Music

I heard lots of great music this weekend from my family: a trombone quartet at a State music festival, a piano solo by Richard at church, and a concert at the Cathedral of the Madeleine with our niece in the choir. And my father in law commented on our family picture wall all afternoon. That was a sweet melody, too.

Canyonlands, Needles District

In the shadow of sandstone formations, I watched the boys scale almost every surface they could. In the silence of the land, I walked a little with God and told him things I really want to do and felt his blessing. In the light of the temple, I saw more clearly who my sons are, and who they are becoming.

A neighbor observed that the views we seek most often are valleys, not mountains. I think we love the view of a valley because it reminds us how far we have come. We are ascending, after all.

We Have Searched 50 Years for Her

Ida Maria Samuelsdotter

The Finnish side of our family has been a mystery for so long that I just settled into the idea that Ida Maria was not going to have a maiden name. Today, with a few acts of faith and courage to ask someone to help me access a different website, I found my great-great grandmother’s maiden name, and traced her family back to 1760. She was one of ten siblings. I had access to all their names, the names of mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters in minutes. The Stake Family History consultant who helped me cried with me at the sight. This was a big breakthrough!

Ida Maria has been on my mind for 11 years, but more frequently in the past few months. I think she wanted to be found because I am no expert. I just showed up at a family history center and asked the questions that came to my mind. Many of us have put in effort to find her, but I got to be the one today, and that feels like one of the biggest honors of my life. I cannot sleep for the joy of it.

To the person who

…drives the band in the school bus to and from state basketball tournament games safely…

…sees me and talks to me while checking my groceries…

…gives my sons rides home from church activities…

…stays up a little later to make a lesson plan a little more engaging…

…donates money so our daughter can have scholarships and art grants…

…feeds our missionary son and asks for the recipe of his favorite dessert, even though it is in a different language and has different standard measurements…

…takes time to visit the school to speak encouragement and tell fun stories to my middle schooler…

…reads my self centered words…

…takes time to write to me…

…remembers important days and acknowledges them…

…shares talents…

…RSVP’s to a party invitation even when I don’t ask for it…

…shares a real life experience with me, not a contrived version she thinks would be more palatable…

…inspires me to seek deeper meanings in my study of scripture…

…inspires me to be myself…

…notices when we are missing…

…sees that we are trying…

…asks good questions and listens to the answers…

…doesn’t try to define us as just one thing…

…delivers mail in the snow…

…takes away our trash every week…

…selected our piano for their showroom so we could find it in Tucson…

…planted the trees in the yard…

…selected our white kitchen cabinets…

…wrote the book I finished today…

…shared the Book of Mormon with my family/ancestors…

I feel gratitude for you and many, many more.

Remembering ancestors

https://youtu.be/yoX88L5Ig7Y

This clip won’t mean much if you have not seen the movie Coco. I didn’t like the movie the first time I saw it, but I now love it.  The look on Hector’s face as he steps on the bridge of flowers makes me cry every time. Because he is remembered.

Our family has a “Hector,” and his name is Jose Sabas Antonio Sanchez. My parents found his grave this year in Merced.

Jose Sabas Antonio’s grave in Merced. All alone – says Joseph S. Sanchez.

I put up the Christmas decorations and realized I needed a new touch this year:

My Great-aunt Susan’s doll sitting on my Great-great-great grandmother Emma Louisa Boyden Ostler’s chair. (1846-1897).

Spring Lake Thanksgiving


New rock walls under rain showed their deeper colors and cleaner surfaces, and with a backdrop of new spruce trees and freshly gathered leaves, vintage decor reminded us of loved ones now gone. Little feet ran to familiar haunts as small hands appeared from below, reaching for good bites to eat. Men discussed the carving of the birds as women finished whipping potatoes and set out fruit and rolls. A cousin confessed she had been looking forward to eating this pie for weeks. Quiet readers emerged from the corners to fill plates before retreating again, and tween cousins, too full after appetizers, chose the smallest portions. Each in turn, we named something we are thankful for. I heard myself say with a cheer and hands held high, “I am thankful for a missionary!” There were quiet declarations and strong, and all were sincere. And just like that, the meal was over, the many hours of labor, consumed in minutes. This year, we didn’t wait to serve the pies.

While parents slept, Grandma gathered children for gingerbread house decorating. And the Christmas season began.

Dark so early, we slowed down as the sun sank and we watched Charlie Brown Mayflower Voyagers and snickered through Snowball Express. This year, we delayed watching White Christmas and visited instead. As we should.

This year, we stayed two nights, cuddled under handmade quilts and fleece blankets, without alarm clocks. Blessed rest.

Home again, the busy task of decorating began, one box, one string of lights after another, until the house was full of cheer. And thoughts of Daniel were everywhere, in the ornaments, the food, and the music. Tears are not incompatible with joy. Tim took an early morning drive in the first snow with a driving instructor, and I mailed my last Christmas package as the post office opened. But mostly, we stayed home, feeling peaceful and bright.

Boulders, a Wedding Crasher, Pimpernel, and White Gloves

A month and a half ago, the mudslide at Spring Lake looked like this. But after more rain, it became clear that this mud was also full of boulders and rocks. My dad is a master with rock walls. The mountain couldn’t have gifted these to a better recipient.

(The family has been trying to dig out trees from the mud to save them.)

 

While the men and boys worked on the dirt and rock project, I organized the library at my parents’ house. The Sanchez family is a family of builders, minus me. I just like to be zen and organize decor.

I crashed a wedding gathering this week so I could see Paige as a bridesmaid at the Salt Lake temple. I sat in the sun on a bench on the south side of the temple, warm and bright, and couldn’t imagine anything I would rather be doing. I didn’t take any photos of the wedding party because I wanted the moment for myself. Plus, I shouldn’t have been there. The less evidence the better.

A friend took me to see this play this week and we ate Peppermint Crunch Junior Mints. Delightful. Except I can’t erase the guillotine scenes from my mind. HOW did they do that?

Mark had a band concert this week and Tim was a guest artist since they needed trombones. Ha! He and his two friends sat at least a head taller than the middle school kids. But he had his own dressing room with pizza. Mark has taken to wearing white gloves when he plays his trumpet. He is pretty dapper sometimes.