Easily Entertained

Lucy was gone to Great America today.  So Mikey and I spent all day alone together.  We went to the park and fed ducks and pigeons.  We went to the thrift store and bought two games and brought them home and played both of them--no pieces missing.  They both even had the instructions.  I've wanted Quirkle for a long time.  I just wasn't willing to pay $25 for it. 

Then we went to the blueberry patch and picked a giant bucket of blueberries.  One of the highlights of the day was Lucy calling me to tell me she had just finished riding her first ever upside-down ride. That's a blessing I will count.  She wanted to tell me something exciting right at the minute it happened.

Mikey crossed the bridge into real boy scouts tonight.   Ian should have been waiting on the other side to welcome him,   but I guess that will have to be another bridge at another time.

Elvis is in the Building

On Memorial Day I will share a special memory.  Ian loved Elvis.  He was Elvis for Halloween in Kindergarten.  We drew on sideburns and made a white sequin jumpsuit.  He was adorable.  That same year we visited Graceland.  He was in heaven.



This photo was taken years later in Las Vegas.  I  think Ian was drawn not only to Elvis'  music, but also to the charisma and personality.  He was good at saying, "Thank you, thank you very much."  He had big coffee-table books about Elvis and  grandma's original vinyl records.  Who was Elvis?   was one of the first books he was really excited about reading all on his own.

Ian didn't really care about liking the same things as his peers.  How many kindergartners are into Elvis?  He was his own man and others could accept him or not.  Either way, he wasn't changing for anybody.  What a great quality--one of the many.

Not a Fair Fight

All that's left of the gallant knight is his armor.

This cartoon is entitled:  "Sometimes the Dragon Wins".  My dad had me color it for him when I was a teenager.  He framed it and hung it on the wall in his den.  He explained very carefully to me how the dragon was the devil and even if we are strong and brave, we should never try to stand up to him.  No matter how long we've been learning how to resist him, he's been learning how to tempt us longer.  We should never believe we are tough enough to challenge him head to head, because sometimes he wins.  We should always run from the devil.  It isn't weak or cowardice to run away from temptation.  In fact, it's smart to leave a place where the dragon might be lurking.  Stay as far away from it as possible.

I think that's the best lesson a teenager can ever learn.  Run, and run fast.  Sometimes the dragon wins.

Legacy

Things are passed down from generation to generation.  Some things  you want to inherit and some things you don't.  I'm thrilled to have my grandmothers' cameos.  Grandma O'Driscoll's was a given.  I'm the only granddaughter, but to have Grandma Rich's and her mother's too,  well,  I feel very lucky.  I wear each of them with pride and actually think about the great ladies who had them before me.  

I've inherited other things as well.  My father's temper.  I hope my kids love me as much as I love my dad.  I hope they see that I'm more than a temper.  I hope they hear the compliments and the love and not just the loud, belittling rage.  I hope Ian could see.  I still have time to change for Michael and Lucy.  I want to. 

I see so many wonderful things about my dad.  He has taught me more things than I can list.  He's so wise and really quite sensitive and creative.  I've had time to be able to see those things and balance them against his quick fuse.  No, he never struck me.

I want to learn a different way.  In the world of  "Fight or Flight",   I definitely got fight.  In most ways,  I'm glad.  I don't walk away from things.  I'm loyal and determined and persistent.   On the other hand,  I don't walk away from things, so I'm confrontational and stubborn and opinionated.  I can't even guess how many times I've been told to stop yelling at someone when I had know idea I was yelling--didn't even think I was upset, but that's how I come across.

Oh, I hide it well when I need to.  I can come off as polite, demure, little me when I want to.  I think I'm afraid if I change my temperment, I'll turn into a stepford wife and I'll have no passion for anything.  I might stop fighting for the things that are really important--not just to me, but just really important.

I hear the  phrase "pick your battles" a lot.  Are most of the battles important?  I had a conversation with some one this week about her son and how he couldn't sit down  at the dinner table--for 2 years.  He stood up to eat for 2 years.  She said she had to pick her battles and it was just easier to let him stand than to get upset and let it ruin dinner.  In my world I would try 5 or 6 different things like,  "You don't sit, you don't eat,"  for one  and then I'd scream about it,  maybe even before the sixth thing.  All the battles seem important.

I heard myself say to Keith recently (about something totally unrelated to this),  "You don't believe you can do it, do you?"  That has stuck in my head.  That's how I feel about changing my temper.  After trying for 10+ years, I just don't know what to try next.  It's like being an alcoholic.  I am sweet for a nice long time and then break into a good loud rant and I'm right back where I started.  And just because I think I inherited it from my dad doesn't mean I don't think it's my fault.  I just  have to find a way to change it.

There, a post that doesn't come to any sort of resolution.

Dandelion

I wonder why we are supposed to think the lush green grass is beautiful and not the bright yellow flower?

Nothing New

What strikes me today?  Church is hard.  No big surprise.  I see families big and small that no matter what is going on in their lives, they leave church and go home as a families.  Even the ones who aren't all at church together or won't all be home this afternoon together or don't live in the same house together--They're still together.

It sucks.

The gospel is still true.  I know it.  God knows I know it and I can't deny it.  Church is still hard.  What does that have to do with anything?  I go.  I endure.   Sometimes I learn something.  Today I learned that I have a choice to act or be acted upon.

I knew the topic for weeks--Keith was speaking--ward conference.  It's an interesting topic.  It was a good talk.  It made me think.  It applies to everything including getting exercise and eating right and having fun and being happy and on and on and on.  It's not solely a gospel principle.  There's probably many deep things to say.  Can I really follow "It sucks" with any sort of deep insight and be believed?  I doubt it.  I'll keep thinking about it.

Rapture

This is probably the least original idea to write about today.  Oh well.  Maybe I'll just aspire to have the best, most interesting things to say about it.

Wouldn't it be great if it was today?  Empty, grieving feeling over.  Enduring to the end, check! 

I'm so curious as to what this preacher said and how he brought so many to a point where they believed he knew what he was talking about,  especially since he had apparently done this once before in 1994 or something and was wrong.  People are so anxious to believe in something.  Things are easier when you have a deadline too.  Like, "I have 4 months  to perfect my life.  No more lying, taking advantage, swearing etc."  I can see how that would be a great motivator.  Short bursts of righteousness are so much easier to control.  When you look ahead to being good for the next 40 years however, it seems a little daunting.

I looked this morning for the word rapture in the scriptures.  Couldn't find it.  In fact, the only time I think I've ever heard the word is in an Anita Baker love song from the 80's.  Puzzled,  I pulled down The New Strong's Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible which indexes all the different translations (yes, we have that!) and the word rapture isn't in a single translation.  The Internet says it comes from the 17th verse in 1Thess, chapter 4:  "Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air; and so shall we ever be with the Lord."  I wonder who connected that phrase with the word rapture.  Maybe I should have read more than just Wikapedia.

There are a couple scriptures that I'm thinking of on a day like today.  Amos 3:7  "Surely the Lord God will do nothing, but he revealeth his secret unto his servants the prophets."  The ordained prophet of God on the earth has told us that we should ever be prepared for the "great and dreadful" day both temporally and spiritually.  We've heard that for many many years.  Matthew 25: 13  "Watch therefore, for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh."  We have many signs of the last and final days, but we have been told multiple times that the actual timing of Christ's coming will be a surprise. 

There are many things we can know.  I'm a firm believer that the mysteries can be given to us if we weary the Lord with our asking like the widow in Luke 18. The date and time when Jesus Christ is due back to wrap things up is not one of those things.  We just need to live like it's tomorrow and always have the date saved by how we act.  He can save us from our sins, but not in our sins.  That's why his doctrine is repentance.  Maybe these billboards and all this hype did do some good.  Maybe they pushed people toward repentance.  That would certainly be a good thing.

It's no wonder many think  the world is ending.  Just read Matthew 24 when the disciples asked, "saying, Tell us, when shall these things be? and what shall be the sign of thy coming, and of the end of the world?  And Jesus answered and said unto them, take heed that no man deceive you.  For many shall come in my name, saying, I  am Christ; and shall deceive many. And ye shall hear of wars and rumours of wars;  see that ye be not troubled;  for all these things must come to pass, but the end is not yet.  For nation shall rise up against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; and there shall be famines, and pestilences, and earthquakes, in divers places.  All these are the beginning of sorrows..."  And in 2 Timothy chapter 3 "This know also, that in the last days  perilous times shall come.  For men shall be lovers of their own selves, covetous, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents (we've discussed fulfilling this one in particular in family home evening a few times.), unthankful, unholy, without natural affection, truce breakers, false accusers, incontinent, fierce, despisers of those that are good, traitors, heady, highminded, lovers of  pleasures more than lovers of God;..."  The real signs are here.

I hate that the world is scoffing at the believers of today's "prophecy".  I hope this post doesn't sound like scoffing.  I think the attitude of the media toward all this is foreshadowing.  I think it means more and more scoffing at any type of believer in the future.

I would like it to be today.  The truth is, I'm not ready.  Can you ever feel ready?   Is it humanly possible to believe that you are good enough to be with God or his Son?  Maybe I would be more confident if I was speaking with Him every day or reading His words.  Maybe the billboards are for me--to motivate me to get ready and do the things that I should--the very things that are the hardest and cause me the most pain right now.  Yep, that must be it.

In my Dreams

I dreamed of Ian this morning.  We were walking together.  And talking.  I love talking to Ian.  It was great to see him.  We were on the way to school at Venture.  I remember looking down at his walk to see if he was limping.  I remember we started to jog.  He got pale and out of breath.  That told me he didn't have a perfect body yet. 

I should have stayed still in bed and tried to remember what we were talking about.  It makes me sad to not remember that.   That was probably the most important part of the dream.  We got to the door of his building--one I haven't been in for nine months,   I held it for him because he was a step or two behind me.  I thought how silly I must look to others holding the door when they couldn't see anyone behind me.  We stopped talking because that would look even more silly, and then I kept walking up to the front desk to talk to the receptionist while Ian stayed by the door.  When I turned back around he was gone. 

Even while I was asleep I was mad at myself because I kept walking.  I should have stayed there and finished the conversation that I now can't remember and not cared whether anyone thought I was crazy.

I just kept walking without him.

You Might Want to Skip this One

I will start this post with a long and detailed disclaimer.  No, I don't think Ian leaving (see, still can't say dying) is something that  happened to me.  His life was wholly his as were his struggles, his pains and his many triumphs.  I think what I'm going through now is mine--is happening to me.  And no, I don't think it's only happening to me.  Keith's grief is every bit as raw and painful.  Some days I wish I could read his thoughts when I turned on the computer so that I could understand how he is doing and which specific things are gnawing at him.  Having said that, this post is unique to my experience and the very dark corners of me which have never seen the light. 

The last 2-3 days haven't been great.  Pretty awful in fact.  I think I'm putting pressure on myself that  somehow my feelings need to level off by the end of next week, because Mikey and Lucy are going to home with me all day, all summer.  I won't be able to hide.  I'll be on all the time.  I'm not responding well to my own  pressure. 

This is what's going on.  I want to self-destruct.  I want to get drunk or high.  Really.  I want to escape and that's one way to do it.  I want to do something bad.  And thinking like that took me to a place I haven't gone in a long time--the last time I felt this way.  April 1987.  I was raped.  I've never thought any good could come from letting that out, but if writing about it will make me stop thinking about it, that would be a good thing. 

I was in such a place of deep self-loathing afterward that the few friends that believed me, went out and bought several dozen eggs and took me for a ride.  While I'm not  proud of it, I remember the relief it brought to me to throw those eggs at everything--buildings, cars, even an open Jeep and a homeless  person.  I said I wasn't proud of it.  I don't know why they thought of that.  I'd like to think it's because they knew drugs and alcohol and promiscuity were out of the question.  Maybe that's why I stole a few things around that time too--never thought of that.

Wanting to do something bad is only the first similarity I can now see between these 2 tragedies.  Guilt is definitely the most glaring link.  I feel I could've prevented both things.  In the case of the rape:  This wasn't a stranger.  I knew his middle name, his hometown, his birthday.  I knew he wasn't someone to be trusted.  In fact, the night it happened, he was mad at me for warning a new young freshman to watch out for him.  I didn't see him as my big bad wolf--other girls' yes, but we were friends.  He knew I liked him, but that I would never let anything happen because I wasn't that kind of girl.  I had flirted with him and teased him in the past.  That night I had on a mini skirt.  I didn't set out to be alone with him.  I didn't even start out in his apartment.  I asked his roommates not to leave us alone.  It doesn't matter.  I am guilty for letting myself get close enough to a person like him that I couldn't get away.  It's been 20+ years.  I still remember saying things I shouldn't have said and being in places I shouldn't have been and being seduced by the idea that nothing bad would ever happen to me.

With Ian, I was seduced over the years into thinking that he would be okay.  That nothing else bad could happen.  We were past it.  How could we possible handle any more?  So when I should have been seeing warning signs (just like in 1987), I didn't.  I didn't scream at the doctors and make them understand something wasn't right.  I didn't want to believe something wasn't right.  The pit I had in my stomach that wouldn't go away should've been recognized as "wait a minute, I've felt this before and it's not good."  I thought I was sparing Ian the anxiety and fear by not jumping to the conclusion that it must be his heart failing, but what if it was me I was sparing?

I feel again like if only I could turn back the clock and make that one thing not happen...

I feel again like I can't really tell anyone how I'm feeling.  At least this time, I won't run away to Boston for a year to sort it all out by myself and never ever let anyone know.  ( I won't get drunk or high either.)

I feel the same look on people's faces when I start to talk about Ian's death as I did on Keith's face the only time I tried to talk about the rape with him.  I understand it.  It's a "Please don't go there.  I don't know what to say.  I don't want you to feel worse" face).   It's a little the same as the feeling I get once in a while when he touches me a certain way and I wince.

I feel again like my life is over.

There are experts that say it doesn't matter what you wear or say or do--it's not your fault.  I don't buy that.  I knew he was dangerous.  I could've run away long before that night ever happened.  I take responsibility for all things leading up to that night.

There are other experts that say it's all part of a plan.  I try to buy that.  But  if one thing is part of a plan then so is the other.  I didn't see either one of them coming and I know how long it took to get over the one-- and I thought it was the worst thing that could ever happen to me.

It wasn't.

Leaf Curl



This is what my peach tree looks like this year.  There aren't many leaves at all.  All the remaining ones are curled up and the peaches are all moldy.  We  had a cool summer last year, followed by a really wet winter, a wet spring and the heat still hasn't arrived.  This tree doesn't have a clue what's going on.  Now it has something attacking it.  It's been totally blind-sided. 

I understand what my tree is going through.  Late this afternoon I found myself literally curled up in fetal position on the couch trying to recover from the events of the day.  As I laid there, I actually thought, "Oh, I'm just like the peach tree." 

As much as I tried to mentally prepare for the day, I still got blind-sided.  You see, I got up enough nerve to tell my mother-in-law that I had something I wanted to talk to her about and offered to take her to lunch.  I drove her to the cemetery first because today is the 6 year anniversary of Dale's death. 

Sidebar:  What a great man.  I miss him so much and can see him in Keith's eyes so often. 

Anyway, on with the story.  Everything went fairly smooth.  We  talked all the way there--about 30 minutes.  I helped her glue some tacky stuff to the cement on the grave.  That's her decision.  I'm fine with that and was happy to help--even in the rain.  I asked her if it was weird grieving Dale and having another  husband.  We talked about her upcoming move--that was the reason for the trip.  She even pleasantly surprised me with a lot of her answers.

We had a pretty good lunch.  I love Thai food and I let her choose and I paid.  It was a good day for the Mother/Daughter-in-law relations until...

She told me there is something wrong with my nephew's baby and they are inducing it's birth tomorrow.  I almost cried right there at the table.  I don't understand all my feelings.  First,  I'm hurt that we didn't know.  Nobody thinks we care enough to even tell us.  That's a real blow.  Second,  It's like a punch in the gut to think about anything being wrong with any one's baby.  It's a horrible thing to go through.  Horrible.  Third, the one that puzzles me the most,  I'm annoyed that it'll probably turn out to be nothing and they'll live happily ever after like everyone else.  I think I'm a monster sometimes.  Of course I don't want anything to be wrong, so why do I feel that way?  Why did it have to be my baby that it couldn't  turn out to be nothing?

I got through that exchange without losing it, so on the way home I find out my niece is 3 months pregnant too.  Nope, didn't know that either.  Such a close, loving family!  After I dropped off my mother-in-law, I actually thought I'd call and invite Keith's brother over for dinner since his wife is AZ for the birth already and see if there's anything we could do for him.  Silly me.  I got his voicemail which says "please don't leave a message, just text."  I hung up.  (no texting on my phone.)  For all intents and purposes, we just aren't family.   Someday I hope it matters that I cared.

Trying to be a close family gives me leaf curl--couch curl in my case.

Many are Called

I heard a man give a talk today that really got me thinking.  I have to say I don't really remember what the subject was supposed to be because it sent my mind in it's own direction.  He mentioned the scripture in Matthew 22:14  "For many are called, but few are chosen."  --said he heard somebody say it's really "many are called, but few are obedient."

Here's my version:  "Many are called, but few have chosen to listen and obey."    I'm a horrible listener--at least to directions.  I like to do things my way and in my time.  I like things to be my idea.  The Spirit knows that.  I have to be told some things 20 times before I get the message--more than that if it's something I don't want to hear or can't understand.  Wow, that sounds awful when I actually type out the words.  I wonder what message I would heed or have heeded on the very first hearing?  I'll have to think about that.

I think this little edited Bible verse might really make a difference in my life.  It puts the onus on me to be chosen.  I have something to do with getting picked for "God's team".  Don't we all want to be chosen by God--for something, anything that He might be able to trust us with.  Sometimes we just sit back and wait, when we should be preparing and learning and serving without being given a specific responsibility.

This another one of those times when obedience is the answer.  This is a time when what we show God is as important as what he shows us.  Ooh, that's another little gem there.

This  verse also makes me think of  phones.  How many times am I called and I just choose to let it go to voice mail?  Sometimes I even check to see who it is and then decide I don't want to hear anything that  person has to say today.  Do I do that when the Spirit calls?  Maybe, sometimes.  Wouldn't it be great if the phone would ring and the caller ID would say "heaven 911".  I'd pull off the road to take that call, right?  More thinking.

Rolling Rocks

This is a great memory for me and for Mikey.  Dad took us for a walk up on the hill behind the house.  We had a great time and found out that even at 75, he can still out-walk anybody.  He loved showing Mikey how to roll the rocks down into the gulley.

I need to go home more often.  Nothing lasts forever. 

We went to the cemetery today.  Keith's dad died 6 years ago this weekend.  Mikey was 5.  He can't possibly have too many clear memories of Papa.  That's a shame. 

I need to decide that seeing my parents often is a priority and stick to it.  I know what regrets are like.  I don't want to have any more of them.  I talk with my mom and dad nearly every day--I need to see them more.  Maybe this train trip was a prelude to my future trips.  Who knows?

Three-Toed Sloths

Thought I better start reading the book for my book club today since I'm supposed to be finished with it in 12 days.  The book is  Life of Pi by Martel,  On the second page it gives a description of a three-toed sloth.  I thought it was very interesting and that it applied to people. So, here it is:

It is a highly intriguing creature.  It's only real habit is indolence...   is not well informed about the outside world.  On a scale of 2 to 10, where 2 represents unusual dullness and 10 extreme acuity, Beebe (1926) gave the sloth's senses of taste, touch, sight and hearing a rating of 2, and its sense of smell a rating of 3.  If you come upon a sleeping three-toed sloth in the wild, two or three nudges should suffice to awaken it; it will then look sleepily in every direction but yours.  Why it should look about is uncertain since the sloth sees everything in a Magoo-like blur.  As for hearing, the sloth is not so much deaf as uninterested in sound.  Beebe reported that firing guns next to sleeping or feeding sloths elicited little reaction.  And the sloth's slightly better since of smell should not be overestimated.  They are said to be able to sniff and avoid decayed branches, but Bulloch (1968) reported that sloths fall to the ground clinging to decayed branches "often".  How does it survive, you might ask.  Precisely by being slow.  Sleepiness and slothfulness keep it out of harm's way...   The three-toed sloth lives a peaceful, vegetarian life in perfect harmony with its environment.  "A good-natured smile is forever on its lips"...

I could be really going out on a limb here--and not even about the slothfulness necessarily, after all, I'm not the most ambitious person in the world, but...I think there are people whose senses are as dull as the sloth's.  They aren't ever seeking out new adventures.  They don't want to leave their comfort zone.  They wouldn't think of tasting new foods.  Their lives are even-keel.  (Is that the right word?)  They are happy all the time--the three-toed sloth happy.

Not me.  When I'm happy, I'm really happy and when I'm not, well...   I want to see it all;  do it all;  taste it all;  and feel it all;   Drag!  Opposition in all things really plays with that philosophy.  Half of everything is crappy, yucky or just plain wrong. 

These days I hold to the idea that as bad as things are in your life--that's how good God can make things for you later--and so if you're the sloth and your scale of  happy/sad,  good/bad,  easy/hard  never tips very far, then you really don't have all that much to look forward to later.

This may possibly be my most 'only Michelle could ever understand what she means' post ever.

Teetering

I've never been a circus performer, but I've been in the audience a number of times in my life.  We went to the "Greatest Show on Earth when I was pretty little and saw the shortest man in the world.  There was a life-size  poster of him in the program.  I kept it for years.  I remember getting tickets to the Big Apple Circus in Boston.  I got really choked up when the kids and I actually made it there--with my sense of direction,  I had said some pretty fervent prayers that day.  In Texas, we went down to an open field and watched them put up the tents for the small traveling circus.

We've been to the circus twice since we've been in Stockton.   Even with animal-rights activists protesting, trying to block people from walking through the animals cage area, we still managed to have a great time.  Bello the clown, with his hair standing up, was a big part of the experience and the kids got to go down before the show and try on some of the costumes and meet some of the performers.

My favorite part of the circus has always been the tightrope walkers.  Watching them gives me that tingly, excited feeling--like a Ferris wheel or looking over the Grand Canyon.  Today though, as I was saying my  prayer this morning, I actually said the words,  "Bless me to stop teetering."  I realized later this afternoon that maybe I'm a tightrope walker.

I'm going along carefully,  always carefully,  trying to place my feet where I don't think there will be any surprises, avoiding things that might trigger a failure in my balance, but there always seems to be a breeze--doesn't have to even be a big one, or I forget that I have to concentrate and down I go.  One side of my rope is terrible sadness and despair and the other is just the glimmer of brightness and happiness, but it comes with huge guilt at being able to live, even for a minute, when Ian can't.  One side is manic--keeping myself so busy that I can't think or feel.  The other is not even being able to pick myself up off the bed.  Either way I lean, it's the same result--a long horrible fall into the sawdust with no net.  I'm teetering all day everyday.

I don't like falling.  I don't have that tingly feeling.  I can't stay  perched  here forever.   I wonder how long you have to practice before you're ready for the center ring?!

Move On

I've heard a lot of lessons on the principle of forgiveness.  I've asked to be forgiven my share of times.  I know it's the one thing that everything else hangs on.  Nobody is perfect and the atonement makes forgiveness possible,  plus it's the thing I have to learn how to do to somehow deserve it in return.

I got the most in my face, practical, unmistakable lesson in forgiveness.  I watched an  85 year old man preparing to shred the childhood photos of his stepchildren and their mother and their grandmother because he felt he had been done wrong.  He's planning to sell the house he's been comfortable in for decades just so they can't  have it when he's gone.  Wow!  I just can't get there.  I'm not prepared to say he's a bad person.  Who am I to say?  BUT,  I wish he could see what his hurt and bitterness has done to him.  Moving at 85?  Just to stick it to somebody?

It's no wonder that we are taught over and over in the Bible that we need to forgive.  It can eat away at us--literally.  It really is the greater sin.  It keeps us from our own happiness.  There's a scripture that says if we choose to be unhappy now, we will be unhappy later.  I have it marked with, "Get Happy Now." 

I think over the next couple of days, I will be considering who I need to forgive and what I need to let go of so I can move on.  I want to be happy now (as happy as I can be--yep,  I'm talking about Ian again) and I want to be happy later, forever.  This is only one thing I need to work on.  One thing among many.  This is about me, not the 85 year old.  I can only change me.

Holes

See the little specks way down in the bottom--those are trucks hauling the dirt out.

We had quite an extended weekend the last 6 days.  I didn't really know what to say about it until I sat down.  It was full of some really good times.  Lucy's favorite part was shooting grandpa's 22 pistols.  She got to play pool for the first time too.  Mikey and Grandpa and I went for a hike on the hill, and Keith got to search through a used  book store.

We saw friends we haven't seen for years; witness a beautiful wedding; and spend rare time with my brother and his family.  We even visited some church sites we hadn't seen before and hit the zoo for an afternoon.  All these things were relatively pleasurable, but when I sat down in my kitchen tonight, it dawned on me what a profound choice I had made as the one thing I wanted to do on Mother's Day.

I wanted to visit Kennecott Copper, also known as the Bingham Canyon Mine.  I heard about it a year ago after my niece and nephew went and then saw a reference to it in the AAA magazine.  I didn't know the significance when I told everyone that this outing would be my alternative to going to church this one Sunday.  You see, it's the biggest hole mankind has ever put on this earth.  It's recognizable from space.  It's so big that the measurements are incomprehensible.  Even the trucks that haul the dirt out of it weigh 600 tons--before they're loaded. 


Can you see the man standing next to the back tire?

I could go on and on and describe every detail of the tour and the film we saw.  I could say that we got souvenirs at the gift shop.  All I really want to say is that the hole in my Mother's Day was every bit as big as this mine.  I couldn't possibly have come up with a more fitting place to go and I didn't even realize it. 

I'm sure the hole in our family can be seen from the heavens too.

Mother's Day

The first thing I've always done on Mother's Day is thank Ian for making me a mom.  That'll be long-distance this year.
 

Some of my favorite Mother's Day memories are:   my van which stills carries the bow that Keith and the kids put on the dashboard 10 years ago;  my black shutters for the blue house;  the day of canning powdered milk at the bishop's storehouse; and our last family portrait.

My Keith

You're the best man I've ever met. 
I love you. 
Happy Birthday. 

I scheduled this ahead because we're traveling today.  I hope we're making time to celebrate you amidst the joy of the wedding.  I'll add a great photo of you today when we get home.

Chugga-Chugga

We're leaving on an adventure  today.  We're on Amtrak right now.  There will be a detailed travel review when we get back.  All I know now is we are saving money by not buying gas.

Perspective

As we prepare to go on a journey, an adventure, Keith and I aren't all that excited.  We both went into a molt today and procrastinated packing as long as we could.  We don't want to go without Ian.  We don't want to get excited.  We don't want to make memories that don't include him.  We don't want to return home and not have him here.

Tonight I said,  "There is a bright side."
"What?" said Keith.
"I'm not worried about the house.  There isn't anything in it that I care whether I lose or not."

 That's perspective for you.

"Ain't Nothin' Like the Real Thing Baby"

I know, I'm hardly the spokesperson for Coca-Cola, but the old commercial jingle came in my head today when I thought about what I was going to say.

I had an hour or so long conversation last night with my friend in Pennsylvania.  She's the best.   She always makes me feel great and unless I'm mistaken, it's effortless.  Often, she doesn't even know it.  I don't ever wonder if she's sincere or if she has some hidden motive.  I just know she cares about me.  In fact, while I was typing the title to this  post, she called to ask a question about Lucy. 

Everyone should have a friend like that--or 10--even if they live far enough away that you can't see them very often.  I also have friends that aren't like that.  What a contrast!  They are there when they need something or when I call them, but not too many other times. (If you are reading this, don't worry, you aren't one of them.)   That stinks that I don't trust them with my real feelings doesn't it?   I don't know.  I guess everybody has those friends.  What would really be sad is if  that was all I had.  I hope there aren't people who see me that way.

My thought today is this:  After you've had the real thing--a real Coke; a real love; a real diamond; or a really good friend;  you don't want to settle for anything else.

It's Still Fresh

I didn't have the best day.  I came home from church upset and stayed that way for quite a while.  I went to the cemetery and took some mums.    I got the hose out of the back of the van and hooked it up to the faucet.  Keith and I did some weeding last week and put down some more grass seed in some spots.  As I  began to water the dirt and hope that something would grow, I realized something.  I was watering the wrong grave.  A new grave.

For a second I felt horrible and then the realization came.  Someone was recently buried right next to my beloved son and I was watering that grave.  The one that was fresh.  I was doing it because it still feels fresh to me.  How can grass have already grown there?  It just happened. 

I'm glad that the grave has grass on it.  Soon it will have a marker.  It will be a sight where people can go to remember Ian.  I don't feel him there.  He's closer to me at home.

What I learned today is that my dirt is still bare, with one or two random blades of grass.  I have some nasty weeds that have grown, but certainly the lush grass has not covered me over.