Pam's Place

2011-12-08T16:51:00.000-07:00

He who can’t understand your silence will not understand your words. ~Unknown

Sometimes words won’t come, or the words that do can’t express what one wants to say. Sometimes the words are there, but cannot be spoken and must remain locked in one’s heart.

That’s when listening with the heart is the only way to hear.

My Family

2011-12-05T13:17:00.004-07:00

Brody, Carter, Gayle, Bill and Kennedy.

Poetry in Motion

2011-10-15T22:18:00.009-06:00

Sitting on the sidelines of a soccer field today watching Kennedy guest-play on a team coached by Gayle's college roommate, I overheard some people behind me talking. Kennedy's name had been mentioned.

"Who's Kennedy?" one asked.

"She's a guest player. She's the little fast one."

I smiled to myself. Yep. That pretty much describes 11-year-old Kennedy. She was definitely the smallest player on the field, and a year younger than most, if not all, of the other girls. But fast she is. She runs like a gazelle. She leaps across the field, zigzagging to wherever she needs to be. If you blink, you may miss her.

Kennedy was a full term baby, but she weighed under 6 lbs. She was born screaming. Feisty. But sweet. Determined. But kind, and champion of the underdog. Unless the underdogs are the opposing team. Then, not so much. She likes to win. As a baby and toddler, she earned the nickname of "Houdini" because she could escape any restraint, which has translated to being able to slip through small openings in packs of aggressive soccer players with the ball in her possession, and "Mighty Might" because of her sheer determination at anything she attempted. There was no stopping her. There still isn't.

At another soccer game a few months back, I overheard a teammate's father call her "The Streak".

Today, she earned that nickname again when a teammate who was being pressed on the other side of the field passed the ball to Kennedy. She seized the ball in the open, moved like a flash toward the goal and launched it over the goalie's head into the net. Her grace and agility, the ease with which she moved, the absolute perfection of her lithe body, brought tears to my eyes. Poetry in motion. That's Kennedy.

Picky, Picky

2011-08-10T20:58:00.004-06:00

I told her I wasn’t picky. But the more I think about it, the more I realize that isn’t true.

On a whim, I walked into the hair salon next to where I work out in the morning. I love the girl who has been cutting my hair in her home for a few years. She is a sweetheart and gives a good haircut at a reasonable price. I wasn’t really shopping for a new stylist, but when I couldn’t reach her the last time I needed her (for a couple of weeks), I panicked and started looking around, “just in case”. She did finally return my calls, and cut my hair. But the seed was planted: I need a backup.

So back to picky. I told the girl at the desk I wanted to schedule a haircut with someone who can cut thin hair and make it look good. I have cowlicks, too. I told her I wasn't picky. Jana will cut my hair this afternoon and we’ll see.

When I left the salon, I realized I really am picky. Yes, I want a good haircut, but I really want more than that. I want new hair…thicker, that’s more brown than gray that doesn’t have to be “touched up” from a bottle. I’ll keep the gray streak in front, it’s kinda cool, and I earned those little badges of courage one at time. I want a new face. You can leave the smile wrinkles, but I’d really appreciate your erasing the frown wrinkles. I want a new body, too. Younger, thinner, the way it was about 40 years ago. I’ll keep my stretch marks from pregnancy -- they are reminder of the wonder of new life. I’m willing to work for the thinner part. I know there are no free lunches (oops, the food reference just slipped in there).

So Jana, we’ll start with the new hair style today, but let’s be thinking about the rest, ok?

The Experiment

2011-06-07T08:26:00.000-06:00

Leroy was never my favorite person at work. In fact, for a long time, he was my least favorite. But, in the end, he taught me an important lesson, and I will always be grateful.

The mini-man, missing only the hand-in-the-front-of-the-jacket portion of a Napoleonic pose, flung open the glass entry door of the NCR branch office at 2116 Madison Avenue and passed the front office staff without a word or glance. We ignored him, too, because we had learned that as often as not, an encounter with Leroy could suck the sunshine right out of one’s day.

Leroy was a senior cash register salesman, with his own territory and expense account, and from time-to-time, a junior salesman working under his supervision. In his 50’s, he was several inches under six feet tall, somewhat stout though not fat, with graying sandy-colored hair. His wife, Jane, was perhaps a little taller than he, a pleasant woman, a necessary recipient of my pity. They had no children, but Jane was a stay at home wife, and she occasionally shared recipes with us office girls.

I was in my early 20’s, young, holding my first real job, burdened with the mistaken notion that we respect those older than us or in positions superior to ours simply “because”. Leroy displayed no compunction claiming that counterfeit respect. The truth was, I was afraid of him. Better to be ignored by him than engaged by him. More than once he had reduced one of us in our office to tears by bullying over some unimportant matter. I had succumbed to one of his tirades myself. Although Irma, the branch manager’s secretary and big sister figure to us younger girls, armed me with protection (don’t cry, get mad!), I found that my best defense was simply to look through Leroy as if he didn’t exist.

I ignored his self-important entry that day as I did most. But once again, after he had passed by, I felt a niggling, uncomfortable feeling that as unpleasant as he was, I didn’t enjoy disliking him. Our worst encounter was at least months, maybe more, behind us. The emotional pain he had inflicted was now not even a dull ache, but just a subconscious bad memory. Still, the sight of him reminded me that I was not on good terms with all people. A thought came to me, I wonder what he would do if I was nice to him. I decided to experiment.

The next day he again blasted through the front door and marched over to the cabinet at the counter where we filed salesmen’s mail and messages. He snatched a handful of small pink telephone slips from his folder, put on his reading glasses and began shuffling through them.

Mustering up courage with a silent deep breath and my best casual voice, I ventured, “How was your day, Leroy?” He went on reading for a few seconds, then looked up at me, tilted his head down and glared at me suspiciously over his glasses. “Why do you ask?”

I shrugged. “No reason, just wondering how it went. You were in Port Clinton today, right?”

He hesitated, seeming to weigh the possibility that I had ulterior motives. Evidently convinced that was not likely, he replied, and we momentarily engaged in casual conversation about the customers he had called on. And then he walked down the hallway to his office.

Well, that was interesting, I thought. He was almost pleasant.

Each time I repeated the experiment, it became easier. There were no further brow-beating, humiliation-inducing outbursts directed at me or at anyone else amongst our office staff. Leroy had been disarmed by kind words. My feigned interest in him became genuine after awhile, and when he passed away suddenly a few years later, I was truly saddened. He had become my friend.

I'm still alive

2010-05-19T15:52:00.005-06:00

But you'd never know it by checking in here. I'm so bad. This won't count as a real honest-to-goodness blog entry because it's going to just be stream of consciousness. So if you bore easily, move along. This will be boring.

I'm cleaning the basement storage area. Well, only as a second thought to what I'm really doing down there: looking for something I wrote in 1995. I'm sure it's in one of those boxes marked "old files" or "family history" or "misc papers". There are several of those. I'm almost sure I saw the needed 1995 paper the last time I perused some of those boxes about 4 years ago. And I'm under pressure to find it. It's for Bob, for his retirement.

As I was mining the boxes, I came across one marked "old calendars and other stuff" or something like that, and found many years worth. Do you keep old calendars? Why do I? Is it something deepseated like throwing out the calendar is like erasing those years? I keep a journal, so there is probably a record of the important things I did on particular days. But the calendars show the daily grind stuff. Ok, I may never look at them again, but it's really hard parting with them. The one from 1978 -- I remember the calendar well and recognized it on sight: was given to my by Missy Long, a dear friend from Ft. Hood -- on that calendar are recorded all but the first appointment that I had with the missionaries who taught me the basic principles of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. June 17 is marked "quit smoking" (past tense). I remember that night. Elder Poulsen asked me to remove the cigarettes from the package, tear them up and flush them down the toilet. Then he asked me to autograph the package and give it to him. July 20 is marked "Baptism 8 PM" The beginning of a new life. The calendar is the tangible evidence of those sweet days. The writing on the tablet of my heart is still there, too, but can't be touched by my hands or seen with my natural eyes.

I'm going to bring one box of "old papers and family history" upstairs to go through sheet by sheet because it's the most likely to be hiding the paper I'm looking for. I removed the lid and found a stack of research, documents, notes, and memorabilia. If one sheet at a time is removed and placed into a file cabinet that I already have set up to organize such things, that's one box that won't have to go back into storage. That will make more room for a box of newer treasures.

Where's my sister when I need her? She's so good at throwing out. I even tried to call her to ask her "permission" to get rid of a bunch of old table linens that belonged to Aunty Mary and Grandma. I know I'll probably never use them again, if I ever have. I mean, there are probably more than 50 cloth napkins of many varieties. Place mats. Beautiful old linen tablecloths that are way too large for the table I have, but that I would hesitate to use anyway because ironing them is a major project. Stuff I haven't used in at least 10 years. Kathie would say, "Get rid of it, Pam." Period. No discussion. That would make it easier.

I think I need a nap.

Fighting the Mid-winter Blahs

2010-01-29T14:40:00.011-07:00

How often do we end a brief, casual conversation with a friend, "Let's get together soon," or "We'll have to get together," and then forget to follow up on that great idea? I'm sorry to say I do far too often. Intentions are sincere, but life gets busy, or the doldrums set in, and the phone call just doesn't get made.

In December, Lynne and I ran into Venise in Costco, a friend from our neighborhood who I haven't had much of a chance to visit with in the past several months. She and her husband were in the middle of moving out of our immediate area, fortunately only about a half hour away. Still, it wouldn't be the same not to bump into Venise at church or at Day's Market down the street from time to time. I said, "We really need to get together for lunch one day soon." We all agreed, and said maybe in January, after the move and after the holidays.

A week or so ago I bumped into Helen, a mutual friend of ours, and caught myself saying the same thing, "Let's get together for lunch soon." And the conversation with Venise came back to me. I knew I had to follow up.

Today we met at Brick Oven -- Venise, Helen, Lynne, Cindy, Annette, Faye and me. Annette, who we call the Cupcake Lady, came with a cute woven vine basket filled with attractive and yummy chocolate cupcakes decorated with tiny red hearts on the generous chocolate frosting wrapped in clear plastic cups and cellophane bags tied in festive red ribbon. (Weight Watchers points value? Have no idea, but surely there's a rule somewhere that says if it's from a dear friend at a special lunch, there are no points.)

We had asked for a round table so that we could all take part in every conversation (Grandma always said I was afraid I'd miss something, and I guess she was right), and they put us in the back corner of the Banquet Room. Hmmmm, I wonder if we looked rowdy. Here's our cute waiter, Kris. You can ask him.

We spent an hour and a half visiting and laughing. A little "problem solving", too, like helping Annette to find a good ring tone for her cell phone, and talking about fun places and activities for this summer's Youth Conference. But an hour and a half really isn't enough time, so we talked about making this a monthly gathering. There's nothing like good friends to blow away the mid-winter blahs. Come spring, maybe we'll be meeting out on Lynne's yard swings.

Kris was still smiling when we left and helped us out by taking our picture, so maybe we weren't too obnoxious.

Why I love snow

2010-01-27T09:21:00.003-07:00

1. I can see where my kitties go when they don't know I'm watching.

2. It's white. I love white.

3. It's pretty on the tree branches.

4. It covers the brown grass of winter.

5. In Utah, it fills the reservoirs so we will have much needed water the rest of the year.

6. It gives me an easy way to exercise -- at least when I shovel snow, I'm actually accomplishing something.

7. It makes skiiers and snowboarders happy. I am neither, but if I were, I would "love" snow even more.

8. Snow provides good picture opportunities.

I'll add more as I think of them... please feel free to add your own reasons in the comments section.

Learning from History

2010-01-16T13:49:00.005-07:00

Subject: Cry for Me, Argentina

From an email, author unknown

Think, remember....

In the early 20th century, Argentina was one of the richest countries in the world. While Great Britain 's maritime power and its far-flung empire had propelled it to a dominant position among the world's industrialized nations, only the United States challenged Argentina for the position of the world's second-most powerful economy.

It was blessed with abundant agriculture, vast swaths of rich farmland laced with navigable rivers and an accessible port system. Its level of industrialization was higher than many European countries: railroads, automobiles and telephones were commonplace.

In 1916, a new president was elected. Hipólito Irigoyen had formed a party called The Radicals under the banner of "fundamental change" with an appeal to the middle class.

Among Irigoyen's changes: mandatory pension insurance, mandatory health insurance, and support for low-income housing construction to stimulate the economy. Put simply, the state assumed economic control of a vast swath of the country's operations and began assessing new payroll taxes to fund its efforts.

With an increasing flow of funds into these entitlement programs, the government's payouts soon became overly generous. Before long its outlays surpassed the value of the taxpayers' contributions. Put simply, it quickly became under-funded, much like our Social Security and Medicare programs.

The death knell for the Argentine economy, however, came with the election of Juan Perón. Perón had a fascist and corporatist upbringing; he and his charismatic wife aimed their populist rhetoric at the nation's rich.

This targeted group "swiftly expanded to cover most of the propertied middle classes, who became an enemy to be defeated and humiliated."

High taxes and economic mismanagement took their inevitable toll even after Perón had been driven from office. But his populist rhetoric and "contempt for economic realities" lived on. Argentina's federal government continued to spend far beyond its means.

Hyperinflation exploded in 1989, the final stage of a process characterized by "industrial protectionism, redistribution of income based on increased wages, and growing state intervention in the economy..."

The Argentinean government's practice of printing money to pay off its public debts had crushed the economy. Inflation hit 3000%, reminiscent of the Weimar Republic. Food riots were rampant; stores were looted; the country descended into chaos.

And by 1994, Argentina 's public pensions -- the equivalent of Social Security -- had imploded. The payroll tax had increased from 5% to 26%, but it wasn't enough. In addition, Argentina had implemented a value-added tax (VAT), new income taxes, a personal tax on wealth, and additional revenues based upon the sale of public enterprises. These crushed the private sector, further damaging the economy.

A government-controlled "privatization" effort to rescue seniors' pensions was attempted. But, by 2001, those funds had also been raided by the government, the monies replaced by Argentina 's defaulted government bonds.

By 2002, "...government fiscal irresponsibility... induced a national economic crisis as severe as America 's Great Depression."

We've seen this movie before. The politician's populist plans NEVER work, because power corrupts and government bankrupts everything it touches. For those that will listen, history shouts over and over that we cannot sustain the wild spending and government takeover of business, banking, health care, and continue to inflate unfunded entitlement programs! Like history tells us, it will be utter and complete disaster!!!

Today's politicians are guilty of more than arrogant stupidity; they are enslaving future generations to poverty and misery. And they will be long gone when it all implodes. They will be as cold and dead as Juan Perón when your children and grand children must ultimately pay for the blind arrogance of politicians!

THINK AMERICA! WE ARE ALLOWING POLITICIANS FROM BOTH PARTIES TO REPEAT THE FAILURES OF HISTORY!

*********************

This may be an oversimplification of a very complex history of a nation. Still, I think Edmund Burke's statement, "Those who don't know history are destined to repeat it," is worth considering, not just with the Argentine example, but with all world history.

Pam

Daisy's Depressed

2010-01-05T16:41:00.003-07:00

How do I know? Because she just lays in her box in her box and meows at me when I go into the laundry room. At least she's still talking. She doesn't seem pressed to get outside for a change of scenery, which she does when she's herself. I don't blame her at all. It's as dark outside as it is in the basement laundry room. And it's cold out there too.

I bet she'll snap out of it when the sun comes out.

A Special Treat

2009-12-12T17:15:00.005-07:00

Our friends, the Crookston family, invited us to the matinee program of the Timpview High School Ballroom Dance Company Winter Concert, A Classic Christmas. Their son and daughter, Ryan (16) and Megan (14/15) are members of the company.

We have a special relationship with the Crookstons: Doug and Ryan are our Home Teachers Cindy is my personal friend (and a fellow Ohioan, I might add). I've been a Primary leader while three of their children (Megan, Amy and Timothy) were in Primary. Their oldest daughter, Julie, is a freshman at BYU this year, but we've gotten to know her, too, when she was in high school.

The whole family, plus Julie's roommate from BYU, came to see Megan and Ryan dance. We were excited when they invited us to go to the Ballroom Christmas Concert today. We've never been to this kind of a program and it sounded festive. And we were not disappointed.

In fact, Bob and I were both amazed. The entire company was outstanding. There were 23 numbers on the program and a total of 101 performers, not including two groups of junior dancers from the Canyon Crest and Rock Canyon elementary schools. Dances performed included foxtrot, rumba, waltz tango, swing, polka, cha cha, and more. The choreography was impressive as were the many costumes. Moods to match the music were created by special lighting and for one number, misting.

Ryan's and Megan's performances were flawless. Though they participate in ballroom dance competitions as partners, in this program they each performed with their respective teams. Ryan said his favorite was the number called "Hot Stuff", a disco hustle. He was so cool! Megan's favorite number was "Carol of the Bells" a Viennese Waltz, in which she and the other girls wore gorgeous long red and white velvet and satin dresses, truly reminiscent of an era gone by. Megan is tall and slender and this number accentuated her beauty and poise.

After the program, Megan and Ryan came out front to see their family. Here are a few quick snapshots I was able to get:

Little sister Amy with Ryan

Ryan and Megan

Ryan and Megan

I wish I had thought to get a picture of the whole family.

Thank you, Crookstons, for a wonderful afternoon. We love you!

Why Do I Need to Be Here?

2009-12-01T16:03:00.003-07:00

I try to honor copyright laws, but I'm hoping since I'm not posting this for profit, that the writer and publisher of this beautiful story will not mind my doing so.

From the December issue of The Ensign, our Church magazine.

Why Do I Need to Be Here?
Megan Robinson, Utah, USA

Megan Robinson, “Why Do I Need to Be Here?,” Ensign, Dec. 2009, 66–67

A week before Christmas in 2007 two of my children were diagnosed with strep throat and ear infections. Jacob, age 5, whined all the way to the pharmacy for his medicine, and Beth, 19 months, was especially clingy.

When we arrived, we were greeted by a long line at the prescription counter. While Jacob tugged at my leg and complained about his ear, Beth wiggled out of my arms. I thought she would stay beside me, but as soon as she was free, she ran straight to an elderly gentleman sitting on a bench near the line.

The man was looking at the floor, his face resting in his hands. I called after Beth, not wanting to leave the line, but she approached the man anyway and bent down to look up at his face as she grinned and giggled.

I then sent Jacob to get her. He grabbed her hand and tried to pull her away from the man, but she refused to come. Then she started pushing on the man’s forehead in order to get him to raise his head. As I grew agitated, Beth took off her untied shoes and shoved them into the man’s lap. He sat up and smiled.

“Beth!” I called.

“It’s all right,” the man said in a tired voice. “I’ll tie her shoes for her.”

I grew a little nervous as he began putting Beth’s shoes on her. When he finished, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the head. He was slow to let her go, so I quickly left the line to rescue my daughter from this stranger.

As I approached, I noticed that he had tears in his eyes. Concerned, I sat down next to him.

“I have to tell you something,” he said, staring straight ahead. “Not more than a month ago my wife died, and about an hour ago I found out that I have terminal cancer. I came here to get medicine, and I have been contemplating my life and thinking that I might move along the inevitable. I didn’t think I could bear going through Christmas and the pains of cancer without my sweet wife.”

He said he had been praying, asking God, “If I need to be here for something, You better speak now, or I’m going home to end things.” Before he had even said “amen,” Beth began pestering him and calling him “Grandpa.”

“Now I know why I need to be here longer,” he said. “I need to stick around for my grandkids. They need me.”

I threw my arms around him and could not help but weep. I then got our medicine. Beth, who had seemed so ill only moments earlier, kissed the man on the cheek and bounded away with Jacob and me, waving and saying, “Bye-bye, Grandpa.”

I didn’t ask his name, but I will never forget that even a young girl who pesters an old man can be an answer to prayer.

My MamaCat

2009-11-18T15:01:00.001-07:00

She hobbles over to where I sit at the kitchen table tapping away on the keyboard of my laptop computer, nudges my leg and waits for me to reach down and pet her. Which I do without hesitation. She sits patiently, soaking up the ear- and chin-scratching until I resume what I was doing. She settles at my feet. After watching her move around our house since she moved in with us, I have concluded that MamaCat is protecting me.

My relationship with this kitty goes back several years. She was born to a scraggly, malnourished feral cat who disappeared shortly after teaching her two kittens they could find food at the Warrens' Carport Diner where we left food out for our cats. Bob and I simultaneously named her "Wolfie" one day when she peered at us over the fence from our backyard patio. She was black verigated with small splotches of orange, and she looked rugged -- like a wolf. She was "he" to us until the following spring when she plumped up and suddenly slimmed down, and we discovered a litter of kittens under our deck. Wolfie became MamaCat.

A few weeks later, MamaCat brought her family to the Carport Diner, as her mother had done with her. Shy and hesitant at first, eventually bold and untouchable they came. It was a busy summer for us, and the thoughts I had of taming them got lost in the shuffle, and we soon found ourselves swarmed in feral kittens who were quickly becoming cats. One morning we knew they had to go. While they still had a chance of adoption, Bob called animal control and borrowed a trap. Silently rooting for the kittens, I kept score. Kittens 1, Bob 0. They outsmarted his efforts. Kittens 2, Bob 0. I was impressed, and had to share my glee -- kept score online with my sister and niece on our family website. I'm afraid that jinxed the kittens. From then they were quickly gobbled up by the trap one at a time. Bob put the trap and kittens into the car and delivered the them to the animal shelter. When he came back with the trap, I was puzzled.

"She has to go, Pam. We can't have her putting out kittens several times a year, " he insisted.

"Bob, they'll euthanizer her. She's wild. She doesn't have a chance," I pleaded.

The argument went back and forth, and finally he succumbed. "Ok, but you have to tame her enough to catch her and take her in to get her fixed."

I promised. And I started working immediately on the taming of MamaCat. After a short time, I could touch the top of her head while she ate at the Carport Diner. If I moved too quickly, she panicked and retreated. But she knew I was her friend. And I knew she was mine. Daily we met there and visited together while she ate.

One fall morning I stepped outside to feed her and was surprised that she wasn't waiting on the other side of the carport for her breakfast, a recent habit. I looked around, called "Kitty, kitty? Where are you, MamaCat?" I was puzzled. Something was wrong. I walked to the front yard, and almost immediately, I spied MamaCat sitting in the street by the curb in front of the house across the street. As I slowly approached her, I talked to her softly hoping not to spook her. I expected her to run as I had never approached her like this before. But she didn't. She just sat there looking at me. I stooped down and reached my hand out to her. She sniffed it, but still didn't make any effort to escape. There was no blood, but I knew she was hurt. I touched her cautiously. We were becoming friends, but she was a feral cat, unvaccinated, and I had no assurance that under stress she wouldn't go into defense mode. Something about the position of one of her hind legs wasn't right. She was going to have to see a vet. I came back home and quickly found a box the right size to confine her for the ride and returned to where she sat in the gutter. After talking with her quietly for a few minutes, and petting her to keep her (and myself) calm, I slowly picked her up. Her one hind leg dangled lifeless, her body tensed at this first experience of being held by a human, but she didn't struggle.

Now I had my own struggle. I knew her injury was not minor. Veterinary care is not inexpensive. I needed reassurance. I called Bob at work and told him what had happened. His reaction was not surprising, but maybe it was what I needed to strengthen my own resolve. "Put her to sleep, Pam. She's a wild cat. I'm not paying for a vet for a wild cat."

"But she trusts me, Bob. She's not wild anymore." -- I was definitely stretching the truth here.

"I'm not paying for it."

"That's ok, I am. I can't put her to sleep. She trusts me. It's probably not a serious injury. I can't put her to sleep because of a broken leg."

So off to the vet we went, MamaCat and me. Dr. Dicou took us right away, and after a visual evaluation, she told me what I already knew, that MamaCat had a broken leg. The extent of the injury was more apparent when Dr. Dicou put the xrays up on the screen. The break was very close to a joint and would be hard to repair. And even with surgery, there would be no guarantees of a permanent fix. She might need her leg amputated. We could skip the repair, if I chose and go right for the amputation. No, I said, let's try to fix it. A veterinary orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Smith, was called and would do the surgery as soon as he could. I went home and waited for the news.

The call came sooner than I expected. Dr. Smith said he had taken a look at the xrays and found that her other hind leg was also fractured. To repair the fractures, he would need to put pins in to pull the bones back in alignment and hold them together. He confirmed what Dr. Dicou had already told me: because of the break(s) being so close to the joint, there was no guarantee the surgery would work. And of course, the fee for the surgery went up considerably with the second break. What did I want to do? What did I want to do, he asked? What did I want to do? Mostly I wanted not to have this problem, nor have to make such a huge decision on the spot. I had to err, if I were to err, on the side of this sweet kitty. "Do it," I told him.

A day or two later, MamaCat was released to my care. She had to be confined so that she wouldn't walk on her legs any more than necessary. We kept her in a kennel in our living room, near the dinette, where she could see us most of the time. She required pain medication and antiobiotics several times a day. She was a good patient.

MamaCat's legs seemed to be healing, and upon Dr. Smith's instructions, we allowed her out of the kennel a few weeks later for short periods of time. Daisy and Oreo were house cats at this time, but after their initial inspection of the newcomer, they seemed to prefer to ignore her. I confined them in the basement when I let MamaCat out for exercise. She didn't run from me, she couldn't. But she was still very shy.

One day as I picked her up to put her back into the kennel I felt something sharp on her leg poke my hand. Closer observation showed the screw holding her leg together had become dislodged and was poking thru the skin. I was horrified. I called Dr. Smith immediately and he said to bring her in. Another surgery, another recuperation. A few weeks later, it happened a second time.

We took her to Dr. Smith's office in Sandy. I sat quietly in the exam room with MamaCat waiting for him to come in. He ordered xrays. He brought them in to show me what was happening. The bone in the leg that had been most severely damaged had become diseased somehow and would not hold the pin. I was in emotional agony. She had come so far, had been through so much pain and discomfort. How could I put her through any more? Should I? Or had Bob been right in the first place? Should she be euthanized? I asked Dr. Smith what he thought. He hesitated then said, "If she's just a feral cat and you have no feelings or attachment for her, then maybe euthanasia is the right thing. But, we can amputate this leg and she will be just fine." I was also thinking about another vet bill, although Dr. Smith had generously not charged me for the second surgery. I wouldn't expect that kind of continued generosity. He must have read my thoughts because he added, "If you want me to amputate her leg, there will be no charge. I'm in this with you to the end."

So MamaCat endured her third surgery, and returned home a few days later to her kennel in the living room. Round three recuperation was underway.

This time, there were no setbacks. She healed completely. And, just as Dr. Smith had promised, she adapted very quickly to being a three-legged cat. For her protection, (we thought), we moved Daisy and Oreo outside. A kind of role reversal just took place. She was the live-in cat, and they had become the yard cats. MamaCat was still basically a feral cat. She scattered away on her three good legs when she saw us coming. She would come to me if I stooped down and talked to her softly. Fast moves still spooked her. She allowed Bob to live here, but she wasn't about to be his friend. If he looked at or spoke to her, she made a quick getaway.

MamaCat, 6 months after The Accident

Little by little she became more at ease. There were no major turning points, but a gradual acceptance of her new life and of us as her family. There was only one milestone that was notable, and it happened two or three summers after The Accident. In that time, she had finally accepted Bob as a necessary evil and didn't always run when he came into the room. She even let him pet her occasionally, if he didn't move fast or speak harshly. But if a stranger came into the house, she hobbled up the steps and hid under our bed until she could no longer hear the stranger's voice. The summer of 2006 my sister Kathie and her husband Carl came to visit. MamaCat made herself scarce, coming out in the open to eat and use her box mostly at night or while we were away. One morning, Kathie and I were sitting at the kitchen table and while we were engrossed in our conversation, MamaCat quietly came in and sat at Kathie's side. When we noticed, we glanced at each other, the surprise apparent on both our faces. Kathie slowly reached down, speaking softly calling her by name, and touched her head. MamaCat accepted her affection. Other than the times that I have held MamaCat and let Brody, Kennedy or Carter pet her briefly since then, Kathie is the only person other than Bob and me to touch her.

In the beginning of her house confinement, when Daisy and Oreo lived in, MamaCat seemed to realize she was the newcomer and the house cats were unthreatened by her. They guardedly passed each other, and an occasional low growl was heard from one or the other. But no obvious hostility. That is, until Daisy and Oreo were banished to the outside. Each day that went by, MamaCat became closer to me, following me around during the day and sleeping in our room at night. One day it occurred to me that if she wasn't at my feet, she was often laying by the door of the room I was in, facing outward. That she might be "guarding" me seemed possible. That hunch was validated one day when I let Daisy come in to go to the basement. MamaCat suddenly attacked Daisy as she ran straight toward the basement. Fur flew. Cats screeched and hissed. But in the end, there were no injuries, except Daisy's pride. This had been her home, and now she was humiliated by some punk three-legged cat
half her size.

I don't remember when MamaCat decided that rather than sleeping under our bed, she wanted to sleep on it, but one night she came to my side of the bed and tried to claw her way up. Even though her one hind leg had healed enough to walk on, it is not fully functional and she cannot leap as other cats do. I reached over and lifted her onto the bed. She sat quietly for a moment not quite knowing what to do. She licked my arm for a few minutes. Then she put her face in mine and gave me one little lick by the corner of my mouth. Thus started our nightly ritual of "bath and a kiss". So she really is My MamaCat. She gives me a bath, and tucks me in with a kiss each night.

There's something about an empty space

2009-11-02T17:35:00.003-07:00

on a pedigree chart or family group sheet that begs filling in.

My cousin, actually my second cousin, sent me an email and asked if I would send her the information I have on her branch of my family -- our shared ancestry -- for a cookbook she is making for her granddaughters. A few years ago I had put the information on a Baker Family website on MyFamily.com (which I highly recommend, by the way). After trying to get other distant cousins, all of whom I know personally, involved in the website and sharing pictures and family memories, I found myself the main (actually, pretty much the only) active participant, and I didn't renew the site and thus it is inaccessible.

MaryMargaret was my most enthusiastic follower, and she has a robust interest in our shared folk. So when I got her email, I was excited. I went to my electronic records and created the pedigree chart to print out for her. Uh, oh. There are lots of empty spaces. Hmmm. I'm sure I had more on this family here -- I thought I had the marriage date of Uncle Herb and Aunt Sadie -- I think I remember seeing it somewhere.... Places of birth for all of my grandfather's brothers surely was Oregon Township, Lucas County, Ohio. But the blanks seduce me with their barreness. I wouldn't dream of filling in a blank on a pedigree chart or family group record without the official piece of paper that proves that the names, places and dates are more than a figment of my imagination. But it sure bothers me that they are empty. Especially when I keep thinking that somewhere in one of these stacks of paper are the very documents that would allow me a clear conscience to fill them in.

I've emailed the pedigree sheets and to MaryMargaret and asked her to help me fill in the blanks for her immediate family. But I think I'm going to have to do some digging.....

What is it?

2009-10-26T16:20:00.000-06:00

Or more importantly, maybe, is how old is it? I'm trying to clean out my freezer, one package at a time. I think this is leftover spaghetti sauce. I'm thawing it and will give it the taste test.

If I don't show up for church next Sunday, you'll know what happened.

Bear Hollow

2009-09-09T23:13:00.005-06:00

I'm only the grandma, but feel fortunate to be included in the back to school picture taking ritual. I don't think I've missed one in 7 years since Brody started Kindergarten.

Today was Carter's first day of preschool this year, a new school called Bear Hollow, and he was very excited. (and very photogenic)

Here he is with his bear, which he named "Barry" this morning:

Hmmm. Is this a GQ pose?

Not long after I snapped this one, he told me "Enough pictures, Grandma." Why? At this point I had only taken about 24.

This one, taken as he got out of the car at Bear Hollow, almost looks like he was having second thoughts about this, but I assure you, he wasn't.

Mama and her boy. Makes my heart swell with love. Two of my very favorite people in this whole world.

Tuesday

2009-08-29T20:39:00.005-06:00

We're staying with the kids while Gayle and Bill are out of town for Bill's work. Yesterday (Friday), I was getting ready to go somewhere, and Carter was going with me.
"Go use the bathroom," I reminded him. Then I was sidetracked by something I was doing. A few minutes later, he was lollygagging in the livingroom.

"Go use the bathroom," I reminded him again, since it didn't seem like he had left the vicinity since my earlier plea.

"I already did," was his answer.

"When?" I asked.

"Tuesday."

Great Grandpa Redd

2009-08-22T14:03:00.009-06:00

Every now and then, Carter has asked me about my dad. "Where's your dad," he asks. I tell him, "My dad lives in Michigan, and when we go there this summer, you will meet him." Carter is very interested in family relationships, who people are, and where they are. (Remember, Carter is the "dad" of his own son, Alex, the water balloon baby.)

So there we were in July at Platte River Campground, all of us hanging out in our pine canopied family room. Dad and Ula arrived from nearby Interlochen for their annual camp dinner with us. Dad had barely escaped the car when Carter walked over to him, took his hand and said simply, "C'mon".

Carter led Dad to Kathie & Carl's campsite next to ours where all the toys were, handed Dad a paddle and engaged him in a game of catch. I know, and am absolutely sure, that was the first time in over 50 years that my father played ball.

That I had my camera in hand is a tender mercy of the Lord. I will never forget the sweetness of what I witnessed in these few moments. With or without the pictures.

A boy and his (sister's) dog

2009-08-20T20:44:00.006-06:00

Today was back to school for Brody and Kennedy. I'm totally in denial that my grandson is in the 6th grade, and my little granddaughter is in the 4th! They were babies only last year....weren't they? I went over to their house this morning for their annual back-to-school early morning picture taking episode. Each year it has been an "Event" with new clothes, new backpacks, big smiles, and lots of excitement. This year, it was different. The excitement wasn't there. We snapped a few quick pictures and off they ran. Carter never even came outside to be a part of it.

Another missing "person" was Smudge (the cat) who has been in every back to school picture until this year. I wondered if anyone but me noticed...

Carter will go to pre-school in a few weeks, and I know he will be excited and will pose as much as we ask, and will jabber about going to 'cool, like he did last year. For today, he was content to scoop up Lola, his sister's new puppy, who will be "his" while she is in school each day.

Happy Independence Day

2009-07-04T15:08:00.003-06:00

Happy Birthday, America! May God bless you always.

Today's entry appears on my other blog, Just Another American Patriot

"Alex" - A Special Father's Day Story

2009-06-20T21:35:00.006-06:00

This is my grandson, Carter. Quite a nice looking young man, I think. But last night when this picture was taken, he had a special glow about him. Little did we know...

Today Carter came to me with the news that he had had a baby. His baby's name is Alex, and unlike moms, whose babys grow in their tummies, Carter's baby grew in his right foot. Since I wasn't invited to the birthing, I can't tell you how that went, but Alex arrived. He is a chunky little thing, a little bluish in color.

Here is Alex in the bed that Carter gave him:

Carter spent most of the day with Alex in tow (pardon the pun), and he was such a good father. He took him everywhere. In fact, when it was time for us to go to the movie (we saw Night at the Museum 2 and highly recommend it), Carter insisted that Alex come along. We didn't have a car seat for the little guy, but we nestled him in the drink holder between the two front seats, and Carter kept an eye on him from the back seat. By the time we reached the theater, Alex had fallen asleep, and Carter reluctantly allowed him to nap in the car while we went inside.

Because Bob was on call today, we had two cars at the theater. When the movie was over, Carter was quite ready to check out his baby, until Brody and Kennedy talked Grandpa out of a few spare coins for the arcade. Carter decided Grandma could babysit for a few minutes. I took Alex home with me. As I was lifting him from his little nest, I noticed he was wet. Hmmm, where did that come from? Imagine my horror when I realized that Alex had sprung a pinhole leak. I quickly ran toward the house with him when "poof"! Alex was no more.

I may be slow, but when a grandson's happiness is at stake, I can think pretty doggone quickly. And besides, I couldn't bear to be held responsible for losing his baby while he was in my care. I quickly found the bucket of Alexes-to-be (aka water balloons), found a blue one, and rushed to the back spigot to breathe life into the little guy. Not quite the same as coming from my right foot, but as surrogate mother, it was the best I could do under the circumstances. I laid the "new" Alex in his bed.

Oh my, they look so much alike, they might've been identical twins!

Carter came home from the movies with Grandpa, and was very happy to find "Alex" resting safely in his bed. All was well. Carter scooped his sweet baby into his arms and continued to carry him along in all of his adventures for the next little while. He only lost track of him once, and was a bit panicked until we found him in his bed on the floor of the camper.

Carter's dad (I guess that would be "Grandpa" Bill), arrived to take the kids home. Somehow, his sweet little Alex, being the fragile soul he was, met a (second untimely) demise. Tears were shed, and poor Carter was almost inconsolable. I knew just what to do -- back to the shed for a new "Alex-to-be", back to the waterspigot, and voila! a(nother) new Alex was born!

Daddy Carter was pleased as punch.

I sent them quickly on their way. I guess I should have slipped Bill a few more "Alexes", just in case.

By the way, this is a true story.

Girls Camp, 1986

2009-06-20T21:10:00.004-06:00

Gayle and Karlee at Girls' Camp in 1986. Gayle was 14, Karlee a year or two older. They were very good friends, maybe bests. I can't think of Gayle at that age, almost, without Karlee appearing in the picture with her.

This picture is classic Gayle and Karlee. It is one of my very favorite pictures of Gayle of all time. A moment in time captured the essence of the adolescent who lived in her body for a few wonderful, though sometimes challenging, years. Karlee, too. Oh, how I love these girls. And how grateful I am that I was able to be at that Girls' Camp and several others with them.

Gayle called tonight to ask me to email this picture to her. She is now a Young Women advisor and is getting a different perspective of those years. Older, wiser and she has so much to offer these dear girls. She loves them as I love the girls who were my stewardship so many years ago. She's teaching them tomorrow and this picture fits into the lesson. It must be about friendship.

If I had it to do over...

2009-06-17T22:35:00.002-06:00

I would have put this in my bag for the "What I Can't Live Without" Relief Society Enrichment dinner last night.

Not the flag, but what it stands for.

Soccer Camp & Clear Creek

2009-06-06T17:32:00.007-06:00

The first week school-free found Brody at Clear Creek camp, where the highlights for him were (trying to) trap(ping) squirrels and howling at coyotes at midnight on the mountain and having them answer back. His absence from his family for those five days was sorely noted. Things can get pretttt-ty quiet with the resident 11 year old missing. Pictures will have to wait until he downloads them.

To make matters worse -- as far as quiet goes -- Kennedy spent each morning at BYU Soccer Camp. She's a great player, but these camps give the kids an opportunity to practice old skills and to learn new ones.

When I picked her up on the last day and took this picture, the coach (Brady, pictured with her here and who the girls nicknamed "Buffalo") said to me, "She was alot of fun."

I think she was sad it was all over...

Carter was quiet this week, too.

Garden Update

2009-06-05T18:18:00.010-06:00

Bob and I got a comparatively late start in the yard this year because of the cold weather lingering. Working in the yard, particularly the garden, is gratifying. Take a little patch of dirt, sprinkle a few seeds and plunk in a few small plants, add water and sunshine --- a little love doesn't hurt, either --- and some patience, and voila! you have something to eat. As much as the fruits of my labors, I love going outside early each summer morning, and walking around the yard to see "how does (my) garden grow". There is something truly satisfying in watching things grow and having a hand in it.

Here is a brief pictoral demonstration of how things are progressing in our little corner of the world.

April 27

May 12

May 18

May 29

There have been days this past week that I was tempted to sit by the beans (in rows on the left side of the garden) to see if I could see them grow. I could definitely see a difference in them from one end of the day to the other.

June 5

Lettuce

Our first tomato

Our first broccoli

Carter's Club, too

2009-06-04T12:39:00.006-06:00

A few months ago -- wow! has it been that long? -- when Carter came to visit, he discovered "Brody & Kennedy's Club", a magical place tucked away under the huge pine trees in our back yard. He couldn't understand why his name wasn't on the sign with his big brother's and sister's, who have pretty much outgrown this special spot. He wanted "to be there, too".

Grandma promised he would be, and Carter reminded me each time he has come to visit since then. Monday when he was here, we decided that would be our project of the day.

First, we had to measure...

...then we went to Robert's where Carter picked out the sign. Thinking we had some leftover stain at home, we skipped the stop at Lowe's (bad idea), and went straight to Pebbles in My Pocket to die-cut the letters. Carter is a patient shopper, and a patient helper. At Pebbles, they have a children's area with toys, which makes waiting so much easier. Back at home, we descended to the basement to find...the... leftover...stain..............

Well, so much for skipping Lowe's. The leftover stain had been discarded with the leftover paint in a hazardous substance collection a few months ago.

Project delayed a day. Carter was coming back on Tuesday. First thing, we piled ourselves in the car and headed to WalMart, where we found a small can of stain for Carter's sign. Back home, Carter helped to stain it. And then we put it out to dry.

Project delayed another day. Waiting for the stain to dry. But Carter is a patient boy, and he did not complain.

Carter came over today and helped put the letters on the sign. This little boy's eyes lit up with the words "Carter's Club, too" spelled out before him.

And then the time came to hang the sign...

Do you suppose Carter was pleased?

Yes, he was.

Memorial Day 2009

2009-05-25T12:35:00.004-06:00

It came and went quietly here. We remembered why we observe this holiday, and are grateful for all who have given the "last full measure" of devotion, and those who have served and returned.

Memorial Day always conjures up memories of family cookouts in Grandma & Pa Redd's back yard on Victoria Place in Toledo. There was never a Memorial Day, July 4th, or any other national holiday that Grandma, and also Aunty Mary, didn't have their flags proudly hanging from their front porches. Why didn't we take more pictures of those special times with our family? The pictures (in my mind) will go with me when I go -- I will have to create mind pictures for my grandchildren to carry with them when I am gone.

The other memory that Memorial Day (or Decoration Day as it was called) brings to mind was Grandma and Aunty Mary making the rounds of the cemeteries in the Toledo area where family members and friends are laid to rest. Grandma was a house mother to a fraternity at the University of Toledo, and she not only saw many, many young men go off to war, but she corresponded with them regularly. Many didn't return; those who did visited her until her death at the age of 88. They never forgot, either.

Cemetery visiting is becoming a thing of the past. I don't think the younger generation will maintain this tradition very well. Part of the reason, in my family at least, is that I haven't taken my daughter with me when I have gone. My mother and father never took me, either, but I have been to the cemeteries with Grandma and Aunty Mary several times. Pleasant memories. Comforting.

This year Bob and I stayed home. We had friends join us for an informal backyard cookout. Low key. Pleasant. I heard or read many times this year that Memorial Day is not about cookouts. We had one anyway, and I don't think it was disrespectful. I remembered. And do, many, many more days throughout the year. And that is what this holiday is about.

The Project

2009-05-20T21:04:00.017-06:00

A week ago we ordered six cubic yards of dirt, something we've needed but have been putting off for a few years. When we stretched our garden this year, we couldn't put it off any longer. When the man from Mountain Topsoil delivered it last Thursday , I told him, "I've never thought about dirt being pretty, but this is some doggone good looking dirt!" It was sifted and enriched with peat, smooth and dark.

Bob is definitely stronger and more focused than I am. I helped -- hauled many loads to the back yard, but I'm sure that for each wheelbarrowful of dirt I moved, Bob moved fifteen.

The first order of business was to fill the added garden space with good dirt. Once that was accomplished, the areas around the deck screamed for their share. Bob moved some plants and extended some sprinklers.

We had help. A supervisor. Named Daisy. She refused to lift a paw in the manual labor

...but she watched to make sure no one else slacked.

Not only did she supervise, she inspected...

...from every angle.

Occasionally, she followed Bob to the dirt pile out front and then back to the worksite. A good supervisor oversees all of the work. (Besides, she's a nosy cat.)

Notice the shape of the garden. Hint: we live in Utah.

Here's the deck area, after dirt, before flowers.

Good thing Daisy didn't see this. She'd have been on him in no time. Literally.

This project took several days. On Monday, we hired some help.

He worked cheap, and made himself at home.

And we had new supervisors, too.

The dirt pile in the street in front of the house is gone, and Bob is glad. The Advil helped to ease his pain, and mine. I've planted impatiens around the deck, and alyssum and petunias in the back along the fence. When they will show up without zooming, I'll post pictures.

I said to Bob, now we need some mulch. I won't tell you what he said.

"Let us" see...

2009-05-20T20:54:00.004-06:00

how the lettuce is coming. It looks like lettuce to me.

The Latest Dirt

2009-05-13T23:11:00.004-06:00

It's 11:15 P.M. and past my latest self-imposed bedtime. But I couldn't go to bed without sharing the latest dirt.

Ok, it's not just dirt. If you look reeeeeeally closely, you might be able to see a few very tiny seedlings in the middle of the picture above. You might need to zoom in on the picture. And be sure you have your glasses on (if you wear them). I'm so proud of these little guys -- they've come up several days ahead of schedule.

That's my dinner in late June. Or at least part of it. Lettuce. We've also put a few tomato plants in, several head lettuce plants, a cucumber,a broccoli plant and a brussel sprouts plant -- there are only two of us, and whatever comes from those two plants I'm sure will be plenty. Not yet in dirt are the zucchini plant(s), another cucumber, two Roma tomatoes, and lots of green bean seeds.

Which reminds me. There may be frost tonight (forecast says 39 degrees), so I've gotta run out and cover up my babies.

Little American

2009-05-12T13:48:00.002-06:00

When Carter was here a few days ago, he found an American flag that I had bought a few weeks ago to use at the Tea Parties I attended.

He asked, "What's the name of this flag, Grandma?"

I was puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"What's its name?" he asked again.

I still didn't understand what he wanted to know "Well, it's an American flag."

"But what's its name?"

"United States? Is that what you mean?"

Haltingly he began in a hushed tone, "...of America ... Republic.. which it stands...." He was shyly looking down at the floor, flag in hand.

"What did you say?" I couldn't have heard that right. It sounded like...

"...Nation... under God...." he said quietly.

Almost apologetically, with a hint of a smile on his face, he finished, "...inavisible...liberty...justice for all."

My four year old grandson had just said the Pledge of Allegiance in the most reverent spirit I have ever heard it recited.

Did you know....

2009-04-29T09:05:00.010-06:00

...that Arlen Spector (R-PA) has changed his party affiliation and is now a Democrat? This may not sound newsworthy if you haven't been following what is happening in Congress, but it tips the balance of power in our country completely into the hands of a party who has no respect for life, no respect for the sanctity of marriage between a man and a woman, no sense of fiscal responsibility, and no hesitation to take our country straight into socialism. They now have a filibusterproof majority.

If you haven't been in the habit of writing your congressman and your senators, now is the time to start. On the side of this page, you'll find a link to "Contact Congress". I hope you'll check it out -- the site it leads to makes contacting them very easy, and even provides suggested wording for your emails regarding various important issues.

More now than ever, we have to prepare for some really tough times ahead.

Here's an article that is not about Arlen Specter but about the financial difficulties our country is in. It's from Meridian.

M E R I D I A N M A G A Z I N E

A Dangerous First 100 Days
By Stephen M. Studdert
This week President Barrack Obama marks his first 100 days in office. Never in my experience as a White House advisor or since have I witnessed such a torrid pace of monumental policy change. Cloaked in economic stimulus language, the astonishing breadth and depth of policy transformation and government intervention into the private economy is nothing short of staggering.

(portion of article cut here)

As a nation, with zeal and haste we are building just such a house – one of unwise and unrestrained federal debt – a house with no foundation that ultimately cannot stand.

With our national house being built on sand, more than ever each of us has a duty, to ourselves and to our families, to be informed. We need this economic information – no matter how serious and troubling it may be. And serious and troubling it is! (emphasis mine)

The grinding daily news unceasingly bombards our senses with gloomy information, and for most of us we end up with feelings of distress, worry, and even fear. It makes me not want to read or watch any news reports.

Yet the Lord commanded us to “seek ye diligently and teach one another words of wisdom; yea, seek ye out of the best books words of wisdom; seek learning, even by study and also by faith” (D&C 88:188)

(another portion of the article cut here)

In these troubled times, the welcome calming messages of General Conference just completed were especially inspiring and filled with hope. The Easter just celebrated renews in each of us a sense of everlasting gratitude for the King of Kings whose Resurrection made salvation and eternal life available to all. These are things of unspeakable joy, peace, comfort, and true happiness.

As we follow the Brethren and listen carefully and heed their inspired counsel, we like the Apostle Paul can say “ We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair .” (2 Corinthians 4:8).

In what is sure to be an increasingly bumpy ride, individual and family peace and safety come only – but surely – when we are inseparably connected to the Prophets and Apostles, in word and in deed.

The rest of the article here

Slackin'

2009-04-27T17:32:00.002-06:00

Ok, he wasn't really slackin'. He was resting after this:

This is what he was doing on his day off

Now, if it would just quit snowing, we might have a garden this year!

Best Friends

2009-04-23T19:44:00.015-06:00

Carter had a rare meltdown on Tuesday afternoon when I tried to explain that it was too late that day for him to come home with me. I was torn between wanting to make his every wish come true, and knowing that the words "not today" are ok sometimes and can help build character. I told him that I would pick him up the next morning and we would spend the day together.

One reason Carter wanted to come over, hopefully not the only one, was that he loves to play mini-golf and we had started our own little tradition of playing mini-golf on nice spring mornings, just him and me, with no one else around.

So the first order of business on Wednesday was to drive over to Cascade, select the balls and clubs of our choice, and head onto the golf course.

Here's Tiger

We didn't keep score, but this boy is pretty good with a golf club. I know he had a par on at least one hole, and has seen a few hole-in-ones (holes-in-one?)in his short golfing career.

Being the beautiful day that it was, when we were done golfing, we went to Lynne's to spend a little while on the lawn swings with her. Carter decided he would photo-document this outing:

It was a beautiful, clear day.

The flowers were in full bloom.

The grass was green, and well cut, thanks to Phil a few days before.

Speaking of Phil, he was busy with "guy things", i.e. getting soaker hoses unwound and placed for the summer, putting the awnings on the swings, etc. Carter put down the camera to get in on the action:

Carter is a good helper. And Phil is a patient man.

When he wasn't helping, Carter took up the camera once again.

He brought his golf clubs along...

....hmmm. He seems to have misplaced the clubs. They were there somewhere.

I think all the girl talk got a little boring, and Phil went into the house. The camera became all important at this point. Here's life through the eyes of a 4 year old:

He was especially proud of this self portrait:

When we left Lynne's, Carter got into the car and exclaimed, "I had fun!"

The photos above are but a few of the many, many great pictures Carter took on Wednesday. The only photos he did not take in this blog are the ones in which he appears.

My favorite part of the day happened right after mini-golf. We were getting out of the car at the house, and Carter said, "Grandma, you are my very best friend." I took his little face in my hands, looked him in the eye and said, "Carter, you are my very best friend too." I wanted to soak up that moment and write it permanently on the tablet of my heart.

I turned and went ahead of him to unlock the back door. Behind me I heard this little voice, "Grandma, you have a big bum."

What Are They Good For?

2009-04-19T21:15:00.014-06:00

As the straggler in a short line of hikers at Snow Canyon this weekend, I contemplated what grandmothers are for.

The answer: Grandmothers are good for nagging Grandfathers to hold on to the hand of the littlest hiker.

Grandmothers should not have to repeat this admonition 1432 times in a 40 minute hike. But Grandfathers have very short memories, and they forget at every turn that little people go where the bigger people go, especially when the "bigger people" are the older brother and sister whom the little person adores in every way.

But this Grandmother is very fortunate that she has a Granddaughter who is a Nurturer-in-Miniature, who always looks out for her little brother. Here Granddaugher is saying, "No, Brother. Stay down there!"

And he did.

Grandson definitely listens to Sister better than he listens to Grandmother.

Youngest Grandson says of Sister: "She's my friend. I love her."

Grandmother's nagging paid off....I'm just not sure who it was who listened...not lookin' like it was Grandfather.

Somewhere in the midst of all this Grandmother's angst and her reminding, I thought of Sacagawea with Lewis and Clark. I'm sure Heavenly Father must have planted her on that expedition to be sure these adventurous explorers neither got too close to the edge of anything they could fall off of, or overloaded their wooden canoes. Or got lost. We know they wouldn't have asked for directions.

The thought of that courageous woman caused me to gird up my loins and press forward. Someone had to keep reminding Grandfather about holding little hands and keeping littlest Grandson from the BIG rocks.

Grandpa's remedy:

And we all reached the end of the trail safely. Grandmothers are good for something on these hikes!

Now the rest of the story:

What are Grandfathers good for?

Grandfathers can learn important lessons. For instance, when Grandson (in the car* on the way home from St. George) tells Grandfather that he's going to throw up, Grandfather has learned that the response, "No you aren't. Close your eyes and think of the snow up in the mountains" will not stop the event from happening.

Grandfathers are good for cleaning up messes.

And Grandfathers are compassionate.

This Grandfather helped sickie Grandson to feel better about the incident by telling him a story about the time he threw up in his grandmother's bed and hid the evidence under the pillow.

*Remind me to tell you even more of the story.

Neither rain, nor snow....

2009-04-15T21:47:00.008-06:00

...kept thousands of Utahns from the Tea Parties in our state. The sleeping giant no longer slumbers.

The noontime Salt Lake Tea Party had about twelve hundred people attending. Provo had more, though I'll wait for the news to suggest a number. There were also Tea Parties in Layton, St. George, Vernal, and a few other cities. Jason Chaffetz, Mark Shurtleff, Rob Bishop and Chris Herrod were the few political speakers, each limited to just three or four minutes each, and stayed on task regarding the economy and government intrusion and did not use the platform for campaigning. At the Provo Tea Party, organizer David Kirkham included citizen speakers, walking through the crowd asking people why they came. Their replies often drew applause and cheers.

Here's what the Deseret News had to say:

By Arthur Raymond

Deseret News

Published: Wednesday, April 15, 2009 7:36 p.m. MDT

Linda Nelson would do most anything for her children. On Wednesday, that included driving from Lindon to Salt Lake City and braving freezing temperatures and heavy snowfall to join a loud and large tax-day "tea party."

Nelson joined more than 1,200 other Utahns who called for tax relief and reduced federal spending because she is worried that decisions now being made by the federal government will unfairly burden her five children.

"As my kids come out of college, I can't imagine the taxes that they'll be responsible for," Nelson said. Government leaders "are not asking our generation to pay for this. They're going into debt that will take decades to pay off."

Nelson also was bothered by government involvement in private business, citing the forced resignation of General Motors CEO Rick Wagoner as a move that should "never be allowed to happen."

The sign she held over her head at the Wallace F. Bennett Federal Building — "Debt is the problem, More debt is not the solution" — was popular, eliciting honks and waves from passing cars.

Speeches by Utah Republican congressmen Jason Chaffetz and Rob Bishop and state Attorney General Mark Shurtleff were popular, too, as they roundly criticized the federal stimulus package, financial bailouts and the growing budget deficit as missteps by the Obama administration and members of Congress — sentiments greeted with loud cheers by a crowd Salt Lake City police estimated at 1,200 to 1,500.

More

Salt Lake Tea Party held at noon at the Federal Building.

Provo Tea Party pictures

Click on this link to read what the Herald had to say about the Tea Parties.

The hours I spent at the Salt Lake City and Provo Tea Parties was time well spent. Since before the election I have been concerned about the direction our country has been heading, and the recent economic and policy moves by our current President and Congress have deepened that concern. Just as we have been counseled by our Prophets to live providently, and we do not run up massive debt to leave to our children, it is incomprehensible to me that the government has no qualms about conducting its business this way. It isn't a single administration or one party who is at fault, but rather the Federal Government in general. For example, not a single member of congress read the huge omnibus spending bill which they recently passed. Who among us would vote for something that would impact so many people without reading it?

If we follow the dots, we can't help seeing what is coming if the direction of government doesn't make a sharp turn very soon. Government spending is just the tip of the iceberg. It is a means to an end, the mechanism for completely transforming our country into something which will not come close to what was envisioned by our Founding Fathers and laid securely in place by our Constitution.

I have been sending emails to my elected officials for some time. Attending these Tea Parties was just the next logical step to helping my voice be heard. It was comforting to know that I'm not alone in my concern for our country. I was surrounded by a thousand people at each of these events who feels pretty much like I do, and I know there are thousands more in our neighborhoods. The theme of both of these Tea Parties was the need for each of us to be vigilant and to get actively involved in the political process.

Another Cat Story

2009-04-15T14:07:00.003-06:00

Honestly, I think my cats understand English.

When I was leaving the house this evening, Oreo was at my feet, probably hoping I'd let him in. I glanced up and saw the two cat houses were occupied, and commiserated with him.

"What's wrong, Oreo? Are the houses taken?' He reluctantly started to walk thru the gate to the back yard where the rain was coming down pretty steadily.

I said to him, "Oreo, just go up there and wait -- somebody will leave eventually."

Do you know what that cat did? He hopped up on the fence, then onto the shed by the cat houses and waited.

Daisy talks, but Oreo listens.

TEA*, Anyone?

2009-04-13T22:27:00.004-06:00

In a day and a half, in hundreds of big cities, small towns, and everywhere in between, coast to coast in the United States of America, civic-minded citizens are gathering in a show of unity possibly not seen in this country in my lifetime.

This second round of Tea Parties promises to be substantial despite the lack of interest from the MSM. In their arrogance, the liberal media are likely thinking if they don't acknowledge us, we will go away.

Not I. I am not going away. Rain or snow or sunshine, I will be there for the two Tea Parties I have already commited to on Wednesday, and to as many more as I can possibly attend in the future. We must continue to hold these peaceful demonstrations until our elected representatives listen to us. Until they understand that unless they do listen to us, it is unlikely they will be re-elected. Until they understand that the level of government spending is not only not acceptable, it is obscene, and will burden our children and our children's children and their children. Until they understand government has no business meddling in the private enterprise of its citizens. Until they remember and keep the Oath of Office to which they swore with God as their witness.

If you haven't already planned to attend a Tea Party, there is still time. Go to http://www.taxdayteaparty.com/ to find one in your area. If you have time, make a poster to take with you that expresses your feelings about what is happening in our government. If you don't have time to make a poster, go anyway. Mingle with like-minded citizens and see that you are not alone.

*taxed enough already

Our Easter Tradition

2009-04-09T23:52:00.008-06:00

Kielbasa. That's our Easter tradition. In the old days, when we lived in Ohio near family, we spent Easter with Bob's family. Eileen always served the same: for breakfast, she cooked a huge pan of kielbasa, some hardboiled eggs, and served lamb-shaped, coconut-covered coffee cake from the neighborhood bakery, Menke's. (With much effort I tracked down a lamb shaped pan here a few years ago to duplicate this part of the tradition, but everyone said it looked like a cat and wouldn't eat it.)

When I say "neighborhood" bakery, I mean it literally was located just a few blocks from my mother-in-law's home on a residential street. This area was known amongst the early Polish settlers in Toledo as "Lagrinka" -- I don't know whether that name has a Polish translation, but I supposed it to be their version of Lagrange Street. Bob's people came from "Russia Poland" in the early 1900's and settled in that neighborhood amongst hundreds of other immigrants of similar background. Some of these first generation Americans learned very little English, and wrapped themselves in the culture transplanted from their homeland into this new place. Menke's was not the only neighborhood business. Directly across the street from 3 West Park where the Wojnarowski's (Bob's family: we've changed our name, but that's another story for another day) lived was a neighborhood market or corner store. There was no parking lot, as their customers all lived within walking distance. Neighborhood bars were also very common.

The other neighborhood markets of importance were Mary's, and later Stanley's, several blocks away, across Lagrange Street. These little stores were the keepers of the secret recipes for the very best kielbasa ever to be made. Mary's went out of business possibly in the 1980's or early 90's, but Stanley's is still going strong. Especially at Easter and other holidays. Stanley may take orders, but during Holy Week the place is packed with people at the meat counter in the back of the store taking numbers and standing in line for their turn, sometimes for quite a while, to get the most important ingredient for their traditional Easter feast. I can't even imagine how much kielbasa Stanley and his people must make that week, but it is all fresh, not frozen or smoked, and it is purchased in large quantities by most of the customers.

Kielbasa. What we find in stores here labeled as kielbasa is not the real thing. It doesn't look like kielbasa, doesn't smell like kielbasa, and it doesn't even come close to tasting like kielbasa. And I'm sure it's not made by Polish people, which is the most important ingredient in the secret recipe. I'm sure that scrawled in pencil on that yellowed paper somewhere it says, "must be made by Polish hands".

Passing down traditions, especially dietary traditions, is not easy when you live in an entirely different cultural area than you grew up in. Back in the "old days" the early Polish immigrants must have brought their recipes with them from the old country, bought the necessary ingredients from nearby farms or their little neighborhood markets, and stuffed their own sausage. When we lived in San Francisco, I tried that. It didn't work. For one thing, Mary wouldn't give me her recipe. For another, stuffing sausage is not as easy as it sounds. Some years that we have traveled to Ohio in the summer or fall, we have made the pilgrimage to Stanley's in all reverence, and stocked up on our year's supply of kielbasa. But the truth is, it just isn't the same after it's been frozen for 6 months.

So, last year I called Stanley's and asked if they ship kielbasa. No. Unfortunately, shipping perishables is more than they wanted to deal with. So I called anyone I could find on the internet in the Hamtramack, Michigan, area that might ship kielbasa. Hamtramack is between Toledo and Detroit and was known for its very high Polish population -- 90% in 1970, but down to 22% in 2000. I thought surely someone there would ship kielbasa to Utah. Well, yes, if I wanted to pay something like $35 shipping, not including the cost of the sausage. I was desperate, but not quite that desperate yet.

to be continued...

Black Jack

2009-04-08T20:06:00.014-06:00

He just showed up one day last fall, and stayed. He was an adolescent-aged (maybe 4 or 5 months old) cat that seemed to enjoy hanging out with Daisy and Oreo, the typically disinterested resident felines. All black, except for a small white spot on his chest, he was clearly feral -- ran each time he saw us. Kennedy is always interested in our cats, and when she learned about this one, and saw his picture, she named him Black Jack. Because of our very favorite cat that was named Jack, I cannot call this little guy by the single name. He's Blackie or Black Jack to me. Or Baby. I don't call my cats "Kitty". They seem to resent it.

As the weather grew cooler the draw of the tinkling sound of dry catfood tumbling into the metal bowl on the carport became more alluring than his fear of humans. Some days Blackie watched from a distance while the other cats ate. Other days, he approached behind the other cats, eventually taking his turn. It wouldn't be hard to tame this cat. He didn't slink, and he seemed to be more timid than frightened. He appeared friendly. I liked him. I knew that someday he would like me too.

One day when I went to the carport to feed our cats, I poured the food into the bowl which I placed an arm's length from where I sat on the cement step by our back door. Oreo came running. Black Jack, close behind, peered thru the hole in the gate. He sized me up and decided to wait me out. It was cold out, and I didn't have a jacket on. He won. That time. I went inside, but knew we would play this game regularly, and eventually I would win.

I didn't rush. Trust is a huge part of friendship, and I knew that each time he saw me that I didn't press him, he would become more comfortable with me. One day he was so hungry -- or so impatient -- that he forgot himself and ran to the bowl with Oreo and began eating while I stood not far away. He quickly retreated when I took a step to go inside. This same scenario played out several times over a period of days or weeks, not daily, but whenever he was nearby when I refilled the bowl. I coaxed him, I talked to him, I assured him that I was his friend.

Then one day, it happened. He came to the bowl to eat while I was sitting within reach. I talked to Oreo and petted him. Then I reached out and touched this timid cat on his head while he ate. He didn't flinch or pull back. Gaining courage, I scratched him behind his ears. Oh my, he liked that. He stopped eating and soaked up all the affection I was pouring onto him. For a minute or so, it was as if we had been lifetime buddies. I cautiously stroked his back and ran my hand up his tail. No complaints. Eventually, I moved to get up. He quickly scampered a few steps away and sat and watched me go into the house.

Through the winter, Black Jack made a home in one of the cat cubes we put on our shed for Daisy and Oreo. I bought a third cube, and then learned that they seemed to prefer playing their own version of musical cat houses. Three was one too many. I never knew who would be in the cubes -- sometimes Daisy and Oreo, sometimes Oreo and Blackie, and sometimes Blackie and Daisy. The one who was left out would find another place to hang out -- either under the pine tree, or across the back fence in the Tenney's yard -- until he could sneak back in to a cube while another cat was out for a stretch.

Spring is here and the cubes are empty now more than they are inhabited. Blackie comes running with the other cats when I go outside, but he still keeps a comfortable distance until he remembers I'm his friend. He lets me pet him often and is genuinely happy about the affection.

So now Black Jack is part of the clan. But please note: he is not our cat. He just hangs out here with his buddies.

Neighborhood History

2009-04-08T17:17:00.007-06:00

I wonder how much the advertisers want for Tiffani. Thirteen year olds can be quite charming, much fun, and they have a natural propensity for keeping adults on their toes. I think they would be quite sorry to lose her. Do you think Tiffani was the center of attention on her birthday as a result of this offer?

This is one of the more clever announcements that has appeared on the changeable display sign at Timpview Car Wash at the main intersection of our Edgemont neighborhood. Almost every day since we moved here eight years ago this sign has greeted us with the announcement of a birthday, a missionary departure or return, wedding or wedding anniversary or new baby, or other messages of interest to folks in the area.

If the owners of the car wash who put up these notices have kept a record of them we would have an interesting history of our little neighborhood.

He did it!

2009-04-06T22:53:00.007-06:00

The phone didn't ring by 3:00, and I knew Brody was out of school at 2:30. I tried to call him, but there was no answer. I tried Gayle's cell phone, no answer. The suspense was killing me. Just a few moments later, the phone rang.

"Grandma, I missed it by one word."

Grandma groans. "Oh, Brody, I'm so sorry."

"Just kiddin'. I did it." I could see his impish grin.

Relief! We had spent the past two days, and an hour before school this morning working on the last part of this project.

I'm just so doggone proud of my grandson, I could pop a button.

Today in school, Brody recited the Gettysburg Address and an abbreviated portion of the Declaration of Independence as the final two items to pass off to earn The Great American Challenge from his teacher. Today was the last opportunity he would have. It was do or die.

Before the school year even began last summer, Brody's teacher visited him and each of the rest of her students to get to know them and to present them with the first item of this challenge: before the first day of school, she expected them to memorize all 50 states and their capitals, correctly spelled, in alphabetical order, and be able to locate them on a map. On our road trip to Michigan, we drilled and drilled, and by the time we got home a few weeks later, he was well on the way to knowing them.

The first week of school, his teacher presented the class with the rest of the Challenge. They would have until April 15 to memorize the additional six items and recite to the class:

1) Star Spangled Banner
2) Preamble to the Constitution
3) all 44 Presidents, in order
4) Pledge of Allegiance (written, with 100% spelling and punctuation)
5) Gettysburg Address (up to 8 assists)
6) An abbreviated version of the Declaration of Independence (up to 8 assists)

Brody mentioned to me this morning that Ms. Louw had told the class that only two or three students each year meet the challenge. He only knew of one other classmate that was close, a boy who had already tried twice to pass off the presidents as his last challenge, and today would be his third and last attempt. (Yes, he finally did it too!)

Brody had passed off all but these last two items, and then last week realized with spring break, he would have to memorize and recite them both today, since Monday was the only day their class took time for this project. Between a heavy homework load, and a demanding soccer schedule, Saturday was the first opportunity he had to buckle down to study them. I offered to help. He gratefully accepted. He spent hours reading, reciting, re-reading, and writing. I bribed him with chocolate chip cookies that I promised would nourish his overworked brain. We laughed together. He teased me. I told him more than he wanted to know about the Gettysburg Address and the Declaration. He listened patiently with glassy eyes while other things were probably rolling around in his mind. But he listened. And he worked so hard.

And today, he did it.

Congratulations, Brody! You're my Great American Grandson.

I'm doing it for them

2009-04-05T00:10:00.002-06:00

I'm doing it for myself too, but ultimately it's our children and grandchildren who will bear the burden that our federal government is strapping onto our backs. Not just the financial burden, but even more importantly, the smothering weight of an oppressive, intrusive government.

I'm not an activist. I could have been. The 60's was the decade of my youth. I watched the world go crazy all around me then -- civil rights demonstrations, war protesters, Kent State, and more -- and had no interest in participating. Live and let live was my philosophy.

But here I am a few years later, ok, many years later, and enough is enough. On March 6, I threw my home made sign into the back of my car and drove to Salt Lake City to take part in a Tea Party (see blog entry below for that date). You know, it really felt right. It was a peaceful gathering, not an angry mob. Well, yes, those who took part are angry, as am I, but one can state his or her opinions in a respectful way.

So on April 15, I'll be ready with a new sign, and will participate in two Tea Parties:

City: Salt Lake City
When: April 15, 12:00 pm - 3:00 pm
Where: Federal Building Plaza, 125 South State Street
Contact: EMAIL
Phone: Phone: 801-814-8963 (Adam)

AND

City: Provo
When: April 15, 5:00 pm - 7:00 pm
Where: Old Utah County Court House, University and Center Streets

There's another in SL that I cannot attend:

City: Salt Lake City
When: April 15, 5:00 pm - 7:00 pm
Where: US Post Office Salt Lake City, 1795 W 2100 S
Contact: EMAIL
Phone: 801.377.8224 (David)

To find a Tea Party in your area, check this link:

Tax Day Tea Parties

I realize that meeting with a group of like minded people and carrying signs displaying my opinion of the disgraceful lack of integrity of our government is only a very small part of what I can and must do.

As I type this, my 11 year old grandson called to ask me about the judicial branch of government because he had misplaced his pocket Constitution. I've been helping him to earn his All American Challenge award at school, memorizing states and their capitals, the presidents in order, the Pledge of Allegiance, The Star Spangled Banner, the Preamble to the Constitution, the Gettysburg Address and an abbreviated version of the Declaration of Independence. Fortunately we live in the most conservative county of the most conservative state in the union, and we are blessed with schools that have not been quite as contaminated with liberal indoctrination as those in other states by the NEA and their state counterparts (please don't let the word get out!) My grandson's teacher places great emphasis on American history, and for that I am most grateful. Last summer when this grandson traveled with my husband and me on vacation, we talked often about the then-upcoming presidential election and the candidates and issues. He knows of my love for our country and as much as is possible for an 11 year old, he knows of the importance of protecting and defending our Constitution. Teaching our children and grandchildren about the origins of our country and helping them to understand their role in maintaining our freedom is probably our most important duty as citzens.

On April 15, I'm participating in two Tea Parties. For my grandchildren. So they will know that we all have a voice in our government, if we choose to express it. And they will know that I am doing my best to protect the blessings of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness for them.

Time for a new journal

2009-03-31T22:30:00.005-06:00

I love starting a new journal. It's kind of like starting all over. Like Anne Shirley's teacher told her (in Anne of Green Gables), "Today is a new day, with no mistakes in it. Yet." I'm sure I must certainly have misquoted that, but you get the idea -- a new journal without a single writeover or cross out. A book of blank pages waiting to be filled with all manner of good thoughts, a few struggles, and happy memories to be savored some quiet rainy day in the future.

This journal is different than any other I've had.

Each page has a few lines to fill in for each of the following thoughts:

Something that touched my heart
Something good
Something funny
Lesson learned
Challenges

Those are good things to be anticipating each day, knowing I will need to fill in the blank. And then the rest of that page and the one facing is for regular journaling.

This journal has a pen attached. So much better than closing the journal with the pen inside, or having to rummage through the drawer in my nightstand to find one. But I think I'll trade this pen for a green pen. Some years I color coordinate the ink with the journal. I think this will be one of those years.

I still have a few pages -- maybe 3 or 4 -- left in my old journal. But I'm really tempted to start this new one tomorrow. Don't you think it's best to start a new journal on the first day of a month, rather than on the third or fourth? Me, too.

Lunch Out With the Girls (and a boy)

2009-03-30T16:29:00.009-06:00

Debra, Sandra, Sheri, Chloe, Gayle and Carter

Before and since we moved to Utah, a large number of our friends from our ward in Maryland have moved here. We could probably even form a Gaithersburg branch here if we included Marylanders from all over Utah. Some of those who have "crossed the plains" include a former bishop and his wife, several elderly friends who came out to be near their adult children, Young Men and Young Women who came to BYU, UVU, UU and SUU and decided to stay, and many others, including several of our closest friends.

Debra and John and their family have been our friends since about 1983. They moved from California to Maryland when their children Chris, Sandra and Sheri were eight, five and two. Although Gayle was a little older, our families blended well. Not long before Gayle and Bill were married, we learned that Bill is John's 3rd or 4th cousin. Small world! We agreed that it was fitting and good there was now an official familial relationship between our families. John and Debra finally moved to Utah a few years behind us, and live not far from Gayle. Sandra and her husband also live in the area, as does Chris. Sheri is temporarily living out of state, but will be returning to Utah this summer to get married and settle.

Last week, Sheri was home for a visit and she and Gayle made plans for us girls to get together for lunch. We had fun catching up on one another's latest news and Gayle and I enjoyed hearing about Sheri's wedding plans.

Here's their family when we vacationed together in Michigan in 1990

As Carrie Nuttall, another of our Maryland friends always used to tell me, "It takes a long time to make an old friend."

My Mama Cat

2009-03-29T20:44:00.016-06:00

She's Baa-aaaack

2009-03-29T20:28:00.006-06:00

Or maybe it's the next generation of friendly neighborhood arachnids. This one came and went in pretty much the same manner as her predecessor: now you see her, now you don't. My kitchen sink is the place. I can live with it. At least under the current circumstances -- small spider, appears rarely and quickly disappears.

Here's What Cap and Trade Will Do For Your Electricity Bill

2009-03-28T09:32:00.001-06:00

Have you wondered what the President's proposed "Cap and Trade" will do to your electricity bill? (Cap and Trade is part of the current Budget legislation being considered in Congress right now.) Here's some information that I received in an email last night from my Representative in Congress, Jason Chaffetz. I apologize that the Table didn't transfer intact, so I've just included the annual cost increase per capita.

March 27, 2009

Dear Mrs. Warren,

Data released on March 26 by the House Committee on Ways and Means demonstrates that every state in the Union - and every American - will be hit hard by a new and highly regressive "Cap and Trade" tax.

The President's recently-released budget imposes a $3.01 billion tax on Utahns. On a per capita basis, each Utahn will be hit with $1,115.47 in new taxes on their electricity bill alone (Table 1). Families will be hit even harder. The data show this new tax will increase the average Utah family's (3.08 people/household) annual electricity bill by $3,435.65 or by nearly $290 per month. While other energy costs are low as a result of the recession, all energy costs will increase as the Administration increases the velocity of its frontal assault on American energy security.

At a recent congressional hearing on energy consumption I asked Mr. Howard Gruenspecht, an expert witness from the Energy Information Agency (EIA), a non-partisan federal agency dealing with energy issues, what percent of Americans consume some form of energy. He replied: "All of them." Further, I asked him what percent of Americans would be impacted by a cap and trade tax. His answer: "Probably all of them."

Since everyone in America consumes energy, then everyone in America will suffer the consequences of the Obama Administration's foolhardy proposal to regulate climate change through so-called "Cap and Trade (Tax)" policies. The Administration's proposal will not only further cripple the economy, it will impose a crushing energy consumption tax on every man, woman, and child in the United States.

With so many individuals already living on the margins, this massive new tax increase will destroy our hope of recovering from the current recession. The financial security of all Americans will be jeopardized if this tax is enacted. Now is not the time to increase taxes, nor is this the way. Despite the President's assurances that 95 percent of Americans will not see their taxes increase by one dime, the numbers clearly show his plan will actually increase taxes on 100 percent of Americans.

Table 1:

Annual Increase in Electricity Costs
(based on the Stern Review's recommended carbon price of $85 per ton)

State Increase in Electricity Costs per Capita

Alabama $1,528.26

Alaska $535.49

Arizona $671.57

Arkansas $784.69

California $126.45

Colorado $702.81

Connecticut $280.19

Delaware $22.79

Dist of Col $977.30

Florida $604.40

Georgia $783.26

Hawaii $595.87

Idaho $74.42

Illinois $664.04

Indiana $1,627.46

Iowa $1,138.23

Kansas $1,141.84

Kentucky $1,798.23

Louisiana $1,100.39

Maine $455.69

Maryland $502.82

Massachusetts $350.82

Michigan $668.94

Minnesota $633.04

Mississippi $727.35

Missouri $1,147.83

Montana $1,717.63

Nebraska $1,052.30

Nevada $848.45

New Hampshire $527.51

New Jersey $206.60

New Mexico $1,402.42

New York $263.61

North Carolina $699.46

North Dakota $4,350.56

Ohio $975.60

Oklahoma $1,200.68

Oregon $201.08

Pennsylvania $865.23

Rhode Island $210.51

South Carolina $775.41

South Dakota $348.80

Tennessee $819.00

Texas $903.78

Utah $1,115.47

Vermont $1.93

Virginia $521.97

Washington $193.47

West Virginia $3,972.29

Wisconsin $815.11

Wyoming $7,249.54

Source: Committee on Ways & Means Republican Staff analysis

Sincerely,
Jason Chaffetz

Member of Congress

An interesting article

2009-03-19T22:44:00.005-06:00

From a reputable conservative website:

March 18, 2009
Missouri police given chilling instructions
Timothy Birdnow
Police in Missouri apparently are being instructed to keep on eye on conservatives.

According to this AP article the government of the state of Missouri has issued a report "informing" state police that people with third party bumper stickers on their cars or who believe the NAFTA superhighway is an attempt create a North American Union are subversive members of paramilitary militias and potential terrorists.

The Missouri Information Analysis Center (a division of the state police) has compiled an enemies list of warning signs for state police officers, signs that are supposed to help them determine potential terrorists. Such signs include Ron Paul bumper stickers, or "Right to Carry" handgun stickers (I have to wonder: does it include Support Your Local Police stickers, too?) and our friendly state troopers are warned to proceed with extreme caution against such radicals.

Click here for More

Read the whole article. Also suspect are Christians, those opposed to abortion,
tax revisionists, and anti-illegal immigrant advocates. I guess we should be careful about what bumper stickers we have on our cars.

If you're getting your news from the mainstream media only, you probably would never hear about this.

My Sweet Carter

2009-03-16T21:52:00.013-06:00

My sweet Carter came for a visit today while his family went skiing with out-of-town friends. He arrived with a smile on his face, as he always does, and his "sweeper" in his hand. The first thing he did was suggest I get mine so that we could sweep together. I was so grateful -- my dinette was in bad need. He also swept the living room. (I think Carter sweeps daily with his mother.)

After we finished our indoor chores, we headed for the back yard. Carter knew where to find his favorite outside toys. From the shed, he dragged the small plastic golf bag with its clubs. He explained to his non-golfing Grandma that one was his driver and the other, his wedge. We hit a few balls around the yard when the little lightbulb that hangs over my head suddenly lit up. I wondered out loud if the mini golf at Cascade Golf Course was open yet this season. Carter's eyes widened. He loves mini golf! I cautioned, "We'll go IF they are open."
I called. They were. We went.

Grandma's no dummy. She didn't keep score. He might've won.

As he was getting out of the car back at our house after golfing, he softly said, "Thank you, Grandma," and gave me a hug. Be still, my heart. (When he raids the cookie jar, he gets me one, too.)

He found his fishing pole in the back shed....and quickly caught....a catfish!

A few minutes later, he wandered over to where I was raking, fishing pole in hand and asked, "Grandma, is Michigan open yet?"

The huge pine trees that border the deck in the corner of the yard with their cave-like underside have been the "secret garden" for Brody and Kennedy since they were very young. Four year old Brody (the age Carter is now), insisted it was his "Club". Kennedy came along and claimed it with him.

Carter wandered back there today....

"What does that say?" he asked.

"It says, 'Brody and Kennedy's Club'," I answered.

Thoughtful silence.

"Where's me, Grandma?"

"Oh, Carter, you weren't born yet when we made that sign."

"I wanna be there."

"Ok, we can do that."

He was as captivated by the spot named "Brody and Kennedy's Club" as his brother and sister were before him. Soon his imagination carried him away into the world of make-believe, and the "club" was magically transformed into a kitchen. He dragged the small plastic picnic table from the deck into his new abode. I placed a flower pot with last year's dead geranium onto the "kitchen table". Carter announced I could be the mom and he would be the brother. He would make dinner. We had "corn dogs".

He even did the dishes!

It was late and time for bed...

We spent two more "days" in this magical place and time, with dinner being "brother's" favorite part. We had "spaghetti" one night, and "macaroni and cheese" the other. "Brother" always did the dishes, and he went to "school" during the "day".

Suddenly Grandpa was home from work, and Carter quickly returned to reality. Grandpa is one of his favorite people. (Grandpa is tops with all the kids.) Carter showed Grandpa that Grandma had lost the sinker and other paraphrenalia from the end of his fishing line in the tree with a misplaced cast. Grandpa fixed it for him. And then took him to the playground at Edgemont. It was a great day for Grandma, with several unforgettable moments. Days spent with my sweet Carter are often like that.

Turning Tears to Laughter ...

2009-03-14T23:01:00.022-06:00

and back to tears, of laughter.

Lynne is my Visiting Teacher. She's also my friend. I really should put "friend" before "Visiting Teacher" because, although she was my VT first, she now will always be my friend.

Lynne is the best kind of friend. To everyone, not just to me.

-- She listens to the Spirit and knows when someone needs special attention
-- She always sees the best in everyone and is quick to point it out
-- Lynne scatters sunshine and leaves blooming flowers in her wake
-- She lifts up the arms that hang down, comforts those who need comfort, rejoices with those who rejoice, and mourns with those who mourn
-- Lynne is one of the best listeners I know (she does more than her fair share with me)
-- She makes the very best caramels in the whole world and generously shares them
-- Lynne will drop everything to run an errand with me (and with you,too)
-- She'll drop it faster if I suggest we get a J-Dawg while we're out
-- She makes me laugh
-- Even when she wants to cry

Today we ran an errand together at the mall, and ended up in the Hallmark store browsing the cards. Lynne was subdued, and admitted she was feeling low. We talked a bit, and wandered over to a different card rack.

She pulled a card from it's place, read it and snickered.

She handed it to me. I snickered, too.

Then another...

a few more snickers.

I found this one

and laughed out loud.

It was all downhill from there.

(The signs read "Happy Birthday" "Happy Birthday" and "I like corn on the cob.")

We weren't sitting on chairs, but if we had been, I'm sure we would have fallen off them...and rolled all over the floor holding our sides.

Life is good with a friend like Lynne.

(sorry about the blurry pictures, but it's hard to focus when everything is shaking)

(P.S. to Lynne: I hope you're feeling better this evening, my friend.)

A (very brief) "Brody Story"

2009-03-11T16:15:00.006-06:00

Brody is an avid reader. He consumes books. Last year he had a little more time for reading, but this year he is in a special program which heaps mountains of homework upon him. Last Thursday when I was with him on a short trip in the car, he brought a book along, A Long Way From Chicago, by Richard Peck. He had me read Chapter 2 while we traveled and we talked about it. A day or so after that, I mentioned it to my friend Lynne, and I was not really surprised to find that not only was she familiar with the book and the author, but she offered to lend me that one and another by the same man, so that I could further discuss them with Brody.

Another day or two later, I was chatting with Brody on the telephone, and I told him that Lynne was going to lend me the book to read.

"Did you get your copy at the library?" I asked him.

"No. I got it from my teacher. Our room at school is filled with books. It has more books than germs, Grandma."

And this grandma laughed.

Then I smiled a warm and loving smile for his teacher, whom I love more and more every time Brody shares a school experience with me.

Salt Lake City Tea Party

2009-03-06T16:27:00.008-07:00

Citizens from as far away as Price began gathering on the west steps of the Utah Capitol building in Salt Lake City about 11 a.m. this morning. By noon we had a nice gathering of people who had come to peacefully declare their concern for the current economic conditions and the accelerated spending programs this new administration in Washington is putting in place.

The organizer of this Tea Party is David Kirkham, a small businessman of Kirkham Motor Sports in Provo. He lives not far from me in Edgemont, although I had not met him before this event. David, like many of us who participated today, had never taken part in any kind of demonstration before this one. He did a great job of putting this Tea Party together, and I thank him for taking the time and making the effort to do so. Standing together with like-minded citizens was encouraging.

At noon, we moved inside the building where a podium had been set up for our use. David addressed us (please read his message at www.davidkirkham.blogspot.com), as did Chris Herrod, Utah State Representative of the 62nd Legislative District in Provo, and three others, whose names I didn't get (but would be glad to add if someone will tell me). The concensus in this group of speakers and demonstrators is that the government is doing great harm to our country by its massive spending and borrowing.

Another round of Tea Parties nationwide has been scheduled for April 15. Watch for one near you.

David Kirkham, the organizer of this Tea Party

David Kirkham introducing Rep. Herrod

Chris Herrod, Utah State Representative, 62nd Legislative District (Provo)

Going to a Tea Party

2009-03-05T22:40:00.007-07:00

And I don't even drink tea. Ok, it's not one of those kinds of tea parties. This is one patterned after our early patriots, Massachusetts colonists, who dumped tea into Boston Harbor to let King George III know what they thought of his taxing them without representation in Parliament. And also following the example of other cities all over the country who have already held their Tea Parties in recent days, and more cities who will hold still more on April 15. I'm joining other like-minded folks who are going to our Capitol building in Salt Lake City tomorrow at noon to let our legislators and the public know that we're deeply concerned about the irresponsible way our government is attempting to solve our very serious economic problems.

I've never participated in this kind of political activity. But these are unusual times.

Now you see him....

2009-02-28T16:03:00.009-07:00

Now you don't.

A month or so ago, I executed a spider who was wandering around in my sink. Maybe "executed" is too strong a word. I washed him down the drain. Yikes! I felt horrible afterward, even though (maybe because)it wasn't an accident that washed him away. It was my conscience reminding me that all life is sacred, and that spider was doing me no harm.

A few days ago, grandson Carter told me that he doesn't like spiders and bees. "They are mean," he told me. We had a discussion about these little critters (usually) being harmless unless we get in their way and frighten them. I told him that the bees make honey for us, and since Carter loves honey on his peanut butter sandwiches, I got his attention. I wasn't quite so convincing about the spiders.

Then, yesterday, standing at my kitchen sink, I saw this spider

He looks exactly like the one I washed away, and either that one was an Olympic swimmer, or he has surviving relatives. To tell you the truth, I was pleased to see him. I watched him for a minute, then explained that I don't like spiders in my kitchen and that I really wished he would just move along. I left him alone to think about that while I pursued a task in another room.

When I returned a short time later

He probably just came for a little drink of water. I suspect we will meet again. And that's ok with me.

Blue and Gold

2009-02-26T10:09:00.024-07:00

Our annual Cub Scout Blue and Gold Banquet was held last night. The theme was Honoring our Veterans. With the help of the Relief Society, we were able to identify 18 military service veterans in our midst. These good men served in all branches of our military, in war and peace, in a period spanning over 50 years. We were honored to have them attend our banquet. We appreciate their service to our country and the example they have set for our boys.

Thanks, Donna, and to everyone else who helped plan and prepare, for the wonderful evening for the Cub Scouts and our Veterans and for all who attended.

Some of our Veterans

Brother and Sister Tuckett

Sister and Brother Baker

Sister and Brother Preator

Brother Heimdal

Sister and Brother Hunsaker

Brother and Sister Crookston

Brother and Sister Nelson

Sister and Brother McKay

Brother Judd and his daughter, Ann

Brother Marrott

I sincerely apologize to two veterans who attended whose pictures I missed -- Brother Fisher and my own husband, Bro. Warren. Bro. Anstead who serves in the Army Reserve as a Chaplain, is currently attending a military training school in Virginia and was unable to attend. We also would like to recognize other brethren who served but were unable to attend our banquet: Brother Kader, Bro. Black, Bro. Nebecker, and Bro. Westover. We thank you all.

Our Cub Master, Donna

Often there's more fun going on behind the scenes. The kitchen is this blogger's favorite place to be at these events. Our Stake Cub Scout representative came as a guest, and helped out in the kitchen. It is the way things work in this group.Here she is (I'm sorry, I don't remember her name, so if you know it, please let me know so I can identify her), along with our own Linda (Bear Den Leader) and Jill (Wolf Den Leader).

Donna not only planned and carried out the awards and program, she also ordered and prepared the food. And then she helped serve it. Annette, our Primary President in the background.

Now, don't they look like they're having fun? Here's Annette and Linda. (This is why I like being in the kitchen!)

Several boys received belt loops and other awards for various activities, but there were a few awarded that were special. Here is Owen pinning his mother (or rather trying to) with her award for helping him earn his Wolf Badge.

And here is mom, Lisa, congratulating her boy.

Joseph earned his Arrow of Light award, the highest that a Cub Scout can achieve, and the only badge from Cub Scouts that will go onto his Boy Scout uniform. He did much of the work for this award while his family was traveling in Europe for nine months in 2008. Congratulations, Joseph. Well done! (and congratulations to the proud parents, who we all know have a major part in any scout's accomplishments).

Here's Joseph bridging to Boy Scouts.

Our Veterans were invited to come forward, and one by one, told us what branch of the military they served in, and when. Our cub scouts came forward to present them with a small token of our appreciation, and salute them. Donna reminded us that while these gentlemen served and returned to their families, there were many who did not. We observed a moment of silence for those who gave their lives so that we might enjoy the freedoms our Constitution promises us, and so that others may also be free from oppression. Our veterans received a standing ovation in appreciation for their service.

Short Memory

2009-02-25T22:47:00.001-07:00

Today I thought of something I want to blog about. Then I forgot.

(If I remember, I'll let you know)

Where it's warm

2009-02-21T21:15:00.010-07:00

Well, it's all relative. I wouldn't say it is "warm" exactly, but it is surely warmer than it has been in Provo. High yesterday at Zion was probably about 50 degrees. Today in St. George and Snow Canyon was about 65. Here's a peek...

Coming out of the tunnel

Zion Lodge...

View from our deck:

One of our little hikes

Gayle would be proud: even this scary sign didn't deter "Psafety Psycho" from the hike on this trail

On to Snow Canyon (named after early Mormon settlers, Erastus and Lorenzo Snow)

Wasatch Brewery has capitalized on Utah culture in naming their brews. One is called Polygamy Porter, and the caption beneath reads "Why have just one"? The little pizza place we ate in just outside of Zion served beer -- not to us -- and this advertizing was on the wall. Unfortunately I didn't get a good picture of the poster above it which was for "Provo Girl".

Pam, the Plant Killer

2009-02-16T22:39:00.002-07:00

This is why Bob calls me that. Fortunately, philodendron are hearty plants, and can survive even me.

P.S. I guess that should be "hardy" not "hearty". Maybe this one is "hearty" -- it loves me when I water it.

There's one thing about Primary...

2009-02-15T16:49:00.005-07:00

...you never know what to expect. Adult meetings are fairly predictable. With children involved, not so much.

For this week in particular, I had expected the worst. With all three of the other presidency out of town, I had visions of Murphy's Law coming into play in a big way -- if anything can go wrong, it will. Fortunately, Annette, our Primary President,had arranged for someone to come help out. The someone was Valerie, who had been in the Primary Presidency before us and knows many of the children as well as our routine and program. Besides, one is never alone in Primary -- it is a team effort with teachers and music people besides the presidency.

Maybe you can imagine my prayers this week, and even before. I started early -- as soon as I knew the others would be out of town on the same Sunday. It didn't take long for that peace to come. I kept praying, just in case. I know Heavenly Father would not let me down, but I have less faith in myself.

So today came, and I had not a single twinge of worry. Two hours could not have gone more smoothly. (I'm sure Annette and Elizabeth must have also joined their prayers with mine.) Phoebe(6)sweetly said the opening prayer. Her brother, Owen(9), read a scripture, then led us all in the monthly theme scripture, "The family is ordained of God" (Proclamation, paragraph 7). Their little brother Hugh (3 1/2) was excited to be giving his very first talk in Primary. Hugh stepped up on the stepstool behind the podium, mom adjusted the microphone to his level, and then prompted him line for line as he recited his talk on love and families, accompanied by a picture of the Savior which he held up at the appropriate time. He spoke slowly, but with confidence, clearly and understandably. No giggling, squirming, or apparent shyness or apprehension in taking this big step. Be still, my heart! Moments like this fill me with incomprehensible love and gratitude. These sweet children are not just learning the gospel, but also teaching it to others. Myself included.

Brother C and Brother G's class, half of our Valiant Boys, gave a well prepared and informative Sharing Time on the how the Priesthood blesses our families. Having such role models for our 10 and 11 year old boys gives me the calm assurance that another generation of righteous young men will step up to the challenges that will face them very soon.

Valerie made sure the attendance rolls were filled out and everyone accounted for. Several families were gone this weekend because of the holiday on Monday. The children who were there were good listeners, and they could have caught butterflies. Absent teachers had arranged for substitutes and we didn't have to scramble at the last minute to plug any holes. We were grateful to have Donna C. as our pianist today; she loves being in Primary.

All my concerns were for naught, as they always are. With Primary, you never know what might happen, but today, all was perfect. We missed Annette, Elizabeth and Amy and will be very glad to see them when they get back.

Let me count the ways...

2009-02-13T14:38:00.000-07:00

My Valentine

2009-02-12T21:02:00.002-07:00

Kennedy invited me to have lunch with her at school today. I picked up her favorite Subway sandwich, and one for me, some chocolate chip cookies, chips and a juice box and went to her school a little early. I didn't want to be late for such an important date. In my few moments wait, I wandered out into the hall and soaked in the sweet ambiance of this really wonderful elementary school.

This is my favorite. The American flag, my sweet Kennedy raising her hand to participate in class, and the sign outside the door that invites everyone to Be Happy therein.

Here she is, my lunch date. My sweet Kennedy.

The Old Sewing Machine

2009-02-09T20:29:00.003-07:00

We’ve carted it all over the country for thirty years; it surely has more miles traveling than it does sewing. But the time has come. The old sewing machine needed a new home. And it has one. My friend Helen came over this evening to pick it up. Although she has a newer zigzag machine, she specifically wanted this old Singer, the one that has been in the family since the late ‘50’s or early ‘60’s, because these old machines sew a more true stitch for quilting than the new ones.

I learned to sew on this machine. I was ten or eleven years old, and my first try produced a gathered green and white cotton skirt made without a pattern. I may have worn it once. The gathering was bunchy and the hem uneven. But it was the work of my own hands – and of this new sewing machine belonging to my mother. My next sewing project was the product of membership in the local 4-H club. I made a pair of red Bermuda shorts and a red and white print sleeveless top. Kathie’s project, also Bermudas and a top, was made from a wide gold/gray/white plaid, that we laughed later reminded us of a tablecloth. I don’t think she wore her outfit more than once or twice, either, possibly ceasing with the tablecloth similarity awareness.

While I was never an enthusiastic seamstress, it has been handy to have a sewing machine for repairing split seams and making small projects. The Singer and I parted company when I married and left home. A few years later, when Bob and I lived on Craigwood and Gayle was soon to join our family, Mom offered me the sewing machine. By this time zigzag machines were on the market, but this faithful machine was all I needed or wanted. The lavender gingham curtains in the nursery, and the matching stuffed elephant were not my projects, but rather crafted by Kathie on her own newer Kenmore sewing machine for me and her new niece-to-be. I made a few jumpsuits for myself, which were in vogue in the early ‘70’s, but I don’t recall making anything for Gayle. From that time until now, the Singer went with us each move we made, from Toledo to Texas, Florida, San Francisco, Maryland, and lastly, here to Utah.

Eight year old Kennedy had her first basic sewing lessons on the old machine last spring. I helped her make a gathered cotton skirt with an elastic waistband for her second grade dance program. Each child was given a piece of fabric and some simple directions for making a skirt that would be like everyone else’s, and a headband to match. I directed and Kennedy sewed. I was amazed at how steady she was able to keep the speed and how straight her seams were. I was pleased with Kennedy, and Kennedy was pleased with herself. Trying to encourage her, I promised her that if she would learn to sew, I would buy her a sewing machine.

A short time before Christmas, I asked Kennedy if she would like to sew Christmas presents for her Mom and Mrs. Gardner, her teacher. She was excited. With a little help and direction, Kennedy made each of them a butcher-style apron from cotton dishtowels and ribbon for the ties. Once again, Kennedy impressed me with her command of the sewing machine, and her ability to avoid sewing her fingers to her project.

The old sewing machine has been in the way in our small house. Each time I’ve had to drag it out from under a pile of boxes in the basement to repair a seam, I’ve made a mental note to check on the cost of a carrying case for it so that I could get rid of the bulky cabinet and just tuck it away in a closet where it would be more easily accessible. A few weeks ago, it occurred to me that it would be imprudent to spend $50 for a case for a sewing machine that was rarely used and has little if any monetary value. Maybe I should just take it to Deseret Industries. This solution seemed heartless. But the longer I entertained the thought, the more certain I was that it was time. I couldn’t make this decision alone, so I called Kathie. Without hesitation, she said, “Get rid of it.”

Allowing for one skipped generation, when I failed to teach Gayle to sew, this old Singer has served four generations over 50 years. It has never broken down, or needed an actual repair. It was last serviced in the 1970’s when I had it cleaned, oiled and the tension adjusted. Today’s sewing machines are not likely to perform so admirably. I will miss my old friend, but I’m glad that it has a new home where it will be appreciated.

The Real Charm

2009-02-02T17:33:00.009-07:00

In the previous blog I said the real charm of Little Orleans was the building pictured. But it wasn't. The real charm of Little Orleans was this great group of girls and the fun we had with them that June of 1985. I think every young woman leader believes the girls she teaches and loves and prays for are the best ever. I feel that way about these girls and others whom I've had the privilege of being associated with.

The canoe trip we embarked on from Little Orleans was a part of their Summiteer "hike". We did hike that year, but the canoeing was an added adventure.

The blurriness and fading of this non-digital picture from 23 years ago keeps me from identifying the girls on the porch swings. It would have helped if I had written the names of the girls on the back of the picture, but maybe I couldn't identify them then, either.

I didn't write these names down either, but in the canoe at the far left is our YW President, Debra Huber, and Becky Hawes. I think that is Kim Solomon in the canoe behind them facing forward, and possibly Jill Hemming with her back to the front inthe center, and Daisy Gallien on the right.

Some of the girls and leaders from the Stake on the day of our hike

Captured by its Charm

2009-01-31T17:40:00.022-07:00

This is the Potomac River as it winds through western Maryland, dividing it from West Virginia. The splotch in the middle of the photo is a tiny unincorporated community known as Little Orleans. It captured my heart the first time I was there, not for it's beauty, but because of its uniqueness. It was a step back in time.

One summer in the mid 1980's our Seneca Stake Young Women chose this area for some of the activities associated with that year's Young Women's camp. I don't remember who was in charge -- I was a ward leader -- nor how they found this quaint little "town", but I'm so glad they did. Our all day canoe trip began and ended here. There may have been homes in the vicinity, but I don't remember seeing any -- they were probably hidden in the wooded hills. There was a small primitive campground just down the road.

What charmed me most about Little Orleans, besides the feeling of stepping back in time to a simpler time, was the building pictured above. First of all, you can see this is a "vintage" building with little if any redeemable value. It had a worn wooden floor and, in the summer, squeaky double screen doors. There was a porch, not visible in the photo, that had rocking chairs or a swing on it. This building is the essence of Little Orleans. It was the mayor's office. It was the gas station, the grocery store, and the greasy spoon restaurant. It was the canoe livery, and the one stop shop for hunting and fishing licenses. It was the pool hall and local bar. There may have even been rooms to rent upstairs. Though I don't know who would have wanted to stay there, or how they would have found the place. Little Orleans is off the beaten track. Not exactly a honeymoon spot. Still, there was something about it that still won't leave me alone.

A few years after our Young Women canoe trip, Bob and I set out to re-discover Little Orleans and were pleased to find it unchanged from that magical summer day.

Somebody's having a birthday...

2009-01-30T20:29:00.006-07:00

... and fortunately, it's not me. It's our daughter, Gayle, the light of our life. Several years ago on a cold, snowy night in Ohio, this girl was born and nothing has been the same since. Bob and I often have joked that since she was born on the night of a total eclipse of the moon, there has to be something really special about her. Well there is, but it has nothing to do with moons or eclipses. As all children do, she came to this earth with her own unique personality -- full of love, humor, determination, excitement, and more. Life is never dull with Gayle in the picture. And for that, and especially for her, we are grateful.

Gayle and Bill. Today while Gayle was having lunch with a few of her friends, in walked Bill with this bouquet of balloons. I wonder, but forgot to ask, if she slithered down into the chair like she did at Farrell's Ice Cream when several of their waiters came to the table to sing to her when we celebrated her 9th birthday. I'm sure she blushed and felt special, but she's not one who cares to be the center of attention.

Cori and Gayle. Late this afternoon, Cori came over to Gayle's to bring this "wabbie" from another friend, RaCail, and her. Made with love, and embroidered "Happy __th Birthday, Gayle, Love from Cori and RaCail". I'm sure Gayle will feel the warmth of friends' love each time she curls up with her "wabbie".

Become an Engaged Citizen

2009-01-29T12:20:00.008-07:00

Yesterday the House of Representatives passed a huge "stimulus" bill ($819 Billion), that is filled with billons of dollars of wasteful government spending that will do nothing to stimulate the economy. Fortunately, our Representative, Jason Chaffetz, joined the rest of the Republican house members in voting against the bill in a show of solidarity for sound economic practices. The bill now moves to the Senate and will be voted on early next week. While some government involvement in stimulating the economy is called for, rampant spending in and of itself is not a solution.

If you want to play an active part in determining the direction of our country at this critical time, please take the time to contact your senators. Here's a link that will take you to a website that makes it very easy to do that. Our government officials prefer email as a way for you to communicate with them, and I can promise you that I have seen evidence that flooding our senators and representatives with emails does indeed affect their vote.

Here's a link to help you contact your elected officials:

http://capwiz.com/gopusa/issues/alert/?alertid=12515966&PROCESS=Take+Action

(I'm sorry that you'll have to cut and paste into your browser because the link feature isn't working for me.)

Please don't delay. Get involved. YOU CAN make a difference.

Daisy

2009-01-27T22:31:00.005-07:00

A sweet face

2009-01-26T23:04:00.000-07:00

So, what do you think this little guy is thinking?

Sabbath Musings

2009-01-25T22:12:00.000-07:00

Bob and I were invited to spend a few days in Palm Desert with Gayle and Bill and the kids. We left Wednesday when Bob came home from work, arrived early Thursday morning, and spent two heavenly days in the sunshine and warm with five of the people we love most dearly in the world. Didn't do anything earth-shattering, but rather just relaxed while the kids played in the pool. Yesterday morning after briefly visiting the weekly street fair at College of the Desert, we got in our car, and they in theirs, and headed back this direction.

I had planned to be away thru Sunday evening at least, so I had let our Primary President, Sister Ashton, know I wouldn't be at church today. Bob and I planned to stop overnight in St. George and visit Snow Canyon this morning before heading back to Provo. But when we got there last night, I looked at him, and he looked at me, we shrugged our shoulders and decided to come all the way home last night.

This morning when we awoke to more fluffy white stuff on the ground, I admit my first thought was "they don't even know I'm home and I really don't want to go out in this. I could just stay home." Well, no I couldn't. I really wanted to. Really. But I found that I really wanted to go to church more than I wanted to stay home. And that was a very good feeling.

I received several immediate blessings from that decision. The first was the privilege of partaking of the Sacrament. The week always goes better. I think this week will be the same. Secondly, Brother Sorensen's talk on kindness gave me much to think about. By profession he is a psychologist, and besides the scriptural references he used (1 Corinthians 13:1-13, which is one of my very favorite passages of scripture, probably because I really need to work on it in my life), he also shared a few experiences that he has had over the years where kindness has made a difference for someone. I wish I could remember all that he said and had the time and energy to repeat all that I can remember. But I will not take the time now. But he showed by these examples that "charity never faileth" (1 Cor. 13:8) Being kind changes us, whether we are on the giving or receiving end of the act(s) of kindness.

Another of the blessings I received was to witness one of these tiny acts of kindness when I walked into the Primary room. Our dear Sister Baker, the sister who comes into Primary each week to present our birthday children, also has a birthday this week. One of the children who was to be recognized today for her own birthday came to the back of the room where Sister Baker was standing before Primary began, and quietly slipped into her hand a decorative cellophane bag containing cookies or some other goodies to her with a hug and a "Happy Birthday, Sister Baker." What a sweet, thoughtful thing for this 9 year old girl to do.

Sister Seifert is our chorister and music leader. Today she dressed as a grandma, shawl draped over her hunched shoulders and a white cottonball wig covered her own youthful dark hair. She sat in a rocking chair with her knitting and proceded to tell the children the Plan of Salvation through music. A song the children have been learning is "I Lived in Heaven" Sis. Seifert, in her own inimitable way, played the part of a story-telling-Granny and taught the children Heavenly Father's Plan of Happiness through this song. The children were completely engaged, and to tell you the truth, so was I. What a blessing it is to know that Heavenly Father has a plan for us, as His children, and that because of the Saviour, we can return to live with Him again, with our families. What a blessing it is that our children are being taught not just in church, but also and more importantly, in their homes.

This evening we went to Gayle and Bill's to celebrate Carter's birthday. Another of the countless blessings I am grateful for are my thoughtful and kind daughter and son-in-law and my three precious grandchildren. I can't imagine my life without them.

I'm grateful for the Sabbath, and this has been a particularly sweet day for me. I hope it has been for you, too.

Inauguration Day

2009-01-20T22:48:00.000-07:00

It's difficult to put into words what my heart is feeling today.

So let me just say this: I love my country, and I want what is best for her. We all do. The difference comes in our individual definitions of "best", and how we believe is the way to achieve our own concept of "best".

Some words from one of my own favorite presidents:

History is a ribbon, always unfurling. History is a journey. And as we continue our journey, we think of those who traveled before us...and we see and hear again the echoes of our past: a general falls to his knees in the hard snow of Valley Forge; a lonely president paces the darkened halls and ponders his struggle to preserve the Union; the men of the Alamo call out encouragement to each other; a settler pushes west and sings a song, and the song echoes out forever and fills the unknowing air. It is the American sound. It is hopeful, big-hearted, idealistic, daring, decent, and fair. That's our heritage, that's our song. We sing it still. For all our problems, our differences, we are together as of old. We raise our voices to the God who is the author of this most tender music. And may He continue to hold us close as we fill the world with our sound--in unity, affection, and love--one people under God, dedicated to the dream of freedom that He has placed in the human heart, called upon now to pass that dream on to a waiting and hopeful world.

-- Ronald Reagan, second inaugural address --

May God bless our new President. May he be humble and wise, a man of integrity who takes seriously the oath he made to uphold the Constitution of this great nation. May we take seriously our responsibilities as citizens.

God bless America.

Journal in a Box

2009-01-20T07:57:00.001-07:00

I left my hometown in 1976 when Bob joined the Army and we moved to Texas. Three doors down from us in Toledo lived a family who had become part of our lives – Becky was my “backdoor friend”. We visited each other daily, a knock and a ”Becky!” or “Pam!” called through the screen, and then sometimes hours sitting at one another’s kitchen tables talking over kids and work and neighborhood gossip.

Becky’s daughters, Maggie, Pam and Karin, though older than Gayle, were an important part of her early childhood. Gayle, Pam and Karin played together daily, along with other neighborhood kids. It was Pam who convinced Gayle to give her brand new Pooh Bear a bath in the wading pool in our backyard, and Maggie who occasionally tended her when I had somewhere to go. Maggie also taught 4-year-old Gayle to ride a bike. When it was obvious I was going to be leaving the neighborhood and my home, it was almost as painful to leave Becky and other close friends as it was to leave my family.

There were hugs and sadness when Gayle and I left on that chilly November morning, and Becky and I promised to write one another. At some point we even had promised to save one another’s letters so that when we got old and gray, we would trade back our letters, and thereby would each have a record of what had transpired in our lives – a journal, of sorts, in a box.

This morning I opened my cedar chest of treasures and found a box of letters that isn’t with the other many boxes of letters stacked on a shelf in the basement. I pulled out one from Dad, advice that I had asked for and received many years ago. I found one from Mom, more solicited advice, and gentle encouragement to weather the storms of early marriage. I found a “Member Request Form” sent to me by the Church in the 1980’s when a friend had lost track of me and requested the Church’s help. We did finally catch up with each other, a continent apart. I found a letter from Sister Mary Coletta, a Catholic nun who had become a dear friend to Bob and me when we took children on weekend outings from St. Anthony Villa when we yearned for children, but didn’t have any in the early days of our marriage. And there were, of course, many letters from Becky. I pulled one out and read it, and memories flooded me. We’re still friends, though we have converted to writing emails, not so often, hurried catch-ups written in just a few minutes rather than the sometimes many-day epistles of the old days.

This is the day of email, and so few handwritten letters between friends and family members. Emails are often just forwarded messages of friendship, warning, or humor. When they are personal messages of substance, they often become victims of the “Delete” button. The typed page lacks the warmth and charm of flowered stationery and personal handwriting. Still, I save them, print them and keep them, someone else’s “journal in a box”.

Primary Blessings

2009-01-18T21:48:00.000-07:00

They stood patiently outside the Primary room door, waiting for the room to empty of the other ward's children so they could go in. Seven year old Landon had his arm around 3 year old Oakley, and with his face close to his brother's ear, I could only assume he was speaking comforting words. Oakley looked a little apprehensive, though stalwart and tearless. This was Oakley's third Sunday in Primary. It must have seemed overwhelming after spending Sundays for the past 18 months in the cocoon-like Nursery. The Primary room is so much larger, and the almost seventy children can be intimidating. Even to the adults who serve there. His mother had come to Primary with him last week and the week before, and had sat on a tiny chair in the front row holding him securely on her lap. This week, she quietly told me where she would be, in the event that Oakley needed her. With a brother like Landon, he was in good hands.

Landon guided Oakley to his front row seat, and abandoning his own class to support his brother, sat with his arm wrapped snugly around his little brother's shoulders. Oakley made it easily through the opening prayer, scripture and talk, Sister Jensen's animated Sharing Time about testimony, and with Landon's help raising and waving his arm, was selected as a helper during Sister Seifert's music time.

As the time came for the older children to return to the Primary room and the younger ones to go to their classrooms for a lesson, I slipped out to help keep order in the hallway in the exchange. With the door open about halfway, from the hall eleven year old Connor caught a glimpse of Oakley, whose composure has melted away despite Landon's best efforts. Connor told me, "My brother needs me. Can I go in?" Of course.

I didn't see the rescue, but I know it was tender. Mom was summoned, and all was well.

Not all interactions between children in Primary are this heartwarming. Truly these are Heavenly Father's children and seeing them treat each other with such love and kindness is the blessing of being in the Primary organization.

Color Me White

2009-01-18T16:51:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago, our ward moved into a new building temporarily while our building is being updated to earthquake standards. The new building we’re meeting in, sharing with two other wards, is a substantially newer building, much more modern.

Knowing this chapel is much smaller than ours, and not wanting to sit in the overflow section, I went to church early and claimed a seat near the back of the chapel. I looked around. One of the first things I noticed, other than the general newness of the building, were these lights.

Crayons. They look like huge white crayons hung from the ceiling. How appropriate. We come to Sacrament Meeting to be cleansed from our shortcomings, mistakes and sins of the previous week, as we partake of the emblems of the Lord’s Supper, repent and covenant to take upon ourselves His name, to keep His commandments, and to always remember Him.

The blood of our Savior "colors us white". I am grateful.

.

Sisters in Zion

2009-01-14T20:27:00.000-07:00

Today Sarah and Lynne hosted a luncheon for the three sisters they Visit Teach, Maisel,

Genny

and me. They visit us each month individually, bringing their love, friendship, and a spiritual message but this time, they planned this special visit where we could all get together. It was such fun!

Sarah is about 7 months pregnant, so Lynne prepared the food, and Sarah hosted the gathering at her lovely home. She left her Christmas decorations up to catch a remnant of the season. Here's her gorgeous tree -- comparable to some of the most lovely ones I've seen at Festival of the Trees. She designed it and decorated it herself.

Lynne prepared a scrumptious salad, chicken fingers, and rolls, the recipes for which she promises to post on her blog soon. The salad was a Caesar salad generously embellished with marinated artichoke hearts, cremmi mushrooms, Lynne's own re-hydrated tomatoes (she grows small Italian tomatoes each year to dehydrate and make into savory tomatoes...mmmmmmm), as well as the black olives and freshly grated parmesan of the traditional Caesar salad. Lynne tossed the salad with a delicious garlicky dressing. We added our own "nutty chicken fingers", made with coconut and walnuts, to our individual salads. Lynne got that recipe from Carolyn, another sister in our ward. She also has duplicated Magleby's delicious rolls, rolled in butter, parmesan and parsley.

Lynne really ought to open a luncheon cafe. A very talented lady in the kitchen. Not to mention talented painter and writer.

We visited while we ate, and Sarah shared this month's message: Stand Strong and Immovable in Faith, and the scriptures that accompany it. She emphasized the quote from Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles who said, "You cannot today remotely imagine what that decision to be unwaveringly obedient to the Lord will allow you to accomplish in life. Your quiet, uncompromising determination to live a righteous life will couple you to inspiration and power beyond your capacity right now to understand."
(From "Making the Right Decisions," Ensign, May 1991, 34).

Left to right: Maisel, Sarah, Lynne and Genny

The real heart of Visiting Teaching, tho, is the deep and lasting friendships and sisterhood that come as we visit each other in our homes monthly.

Thank you, Sarah and Lynne, for a really nice afternoon. I love you.

More on Unmade Resolutions

2009-01-13T22:03:00.000-07:00

Remember how I said I wasn't going to make any resolutions this year? Well, I didn't, but all of a sudden I find myself keeping some of the ones I would have made if I were going to make them.

I think it has to do with commitment. Some people don't make commitments very easily. Maybe they're afraid of the weight of what they are committing to, or maybe they just like to take each day individually and do what they feel like doing. Unfortunately, sometimes we just don't feel like doing the things we should. That's where commitments come in handy. They lift us over the "don't wanna do that" to sliding through doing what needs to be done without hardly thinking about it. "Just do it," as President Spencer W. Kimball used to say.

I'm a little hesitant about some commitments -- the smaller less important ones. What if I forget to do something I say I'll do? What if I disappoint someone? What if I say I'll do something and then when the time comes to do it, I really don't want to? Or sometimes I'll agree to something, and then almost immediately, want to bite my tongue in regret.

So when it came to the "little things" called "resolutions" this year, I didn't write them down, and haven't spoken them out loud to myself or to anyone. But in secret I must have shared my ongoing shortcomings, spoken only in spirit, with my Heavenly Father, because I find that I'm doing better in the areas I was concerned about. He answers even the unspoken prayers. I am grateful.

The Little Things are the Big Things

2009-01-13T11:00:00.000-07:00

This morning I noticed that our supply of toilet paper in the bathroom cupboard is dwindling. No matter. We keep a stash (though not a year’s supply) in our shed out back with other overflowed storage items. I made a mental note to remember to bring some in. A while later I went to the kitchen, and there was a huge package of 36 rolls that Bob had brought in before leaving for work long before the crack of dawn. I smiled. Bob always takes care of the Little Things. And the Big Things, too, but we all expect the Big Things to be taken care of. The Little Things are the frosting on the cake.

As an aside here, I have to mention that I had already been to the kitchen earlier in the morning and had not noticed the TP in plain sight and hard to miss because of its size. It wasn’t until I discovered a need that it “appeared”.

It was during one of our brief times apart when Bob was serving in the Army that it dawned on me that every car I drive has a bottomless well for windshield washer fluid. Maybe I was driving on a foggy day, or my windshield was dirty, but when I needed to wash my windshield, the solution appeared. I smiled and was grateful for all of the Little Things he always takes care of for me. Add to that car washes, oil changes, gasoline fill-ups and routine maintenance, and it becomes a really Big Thing. The short separations we had when he was in the Army provided the opportunity for me to remember all the often unseen little things he does for me.

Bob puts the toilet seat down. I hear jokes made about this all the time, but don’t think much about them. In 42 years of marriage, I’ve fallen in, in the dark of night, very few times. Not a Big Thing, but something I am grateful for.

He takes the garbage out regularly without being asked. Wednesday evenings, the night before trash day, he methodically goes through the entire house emptying waste baskets into a larger bag, changes cat litter, and peruses the fridge to see if leftovers are turning blue or old produce wilting and turning to mush. On the rare occasion I find the kitchen trash at the top of its container, usually because I have just finished some major cooking project at the sink, I just take it out. Asking him would be discounting all the good he does the hundreds of times between these occasional events.

Bob helps with laundry. I know that suggests that I must not do it in a timely fashion, but I can honestly say that even without his help, he would never have been without clean clothes to wear. He just likes doing the laundry. It’s a Big Thing, I know. In the early days of our marriage I didn’t always consider this a help. Many a treasured blouse was ruined, and he and I both wore pink underwear periodically in those years. And still do from time to time.

He does dishes. In all fairness, there’s no way this could be considered a Little Thing either. In the early days of our marriage, he felt the need to instruct me in the right way to do dishes. Mind you, my sister Kathie and I washed and dried the dishes by hand after dinner most evenings of our adolescent lives, and were well informed as to how to perform this task in a sanitary fashion. I’m not in the habit of leaving piles of dirty dishes for extended periods. A few hours, yes. A small number of them over night if we dirtied them in the evening and I was too tired to bother. But Bob quickly washes any dirty dish he finds in the sink. After he advised me early on that I didn’t know how to wash dishes correctly, I suggested that since he did, maybe he should wash them. We compromised. Sometimes I do the dishes, and sometimes he does, each using our own method without complaint from the other. Sometimes we do them together.

He changed diapers. His daughter’s, and all three of our grandchildren’s. He also gave baths. And played (and plays) for hours and hours down on the floor with blocks, Barbies, coloring or whatever with whoever needed (needs)a friend. Indeed, Grandpa is the playmate of choice. Ok, these aren’t Little Things either. They’re Big Things.

And I can’t even think of Bob without chuckling about his “Little Drives”. The ones that are sometimes 400 miles long. I can’t count the places I would never have been and the sights I would never have seen without his “little drives”. Because I’m not an adventurer and it would never occur to me to go some of the places he has taken me. Another Little Thing that really is a Big Thing.

Whether it be his bringing in TP from the cold dark shed, taking out the garbage, doing dishes or laundry, looking after and playing with his grandchildren or taking us on little drives, I am truly grateful for all the little things – that really are the big things – that Bob does for me and others daily without a thought. I hope to remember all these little things on my own, without a separation to remind me.

A new year.

2009-01-07T19:09:00.000-07:00

You can see how far behind I am. It's already January 7 and I'm just mentioning the new year. If you haven't read this blog before, you probably haven't noticed that I have two previous posts that are a year overdue "to be continued" but haven't been. But I'm pressing on.

I'm not making "New Year's Resolutions" this year. I'm still working on the ones from last year, the year before that, the year before that, and probably a few that go back even further. If you haven't experienced this phenomenon, I find that each year I am making pretty much the same resolutions. So it doesn't matter which year's resolutions I'm working on, just that I'm doing it.

Yesterday morning, I called my daughter as she was getting her kids off to school. I talked with K., my 8 year old granddaughter for just a few minutes.

"Grandma, did you write in your journal last night?"

"No I didn't. Why do you ask?"

"Don't you remember our promise?"

Yikes! I hate breaking promises, and it seems my Forgetter was getting me into trouble again.

"Ooooo, I think you're going to have to remind me, honey."

"We're going to write in our journals every day this year."

"Oh, yes we are! Now I remember."

"I wrote in mine last night, Grandma."

"What did you write about?"

"Oh, just stuff."

Well, of course. Stuff. That's what I write about in my journal, and I'm not very anxious to share that either. I'm so thrilled that she remembered, that she reminded me about our pact, and most importantly, I am really thrilled that at the age of almost 9 she is starting to form an important habit.

I'm already 6 days behind this year, but thanks to K., I wrote in my journal yesterday. And I will tonight before I go to bed, and tomorrow, and the next day and the next. And every day this year. Because I promised. And because I want to.

I hope you do too. It's important. But you won't understand why until you do it for awhile. I think the same is true for making and keeping resolutions. I'll have to do that awhile to be able to report on it. Wish me luck.

Bloom Where You are Planted and Endure to the End

2008-12-17T11:47:00.000-07:00

Around Mother's Day this year, my Visiting Teaching companion brought me a little flowering plant in a miniature clay pot as a token of her friendship, with wishes for a happy Mother's Day. It was a kind and thoughtful gesture, and I am grateful for her friendship.

With little thought, I plunked the little plant in the safest place in my house for a plant: on the window sill over the kitchen sink. And there it has remained all these months. With little thought, I have watered it whenever it looked thirsty. The backdrop behind it has changed noticeably three times -- from spring to summer, then summer to fall, and most recently, to winter. Through these many months, without missing a single day, it has been decked out in dainty pink blossoms. Today I looked at my little friend, and it gave me a message loud and clear: Bloom where you are planted, and endure to the end.

Our Heavenly Father has planted us in the choicest spot for us in His vineyard. He has provided for our spiritual and temporal nourishment. He asks that we do the best we can where we are and with what resources are available to us, and that we not give up. To bloom where we are planted, and to endure to the end. What more to be said?

Only that I hope my little friend holds on. I am so grateful for the encouragement.

2008-11-11T21:20:00.000-07:00

“Uh-uh! No way!” I insisted, shaking my head. “Bob, there’s no way I’m going to even try to give Happy a bath.”

“We have to, Pam. Giving Jack a bath doesn’t solve the problem unless Happy gets one, too.”
I knew he was right, but I also knew Happy. I knew there was no way she was going to cooperate like Jack did, and I wasn’t about to do battle with an eight- legged cat with 14 needle-like claws in each paw.

Jack was allergic to fleas, and his beautiful thick long fur was the perfect haven for them. Happy was not allergic to fleas. We would have never known she had fleas if we hadn’t seen Jack scratching incessantly. The fleas hitched a ride into the house on Happy, then many hopped onto Jack where they took up permanent residence, making him totally miserable. I had just finished bathing Jack in the sink in our laundry room at the back of our house.

Ungloved, I gently picked him up and placed him in the warm water.

“Meow,” he complained gently as I poured water over his back and cupped it around his neck.

“Meow, “ he complained again as I hurriedly doused him with flea shampoo, not knowing how long he would patiently endure this assault on his personal dignity. I massaged the shampoo into the more tender belly region, the place those nasty fleas feasted on his sweet blood.

“Meeeooow, “ he stiffened and began to protest , not more loudly, but certainly pleading. I felt horrible. This was the cat who took whatever anyone handed him -- the gentle, faithful cat who more than once allowed little children to crawl on him without a hiss, scratch or yowl, and without even walking away from them, but who always waited for me to rescue him.

Now, here I was, his trusted friend, pouring water over him, and stinky shampoo, too. And he just sat in the tub allowing me to do it. I hurried to rinse the suds from his thick fur. I reached for the towel that was draped across my shoulders and wrapped him snugly in it to absorb the wet and his protest. He relaxed in my arms while I cooed sweet reassurances of my undying affection for so sweet a kitty.

That was when Bob appeared and suggested it was Happy’s turn. She sat licking her paw and occasionally running it across her face, amused by what she seemed to sense Jack had just endured. I know she felt invincible. This is the cat who made it very clear from the very beginning that she was in charge. She ignored our banter over her fate. No one in their right mind would give her a bath. And, until now, she never had reason to question our sanity.

Bob insisted. “Pam, she has to have a bath.” I knew he was right, but the visions of what was about to take place were not pleasant.

“Ok,” I relented. “But not in the laundry room. You’re going to have to help, and there’s not enough room back there. We’ll have to do her in the kitchen sink. You will have to hold her, and I’ll wash her. You better go find some leather gloves. You’re gonna need ‘em.”

The Unsuspecting Cat continued to preen while Bob rounded up some gloves. I finished towel-drying the Sweet Cat and turned him loose to finish the job. I rounded up another old towel and went to the kitchen to prepare for The Ordeal. I filled the left side of the sink with warm water, and placed the open flea shampoo in an easy reach. I took a deep breath, and casually strolled into the family room toward Happy, who was still grooming herself. She was probably chuckling to herself about how funny Jack looked and how she wouldn’t be caught dead looking like that. I know she thought those kind of things. It’s who she was.

I scooped her up, spoke a few reassuring words in her ear, and quickly headed back to the kitchen. Bob was poised at the sink, donned in long leather work gloves. Happy was squirming. She wasn’t one who relished being picked up when it wasn’t her idea, and all of a sudden she seemed to be catching the same vision I had had only moments before. And it wasn’t a pleasant one.

This was no time for hesitation or for the faint of heart. With one courageous plunge, Happy was in the sink, in the water. Bob clasped his hands firmly around her neck and tried to hold her still. The eight legs were wildly flailing, all 118 needle-sharp claws extended six inches toward anything they could grasp. An impassioned hiss-growl escaped from deep in her throat. I poured water over her from a cup and quickly grabbed the shampoo. This five pound claw-embedded ball of wet fur was pushing back with the strength of Sampson. She was half way out of the sink onto the counter and Bob bodily laid across her while I tried to lather her up. She was gaining on us. I snatched another cup of water and began to rinse what was left of her in the sink, her hindquarters. Yowls, hisses and all manner of hithertofore unknown cat-noises filled the air. Water everywhere, Bob and I were soaked, the kitchen counter, the floor, the window. More water poured over the wrathful cat, and Bob warned me she was winning the match.

We agreed: on the count of three, we would turn her loose.

“One……two…….three!

We let go, hopped back in unison, arms raised outstretched. Happy flew off the counter drenched and dripping. Yes, flew. Cats can fly. I saw it with my own eyes. She landed and ran from the kitchen into the family room. We let her have her space for a bit, then I approached cautiously with the towel to help her regain her dignity. She let me.

Sometime later, she walked into the kitchen where Bob was standing. She sidled up to him slowly, until near his feet. Then hissing, she took a serious swipe at his ankles with her claw infested paws, and ran away. For several days she repeated this remonstration, be sure he knew just how she felt about what he had done to her. Somehow, I escaped her wrath.

2008-11-07T23:06:00.000-07:00

Judging from a few comments that I have received on the poems below, I see that I have offended some people by posting them. That was not my intention. The man who wrote these things lived in an oppressive communist regime and recognizes the symptoms of that type of government. His writings are graphic, yes. He fled oppression. He is a fierce defender of the American way of life. I will not apologize for that. I'm with him.

I respect the office of the President of the United States. I will not disparage it, nor the person who holds that office. But I will exercise my right and my duty as a citizen of the United States to call any of my elected officials to task when they fail to uphold the Constitution.

Our country is at a crossroads. We can move ahead in a continued path of freedom, liberty and a capitalist society, or we can surrender our freedoms to a government who promises to "take care of us". Personally, I've always believed that individuals must be responsible for themselves, and take care of their neighbors personally rather than thru a government system. If you do not agree, I am sorry for that. But this is my blog and I reserve the right to share my feelings here.

Crowds

2008-10-17T09:59:00.001-06:00

The following poem was written by a man whom I met on the http://www.gopusa.com/ forum. He is a former Russian, now an American citizen living in the USA. Having lived under a regime like Obama is proposing, Mike is a fierce defender of our liberty. Oh, that we would all awake before we lose it!

When I asked Mike if I could send this to my sister, this was his reply:

"Pam, you can share it with anybody, including your zombified friend. My name is Michael Shtalman. You can also clarify that I was in the country where Obamas ones won under the pretext of "bringing hope". Even if it helps one person to start thinking as opposed to swallow the media poison - I'd be satisfied."

Crowds
by Michael Shtalman

Our crowd is checkered with H-placards

Ecstatic fellas are shouting: H…, H…, H…!!!

Hope unites us and helps us feel elated

Yes, we can!!!

Can what?

Don’t be a cynical reactionary, dude.

Something good, common good, very common …

The open-ended slogans stem from open hearts

Stop laughing and shut up you,

Damn egg-headed critics!

We greet a great leader, a savior, here

Yes, we can – - subdue those greedy egotists,

Those self-interested bourgeois thugs.

He will install true people’s bureaucracy

And redistribute the wealth justly

95% of the citizens will flourish *

And the damn rich 5% pay for that;

The rest of the world will respect us again

Charisma and socialistic vision alone,

Not the “experience”, will do the miracles.

Holding their breath, a multitude of Germans

Heed his speech at the Großer Stern

Some chicks pee their panties**

Everybody shouts with ardor:

“Heil, Heil, Heil Hitler !!!”

And now you, schleppers, encouraged by a zombie,

Are going to schlep to Florida. Faceless crowd …
H…, H…, H…

* 95% of the Hitler’s party, NSDAP, were workers. Obama also likes to claim he is acting in the best interests of 95% of the “working people”
* * According to some historic records, at least some Hitler admirers urinated upon hearing of his speeches.

From Pam, a post script: Mike tells me he participates in a Russian American forum who recently took their own poll. Obama 29, McCain 61

Time Out for an Important Message

2008-01-31T20:12:00.000-07:00

Like you, I love my country. I love that my life is easier here than it would be if I lived anywhere else on this earth. I love the freedoms I enjoy -- the freedom to speak my mind without fear of being imprisoned for my opinions, the freedom to travel throughout the country without restraint, the freedom to worship my God in the way I choose, the freedom to gather uninhibited with other people, the freedom to take part in the political process that chooses who will lead and govern my city, my county, my state and my country. And many more freedoms do we all enjoy on a daily basis.

There was a time when I was too busy to really get involved in the political process, but nonetheless did what I could to educate myself about the candidates and issues and voted my conscience. In recent years, I've paid much more attention, and have even served in various capacities in our precinct. For one thing, our freedoms are being eroded line by line, here a little, there a little. Perhaps age has given me a perspective I didn't have before, and I can see where we seem to be headed as a country. And it concerns me deeply.

So here we are, just 5 days away from "Super Tuesday", a day when 23 states will hold their primary elections (or caucuses in some states). These states are Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado, Connecticut, Delaware, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Kansas, Minnesota, Missouri, Montana, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Tennessee, Utah, and West Virginia. Rules may vary somewhat from state to state as to how this process is carried out, but I believe in most, if not all states, you have to have registered to vote in a certain time frame before the election. This information is available on-line by looking at your state's website for Elections information.

I know that many of the people who might wander onto this blog are busy with young families and other responsibilities. Those duties are most important, and precious, and timely. But I hope that you will make the time to get out and vote on Tuesday if your primary will be held then, and if it isn't, find out when it will be, and vote then. The bottom line is -- at least to my way of thinking -- is that the primary elections are every bit as important, if not more so, than the general election in November. This is the election that determines who your party's candidate will be.

Ok, that's the most important part. But something else -- and I'm going to stick my neck out here -- I'm conservative. I believe in less government involvement in the lives of citizens. I believe that we as individuals should be as self-sufficient as possible and not surrender our freedom to our government by taking handouts from them. I also believe there are times when some of us need government help, and that is ok. The candidates who are selected as the potential president of our country have very different approaches to government. Select wisely. Your future, and the future of your children is at stake.

He Knows the End From the Beginning

2008-01-19T11:38:00.000-07:00

In the midst of a trial, great or small, have you wondered where your Heavenly Father was and why he wasn’t hearing or answering your prayers? I’m ashamed to admit that I have. But this morning, for no particular reason, my mind went back to some incidents that happened in my life that remind me that He is always there and He always answers our prayers, spoken or only felt, in the best possible way.

In 1976 I was not a happy person. Bob had been out of work for a year and a half, I was working part time. He stayed at home with four-year-old Gayle. We were members of a neighborhood Catholic parish which we did not attend with any frequency. My life, at least, was not in order, and although I knew that, I didn‘t have any idea how to change it. I was struggling personally as well as with the circumstances in our lives.

After having looked for a job for a length of time, Bob started thinking that his best option would be to join the Army. Not only would he have a job, but they would give him special training in the field of his choice. He had served his obligation in the National Guard for six years in the late ‘60’s and early 70’s, and at the end of that time had sworn that he would never stand in line again. I took that to mean that he was definitely done with military service. When he announced to me, pretty much out of the blue, that he was thinking about joining the Army, I was horrified. I knew what that would entail: we would have to leave our home, our home town, all of our friends, and our family, and we would become -- gasp -- Gypsies!! I protested long and loudly. I refused. I probably even stomped my feet and cried. And I must have prayed that this foolish ideal would evaporate.

Looking back, I see now that Heavenly Father knew my needs so much better than I. He was moving me in a direction to end my struggling and help me make my life right, to put it in harmony with the best that He has for me. I didn’t know that at the time, of course, so when Bob came home from enlisting, I cried. He was committed for four years. When he showed me on a map where we would be living in Texas, I ripped the page from the atlas into many pieces and told him of all the places I might want to live, that is, if I ever even considered leaving Toledo, Texas was the last place I would choose. He was unfazed. He calmly but firmly told me that he had joined the Army and that he was going. I could stay or I could go. That was that.

We had been married almost ten years. I hadn’t come that far through the challenges of early married life, to give up yet. I swallowed my pride, and began doing all that needed to be done to move our little family to Texas and to adjust to a whole new life ahead. I told Bob I was with him for four years, but no more, and after that if he chose to stay in the Army, he would be doing it alone. I still wasn’t happy, but I was going. I didn't know it at the time, but I was taking the first step toward putting my will in line with Heavenly Father’s.

to be continued

All Hearts Go Home for Christmas

2007-12-22T17:34:00.000-07:00

“All hearts go home for Christmas, for love is always there”

The year that my husband, Bob, joined the Army, our four year old daughter, Gayle, and I joined him at Fort Hood, Texas, shortly after he finished training in November. Ohio had always been home, and I had had no desire to leave. The recession of 1974 had forced Bob out of work, and after almost two years without a job, Bob was glad for the opportunities the Army offered.

We had sold most of our furniture and stored our belongings in our home in Toledo, which was rented to friends. My sister, Kathie, drove with Gayle and me to our new home, a small furnished apartment in the booming military metropolis of Killeen in central Texas. A day or two later when I watched her plane leave from Austin airport, I felt very much alone. Thanksgiving, a holiday which we had celebrated exactly the same every year for as long as I could remember, was three short weeks away. Facing the holidays in a new place without our extended families and no friends was a bleak thought indeed.

Fortunately, Bob did not share my dampened spirit about this new life of ours. His enthusiasm and Gayle’s natural cheerfulness were my lifeline those first months away. We made the best of Thanksgiving. We ate at the Holiday Inn. It certainly wasn’t Aunty Mary’s perennial feast, and having three at the table instead of our usual 10 or 12 was a change, but we had deliberately chosen to make it as different as possible so there would be no comparison.

As Christmas approached, we decided to make the best of that as well. A tiny tree decorated with homemade ornaments stood in one corner of our living room. We purchased a few small gifts for Gayle -- we didn’t have much to spend. It wasn’t so much that we wouldn’t have the usual pile of presents under the tree that bothered me, but that we would be away from “home”.

Bob was a medical lab technician and worked in the blood bank at the post hospital. Just three days before Christmas, he came home with the wonderful news that the chief had arranged work schedules so that everyone in their section would have either Christmas or New Year’s off, and a few extra days besides. Bob was fortunate to have been given Christmas, beginning at 4 PM on the 23rd. It takes 24 hours of driving, including minimal time for fueling, eating, and rest stops. The drive wouldn’t be a problem. Bob has always been an endurance driver. I would help out when he got tired. We could do it…weather permitting. We would do it! We packed the back of our station wagon, tucking Gayle into a sleeping bag between suitcases, and left Killeen just 24 hours before the Christmas festivities would start at my sister’s home in Ohio. We told Kathie we were coming, but she decided not to tell the rest of the family. It would be a surprise. The excitement was delicious.

But perhaps the most memorable part of that Christmas happened very quietly and unexpectedly in the middle of the night somewhere in Arkansas or Missouri. Have you ever had a moment in your life that was etched permanently into your soul? Gayle was asleep in the back of the car, and Bob dozed in the passenger seat as I drove. The night was cold and black, but thousands of stars were twinkling in the heavens. Christmas hymns were playing on the radio. I thought about Christmas -- about what we are really celebrating: the birth of Jesus Christ, the Savior of the world. For the first time in my life, I pondered the meaning of Christmas. An indescribable peace settled over me. I will never forget that feeling.

Joyful tears and hugs were plentiful as Bob, Gayle and I surprised our family at 6:00 on Christmas Eve. Since that Christmas years ago, we have spent many away from Toledo, but we have learned that home is where we are. And our family is whoever is with us. The best part of Christmas for me is the part I found that night -- the peace that comes from knowing.

* * * * * * *

I'm so grateful for the Savior, for his life and for his sacrifice that makes it possible for each of us to repent and to return to our Heavenly Father. Wishing you, your family, and all of those you love a joyful and blessed Christmas and a healthy and happy 2008.

Pam

Winter Solstice

2007-12-21T18:50:00.000-07:00

According to Wikipedia, "the winter solstice occurs at the instant when the sun's position in the sky is at its greatest angular distance on the other side of the equitorial plane as the observer". Evidently, it was/is a pagan "holiday" or time of festivals, rituals and celebrations. I've just always known it as the shortest day of the year.

I didn't give much thought to the term "winter solstice" until a few years ago when my eccentric cousin sent me a Winter Solstice card. I didn't know such greeting cards existed. Silly me. Her beliefs contrasted with mine would line up in a similar manner to the Winter and Summer Solstices. I shake my head, and realize that in recognizing our differences, I probably am in need of repentance. Sometimes, it's hard not to judge.

Over the years I have found myself starting to look forward to this midwinter event pretty much beginning the day when we switch back from Daylight Savings Time to standard time. I yearn for longer days, more light. But to get there, we have to get past the shortest day. Hence, today marks the beginning of longer days. Each day between now and June 21, will be just a little longer than the one before it. And on that day, I will revel in the light and try not to think that the days will then be getting shorter.

Several years ago, my husband Bob expressed the desire to be at one of his very favorite places on the Summer Solstice, June 21, to see how long it would be light there. We were living in Maryland at the time, but made the trek to northern Michigan, near Traverse City. Pyramid Point is now part of the Sleeping Bear National Lakeshore (check out Picture #13 which is nearby) which overlooks beautiful blue Lake Michigan, but Bob and his family discovered Pyramid Point long before the federal government did, before there was even a clear path to the top of the dune. With our extended families, we have climbed up that sandy peak on many occasions over three decades. Now, not only is a parking lot provided at the road, but a restroom as well, and the path is graded and marked. Progress. Unfortunately. In the "olden days" we could count on enjoying the serene solitude of the place. Most times we visit now, we will meet others on the path and will have to share the view.

That night in 1997 was no different. We hiked up the trail through the beech and maple trees and arrived at thetop of Pyramid Point probably around 8 PM. It was a beautiful clear warm evening, and the sun was setting over Lake Michigan at the western end of the horizon. Near the other end, we could see a hint of the Manitou Islands, according to legend, representing the cubs of the mama bear (now the sand dunes) who had swam across Lake Michigan to escape a raging forest fire. In front of us the bluff dropped steeply to the water 450 feet below. We took pictures of the sinking sun and the deep blue water. Then we sat in the cooling sand, awaiting the demise of the sun on that longest day of the year. Other vacationers came and left while we kept vigil. One young couple was there to celebrate their anniversary; I took their picture, memorized their address, and mailed it to them later. The firey globe slowly sank behind the horizon as we watched. For a long time after the sun disappeared, its light glowed in the sky. It was almost 11 PM before we felt we could declare the end of day. Mission accomplished. Many times since then Bob and I have talked about the magic of that evening.

Today's winter solstice holds no such magic. This cold dark winter night finds me holed up in the house with a computer in front of me. The sun disappeared approximately 5 PM this evening. But the comforting thought is that each day will be just a little longer now, and we have June 21st to look forward to.

Buns

2007-12-16T22:46:00.000-07:00

I thought my friend, Lynne, would write about this on her blog, but she didn't, so I will.

On Saturday, I was at my daughter's house doing some bookwork for her and checked my email. Lynne had written to see if I wanted to go to J-Dawg's, one of our favorite spur-of-the-moment getaways. I emailed back to say that I would be awhile, and not to wait for me, but that I would call her when I got home.

Being the true, loyal, devoted friend that she is, she didn't go without me, and when I called her an hour later, she laughed and said she hadn't had lunch yet, and that she was definitely ready for a J-Dawg. That's one of the things I like about Lynne: she likes to go. At the drop of a hat.

"Pick you up in a few minutes," I told her.

"Ok, I'm ready."

My mouth was watering. Mmmmmm. I could almost smell the grilled Polish sausage with special sauce, sauerkraut, dill pickle, onions, and banana peppers. Oooooo, I couldn't wait! It was almost 2 and I hadn't had anything to eat since my Dee's cereal breakfast. I was hungry. And the thought of that juicy J-Dawg got the digestive juices flowing.

I picked Lynne up and we headed toward BYU. I mentioned to her that Sheri Dew was at the Deseret Book store at our local mall signing her latest book, God Wants a Powerful People, and that it was 50% off today only. It didn't take us long to put our carnal appetites on hold for more spiritual things, and we decided to take a short detour to the mall. To save time, I dropped Lynne off at the door and drove around the parking lot until she came out. There was no parking. None. I'm sure half of Utah was at that mall on Saturday. She got the books, and despite the long checkout line, was out of the mall in about 15 minutes, maybe less.

Then we headed back over to J-Dawg's, got up to the window and were told THEY WERE OUT OF BUNS!!!

Lynne asked, "Well, did you send someone out for some?"

No, they hadn't. Talk about disappointment!

I suddenly realized that we had missed the last bun by mere seconds. The guy ahead of us was getting his dawg, bun and all. Maybe if we hadn't gone to the mall, I thought. But I quickly checked that thought, knowing we had "chosen the better part".

After we gathered our wits about us after such a horrific shock, we decided to try a hot dog place Lynne had seen in Orem. The menu showed promise -- probably 30 different varieties of hotdog combinations (four basic kinds of individual dogs with all manner of toppings). The proprietor was a hoot -- calling out to us from behind the counter to greet us when we walked in and accommodating us as only a small business owner can. A bit of a character. The price for a hot dog and drink was about $5.00, a dollar and a quarter more than the same thing at J-Dawg. And the dogs weren't really so great.

But that's ok, I'm stashing a package of hot dog buns in my car for our next trip to J-Dawg, just to be sure.

Oh, for a Tony Packo hot dog...

Another story for another time.

Marina's Story...Think about it

2007-12-10T09:57:00.000-07:00

Because I started this as a draft, it was published under the date I began the draft, December 4. Please scroll down, to read as Paul Harvey would say, "the rest of the story".

Sunday Snow, or What a Difference a Day Makes

2007-12-09T23:07:00.000-07:00

Saturday Snow

2007-12-08T22:54:00.000-07:00

Winter Storm Warning

2007-12-07T11:29:00.000-07:00

I haven't forgotten that I have yet to post the "rest of the (earlier) story" -- it's in draft form waiting for me to finish. In the meantime, the forecasters are promising a nice winter storm here -- 6 to 12 inches on the benches (the area between the valley and the mountains) and up to three feet in the mountains. Ooooooooo, I can't wait! I just came home from running errands to be sure we have all the necessities (milk, bread, eggs) that we tend to run out of. We have plenty of other food in the freezer and on the shelves in the basement. But, if I know my husband -- and I think I do after being married for eons -- I'm sure we will go out in the snow, into the canyons, just to watch it come down. But at least we won't have to go to the grocery store.

Maybe while we're just hanging around here, snuggled up with hot chocolate in front of the fire watching White Christmas or It's a Wonderful Life, I'll take a break and see if I can't finish "Marina's Story".

Marina's Story...Think about it.

2007-12-04T13:17:00.000-07:00

Seeing my country through the eyes of Marina had been enlightening, somewhat a paradigm shift, so to speak. The things I take for granted each day, without thought, were novel for her. Something as simple as a piece of gum. But the real eye-opener for me was that freedom, so natural to my family and all (U.S.) Americans, was challenging for her family. They had to learn how to live in a free society.

I lost track of Marina when one of us left the company we had worked for. But over the years I have thought of her many times, usually as I think about what I sometimes take for granted as a citizen of this unique country we live in.

A few years after the USSR dissolved and the people of the individual countries struggled to transition from their communist form of goverment to something more like democracies in which the free market has a place, I thought of Marina. Her former countrymen didn't know how to live in a system where they had choices to make. For many generations, the government had taken care of their basic needs and they didn't have the luxury of thinking beyond that. All of a sudden, the "system" changed, and they had the opportunity to create, to innovate, to strive, to work and to think for themselves. I know this is over-simplified. There were many issues which affected the people of the USSR in their individual countries during this transition. But hearing of the difficulties these countries had after the breakup of Soviet Union, I thought back to the things Marina had told me -- how difficult it was to adjust to having the freedom to do for oneself -- and it seemed to me that the newly free people of the USSR were also learning that hard lesson.

Fast forward. September 11, 2001: the World Trade Center buildings fall at the hands of terrorists who are acting out their disdain for us, for our way of life, for our capitalistic and democratic government. Wait, you say. What does this have to do with Marina? Well, generally, nothing directly. But please stay with me here.

A little bit of my story

Until this time, I had been only obliquely interested in news and politics. Yes, I listened to the evening news. Yes, I read the newspapers. I voted. I considered myself a good citizen. I remember a pollster calling me in the early 1970's with questions about the then-current political atmosphere in our country -- these were the days of Vietnam, Watergate scandal, and Roe vs. Wade. One of the pollster's questions was "How much influence do you feel that you have on these issues?" On a scale of one to ten, I probably selected "one". I honestly felt I had little or no influence on what was happening in the whole scheme of politics and important issues in our country. I was about 25 years old at the time. I had just had a baby, and my life revolved around taking care of her. While I recognized that these other things were important, I didn't feel there was a thing I could do that would make a difference. Even my single meager vote in any election seemed meaningless.

On September 11, 2001, I went to the computer to check email before I left to tend my grandchildren for the day. I saw the report of the first plane crashing into the WTC. My immediate thought was that some pilot made a wrong turn over New York City. I turned on the television for a more thorough report. A few moments later, the second plane hit. My heart sank. I knew immediately this was no accident. With the rest of America, I was glued to the television for the remainder of that day, and for many more after that. This event began my new relationship with the news and my interest in what is going on in the world.

I've only been blogging for a short time. I've read many blogs, most of them the work of women approximately the age that I was in the mid-1970's. I may be "old" in their (your) eyes, and I understand your lives are filled with all the same things my life was at your age. But I hope you will keep reading because I have learned some really important things that I would like to share.

Marina's lesson is -- when we are not "allowed" to take care of ourselves and be responsible, we forget how to be responsible. We become complacent. We become willing to let others do things for us that we, being endowed by our Creator with the freedom to act for ourselves, should be doing. We relinquish our freedom to that entity (be it an individual or a government), and in the process, we become subservient to that entity which is "taking care" of us. We become enslaved.

Aunty Mary's story

My great-Aunty Mary lived to be 101 years old. After she married at the age of 27, she became a homemaker and did not work outside of their home after that, despite never having children. My great uncle worked for an engineering firm and made decent wages. They put money into savings for their retirement (no 401-K's in those days). When the time came, he retired and they lived well within their means on Social Security. Uncle Gordon passed away in 1981; Aunty Mary lived another 21 years. She continued to receive social security benefits but she also had her "nest-egg" to provide a safety-net for unexpected emergencies.

Aunty Mary's emergency came when she was 99 years old. She was still living in a second story apartment by herself, extremely self sufficient. In fact, she shoveled snow for her landlord until she was into her 90's, and planted flowers in the back yard until she was 99. On Christmas Eve when she was 99, she fell from a stepladder in her kitchen and broke her hip. With the loving encouragement of our family, she went -- figuratively speaking, but almost not figuratively -- kicking and screaming into a wonderful assisted living home operated by the Masons.

I took her to the home to see it, to meet the people who ran it and the staff who would be helping her. She was concerned about the expense, and what would happen when her savings ran out, althought she certainly didn't expect to live long enough for that to happen. They assured her she would cared for regardless of her financial situation. She did not have to pay them anything "up front". Almost two years later, she beat the actuarial odds, and outlived her savings. She was absolutely horrified that she would be living "on charity". That almost killed her. A few months later, she fell again, and died as a result of a broken hip.

I have to add here that the people of the Masonic organization treated each person in that community with dignity and respect. None of the other residents ever knew Aunty Mary's situation, and of course, she did not know theirs either. I have the highest regard for the Masons, though neither I nor any of my immediate family have had membership in their organizations.

Self sufficiency has been ingrained in me by the example of my family. Not just Aunty Mary, but all of my family.

Why am I telling you this?

As I've watched and pondered the politics of our country, I see that many people feel that the government is there to "take care" of us. In the name of "compassion", many feel that the government is the instrument through which "poor people" should be helped -- i.e., given money, health care, housing, whatever else they "need". I, too, believe there are many people who genuinely need help, and that I have a moral obligation to help them. But there are many ways to do that, that don't put a goverment bureaucracy in the position of being the caretaker.

Families come first. We should take care of our own. Churches and charities also provide assistance to members who are in need. The church to which I belong teaches provident living, and also provides assistance to those in need while offering them the opportunity to serve others. The basic premise of church welfare is and should be to help people help themselves. Giving someone something for nothing is not helpful, with very few exceptions.

I'm not eloquent, and I don't have an advanced education in economics, politics, government, or social order. But I'm also a thinking person, and I've given much thought to what I have heard in the news and have seen happening to our country over several decades. We're losing our freedom. It's that simple. And if today's generation of young adults doesn't give some serious thought to the things that are happening around them, and consider the ultimate consequences, and then get involved, their children will be like Marina. But they will have nowhere to go.

While the boiling frog allegory has no basis in reality, it paints the picture that what we would never buy into in one giant leap, we may accept one tiny step at a time until it is too late to extricate ourselves from the mess we've landed in.

Here's what you can do

We don't have time to wait for this generation to finish raising their children before they open their eyes to what is happening to our country. The time is now. The person to make a difference is you, and me. The way to do it is to listen to the news and commentary -- a variety of it from many sources. I've linked a few good websites that offer other individuals' viewpoints. You won't agree with everyone you listen to or read. But you will begin to see a pattern. You'll begin to understand why I am writing this blog entry.

Vote. But not unless you really understand what or who it is that you're voting for. Don't be like another woman I worked with who voted for Bill Clinton because -- and this is a direct quote -- "He's soooooo cute!" You only have to listen to the "man in the street" type of interviews on the Glenn Beck program or Jay Leno to see how really uninformed a large percentage of the population is about our government.

Find out who your representatives are in Congress, then hold their feet to the fire on important issues. Make sure they know who you are. It really doesn't take too much time to zip off an email or letter to them. Yours added to many others who do the same does influence them. I've seen it happen. I'll post links.

Set an example and teach your children. Teach them to respect their country, its flag, and its leaders. Peaceful, respectful disagreement is part of the process. Dissing our country is not. There's a right way and a wrong way to get things done. Be part of the right way.

Encourage your friends to get involved.

If you love the life you're living, please take time to consider these things carefully. What Marina gained by coming to the United States we stand to lose if we continue to give up our freedom by putting the government in charge of the details of our lives. They'll take the money we've worked hard for and give it to people who are capable of doing the same, but who just don't want to and are using government-provided loopholes to avoid it. They'll make laws to tell you how to raise your children, and if you don't obey those laws, they will take your children from you.

Think about it.

Marina's Story

2007-12-04T11:17:00.000-07:00

Marina came to work with me in a small office back East in the mid-1980's. She was young, perhaps 20, short brown curls framing her cherubic face. She spoke with a very slight accent. Marina was a Russian Jew who had moved to the United States with her family-- father, mother, and a brother-- about a year before. She told me her story. Her father felt it was time for them to leave Russia. Knowing they would not be granted permission to leave, they made plans to "visit" her uncle in Israel. They took only what they would need for such a trip, leaving behind treasured family mementos and all other personal possessions, knowing that taking even such things as family pictures would arouse the suspicion of authorities and would likely jeopardize their plans. They did go to Israel, but spent only the time necessary to get visas to come to America. They left behind their former lives, family, friends and all but two weeks worth of clothing to come here. I was in awe.

I was also impressed with Marina's ability to speak and understand English. She had taken English in her Russian school, but said that most of her language skills had come as a result of signing up for classes at the local community college there in Maryland. Wasn't it hard, I asked her, to take classes having only a very basic understanding of our language. Well, yes, she said, it was, but she caught on quickly. And she was getting good grades, despite this handicap. Each new revelation about what she had been through amazed me further.

I asked her what some of the things were that she enjoyed here that she didn't have in Russia.

Gum.

Gum?

Yes, gum.

Didn't you have gum in Russia?

No.

Why not?

Well, the government didn't think it was necessary.

Strange, I thought. Something that I wouldn't even think of as significant, this girl thought was a treat. And what's up with that -- the government didn't think it was necessary?

What has been the hardest thing to get used to in the United States, I asked her.

The freedom, she replied without hesitation.

She went on to explain that her father had taken a job in another community when they first arrived here. After a short time, he realized that the job was not a good match for him. He wanted to change jobs. In Russia, she explained, they had little, if any, choice where they worked or where they lived. If they wanted to change jobs, they applied to the government which, if it decided was a valid request, would find the individual a new job and different living arrangements if the job was in a different area. Here, her father had to apply to various companies, go for interviews, decide which job to take, find a new place to live when he accepted a position with a large company in our area, make arrangements to move his family, and follow through. It was a daunting process to one who had never experienced this way of doing things.

I don't remember the rest of our conversation on these lines. I do know the things I've just written gave me much reason for thought and consideration for a long time.

More later...

American Fork Canyon

2007-12-03T21:13:00.000-07:00

Hi, How Are You Today?

2007-12-03T21:03:00.000-07:00

Hi, How Are You Today?
Jeff Moss

I'm feeling very horrible,
And low and mean and mad,
And dreadful and deplorable,
And rotten, sick, and sad,
And nasty and unbearable,
And hateful, vile, and blue
But thanks a lot for asking,
And please tell me. . .
How are you?

****************************

Found that cute little ditty on a website and it hit home. Sometimes I just feel like that.

Hearty/Hardy Souls Snow Camping

2007-12-01T23:45:00.000-07:00

We had our first "big" snow last night -- that is, enough to cover the ground and then a little more. My husband talked me out of my nice warm bed at 6:30 to go to the canyon to see it up close. We thought we'd be the first ones there...not so. These folks came last night and stayed over. I was envious, for about three seconds, when I came to my senses. They had slept in tents.

Do you notice anything strange in this picture?