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.