Category: Family Time
The Austin Backyard
The Austin Backyard, 1998-2005
The jingle of the swings’ chains was a natural accompaniment to outdoor play in our Austin yard. Backs arching, toes reaching above the fence, eyes trained to catch glimpses of the field beyond the fence, Paige and Daniel soared. Days in Austin felt heavy with moist air and heat. Clouds, creating a blank white, arching cover on the skies, were a blessing because they shielded us from the sun.
When Paige began school, the poem, “The Swing” by Robert Lewis Stevenson was her first memorization project. She recited it on the swing with natural soaring expressions as her toes reached for the clouds.
There was a bucket swing for babies, with two holes for chubby legs. Baby Timothy’s feet, socks dangling from his toes as he kicked in his swing, are a detail from memory that I can only associate with him.
Parents of the neighbor children joined us to visit while their children played, our conversations sometimes interrupted by requests for an “underdog” where a parent would run beneath the child, lifting the child on the swing high above the head. For those moments when our children were in the swings, they were happy and their needs were simple.
In summer, the three crape myrtle tress along the back fence erupted into vivid pink blossoms; this vibrant color gleaned from such poor, shallow soil and heat was a miracle of Texas ingenuity.
Late afternoons and early evenings were best for backyard play because our west-facing house created full shade at this time of day. The heat wasn’t the only challenge in Texas. There were also fire ants. The swings kept young feet safe from the fire ants lurking in the dirt. These ants, with their mob-like dynamics of swarm-and-sting were the perpetual enemy. Turning on the hose was the fastest, surest way to remove fire ants when they bit and stung little feet and legs. Daniel’s reactions to ant bites were the most severe, and sometimes he would have pussy blisters between his toes. Sometimes the kids put on their long rubber boots to avoid ant bites as they played.
The large cement patio was always littered with sidewalk chalk, balls, and child-propelled vehicles. There was a plastic play house with a half door and windows with shutters. The patio was like a stage, elevated enough that we could see it from the field behind the house and the street, Bratton Lane beyond the field. Coming home from errands on Bratton Lane I could look to the patio and see our children playing outside.
As the children grew, we decided to add a trampoline to the yard. The swing set was dismantled when we moved to Arizona, in hopes that it would be rebuilt someday, but it wasn’t. There wasn’t enough space in our new yard. I called this one of the casualties of our move.
The trampoline remained a part of our yard in Arizona, but it became a casualty of our move to Utah. During the move, we unpacked the swings and placed them on the garage shelf, like a memorial. The hope that they will be used again dims each year. You will also find our trampoline poles in a pile in the backyard, the once happy trappings of childhood play, now just a haphazard monument to those earlier days.
Our yards in Arizona and Utah were beautiful and unique, but playing in Austin on the swings against the pink canvas of blossoming trees was a wonderful beginning.
Provo City Center Temple Open House
This picture is a a memento of a day which was very sweet. We toured the newly completed Provo City Center Temple on Saturday, hosted by my parents, who are on the open house committee. I loved the wood work, stained glass, staircases, and stencils. (Richard and Timothy were camping with the Scouts.)
I spent a lot of time in the Provo Tabernacle growing up and I have good memories of the pews and organ and walking around the grounds after church meetings. We visited Provo just days after a fire destroyed the building. It was so sad to see the ruins.
Here is a nice video of the transformation from burned tabernacle to temple.
Christmas 2015
Christmas cheer
I don’t have much to say about last week, which included a death in the family, a basement flood, a canceled vacation to visit family, a funeral, and blizzards to drive through, except that we are still smiling. The role of the Savior in our lives has everything to do with it.
I shopped for religious, non-photo Christmas cards in many places this year. Most were too expensive for my budget. I read recently that we should reevaluate how we use our family pictures as Christmas cards. Sometimes a person in mourning doesn’t want to see a smiling, complete family in a Christmas card. And if we are celebrating Christmas, where is the Savior in such a card? I have decided that the Savior is in our smiles. He is in the growth that we have accomplished during the year. He is in the beauty of the surroundings, and the source of joy in our lives. Truly, we smile because of Him.
Merry Christmas, dear readers. Smile, give cheer, and rejoice. The Savior lives.
Wow!
I saw my first Monet painting with Richard and Mark. We visited the British Landscapes exhibit at the Utah Museum of Fine Art. (All images are from their website.) At one point during the exhibit, Mark asked if he should stop saying, “Wow!” all of the time. “No,” I replied. “This is why I brought you to the museum with me.”
A penny, a screwdriver, and some keys
Timothy taught our Family Home Evening lesson on Monday night. He shared an activity they did in Sunday School.
He handed out objects, such as a comb, flashlight, screwdriver, a penny, and some keys and asked us to make a parable with one of the objects and find a scripture to go with our parable.
Daniel’s parable of the shiny penny: When a penny is minted, it is shiny and has value in the country where it is legal tender. Over time we see that pennies get dirty. If we go to places other than the United States, the penny has no value other than as a piece of metal. We are like the penny, born innocent and shiny. We can remain shiny through repentance. As we go through life, people can see our value because we shine, even if they are unfamiliar with us, like foreign place that doesn’t recognize pennies as money, but can see worth in the metal. We can be a good influence on others as they see that we have something of value to share.
Mark’s parable of the screwdriver: Once a man tried to build a house without the help of a screwdriver or electric drill. He tried and tried to make the screws go in the walls with his hands, but he couldn’t build a house without help. The screwdriver is like the gospel and Heavenly Father’s help. We can build the house only with his help.
And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them. -Ether 12:27
Timothy’s parable of the keys: Once a family set out for a trip to the Magic Kingdom. They loaded their car, got in, and sat there, unable to move because they had forgotten their keys. Keys are like faith. We can’t move forward in life without it. Faith is an action. We must do something with it to move forward. We don’t see the destination when we begin, but we trust that the Celestial Kingdom is there and it is our goal. With faith, we move toward that goal.
And now as I said concerning faith—faith is not to have a perfect knowledge of things; therefore if ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true. -Alma 32:21
Incorrigible.
Gathering for family scripture time brings everybody together, sometimes in a heap. Our dog knows our habits and can be found in the middle of them, although most often he is irreverent or distracting in his behavior. Chewing a rawhide noisily during the prayer or pushing his head under hands that hold scriptures to ask for attention, this dog is no saint. His devious attempts to stow away in our cars to go for rides have almost been the death of him in the summer months, hiding in a hot car. We reward his loyalty with a life almost free of baths, a yard to run around in, and the same dog food every single day.
Bells, piano keys, hymns, Relief Society, symphony, art, and black socks
It was a week of music for our family. We watched Daniel play in his first bell choir concert. His current bell assignment is to play some of the big bass bells. He says playing these bells is like pouring out a full gallon of milk with each note, your wrist and forearms carefully managing the weight. In other words, they are heavy. I felt Christmas drift through the air as they played, even though these weren’t Christmas pieces. December will be a busy month for bells and they will be playing at Temple Square. I am really looking forward to that.
The boys had a piano recital. Daniel played Preludium in E minor by Felix Mendelssohn. Timothy played Little Story by Sergei Prokofieff. Mark played Etude in A minor by Dmitri Kabalevsky. (Like those names mean anything…) I know the pieces just by the tunes. I rarely learn the names and composers, but I sing along in my head to every piece, well-learned by echoes moving through the house at all hours.
I did Relief Society things. Lots of that, but the specific lessons I am learning and the heartache and loneliness that I am exposed to is part of a private journey that I am taking with some sisters. We can all be more aware of, prayerful, and helpful to others.
In general, I spoke at a Relief Society meeting, participated in a ward council meeting, and presented specific ways to involve women in decisions and discussions and how to improve in ministering to others; I also counseled with the Bishop in a private meeting. I wrote, helped set up tables, washed linens, baked, and cooked. I texted, wrote letters, and talked on the phone. I hugged people who were crying and received counsel about how to do things better. I visited a sister late one night. I listened and admired. I thought hard and made plans. I used my calligraphy skills. I drew strength from scripture study and prayer and hugs from Richard. Please don’t think I am bragging. I am painting a picture of our life. I am not unique in what I do.
On Saturday Richard and I joined my sister Sarah and her husband Bryan for dinner at Lamb’s and the symphony.
Daniel played the organ in church on Sunday. A sister on our row in church lifted her infant son dressed in a flannel shirt and I remembered Daniel at that age wearing a flannel shirt. I looked at the contrast between this infant and Daniel at the organ and marveled at the time that has passed without effort. I held that tall young man in my arms not so long ago.
We visited Paige for a few minutes on Sunday night and as always I asked to see some of her art. This was one of her doodles-in-progress, not for an art class. She is critical of it, but there is LIFE in this drawing. I had to share it.
Also, even her scrap pieces of paper with color gradations and paint mixes could be hung on the wall. I smile every time I visit the dorms because the windows and walls are more decorated each time. Twinkle lights, banners, flags representing mission calls to other countries, and little touches of homemaking are creeping into each unit.
And finally, there is Timothy, who goes to school in the dark early hours for jazz band practice. I bought him some new black shoes and black socks to wear with shorts because that’s what you wear now, at least in middle school. It looked strange at first, like they forgot to change out of their dress socks, but I’m good with it now.
Oh, and Halloween is this Saturday and Mark and I have not made any progress on his costume. Aaack!
This post might be TMI but I don’t feel like editing out pieces of our story today like I usually do.
Goblin Valley
Richard came home from a Scout camp in Goblin Valley last weekend and said he really wanted to take the family back. So we took an impromptu, quick trip with perfect weather and good company. We didn’t camp because we didn’t want all of the extra gear. We stayed in a cramped motel in Hanksville and watched super hero movies late into the night. We were gone for 31 hours, but we filled those hours full.
The boys were mountain goats. I don’t know how they had the energy to climb all day long. We loved the hike through Little Wild Horse Canyon which had slot canyons one after another, each with its own look and colors.
My floppy hat has flopped through its last trip. It’s time for a new one. I’ve said this before, though. This trip was not the same without Paige. Someone said you never stop missing them; you just get used to it. I’m not there yet. Regardless, the boys were super fun and Richard gave his all to make the trip a success, as usual. It’s good to be in this family.