I bought a new planner for 2018 which provides space for daily tasks and schedules, but also has a space to list the three most important tasks for the week. Last week the big three were mostly about Relief Society. This week, my big three include quilting and and a focus on housework. I love having an overall vision for the week.
Here is my quilting progress for the week:
I won’t focus on quilting every week, but the time I have spent stitching has felt wonderful.
Helloooo regular life. (My niece says it best.)
The house is empty for the first time since December 20th. There is a stray candy cane leftover from Christmas, and one caramel remaining in the kitchen. I wash towels and wipe down counter tops, pull old food from the refrigerator, and mail the thank you notes. I feel the silence. I light my candles and begin a new week. Mondays are the best. And Christmas 2017 was over much too quickly.
But helloooo, it’s going to be a great year.
After Apple Picking
My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
-Robert Frost
I have mentioned this before, but since I was called to be a R.S. president I write down the names of the sisters I visit or interact with each day on my calendar. It is my reminder that the work is about individuals, not activities, lessons, and cookbooks. It reminds me that I didn’t fail *these* sisters today, even if I am concerned about so many. Most of the time, it is incredibly helpful to me to keep this record.
In December, I gave up writing down the names. I was looking at life through a distorted lens, as through ice over water. Despite my efforts, the problems multiplied in my mind. There are a lot of reasons for my discouragement, some obvious, some subtle, some avoidable, and others unavoidable. I am not beating myself up about this. It is OK to be tired sometimes, and I don’t resent or regret anything I did for others.
I played a musical number with Daniel on Christmas Eve for the ward and hurried away from church because with this last service of giving music, I had given my all. Everything. I was dry. I couldn’t even face compliments. When Richard came home ready to tell me all the positive things people had to say about our music, I simply told him, “I don’t want to talk about it,” and made my way out the door for one last visit to a sister before Christmas.
Instead of coming home after the visit, I drove to the temple and sat in my car in the parking lot for a long time. I remembered the impression from the Spirit that I had during the sacrament a few hours before. It was simply, “I love you. Don’t worry about working on anything else for now,” and I drove home with that thought.
How silently, how silently the wondrous gift is giv’n,
Still God imparts to human hearts the blessings of his heav’n.
-O Little Town of Bethlehem
I have rested, I have rededicated myself to habits that bring me strength, and I am being gentle with myself. I know it IS enough to simply love someone through their problems, for this is the pattern that Heavenly Father showed me on Christmas Eve. I took some needed and worthy time for rest, and this included not keeping a catalog of my efforts. I take comfort that “all things are written by the Father” (3 Nephi 27:26) and no detail of my silent and private service is lost to Him.
On January 2, I started writing down the names again. When I awoke to the news on January 3 that President Monson had passed away, I couldn’t think of a better way to honor President Thomas S. Monson on his last day on earth than to make those visits and keep a record of their precious names, even though I know that angels are doing the same on the other side. This day, writing the names didn’t deplete any energy, it invigorated me.
You are, of course, surrounded by opportunities for service. No doubt at times you recognize so many such opportunities that you may feel somewhat overwhelmed. Where do you begin? How can you do it all? How do you choose, from all the needs you observe, where and how to serve?
Often small acts of service are all that is required to lift and bless another: a question concerning a person’s family, quick words of encouragement, a sincere compliment, a small note of thanks, a brief telephone call.
If we are observant and aware, and if we act on the promptings which come to us, we can accomplish much good.
-President Thomas S. Monson
Favorite song: Perfect by Ed Sheeran (I cried the first six times I listened to this.)
Favorite album: La La Land Soundtrack
Favorite series: The Crown on Netflix (Not the Matrimonium episode in season two. Skip this one.)
Favorite book (memoir): One Hundred Birds Taught Me to Fly by Ashley Mae Hoiland
Favorite book (biography): Clementine: The Life of Mrs. Winston Churchill by Sonia Purnell
Favorite book (most inspiring): At the Pulpit: 185 Years of Discourses by Latter-day Saint Women
Favorite scent: J.R. Watkins Lemon Cream Hand Cream
Favorite gift I gave: my memoir
Kindest thing someone did for me: Someone made our family dinner the week before Christmas.
Favorite Christmas memory: playing Christmas songs (Daniel on the piano and me on the violin) in someone’s home on Christmas day.
Dear Grandma Stewart,
I used your Spode Christmas dishes last night to host a beautiful dinner for friends. We stayed around the table and talked for a long time. I made some of the food you used to serve to us, and we drank from your ruby red goblets. After dinner, everyone decorated candy houses, even the adults. I am sure you would have liked that. When the evening was over, as I hand washed each dish and stacked them gently with foam between each plate, I felt such gratitude for your example of gracious entertaining. I am taking good care of your dishes, and find that they make people feel special when I use them. You were so good at making people feel like they were important. I miss you. Your picture sits on one of the shelves in my kitchen, and your inspired hospitality lives on.
Love,
Angie
Sometimes when there is a special sunrise or sunset, eclipse or meteor shower, I figure it is Heavenly Father reminding us he is there.
Sometimes the word, “remember” is important, because when we are in the moment, we can’t see where we are. Only as we look back can we make sense of things.
Sometimes I see how much I have changed since the children were young. I speak a lot less, but really think about my words when I do.
Sometimes I walk through the toy aisles because one of my violin students wants to talk about Shopkins each week, so I do my research.
Sometimes when Paige is home, I forget that she ever left us, until she leaves again, and I wish we had gone out to lunch together or spent more time talking while she was home.
Sometimes I am surprised when I am practicing the violin and Daniel walks in to accompany me on the piano. I will miss our impromptu concerts.
Sometimes I watch Timothy during the funny parts of movies, because he gives himself to delight so easily.
Sometimes Mark is all I need in the world to be happy. He asks me about my day, offers empathetic encouragement, and makes me laugh. I look at his profile and can’t find the little boy he used to be.
Sometimes Richard and I feel old together, whether it is complaining about aches after working, stumbling around in the middle of the night looking for the Excedrin, or choosing to watch documentaries.
Sometimes I remember that this is the last day, holiday, or season with Daniel home, but I put those thoughts away quickly. I learned with Paige that the parade of lasts can be painful, but this just means the parade of firsts will begin soon.
Sometimes I see so many needs in my circle of influence that I spend a day writing letters to people, since there is no way I can visit everyone.
Sometimes when I run into someone I know out in public, I remind myself that just like the sunrise and sunset, they are a reminder that Heavenly Father is there, and he thinks we should talk. Today at the store I saw a young mother in my ward and another Relief Society president in my stake. Thank you, Heavenly Father. It was important to talk to each of these women today.
The line from scripture that stays in my head lately is, “learn to impart one to another as the gospel requires.” (D&C 88:123)
To impart is to “make known or communicate.”
I don’t think I have much to impart lately. Perhaps the lessons I need in order to be effective are still making their way into my heart. I hope that it is enough to post a scripture on social media or to reach out gently to someone.
I hope the extra hours pouring my heart and energy into our home and celebrations instead of my usual hours of study and writing will impart love, or whatever God wants someone to understand.
I am only beginning to trust that there are many ways to impart gospel principles. Many don’t require the knowledge I am continually chasing, but they always require a healthy portion of self.
From my parents’ patio today, the smell of leaves decaying on the ground and a wood burning stove was enough to make me stop and breathe deeply. The garden was covered in leaves, ready for a covering of snow and a tiller in the spring. Something about autumn forces us to look forward, in preparation for winter and holidays. I feel the tug of holiday expectations early this year, and grateful for the smells of autumn that initiated some minutes to reflect.
On Thursday, I drove to the now-familiar courthouse in Ogden to see my sister and her husband adopt their third baby. Grace was sleepy as I held her during my sister’s sweet, tearful testimony to the judge. To keep the children safe, I don’t post photos of their faces, just their feet. Can you spot the tiniest feet? Those are Grace’s.
In St George this weekend, Richard’s parents’ house seemed more empty during our visit, as Rebecca’s family didn’t stop by. Cancer shows us the gap one person leaves when she is unable to attend. The family rallied for a big wedding celebration for Andrea, twinkle lights and green boughs everywhere. All hands were needed, and this brought out the best in many who sometimes stay in the corners.
When I look at my own wedding photos, it is the faces of grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles that I study, not friends nor countless pictures of the couple. I wish wedding photographers realized this, and took a few more pictures of the extended family.
Speaking of memories of grandparents, Daniel wore his great-grandfather’s cowboy boots to a dance this weekend. I think that would make Grandpa smile.
I cut the last roses from the bushes this morning. They were a little frost-bitten, and I wonder if the warm house will encourage the buds to open. Sometimes a little shock is all we need in order to bloom.
I continue to feel the shock of new experiences in motherhood. This weekend I watched a son get injured at an athletic tournament, and saw his hopes of playing taken in his first minutes on the field. I haven’t felt that disappointment and sadness before. One night last week, I tried to wait up for a son, only to awaken at 4:00 am on the couch, stiff and incredibly sad. I had missed his homecoming. Fatigue is happening, but I hope the accompanying display of my heart is like these roses, showing their struggle in blooming, vibrant array. I may not be beautiful, curled up on a sofa or sitting bundled on the sidelines, but they are exercises in blooming, and they mean, “I love you.”
What a year, and what a time to be alive. To think that I believed things were fabulous at 42! Don’t let me fool you, it takes all my courage to post these selfies.