Category: Life according to Angela

Last week of summer break

Just as I was surprised last year by a serendipitous sunflower at Daniel’s departure, another one popped up in the garden on time for his one year mark. It brought me to my knees right there on the lawn. God knows our days.

Our boys performed at a piano recital on Monday night. Timothy played a Debussy piece and Mark played a Beethoven. We took them out for Chinese food and someone asked if Timothy was on his way to a mission. Aaack! Not yet! Mark pushed his food around his plate. He is full of cares.

I walked into the middle school with Mark this week, and through the halls of the elementary school to visit my friend’s Harry Potter themed classroom. I did not walk into the high school, but corresponded with one of Tim’s teachers. Still, I am in denial that they will be in school again on Monday. My homeschool memories clutch my heart and make me cry a little each August. Was I really so bad for my kids?

Tim invited a girl over to watch a movie and we all felt awkward and I found myself baking brownies as a bridge. Even their fudgy goodness couldn’t span the gap, but they were delicious.

This summer, the lawn care and landscaping business run by Tim and his friends has kept him outdoors all day, six days a week sometimes. This week, in addition to mowing, they decided to offer a garbage can washing service. Tim was in charge of transportation of the cans, just emptied by the garbage truck, to a new location where another boy pressure washed them. I have texts from happy customers about their sweet smelling cans. This is life with Timothy: unpredictable, but excellent.

Paige moves home tomorrow for a few weeks before her semester begins. There will be three “children” home for the next few weeks, with only one abroad.

Backpacking nearby, Richard is able to send me photos of the evening with Mark. What a blessing.

I remember the last night at girls camp in Arizona, I moved to a new tent by myself to make space for the Bishop’s wife to stay. That night, I noticed that there was cell service in this isolated tent, and Richard and I were able to have a precious conversation that I needed so much.

That was seven years ago, just before our move to Utah. Many miles and experiences later, the highlights of my summer are still moments of connection with Richard, whether on long walks or during fleeting calls from campsites with spotty service.

As I wrote the last paragraph, Richard called from his hammock, somewhere near Brighton. All is well there.

Our place

The Weber property has power over memory and time. Nowhere else can I feel my grandparents’ presence and influence greater. It’s here that I feel the tangibles of my childhood so well, but also slip easily into my place in the continuum of family roles. I’m the older aunt in the kitchen now, the one on the shore and bridge watching the children float down the river. I have been the child in the river and the teen lingering on the edges of traditional family games and songs. I have been the young mother chasing children and playing in the river with them. Now I am the older mother, no longer trying to get my children to eat something new, with a heart stretched by distance between us. The balance has shifted a little during these midlife years, and I find that I look ahead a little less than I recall the past. In childhood, everything lay ahead. In the quiet of this phase of life, I feel ancestors about me, and see that they continue to shape my life, my expectations for my children, and my definition of the good life. It is a beautiful legacy to visit each summer at the cabin.

People who Elevate

I told a friend that I am reading C. S. Lewis again because I need to behave better. His writings are an elevating influence in my life.

I have many people who influence me to be a better person.

My mom: She doesn’t get distracted by worldly noise and speaks truth without fear. She is also very fun.

Richard: He knows how to serve and exercises self control. He raises the fun index in the room. He has the patience to seek the best.

My dad: He is a builder, not just a builder of things like shelves and rock walls, but people.

Paige: It’s almost impossible for me to be negative when I am with her. She is optimistic and sympathetic, willing to give people the benefit of the doubt. She fills me with light.

Daniel: He is independent and willing to stand up for those who are bullied or labeled negatively. He shows gratitude and our testimonies grow together.

Timothy: He loves without measure. He is modest about his accomplishments and is steady in his work. He follows through with his commitments and perfects his skills so patiently!

Mark: He is obedient and seeks a relationship with God without guile. He shows gratitude.

Susan: She makes everyone feel like they are her favorite.

Sarah: She models love, independence, and strength.

Lorraine: She gives and gives. She tries to build connection in many ways.

Dale: He is a Christlike man who has only ever shown me kindness. He even tried to change the way he said Fish Creek when I had a hard time saying “crick.” (I can be so difficult.)

Janine: She has positive energy and knows how to lift others. I crave her company so often.

Charlene: She loves me and mine and lifts my heart in good times and bad.

Care: She knows how to reach me when I need a friend and she creates beautiful, fun things.

Becky: Seeks to encourage everyone in their talents.

Cindy: Never criticizes.

Kristy: “Seeketh not her own.” She is a rare person.

Anne: Knows how to live, but listens to my ideas, too.

Julie: She has blessed me with her knowledge and abilities and good book suggestions.

Melinda: I feel she loves me, despite all.

Nancy: She trusts me and visits me.

Kaye: She volunteers on every sign up sheet going around church. She teaches and models good homemaking skills.

I am out of time, and there are more of you. Also, I could say so much more about everyone. But you get the idea. So much good.

Sherbet Skies

Feeling a bit low this week, I went shopping for a gift, and noticed a beautiful rug in the store. I took picture after picture and admired the price. But the thought came that buying this rug wouldn’t fix the way I felt. I remembered a friend in Arizona whose home was filled with expensive, beautiful rugs. When I complimented them, she told me that she bought them during a time of grief.

On this beautiful week of sherbet sunsets, long walks, porch conversations, and a midnight message that family traditions live on while apart, my lapse in courage does not need to be memorialized with a rug!

Finding courage is about gathering from a depth of being and experience we no longer remember. My courage this week came as I studied pictures and stories of ancestors, and from a small voice in my mind reminding me of the power within myself to handle this time in my life. It came as I trusted in my ancient and continuing relationship with God.

Wagon cookies for Pioneer Day
Paige’s wagon cookies
Spring Lake porch conversation
MMSK together
Buddies forever

Surprises

One surprise was this subtle, powerful song was the audience favorite at the Pioneer Day concert I attended.

Last Sunday, when I made my trusty plan for the week, I thought my highlight would be a small Primary Presidents’ luncheon for twelve women. It was to be a good, but basic week. But then, invitations came. All week, I have been surprised by the expansion of my plans.

One big change in plans was I was asked to accompany someone in church on the violin, only the music was written for the cello. Richard watched me trying to transpose music by hand and took charge and produced the music I needed using the computer. He intervened quickly, without my asking, and this was so helpful!

Another small surprise was being invited to perform our song at two family gatherings last night after playing the song in church. It was an honor to be invited to these two homes for a few minutes.

Do we know how powerful a home and family feel to someone stepping in? Even though I came from my own cozy evening with family, I felt honored and gifted by the family feeling (the Spirit of the Lord) in each of these homes.

Friends, I am certain that your brand of hospitality and your family, even if it’s one person, have power and goodness. That may be a surprise to you, but I know it is true. Invite someone to your home for lemonade or music or a meal. They will not forget it.

Angie in July

Summer is my season of sludge, my own wrestle in quicksand. It’s silly that summer ennui still surprises me. Childhood summers were very different.

I was a child who memorized the quality of every square of cement on our block through the wheels of roller skates. I could eat a whole 3-foot licorice rope while riding home on my bike after a day at the swimming pool with no regrets. I felt accomplished after reading several Nancy Drew mysteries in a day, curled up in my playhouse. I took time to taste nectar from honeysuckle blossoms in the evenings, and spent hours on the backyard swing. I danced on the front lawn. I recall the cool feel of mud pies, molded to satisfaction, and the buzzing of insects in a jar that I collected from the tall grass. I remember the slip of the slime on the river rocks beneath my feet as I waded beneath the bridge. I named my favorite trees in the neighborhood. I had a love for the shiny petals of buttercups and penny candy from the pharmacy. Strawberries grew outside my window, as did grape vines, and I know their scents and the feel of their leaves. I studied the faces in the rock of Y mountain so often that 40 years later, the memory of their features is clear. I sat in the park under ancient sycamores on Sunday evenings to hear a band play.

I think of these times with some longing, especially during the lonely week of scout camp while everyone is away. My “lonely week” is almost over, and my summer memories have kept me company.

Good Days

The definition of a good day expands when I am thankful, and it contracts when I am self-centered. By all measures, narrow and great, I have had some good days this week.

In Spring Lake, I taught a little art class and we made small tile mosaics. I spent time sitting on the porch with my mom and some of my sisters. I walked in the canyon with Richard three evenings this week.

I was a bit starstruck to meet two great historians and authors, Laurel Thatcher Ulrich and Kate Holbrook at a conference. And by “meet,” I mean there a was a conversation about our shirts as we waited for bathroom stalls. Later, “Thank you for your work,” was all I could think to say when I met the Pulitzer Prize winner, but I think that was just right.

What do most of these activities have in common? They were opportunities for me to deal in vast things, such as relationships, possibilities, and nature. They were opportunities to learn from other people. For all the reading and scholarship that I love, there are levels of understanding to be gained only through hearing a person’s voice.

In and Out of Shadow

The relief map of our life right now shows new valleys, a consistent plateau, and several mountains. I move into different landscapes as I am needed and retreat to the backcountry when I must be silent and wait. In my solitude, I assume the role of observer and record keeper.

From a familiar point, I watch our daughter, taking steps on her own path, which is marked by shadow and speckled with obstacles. Frustrated by the turns and boulders, I wonder if she knows that she is still ascending.

A son careens forward on a path without looking one way or the other. Does he actually want to climb that trail? I am not sure he has paused enough to know.

Another son has a blind curve ahead, but has a lift in his steps. I predict the path beyond this curve will be good for him because of his optimism.

And the remaining son, well, I am still close enough to remind him to look at the vistas, and not worry about the details so much.

I am no sage on the hill, but I do know about blind corners, and have skinned my knees when racing too fast. I know the mire of worry from overthinking, and how to escape. I remember what it is like to move beyond easy marks of success, deferring talents and ideas. In such vulnerable times, growth feels a lot like defeat.

I squirm in the solitude in this life season and wonder if a record is worth keeping. I felt inspired to read A Midwife’s Tale this week and it validated my writing of everyday things more than I can say. Our walk continues, and my writing provides a relief map of where we have been.