  Lovely!  

So while my mom brought him home I packed a bag with stuff to do, water bottles, snacks, etc. - anything I could think of that I might need at an all-night ER stay.  After all, this wasn't a life or death thing, and he wouldn't be top priority.  I was in a foul, foul mood, muttering things like "Why can't anything ever just work out?  Why is everything ALWAYS such a stinkin' pain?  Doesn't the Lord know that I have a bit too much on my plate right now, and I really don't need to drive all the way to Loma Linda to sit in an emergency room all night.  Is it too much to ask to have something go right for once?"  Bad mom was acting as my mouth piece, and she was pretty noisy about it.  

So I grabbed my bag and my kid, and slammed the door on the way out.

When we started driving, I could see that poor Dylan felt really bad.  He said that it was because his arm stung from when he yanked his line out, but I could tell that he was really feeling bad and guilty, like it was all his fault, and that I was mad at him, which I really wasn't.  I never was.  I knew that line was bound to get yanked out as some point.  He is nine after all, and after being down for 3 months, I really didn't have the heart, or even the ability, to keep him down now that he was feeling better.  I wasn't mad at him, I was just really, really tired, and have a list a mile long of things I need to do that I just keep falling further, and further behind on.  Saturday was supposed to be the day to get a lot of things crossed off my list.  Now this.

I felt bad seeing Dylan so sad.  I pulled the car over, and explained to him that I was not mad at him, and at least we wouldn't have to worry about the leak anymore, etc.  Then I had him say a prayer.  He prayed that we would drive there quickly, that they would be able to help us quickly, that we'd drive home safely, and that we would have a nice time.  His sweet prayer softened my heart.  I determined to change my attitude right there, and sent bad-mom packing.  "Okee doke, Dyls, its a mommy/son date to the ER."  We turned up our CD of "Joseph and his...Dreamcoat" and sang at the top of our lungs all the way.  It was fun.

When we got there it was 6:45pm.  A Saturday night.  When we drove in the parking lot Dylan said, "That's weird.  It doesn't look like there are a lot of people."  He wasn't kidding.  There was only one person in the waiting room!  A few weeks ago, when Dennis took Dylan to that ER to get his line unblocked, there was standing room only, literally.  People were sitting on the floor and standing outside.  It had been a Friday night, about the same hour.  They had waited almost three hours, and were told it wold be another few hours before they would be seen, so they finally just left.  We signed in, and were just getting settled in the waiting room, when they called us back.  We didn't even wait 5 minutes.  Who would have thought?

We waited a little while in the exam room.  A doctor came and assessed what needed to be done, and left.  A short while later she came back in.  She said that the vascular access team, which does the PICC lines, didn't come on weekends.  They would probably have to give him a regular IV for the weekend, and we'd have to come back next week to have the PICC line put back in.

Oh, here we go again.  the bad-mom voice started to reemerge in my brain.  A regular IV?  You want to hook this kid up to a regular, drip bag, needle in arm IV?  How would we work that?  What a PAIN!  I could have driven to a local hospital to get a regular IV.  Doesn't anybody work on weekends anymore?  I have to come all the way BACK here next week (I already have a Dr. appointment here on Thursday!) And then came the familiar refrain, Why can't anything ever just work out???

I explained my concerns to the doctor and she said she would see shat she could do.  She returned a short while later and said that she had good news.  There happened to be someone from vascular access who was still on call for a few more hours, and before the doctor could leave the room, the cute little gall from VA was there already, like magic!

The procedure takes some time.  She has to measure and prepare, etc.  When she was ready to start, I stood to watch, and she told me that wasn't a good idea if I was squeamish about blood.  I assured seeing blood really didn't bother me.  When I told her I had six boys, she believed me.

Dylan was so brave.  He was awake the whole time, which was really, really good, because if we had to put him to sleep, we definitely wouldn't be able to get it done that night.  It would have been way to complicated.  She did a good job, and got it right the first try.  Just as she was finishing another guy from VA showed up to do it.  The doctor had said there was nobody from VA, and now we had two!  Then Dylan had to get some chest Xrays to make sure everything was in place just right.  It was.  Then, when Dylan was feeling better, they discharged us!  That was it.  With the procedure and everything we were in the ER only about 2 1/2 hours! 

Several doctors and nurses commented that our stars must have been aligned just right because "nothing ever works out this quickly!"  Their words struck me.  I suddenly remembered my bad-mom mantra -"why can't anything ever just work out?" and I was humbled. My stars weren't aligned, I just had the Lord on my side.  No, I didn't need a trip to Loma Linda on a Saturday night.  I would have much rather stayed home, but since I did have to go, the Lord knew that I was overloaded, and that I had had only 3 hours of sleep the night before, and was exhausted.  He knew that if I was going make the drive home, we couldn't be in an ER all night long.  That was why the Lord just made it all work out.  He knew my limit, took me right up to it, then he made the rest as easy as possible.  Oh, why to I have to be so ungrateful sometimes?  I was truly humbled, and grateful for a loving merciful God who made it all just work out.

We left the ER, and even had time to stop for dinner at El Pollo Loco - Dylan's choice.  It was fun.  It was mommy/son date night after all.  

We drove home and made it before midnight.  I sang Phantom at top volume all the way home to stay awake while Dylan slept.  Still, I felt myself slipping into a doze a few times at the end.  I am not a night person and I was exhausted.  I knew that if it had taken much longer than it did at the ER, I might not have made it home.  But Dylan's sweet prayer at the beginning of our excursion was answered completely.  We made it there quickly, got everything fixed quickly, made it home safely, and had a nice time too!  What a wonderful little boy!

I am so grateful for the Lord's hand in my life.  I will remember this next time I feel like nothing is working out.  Life isn't easy.  By definition it can't be.  But sometimes, just when we really need it, the Lord bestows his tender mercies on us so stuff just works out.  The Lord is always working it all out for us somehow, isn't he?

Me and My Big Mouth

Last night I messed up big time.  After a fun family trip to the Wild Animal Park, we were driving home.  We were almost home when Dennis' mom called on his cell phone.  I picked up the phone because Dennis was driving.  "Hey, this is Mom.  Tell Dennis the Chargers won in overtime."  So I relayed the message.  "Hey Dennis, your Mom says the Chargers won in overtime."  Before I could even get the words out, my always gentle and mild-mannered husband pounded the steering wheel.  He was furious.  My first thought was one of surprise.  I thought he liked the Chargers, and was baffled at why that would be bad news.

"I was taping that game!  You just ruined it for me.  Thanks a lot!" 

Suddenly the whole thing started coming together.  The fact that I had heard him mention the Chargers several times that day with the boys.  After all, we had been in San Diego.   And the term "big game tonight" had also come up a few times.  And then there was the fact that he had listened to some boring talk radio (not his usual sports talk) on the drive home, and later even switched to kids' music when he was getting tired.

Somehow my feeble brain had not been able to put 2 and 2 together.  Of course!  He was taping the "big Charger game" and that was why he didn't listen to the game on the way home.  He was looking forward to watching his game all day, and I ruined it for him with my big mouth.  Oh, I felt so bad!  So, so bad.

The really horrible part - as of that isn't bad enough already - is that as bad as I felt, and as sorry and I felt, I couldn't bring myself to apologize.  Instead I tried to defend myself.  "It's not my fault.  I didn't know you were taping it.  I was just relaying a message.  You shouldn't have gotten so mad.  Its just a game."  Even as I was saying those words I knew I was dead wrong.  It was just stubborn pride.

I also knew all too keenly, that if it had happened to me, if something that I had really been looking forward to had been ruined by someone's stupid mistake, I would have had a fit, and I probably wouldn't have dropped it until I had let off all my steam.  Yet I was upset by his short outburst of frustration.

When we arrived home he gave me a big hug, and he apologized to me for his outburst.

I suddenly realized that I was doing the exact same thing as one of my boys - something that drives us all crazy.  His knee-jerk reaction to any situation is always an automatic "It's not my fault!"  Gee, I wonder where my kid gets it from?  Not his father, to be sure.

The truth is that Dennis is almost ALWAYS the first to apologize - Not because is he WRONG, but because he is GOOD.

I need to learn from his example.

I do believe, to be fair, that if I were to have had a do-over, I probably would have told him about the Charger's win - only because really, truly, my brain is functioning at a minimum capacity lately, and to figure out that he was taping the game in the splitsecond between hearing the message and relaying it, was just way too complicated for me to have figured out.  There really was not any malice involved - pure stupidity, and I can't really fix stupidity, apparently.  But if I had it to do over, I would have used my big mouth to apologize - immediately and profusely, even if he was angry, instead of throwing up my usual defenses.

That is something I defiantely need to work on in 2009.  Apologizing - early and often.

And honey, I really am sorry!

General Conference - Saturday PM

The Saturday afternoon session, held just us much power and wealth of knowledge for me.  I love Elder Werthlin.  He is so sweet and this time he was really funny.  His talk was about something his mom told him when he was disappointed at the loss of a football game when his was young.  She said "Come what may...and love it"  We need to learn to  be happy and even laugh at whatever life throws at us.  Again, with the world in the state it is in, we are all going to be facing a few curveballs sooner or later.  He told the funniest story about his daughter who thought she was being picked up for her blind date, but the guy she got in the car with wasn't her date, but a dad coming to pick up her sister to babysit.  Pretty funny.  But his message was right on the mark.

I love elder Holland!  I loved his talk on angels.  What a powerful idea, that there are Angels all around us helping us perform God's work and watching over us.  Some angels are the people we see everyday, people that we love that are given the errand of angels in this life.  I am so grateful for the angels in my life.

Elder Casse talked about seeking knowledge.

Favorite Talk of this session: from Elder Coatbridge.  I had to listen to this one several times.  It was about the Savior and his Atonement.  He used clear and powerful repetition of "He is..." and "He said..."  followed by lists of his titles and his teachings.  He taught that life is hard, but it is also very simple - we just have to follow the Savior.  I loved what he said about how we really are all capable of receiving exaltation - because of the Savior.  Even the simplest or otherwise incapable soul is fully capable of exaltation, because unlike everything else, success is not dependant on out abilities, but only on the ability of Christ, who is all-able.  All we have to do is never give up - don't quit, and the Lord will make up the rest.  There is only one way to happiness, and that is Jesus Christ.  All else is madness.  I loved this talk for the powerful message of what it is all about - Jesus Christ and the power of his infinite atonement.  For the message that we all have the distinct possibility of attaining salvation, because of His infinite gift.  All we have to do is hang on.  He will do the rest.

Elder Christofferson gave a great talk on Zion and what it means to be a Zion people.  We are the saints of Zion, but clearly we can do so much more to be the people of Zion that the Lord requires.

Finally, Elder Bednar's talk on prayer was really good - what it means exactly to "pray always" because our prayers are a narrative that are all connected.  I loved the story of being asked by a general authority to say a prayer only of thanksgiving, on a day when they had just learned of the death of a dear friend.  I tried this challenge a few times this week, and it is a lot harder than you would think to only say things you are grateful far.  I found it too hard because I know so many people who need my prayers right now, and it is too hard to not ask for blessings for them. I have to listen to that one a third time, I think.

General Conference - Saturday AM

Last weekend was general conference, and I know I am a bit late with this post, but I wanted to re-watch all the talks again before commenting on them.  They are all so good and so in-depth that I can get more out of them each time I watch/read them.  I am sure I will continue to find enlightenment see the pertinence as I review their messages again.  Since there is just so much to digest, this post is only about the Saturday morning session.

Alysa and I got home from 'saleing' just as the MoTab started singing.  Traditionally, garage sales are always good on conference Saturday.  This week was no exception.  But it was worth leaving all those great sales to get home in time, because the talks that were given, and the beautiful music proved to be exactly what I needed to hear, and what the church, and the world needed to hear for that matter.

President Monson started out by talking about temples and when he announced that Rome, Italy was getting a temple I thought that was very exciting (I am such an Italiophile!)  I thought of how wonderful that will be for the saints there.  I hope it is right across the street from the Vatican.  (When we went to Italy we saw water fountains flowing freely everywhere - except at the Vatican.  All fountains near St. Peters were broken or barely trickled.  The further away you got from the cathedral, the better the flow from the fountains.  You know, "fount of  living waters."  Just saying.  I bet our new temple will have abundantly flowing fountains.)  I asked Dennis if we could attend that dedication, but got no answer.  

Elder Perry's talk on living a simplified life was so good, and had many points I need to share with my YW- points on the word of wisdom, modesty, debt, and storing up spiritual fuel.  This talk is just so important for our day, and proof to me that the Lord speaks through our prophets the council that we need today.  There was so much of that in this conference.  

Sis. Allred's talk on missionary work was so good too.  This is something I definitely need to work on!  I loved the quote from Pres. Hinkley that "When we save a girl, we save generations."  How true is that.  That really made the weight on my calling seem that much heaver, but it is right on.  The work that we do with those girls has untold consequences or blessing for countless people.

Elder Anderson spoke about spiritual storage now for moments of difficulty.  I have an idea that a lot of us are going to be facing times of difficulty real soon, if not already, and our testimonies might be the only thing we may have to get us through.  Oil for our lamps.

I loved Elder Aidiakaitus's talk about how his father joined the church, and the Book of Mormon.  He said that when we have a Book of Mormon, and don't read it we are like a child that receives a letter from his beloved and distant father, and doesn't even bother to open the envelope.  Or like a spoiled child who refuses to even take a bite of the lovely meal that was carefully prepared for his by his mother.  I really don't want to act like a spoiled child.  The Book of Mormon really is a personal letter sent just to us from our Father in Heaven.  As the world changes, I am amazed how the Book of Mormon addresses our needs more and more precisely.  I have never said "wow, that describes our world right now" as much of I have said it this last year.  Its all in there.

Elder Oaks' talk on sacrament meeting was great.  I kept asking my kids "Are you listening to this?", especially the stuff about the Aaronic Priesthood and the sacrament.

Favorite Talk: President Uchtdorf talking about the principle of hope.  We always hear so much of faith and charity, and not so much about hope.  But hope is the third leg on the three legged stool of the gospel.  Hope is critical to both faith and charity.  Hope is a simple trust in the  Lord's promises, that all things really will work together for our good.  It is manifest in our patience in optimism and patient perseverance.  He talked about things we hope for and things we hope in. He teaches that the things we hope for are future blessings, like eternal life.  Things we hope for lead us to faith.  Then there the things we hope in - the blessings the Lord that are more immediate.  The things we hope in lead us to charity.  Hope fulfilled leads to greater hope, and when we put hope into action, through good works, then our present circumstances give way to future blessings.  It was all pretty deep, and I will have to hear it several more times before I really get it.  Because of hope, we have a reason to rejoice when all seems dark.  Talk about pertinent to our day.  There are so many dark things looming on the horizon including the failing economy, that these are exactly the words we need to hear.  That there is hope, and that hope is Christ - the light in the darkness.  We have reason to REJOICE!  I have been in a funk all week and I have to keep listening to Pres. Uchtdorf's talk each time I feel that way.  With the way things are going, I'll have that talk committed to memory in no time.  Please read it if you haven't, and then read it again.

My thoughts on the Twilight series

Let me just start by answering the question - Edward or Jacob?  I am definitely an Edward gal.  It is the romantic in me.  Love Edward!  Jacob was a little too rough around the edges for me (I'm not much of a dog lover), but he was a good guy, he's just no Edward (Who is?)  Let me just say that Alice rocks!  She is my kind of gal.  She has great taste, and knows how to throw a classy shindig.

I don't even know where to begin with my thoughts on Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series books.  I have never been one to read the trendy, hot off the presses type books.  I tend to like to stick with the classics - figuring they are classics for a reason.  I haven't really gone wrong too much with the classics.  But this summer, all I heard about was the Twilight books, so I bought the first one to read on our long road trip to Wyoming, and well, once you start... 

 I read the first book pretty quick.  I was almost done with it by the time we got to Utah.  We happened to be in Wal- Mart late on the night that Breaking Dawn was going to be released.  I didn't realize it.  I couldn't figure out why that Wal-Mart was crawling with freaky people in strange prom dresses, wedding dresses, etc. - it wasn't even close to Halloween yet.  Maybe that was normal in Utah, after all.  But I figured it out when I saw the long line of customers, mostly pre-teen girls sitting on the floor waiting for the books to go on sale in only 2 more hours. I figured I'd better buy books 2 and 3 while there, but I wasn't waiting around until midnight to buy #4.

TWILIGHT  I loved it!  It was a fast, fun read, and I found it intriguing.  I really think that Meyers has helped vampires come into the 21st century.  Vampires are cool.  I was enthralled with the idea of falling in love with someone who was so perfect and still so dangerous at the same time.  Just a fun, fast read.

NEW MOON  I liked it over-all.  Of course the beginning was such a downer, but that was exactly the point.  I like the whole werewolf angle and of course I loved the whole Italy part.  I love Italy and when I say the cover page with a picture of an Italian plaza, I knew I was going to like it.  I did get mad at Bella.  She was being completely idiotic, but I guess it was forgivable, considering her state of mind.  I was reading this while on our road trip.  Dennis asked me what I was reading so I started to explain the plot to him.  He must have been intrigued because about every 30 minutes he asked me what was happening now.  Dennis isn't much of a reader, so he just had me fill him in.  

ECLIPSE  Nope.  Didn't like it at all.  "Tedious" is the only word for it.  Bella: Make me into a vampire.  Edward: No.   Bella:  Make me into a vampire.  Edward: No - repeated for hundreds of pages.  I couldn't stand Bella by book 3.  It was just time for Edward, and Jacob for that matter, to move on.  She was just torturing everyone she claimed to love.  Book 3 also got a bit too steamy.  I would definitely NOT let a daughter of mine (hypothetically speaking, obviously) read 3 or 4.  Period.  I get that Meyers was good enough to push the whole, not-until-we're-married thing, which is noble, I guess, but still, married or not, there are just some things that I think pre-teen girls should not be reading about.  Maybe I am  prude.  So be it.  But I was disturbed that this series is being promoted to teenage girls.

BREAKING DAWN  Whoa!  I was frankly amazed how one book can be so tedious and wild at the same time. A bit too freaky for my taste.  I realized that while Meyers has and amazing mind and wild twists and turns in her plot, she is not a good writer.  Maybe I am spoiled by reading the classics and the beautiful artful language of the great authors.  I was a literature major, and love the beauty and power of the written word.  She has most certainly NOT mastered this skill.  She is no Jane Austin. Her dialog is just bad.  I don't know why I didn't notice so much before.  I think it is because I was too enthralled with the story to care, but the more books I read, the more it bugged me.  It got to the point, about halfway through the last book that I just put it down and couldn't read any more.  Too tedious.  I wasn't enjoying it anymore.  The book sat on my desk for two weeks before I finally had a day that wasn't busy (relatively.  All my days are busy!) and just sat down to finish and get it off my back.  (I just couldn't read 3 1/2 books and stop!)  Here are just a few of the things that bugged me about book 4, besides the tediousness.  Renesmee?  What kind of name is that?  It distracted me.  Every time I read it it pulled me right out of the zone because I thought "stupid name," and I couldn't figure out how the pronounce it.  I was much too uncomfortable with the imprinting thing, too.  I thought Bella's talent to not have to deal with the newborn vampire thing was a cop-out.  Didn't we all want to see her have to struggle with craving blood a bit more?  And the whole "don't ask don't tell" thing with Charlie was another huge cop-out.  She spent 4 books worrying what Charlie would do, only to have it be a non-issue.   I just think part of the genius of a good writer is not just in creating twists and turns in the plot, but also in tying them all up neatly in the end.  She tried, but not masterfully.   I must admit, I did like the end.  Go Alice! (oops, did I say too much?)  I was satisfied, and I was glad I talked myself into finishing the book.  It was just getting there that was hard.  Meyer could have said what she said in half the pages and it would have been better, I think.  Sometimes I read a series and I don't want it to be over, but in this case, I am fine with coming to THE END.

So those are my thoughts, if anybody cares.  I hope some of you Twilight fans don't hate me too bad.  I did give it a try though, and now I am going back to the classics.  I'm thinking Mansfield Park next.

Day of Tears

 I should have thought to wear waterproof mascara today, as I have been brought to tears several times today by the memory of that terrible day, Sept. 11, 2001.  

I still remember that morning.  We got up and Dennis jumped in the shower.  I turned on the TV.  The news was on.  I glanced up at the TV and saw two tall buildings with smoke billowing up from them, the commentator was saying something about a possible terrorist attack.  I wondered where it was, perhaps Israel, or some other war-torn country.  It never occurred to me that it could have been in America.  I kept waiting for the news to say what country had just been attacked.  They said something about trying to get a response from the president.  The president of what country? - I asked.  Then they said the president was in Florida, and I thought how strange it was that that country's president was in America.  I am so incredibly slow sometimes.  Suddenly, devastatingly, it all clicked.  America.  America.  Someone had attacked America!  Dennis came out of the shower and saw me frozen in the middle of the room watching.  Watching and crying, as I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening.  Could such a thing have really happened?  Couldn't their be some other explanations for what was happening.  One plane - a freak accident.  But two?  To use our own people, innocent people, as weapons against other innocent people, people who had just kissed their families good-bye and went to work.  Just people.  My mind couldn't grasp such evil.  Before that moment, I couldn't have believed that such evil existed.  That morning I saw the face of evil, rising in the smoke, reflected in the terrified, ash covered faces of people running through the streets of New York, running for their lives.  Who could hate us SO much?  Why?  WHY?

I sat there in my room and watched all day, and for days after.  So many images, images that I still can picture today, each new image ripping my understanding of the state of the world further into shreds. Images of papers streaming down like obscene parade confetti, and the horrifying image of people...jumping.  What horror did they face that jumping 100 stories to their certain death was preferable?  I remember watching the first tower fall, collapsing on itself. I could hardy comprehend what it meant.  People inside.  How many?  Then the unthinkable, the other tower fell, dropping out of the skyline.  Who could survive that?  No one, apparently, we learned as we waited, and waited, then stopped waiting , stopped hoping for survivors.  I remember the terrifying reports of another airplane hit at the same time - the Pentagon - edifice of our Nations strength and security -  a punch in the face of America.  The NERVE!  And then speculation.  What next?  The White House, the Capitol, or the west coast?  Disneyland?  LA?  So many possible targets.  And more reports of another plane crash, but this time in a field in Pennsylvania?  Something went wrong?  Then realization.  Something went right!  Heroes were born... and died..  at the same moment!  Some of the strongest images weren't images at all, but sounds.  Phone calls made to wives, husbands, children.  Last messages.  Voices of dead men walking.  "I'm fine."  "I'm scared." "I love you."  So many "I love you"s that really said "Good-by."  Or then eerie sound of empty skies.  No planes flew.  Not for days.  No white streaks in the sky.  Nothing.  

One image hurts more than any other.  Even seven years later it stings my brain.  It was the wall.  Remember that wall?  My eyes swell with tears right now as I think of it.  It was the wall near ground zero where people placed pictures of their missing loved ones, desperate to find them, hadn't heard from them.  Pictures of ordinary people, smiling, doing ordinary things, photos with friends, and pets.  All ages.  All races.  Just people.  Titles: "missing", "loving mother", "come home" with descriptions, and phone numbers.  Please call!  And as the days passed, there were more and more faces, names, stories, lives on that wall, not fewer.  Heart wrenching! I still remember how that wall just filled me with despair - their despair, the despair of those who hung those pictures there.  I remember how I cried.  It was the kind of crying that hurts your sides, aches with each breath, and burns your throat and eyes.  

I didn't cry like that today.  Thankfully.  Today's were the short, quaking in the chest, eyes fill with tears, try to control my breath type cries.  Maybe that is bad.  They say time heals all wounds.  Perhaps it is true.  I hope that it isn't.  I fear the day this wound heals over, and people forget, and get lax.  I'm afraid it had already started to scab over.  

Remember the other images.  The FLAGS!  Flags everywhere.  The real America rose from the ashes.  United.  Strong.  Unashamed of calling upon their God.  Remember that?  But I didn't see too many flags today.  I flew the GIANT one.  My kids and I all wore red, white and blue.  Not too many others did.  

Today I watched the memorials, and cried.  On Saturday there was a documentary about the twin towers on the Discovery Channel.  I made my kids watch.  They were amazed, they had so many questions.  I told them.  They saw me cry.  It was good for them.  My children were too young to remember much about Sept 11.  The twins were only 2.  My oldest was only 5. They are old enough to understand now.  I want my children to know that evil exists, secret combinations, just like we read about in the ancient days.  They need to see what evil is.  What evil does.  Why we fight.  They need to also see how heroes are made from ordinary people.  Americans are good, and strong.  Americans help each other.  There could be heroes everywhere.  They could be heroes.  They must be heroes if a day like this comes to them.  My boys need to see that too.

They showed more images today.  Not many.  There were so many that day.  But the ones that they showed seemed so fresh.  Raw.  And the sounds... Oh!  

They need to show more images.  And show them, and show them, and show them.  We need to cry more, and remember more.  And then we need to stand up and be that America again!   

My Document Stack

My good friend Insomnia has paid her nightly visit - just look at the time of this post!  I just have so many things in my head right now.  

My new MacBook (love it) has a "dock" which looks like a narrow shelf along the bottom of the screen, and all the icons are lined up on it.  On the right hand side, next to the trash can, well its really a wastebasket, there is something called a stack.  It is a stack of current documents - things that I am working on.  It looks like a stack of papers, and when you click on the stack, it fans out and you can see all you recent and current docs, and pick the one you want and re-arrange them however you want.   

Well, I have also have a document stack on the dock of my brain that has managed to get pretty thick as of late.  Well, this stack in my head keeps shuffling, and reshuffling, with a new document popping to the top of the stack with each shuffle.  The sound of all that paper ruffling  is keeping me awake at night.  The problem is that no matter how much I shuffle my stack, one document or another is always on top, awaiting my consideration - in the middle of the night.  I really wish I had an untitled folder I could stuff them all into.  I'd title it "tomorrow."  Then I might be able to get to sleep.

The dock in my brain has no wastebasket, by the way.

I don't even know how the stack got so thick so fast.  Last week I was camping, and the only documents on my stack at night were titled "keep Luke in his sleeping bag so he doesn't get cold,"  "remember to put sunblock on those kids more often,"  "Bella is a dork and Edward could do so much better," and "those darn squirrels."  Why do vacations have to end?

My first night home, my usual stack was sitting there waiting for me, right where I left it, and since then a bunch a new papers, with much more menacing titles, have been piled on top.  Lovely.

Of course, tomorrow is the first day of school, and my kids will be up extra extra extra early, no doubt.  5 am gives you just enough time to get to class by 9:10.  Next week, I'll be dragging them out of bed at 8:30, most likely.  Plus, its temple night, and its no good to be sleepy when you have to go to the temple.  Here's hoping I can pull it off and avoid snoring in the middle of the session.

Oops.  Those papers in my stack are starting to ruffle again.  Wonder what document will end up on top this time?

Phelps Phan

OK, I admit it, I am an Olympics junkie.  I have a problem.  It is true.  I absolutely LOVE watching the Olympics!  I have been looking forward to 8/8/08, 8p.m. since January when I realized it was an Olympic year.  I was so happy when they decided to have the winter Olympics on an alternating schedule from the summer games, so that I get my fix every two years rather that 4.  I have to say it is much better for my nerves.  The funny thing is that I am NOT a sports fan.  I think sitting to watch a baseball game is a form of torture, not to mention an incredible waste of time.  Maybe it is something about the nature of professional sports that cheapens it and takes all the drama out for me.  But there is something different about the Olympics and it goes way beyond the sports to the athletes themselves that I just love.  I am completely fascinated by all the different sports there are out there, and how different people get involved in the different sports.  I love to see all the type of athletes there are, old and young, and all the different body types from the tiny gymnasts to the tall swimmers, to those big shot-putters - there seems to be a sport for everyone.  I am fascinated to watch all the sports, to try to understand how they work, what the rules are and how they are judged.  I think it is a crying shame that they don't show more of a variety on prime time TV -  as it seems all they show is swimming, gymnastics, and a whole lot of female beach volley ball (gee, wonder why.  Do those gals really have to play in little bikinis?).

 

There is so much more to the Olympics than that. I think my Patriotic side loves the Olympics not just because I love to root for the home team, but because I really believe in America, and in the American way.  I believe that we don't have to take children away from their families at the age of three to train in camps whether they like it or not, like the Chinese do, to produce great athletes.  I think considering that and the population a China, the Chinese should be much better than they are.  But they aren't because that is not what sport is supposed to be about.  It is so sad, and those poor athletes are afraid to screw up. Here, people are free to follow their own passions, and compete for the sheer joy of it.  American gold represents freedom at its best.   

I also love to see records broken!  I am constantly amazed to see a world record smashed!  And they always get broken.  It just goes to show that the capabilities of the human being is limitless.   The only limits are mental.  When someone breaks a record, they break a mental wall, and time and time again, once someone breaks a record, then people began to reach that level more and more.  It is easier because people know it can be done.  When someone breaks a record it is good for mankind.  It is a victory over the mind as well as body.  I am also amazed at what the human body can do.  When I remind myself that these athletes are human, just like me, I am even more impressed.   a perfect routine on the uneven bars or a perfectly synchronized dive is just jaw-dropping to watch.

I think what I really love about the Olympics is the human side of it all.  I love hearing the stories of the athletes, to learn what their lives are like, wherever they are from, and see their passion for what they do. I love to learn what the athletes went through to get where they are and understand what either getting to the Olympics or winning or losing means to them.  And every athlete has a story.  I find that I cheer harder when I know the story.

This year I am enthralled with Michael Phelps.  Being a swimmer, I have some appreciation for what he is accomplishing in Beijing.  How does he do it?  I don't know what I like better - when he blows everybody out of the water, like the relay where the camera couldn't zoom out far enough to get the Americans and the rest of the teams in the same shot because the Americans were so far ahead, or when he comes from behind to snatch the victory away from another at the last second, like the unreal 100 butterfly race last night.  That was heart stopping - .01 seconds difference!  It was that last stroke he took while his opponent who was ahead glided into the wall.  That made ALL the difference.  That is why he is so great.  That is why he is unstoppable.  I love watching him swim, and analyze his flips and starts.It makes me want to swim just a little bit faster ans workout just a little bit harder.   I am impressed with his story - his father left when he was small, he had ADHD and teachers told him he'd never amount to anything , kids picked on him because he was so tall, and his feet were too big, his arms too long, and his ears stuck out.  Then he started swimming, and his coach saw something there.  We can learn a lesson from that.  We should all try a bit harder to see the potential in others, and ourselves.  Tonight I will be watching when he gets his 8th gold medal of these games in the medley relay- hopefully, and becomes the greatest Olympian ever.  I'm so excited! 

 I think I'll be sad to see it end, and I know I'll be so sad when the Beijing games end and the Olympic magic goes away until it comes to Vancouver in 2010 and London in 2012.  But for now I am going to stay up past midnight (an incredible feat for me actually - I am NOT a night person) every night and cheer, and hopefully my jaw will drop and my heart skip a beat a few more times before the games come to a close. GO USA!

Eat My Wake, Mister!

Sometimes I am so bad, I surprise myself.

I swim most mornings. I usually go around 5:30 and am often the only one in the pool at that hour. But in the summer I take the luxury of sleeping in a bit and this morning I didn't get there until almost 7:00. There were already a couple guys using the good middle lanes, so I had to take a side lane. The guy next to me was about 40 years old, a solid swimmer, good form, nice flip turn. He was busy doing his thing. I jumped in and started my workout. I usually start with 50 laps straight of freestyle. So I was swimming along when the guy noticed that I was almost at his side and he suddenly kicked it in. He was pushing hard - not going to let me pass him. So I pushed it too and soon I was right beside him. He kept pushing hard for a few laps, straining to keep up with me. But then the wall was there, and flip, in a flash I shot out ahead of him. (I love a good flip turn!) Soon I was out of his reach. About a dozen laps later I was at his heels again. Once again I saw him punch up his pace. I kept my pace steady (you have to when your swimming distance) but made my strokes longer and stronger and within 2 laps I had passed him again. When I was on about lap 46 I caught the guy again and he, not to be outdone, pushed it HARD for the next two laps and kept up with me pretty good, but at the wall, I flipped and shot off the wall again, and he stood up. He had had it. I still had two laps to go, and was pretty tired, but even if I was on my last lap, I know I would have keep swimming until I had a good solid lead on him.

I don't know what it is, but I LOVE lapping guys in the pool. I never feel that way with women. I hardly pay any attention to what the gal swimming next to me is doing. But I HAVE TO out-swim the guys. Isn't that bad? I'm not a man-hating feninista or anything, but when a man is swimming next to me I just feel this competitive fire. (Dennis will tell you that he beat me in a race. But that was one length of a backyard pool. Come on. One hard push off the wall and you're on the other side. He's yet to take me up on my challenge for, say, 50 laps, or even 20, in a real lap pool.)

Usually the guys never say anything afterwards. They'll act cool, pretending that they always swim that fast, weren't trying very hard, and that they didn't notice me lapping them time and time again. But today it was different. This guy pulled off his goggles in disgust and watched at me as I moved myself to the now vacant other middle lane. He was not happy! He was breathing heavy, his shoulders were slumped in defeat. "Man, you swim FAST!" ( But I'm NOT a man, that's the point.)

"Thanks," I say, trying not to sound too winded.

He just shook his head, clearly upset with himself. "I just can't believe I got my pants beat off by a woman."

"Your Speedos actually," I said. OK well, I didn't really say that, but I wanted to. I really just smiled.

"How do you do it?" he asked.

"Well, I have to do something to have enough energy up to keep up with my six kids," I replied.

His jaw dropped, and then his shoulders drooped even more when he realized that he had just been blown out of the water by the mom from Brady Bunch. Poor guy.

He climbed out of the water, deflated.

"See ya tomorrow, " I said as I readjusted my goggles.

"Yah, right," he said.

Then, just for good measure, while he was drying off, I did several laps of butterfly, shoulders nice and high out of the water. (That really was next on my workout - I promise.)

Poor guy. I think I ruined his day. .. but he sure made mine!

To Blog or Not to Blog?

O.K. I have finally done it. I have started a blog. Believe me when I say that I tried not to, I really did. For the longest time I have been avoiding it. I wouldn't look at others' blogs. When my girlfriends would talk about their blogs, and what they read on someone else's blog, I would just smile politely and nod, and pretend I was in their world, instead of floating around in my own little blogless universe. Why have I put off this moment for as long as I have? Am I blogist? a blog-snob? suffering from bolgophobia? No. It isn't that I hate the idea of a blog. In fact, it is quite the opposite. I LOVE the idea of a blog. Having a blog is just of the kind of thing that makes me giddy. It is the kind of thing that will keep me up way too late at night (and I already stay up late enough), will get me out of bed way too early in the morning (as if 5 a.m. isn't early enough).
You see, I know myself too well. I am a woman of passions. Of course I am passionate about my husband (yeah, baby!) and my 6 darling and energetic sons, my family and my friends, but I also have a litany of other activities, interests, collections, hobbies, traditions, etc. that I love passionately. How many all-consuming passions can one girl have anyway? When it comes to passions, I am like an old lady with a bunch of cats. When I see that scrawny little homeless blog sitting there in the rain, I can't just pass it by! After all, there is always room for one more, right? Not really. That is the problem. My poor little passions are being neglected terribly, and are getting quite skinny and some probably ought to be put out of their misery. For some strange reason, after I have rationed out my time to kids, husband, church, family, friends, chores, and taxi driving, there is little time left for my passions.
So, being the cautious soul that I am, I have talked myself out of blogging for as long as I could. But I am weak, silly and weak, and have finally given in to blogomaina, against my better judgement. And, being in danger of getting in way over my head, I jump with both feet into the blogosphere.