Jars

Did I mention that I sold all my canning jars? Almost 50 dozen. To a sweet little old lady, who told me how excited she was to be able to can.

This lady told me about about the great arrangement she had with her daughter. Her daughter would do all the canning if she would just take care of the baby for her. She beamed as she told about her little miracle grandbaby. The little baby who's birth and life, which shouldn't have happened, but did -- and as a result brought such joy to this lonely widow.

Because her daughter needed to build up her food storage, she would surely need a lot of jars. She said she wanted all the jars I had. Because the lady loved the time spent holding her granddaughter, she didn't even hesitate to calculate just how much food... and time... 50 DOZEN jars would consume.

For some reason, this lady then asked me about my grandmothers. She wanted to know about both of them. So, as I packed the jars, and filled her car with them, I got to tell her about the strong women in my life -- who have made such a difference in shaping and forming who I am today.

I remembered the many Friday nights I would spend on Coneflower Street. Grandma would make mac and cheese, and then we would eat ice cream with granola in bed and watch Magnum PI. I told her how every Sunday, I would go back to Coneflower Street, and would snack on carrot sticks and cookies while we visited. I spent so much of my childhood on Coneflower Street. Rocking in a chair, cutting magazines, walking a dog. Being loved by Grandma.

I told her about the times I would stay with Grandma on Alton Way. How she would talk to me about politics, religion, and my ancestors. How she always reminded me, "The Gospel is True!"

Both of my grandmothers have been where I am now. They know what it is like. And I'm so grateful for that.

The jars were symbolic of a era now past -- of searching desperately for love that wasn't capable of being shared. Of trying to prove I was worth something.

And when we were done visiting (the old lady and I), the jars were gone. It was as if my grandmothers were there with me, helping me pack those boxes and send them away. The sweet little lady gave me a hug when she left. It was really the embrace my grandmothers sent from the other side of the veil. Hugs from people who know what it is like. Love from people who love me, and are praying for me. Support from people who's righteous life continues to bless and enhance my life today.

Thanks Grandma N & Grandma H for blazing the trail. For showing me that true love comes from on high. For helping me properly end a painful part of my past, and making that end such a joyful experience. I'm moving on and I'm stronger now. Thanks for setting the example of enduring to the end. I won't let you down.

Celebrations

Martinelli's poured in a cobalt blue goblet is very therapeutic.

I even grilled hamburgers for Lucky and I. (I was feeling very generous.)

Spring marks the coming of new life. May 1 is a great day to celebrate.

One Year

One Year today.

So many thoughts. So many emotions. So many lessons.

So many blessings. So much love.

Thank you to you all who have carried me the last 365 days. I truly couldn't have done it without you.

The Mower

I mowed the lawn this week for the first time since last fall. I actually love mowing. It gives me lots of time to think. I love the look of the newly mowed grass. I love the smell. And the hum of the motor drowns out life and I'm left alone in my thoughts.

As I mowed, I remembered reading my brother's college entrance exam. He talked about how he learned to work hard from the example Dad set. He talked about all the hard work he'd had to do -- and how Dad made him mow the lawn every week with a mower that was older than he was.

It was a funny comment. But it is entirely true. Dad's mower at home IS older than my brother. The fabric bag that collects the clippings wore out, so Dad stitched it together with a shoe lace. When that wore out, I think he did eventually have to replace the bag. The machine is old, and the handle is rusty. But Dad is still using the same mower.

Dad believes in having the right tools to do the job, but he also believes in teaching us the value of economy, hard work and independence. And he worked hard right next to us. While people around us were contracting with landscape companies to mow, or even investing in a fancy riding mower, Dad had the boys mowing with a very standard mower. I remember countless days that Dad mowed, too. As a young girl, it was comforting to see him out there, pushing the mower. I knew Dad had everything under control. I knew he would take care of us.

As technology advanced and time passed, Dad never saw a need to "upgrade" his own mower. The one he had worked just fine. Which is why my brother ended up mowing the lawn with a machine much older than he ever was.

When we moved in to this house, Dad personally wanted to make sure I had a "good" mower to do the job right. So my mower is self-propelled, starts up in 2 strokes guaranteed, and cuts through grass like butter. It's a great machine and it makes my life a whole lot easier.

... funny how he didn't ever see a need for such technology for himself...

I don't think he anticipated that I would be using the mower. But every time I do, I think of my Dad. His goal in life is to make life easier for my mom, my siblings and for me. He will go without if that means putting his family ahead. He learned it from his dad because that is what Grandpa did for him.

That's true greatness.

That's what I want to do for my children. Dad, I can't ever repay you. But I promise to continue that legacy of sacrificing, hard work and love for others.

Look Up!

Last night I had the opportunity to go to the temple. Attending the temple provides a welcomed respite ... a peaceful haven. Normally when I go, I drive in, find the closest parking space I can, and rush inside. My eyes are focused on the doors of the temple as I hurry in. Last night, for some reason, I happened to glance up at the top of the temple. I was rewarded with the view of a gleaming Angel Moroni, and the sun, shining through the clouds acted like a spotlight. It took my breath away. I want to remember that lesson. Look up!! Look up to Heaven. Look up to God. I'll try to shift my focus from the mundane, and look up to the higher goal, use a higher perspective. Lift my eyes, lift my sights, lift my soul.

Chicken Salad

This weekend, I helped with a luncheon for the stake Relief Society. I was in charge of the food. We decided to do chicken salad on croissants, a green salad, and strawberry shortcake for dessert.

So, this is what I did on Friday:
-- Deboned 23 rotisserie chickens
-- chopped up 108 cups of chicken
-- Diced 32 cups of celery
-- Chopped up 32 cups of grapes
-- Opened 32 cans of water chestnuts using a really crummy can opener. (I'm grateful my mom taught me that you have to have good tools in the kitchen)
-- Opened 25 cans of pineapple using the same crummy can opener.
-- Slept for 3 hours

I need to acknowledge that I did have a wonderful neighbor that helped me debone all those chickens, and some friends that helped me chop the grapes -- but I really think my knife is permanently attached to my hand.

This is what I learned:
-- It feels really good to be doing something for other people.
-- Wal-mart has the best price on water chestnuts.
-- Wal-mart sells out of pineapple tidbits, so if that's what you want, shop ahead of time, otherwise you'll be chopping up pineapple rings at 1am.
-- Dole pineapple tastes much better than the store brand. It's worth the extra $0.14 per can to get the Dole brand
-- Crummy can openers should be outlawed
-- No matter how good of a knife you are using, if you chop up that much stuff, your hand is going to hurt at the end
-- It's really fun to hear lots of people compliment the food, especially when they don't know you are the one that made it.
-- I don't want to go into catering

The food turned out delicious, but I don't want to eat chicken salad for a really, really long time...

You are not Anonymous

I went to Stake Conference tonight. I really wasn't going to go. There were so many reasons not to. Let's just say I was strongly encouraged ... from both sides of the veil.

As I walked in, I noticed a friend was sitting on the stand. She was obviously one of the speakers. I chatted with the friend next to me that we were both grateful that we didn't have to speak because it would be too terrifying. Noting that the speaker had a stake calling, I made the statement: That's why it is great to be in Primary ... I am anonymous, and I am totally safe. I don't have to worry about that."

45 minutes into the meeting, the first counselor conducting the meeting stood up and said, "We would like the following people to stand and bear their testimony. I knew that instant my name was on the list. Someone behind me gasped when he read my name. I wanted to crawl out the door, hoping no one would see me.

The other two people had great credentials. One had just finished his mission yesterday. He had served with valiance and honor. He loved the people, and he had a strong desire to serve the Lord. The next woman was recently called as a relief society president in her ward. She was experienced and strong and wise. And then there was me.

I don't remember a lot of what I said. But as I walked off the stand, I heard, "Never forget, you are not anonymous, and you are of value."


.... And you are too.

Biggest Loser

I confess. My favorite tv show is Biggest Loser. For a lot of reasons.

Today, Princess J told me that I should go on Biggest Loser so I could lose all my weight.

I realize that children live in a different paradigm, and I realize that I'm not the trim, fit person I want to be right now, but ... does she really think that I look similar to the people on that show? Mind you, I wasn't watching the season finale, where the contestants have been transformed into amazing body-building machines -- we're still on week 6 or 7.

Thanks Princess J. I'll remember that the next time I crave m&m's.

Ward Temple Day

Tomorrow is Ward Temple Day. And I'm going. I'm committing now.

2011 is a great year for firsts!!

Happiness Is ...

Happiness is ...

Eating lunch in the school lunchroom with my kidlets...bringing their favorite treat (in bite size portions) and watching them share the treat with their friends.

And Happiness is ...

Seeing the smile on their faces... and knowing the dishes are all worth it...

Tiaras and Rat Poison

There is a man I wish you all could know. Someday, I want to post a picture of him ... If I ever figure out how

Tuesday night, he stopped at my house and dropped off a ziploc baggie with red rat poison, and my daughter's carefully glued tiara.

A strange combination, but it was about the sweetest thing anyone could have done at that moment.

His name is Hal. He's served in at least two different bishoprics, and has been young men's president numerous times. He's been on the high council and probably just about every other calling in the church. But his favorite calling ... is Sunbeam Teacher or Nursery Leader. He and his wife were fabulous. Their primary kids called them Brother Howell and Sister Howell. Their official last names start with A, but it's just too hard for a 4 year old to pronounce "Hal," you know.

I am blessed to have Brother Howell as my home teacher.

He and his companion come every month. They ask every month, "Is there anything we can do to help?" And, while I know that the question is sincere, I rarely can think of anything.

But he doesn't let that stop him.

I was gone one weekend, and came home to find all of my yard work done. He spent most of Saturday working in my yard. He mowed my lawn, cleared off the garden, trimmed everything and then hauled it away. It looked beautiful. It was a monumental task, but he never admitted it was him. I had to bribe my neighbors to tell me who was responsible for the kindness.

I didn't ask for help. I didn't mention how overwhelmed I was at trying to keep up the yard. He just noticed.

Several weeks later, when the garden produce was all harvested, I finished piling up all the vines, cornstalks, and weeds from the garden on a Friday afternoon. I piled them in the backyard, and that night, I wondered how I was going to fit all that green waste into my van to haul it away.

Saturday afternoon, I returned from running some errands, and that garden waste was all gone. completely gone. Brother Howell had been driving by that afternoon, noticed the piles, and hauled them off for me.

I was amazed that someone would be so aware. The garden mess hadn't been sitting there for 24 hours, yet, he noticed it was ready to be hauled to the dump.

A month later, he showed up with a sling on his arm. He'd been having problems with his shoulder. When the pain finally got bad enough, he finally went to the doctor, and was told that the shoulder needed surgery.

His shoulder needed surgery, and yet, he cleared off my garden, mowed my lawn. Pulled my weeds. And then disappeared. He had his own yard work to do, livestock to care for, family to love.

A month or two later, I heard a sound in my ceiling. It was a fluttering sound. I thought it was birds that might have flown in through a vent. So I talked to Brother Howell. (He raises birds.) I was hoping we could rescue the bird that I thought was stuck in the rafters. Brother Howell came over that afternoon, looked at my house, and pronounced his verdict: the sounds were not caused by birds. It was mice. He left, only to return with a bucket of rat poison.

So Sunday, he came for his monthly visit. He talked to the children-told them to prepare to go on a mission. And during the conversation, it came up that Princess J's tiara (her Christmas present) had a piece that had broken off. He took the tiara, and the piece, determined to try to solder it together.

Soldering didn't work, but a combination of two different glues did. It took him 2 days to fix it.

The rat poison was to make sure the mice didn't return.

That's service!! A simple statement, but there's no other way to describe what he has done for my family.

In basketball, they teach you to keep your weight on your toes, hands up, reflexes poised, ready to intercept the pass or drive the lane. How do you teach someone to be prepared to serve with such quick response time?

He would humbly deflect any attention. But he truly is a remarkable man.

Just like an athlete, who's muscles are trained to know the feel of the ball, calculate the precise amount of force (and aim) to make the basket, Brother Howell has trained his eyes to notice what is around him, and he's prepared his heart to serve.

I want to be like Brother Howell someday.

My Sister

Dear Sis --

I was in the attic today, and found a box that I didn't recognize. I opened it, to find my most treasured possessions from when I was "a little girl." It had my sticker collection that I spent years accumulating and trading. It had my journal that I started when I was 8. It had my high school year books. All "stuff" that I attached happy, special memories to.

As I was sifting through letters Mom wrote me for various occasions, I found an envelope from you. On the front, in your perfect handwriting, it just said, "With Love." From the looks of the handwriting, you were probably in 4th grade or so.

It was an ordinary little envelope. The cards inside were 3x5 cards -- 'cuz that's what Mom always had on hand.

Inside, this is what it said: (Spelling has been preserved here...)

Card #1
J's New Cupon Book


Card #2:
Always have to clean the Bathroom?
This cupon good for...
1 week of cleaning the Bathroom


Card #3:
Sometimes you get lazy and knowone will do favors for you.

The cupon good for 33 favors.

Expirers
33 Favors


Card #4:
Do you have things that are unorganixzed or things you just don't want to put away?

Organize things for 3 weeks

1 Exceptoin
You have to tell me where things go.

Expires
3 weeks


Card #5:
Hate rincing? I don't blame you!

The cupon is good for...
good for... O, um 4 days of ...
... me rincing the dishes for you.

(gulp) (Just kiding)

1 expetion
Excpet on Sundays

Expireers
When you have used this for 4 days


Card #6:
Have a unmade bed problem?

Make your bed for two weeks

Excpire Date
in three weeks


I sat in the cold attic and laughed and cried over this little card.

I was awed by the sense of humor you had:
-- 33 Favors -- 39 Flavors. Very Funny.
-- Exception: No rinsing dishes on Sunday.

Do you remember how much we all hated dish duty on Sundays? We were convinced that Mom did Sunday dinners just to torture us at the sink afterwards.

It was written on 3x5 cards, because that is what Mom had around. I'm sure you loved paper then, but probably didn't have access to the beautiful stuff you truly love now. I wonder how long you hunted for pretty paper before you gave up and used the lined cards Mom kept stocked in her desk drawer.

I wondered if I really appreciated your fun personality, way back when.

Because, if you were spelling "coupon" as "cupon" you couldn't really have been all that old. I hope I was nice to you. I hope I wasn't the proverbial older sister that was too cool for you. I fear I might have.

You've probably long since forgotten even creating that "cupon book." What I want you to notice is where I found your envelope. It was in my box of treasures. My very special treasures. Carefully saved for 20+ years. I never wanted to forget it. Your "cupon book" moved me then. It moved me today.

I don't know if I ever officially "redeemed" those cupons. But over the years, you have fulfilled those cupons many times over. You've done my dishes more times than I could count. And I don't ever remember you invoking the Sunday exception clause. You've come to organize my stuff when I couldn't do it. You've brought me meals when I forgot to eat. You've stopped in just to say hello.

You tucked a beautiful calendar in my bag to remind me of my new beautiful life.

33 Favors has turned into a lifetime of love.

Thanks for being such a good sis.

I love you.

Chemistry and Math

Does anyone happen to know how much 1 TBL of citric acid weighs in ounces?

Random question, I know. I'm trying figure out the cost of a specific recipe.

Chess and Wishes

Do you ever feel like you are living a game of chess? Hopefully not. If you do, my heart goes out to you. My emerging life is tender, fragile and lovely, but many times, I feel like it is an ongoing game of chess. I never learned to play chess ... I never really liked it. I didn't want to play it for fun back then, I don't want to continue playing it for the rest of my life now.

Since it is still January, can I make some New Year's Wishes?

1. I wish I could eliminate the game of chess from my life.
2. I wish others valued honor, trust and character as much as I do.
3. I wish love and sacrifice were hallowed words.
4. I wish I had a magic wand.

It all comes down to that principle of "agency." Sometimes I find myself wondering if I really voted for agency. And if I did, did I really know what it would entail? Because many time, I'd prefer to make the decisions for others.

PS. I'm not bitter ... really I'm not. I'm just processing.

Race Time & Moral Victories

I have two cub scouts and one honorary cub scout that think she is a real cub scout ... so I guess that means I really have three.

Last night was pinewood derby.

For those of you who have brothers, or who were cub scouts at one point, you know what that means. You know how this was "THE NIGHT" every cub scout looks forward to for months. You know the work and planning that goes into preparing a car. When I was a girl, I remember my brothers working with Dad on their cars, balancing, weighing, sawing, painting. It always looked like so much fun. I wanted to do one. Or, I at least wanted to help.

I have 5 brothers. Whenever I got to help, they always gave me the job of sanding the wheels. I had to use a fine grit paper to sand down the seam and the "belly button" left on the wheel from the plastic mold. Every year, I'd get the same lecture, "Now make sure you don't sand a flat spot on the wheel. That will really slow it down." I didn't think that part was very fun.

But last year, I finally had my chance. I had three cub scouts that needed cars. It was a disaster. We were late. Paint jobs lacked the sleekness I remembered from my brothers' days. Wheels fell off during the race. They were sadly underweight cars. But, when it was all over, I had wonderful memories. And literally, in the car on the way home, all three were scheming for next year, so I guess that means they had fun, too.

Next year came. It was last night. This time, I only had to do one car. I guess we did the "divide and conquer" method. Big J wanted to design his car and have it go fast. (Apparently, he forgot that last year, the wheels were falling off mid-race...) But he decided that designing his car was important, so I got the assignment.

Apparently, pinewood derbies have evolved. Making a car go fast is more than just sanding down the belly button on the wheels. Now you have to properly place the weight, and shift wheel bases, hone the axles (those little nails.) I was overwhelmed ... and I'll admit, this race got personal.

I was a mom on a mission. I was not going to fail my boy this year. And I wasn't going to fail myself either.

There were wonderful people that helped. A coach from California that sent me a 100+ pg booklet on how to have the perfect pinewood derby car. He told me to "keep it simple." The eBay seller that sold me tungsten weights and drove them to the post office in an ice storm so I would have them. A wonderful cubmaster that helped cut and sand and buff and weigh. A dear neighbor that encouraged me and let me use his drill.

We made it to the race on time. Ok, the paint job might have been a little bubbled, but it was shiny, and had a bright red racing stripe down the center. (Someday, if I figure out how to post pictures, I'll add one here.) I breathed a sigh of relief when Big J's car made it all the way down the track, wheels on and completely intact. And, he even won that heat.

In the end, Big J took second place overall. It was a moral victory -- you can style your car AND have it be fast, too (not to mention the fact that Mom can be in charge of a car that is capable of winning.) My other two cubs took 3rd and 4th place respectively.

(And because Big J's car was faster than the other two, I guess I can gloat for a moment, too.)

In the car, on the way home, they were chattering about their cars for next year. So once again, I guess you can call it a success. We celebrated at Purple Turtle over milk shakes and tater tots.

I'm the luckiest mom alive.