I am working on this beauty this week. The lighting is bad today (snow!) so I will wait to take a photo of her finished hair. I fall in love with each doll and of course, every recipient. I love to watch individual beauty emerge with each stitch. I feel a bit like a spectator to their creation, surprised by their “personalities.” She begins her journey, along with a piece of my heart, through the mail to her new home on Friday.
I realized very late this year that I’d forgotten to decorate for Easter. I had forgotten that I had an Easter wreath. I finally unpacked the pink plates. I have spent more time in the New Testament this week. Richard presented the annual Easter Family Home Evening lesson. We open eggs with objects related to the Savior’s sufferings, death, and resurrection inside. We read scriptures associated with each.
I saw the original of this painting last year and I have a print of it framed beside my desk. This images helps explain the times when my burdens have been lightened because I have relied on the Savior. It reminds me that the Savior understands grief and pain and sin and every little thing. It reminds me how precious Jesus is to the Father. It reminds me how precious he is to me. Perhaps it says something significant to you, too.
Mark updated our white board calendar yesterday. I was grateful for the image that he chose to draw on Easter Sunday. The empty tomb is my favorite symbol of hope.
One of the requirements in the Personal Progress program for young women in my church is to interview a mother to discover qualities that are important in motherhood. Paige interviewed me and she took some notes. When we were finished, I asked her if anything I said was a surprise to her. She said that she was surprised by my answer that women need to be prepared to be lonely at times.
When is it lonely to be a mother? And is loneliness all bad?
I remember pushing Paige in the stroller on a walk through the frost-covered neighborhood when she was 2 or 3 months old. She was bundled up in a fuzzy pink body coat with white trim around the face. I was distraught and I berated myself, “What kind of mother are you, letting things go so far without calling a doctor?” She had a red blister that was oozing and sensitive. Somehow my worry didn’t translate into courage to call her doctor and have it looked at. I felt immature, scared, and alone that day, but my walk and harsh self-talk helped me to call the doctor when I got home. It all turned out just fine.
I was young. None of my closest friends were even married. I was teaching Primary on Sundays and this didn’t bring me any close friendships with other women. Richard was at school and work all day and into the night. I had to figure out what kind of mother I would be during those early months on my own. It was hard, but not bad. If I hadn’t been a little isolated, the shock of moving to a new state later that year would have been more difficult. Every new mom is going to feel alone in decisions sometimes, isolated physically from friends and family, and it’s an opportunity to grow.
I remember the week when Paige’s best friend went to Kindergarten. We had decided to keep Paige at home and begin home schooling. Our decision had been considered carefully, but when the reality hit that Paige wasn’t going to be in Kaitlyn’s class and have a sleep mat and a cute backpack and be in a sea of children on the playground, that felt lonely. I learned from this lonely time (before we found home school groups) that it takes courage to be different than everyone else in the neighborhood and church. I learned not to care so much about what other people did and to focus on what my children needed. Loneliness led to many great family memories and education adventures.
Years later in Arizona, I was one of the oldest mothers in our church congregation. There weren’t many girls Paige’s age at church, and just a few boys for Daniel to play with. The home school community was split down a religious divide and Mormons were excluded from the most dynamic and well-attended home school group. I was isolated by age and my beliefs from groups of women who loved one another at church and school.
There were many days where I felt lonely, but poured my energy into leading art and science lessons for 30 families at our community center. I became a community leader through my isolation. I didn’t have a lot of chit-chat at church with younger women. However, I had long, important talks with many of these young mothers, one by one, when they asked to visit our home to learn about parenting or home school. I became a mentor in my early thirties.
In retrospect, I don’t think the kids would agree that the years in Arizona were a lonely time. I made sure they were with other children every day. But it didn’t always follow that I had friends, too. I learned to be strong in my parenting during those years and I dedicated my energy to my family and my community. This helped me to avoid feeling sorry for myself. Loneliness and isolation worked to our benefit once again.
Here are some lessons that I learned from loneliness:
Some loneliness comes from the idea that we can only be friends with people our age, in similar circumstances, and neighborhood. Not finding friends in the immediate area, I became friends with people in a larger radius. I became friends with women who were old enough to be my mother and grandmother. I became friends with people of other faiths. I am so grateful for my diverse set of friends!
Loneliness is an attitude. Isolation is often a choice. I didn’t have to be lonely. I learned to go on walks, talk to people at parks, be assertive, and dream about ways to make the community stronger, then go out and do it.
Everyone wants kind neighbors. I have tried to be a good neighbor. A plate of cookies or a loaf of bread have been great ways to begin a relationship with people.
When you are lonely, this is an opportunity to grow in courage and ability. Because I was lonely, I learned to depend on my Heavenly Father more than myself. I learned to depend on my husband more than friends. I learned that I could do hard things. I learned new skills. I grew strong because I needed to be strong.
Loneliness is a sign we need to reach out. Loneliness can be a catalyst for great experiences and friendships. I am thankful for the experiences I sought because I was lonely.
When packages arrived at the house in the early 2000’s, merchandise was packed in S-shaped Styrofoam puffs. Some were pale green, others were pink, but most of them where white.
White like snow!
Or so the children imagined. A package would arrive and if there were packing peanuts, they would immediately shove their hands deep into the box, Styrofoam puffs up to their chests. The rustling sound when they moved their fingers through them and the squeaky, cracking sound when the puffs broke in their hands added to their delight.
A fresh box of packing peanuts had arrived earlier that day. (Who cares what the merchandise was! There was a big box to climb in and there were Styrofoam puffs!) Three-year-old Daniel and six-year-old Paige began some of their best plans for packing peanut play. Just this once, Mom decided to watch instead of divert them from the inevitable disaster.
“Let’s fill Mom’s big pot with them,” Daniel suggested to Paige, and hurried to the kitchen. Soon there was a stew of Styrofoam simmering in the pot. Daniel decided that the box of remaining packing peanuts would be a tub of bubbly, warm water. Splash! Peanuts scattered everywhere in the kitchen when he jumped in. Paige joined him in the box for about six seconds before Daniel hopped out, ready for something new.
Next, Daniel decided that he wanted to sit in the pot filled with Styrofoam. He threw the puffs in the air as he sat in the cozy space, knees up to his chest.
It was snowing!
They decided to make a blizzard. They moved their game into the living room on the carpet. Peanuts flew, squeaking and rustling before their flight, landing on every surface and crevice in the room. Thousands of puffs littered the carpet, but Daniel discovered he could multiply their number by breaking them into tinier and tinier pieces…pieces so small they clung to his sweatpants, arms, shirt, hair, and carpet. He was a magnet for puffs because of newly-generated static electricity.
The boy became a crazed snow-making machine and he made a worthy effort to break each. and. every. piece. of Styrofoam into tiny bits. It happened quickly. Paige looked on, enjoying the spectacle, but feeling some apprehension creeping in.
Continuing in a whirling frenzy of destruction, Daniel scattered his foamy missiles everywhere. Small bits of foam clung to Daniel’s lashes and he paused to look at the scene. Something awakened his sense of sanity. Was it frustration that he couldn’t seem to brush off all of these bits of foam from his clothes? Was it that his tub of Styrofoam was scattered everywhere and therefore not as fun? Or was it his big sister’s wide blue eyes, staring at the mess in disbelief?
Mom had been watching the storm, waiting to see how far the kids would take the game. With this pause, she decided that if another piece of Styrofoam fell, she might go insane that it was time to clean up. Dad plugged in the vacuum and handed Daniel the hose. They raked the big bits from the carpet and gathered the pieces with the vacuum. Cleaning up a snowstorm wasn’t nearly as fun as making one. Bits of foam disappeared into the box. And Mom went to a quiet place in the house to sort out why she couldn’t enjoy playing with packing peanuts like everyone else…
and maybe to snicker softly at the memory of the disaster.
These are Mark’s stuffed animals that I found arranged in a literal dog pile. Evidently “Snowball” was victorious.
I was thinking the other night that I wanted to remember a few things about Mark.
I want to remember how Mark likes to sit close to me when we read scriptures.
I want to remember how he has to walk around the room in order to memorize or recite a poem.
He has managed to wear shorts all winter, changing into pants only when he has to go outside or run an errand with me. In past winters, I have hidden his shorts. Arizona habits die hard, I guess.
The other day he and Timothy were together in his room. Timothy, always the entertainer, was making him laugh. Mark has a fabulous laugh. I stood hidden outside the door and held a recorder in the doorway to capture some of it.
Mark has had an obsession with swearwords, discovering what they really are without saying them. He asks me about them with raised eyebrows, wide eyes, and first letters only. He is disappointed that they swear in the Harry Potter books.
Since he’s decided that swearing is abhorrent, he has come up with his own words to call things when he is frustrated. Each of his contrived words has at least 3 syllables.
He’s asked me not to share his quotes on the blog anymore. I still write them down, though. Richard and I roll around in stifled laughter when I share them at night. We laugh because he is clever and frank and because he brings us joy.
When he gets a little naughty, I remind him that life is not a Calvin and Hobbes comic. He mourns that our winter yard is nothing like Calvin and Hobbes’s snow and yard.
People tell him often that his hair will darken, but this idea brings him no comfort. He likes his hair just the color it is. When we get home from church, after changing out of his suit, he messes up his hair and arranges so that it spikes upward. In his shorts and messy hair, he breathes a sigh of contentment.
He stops to play the piano every few hours, all day long. He is flying through piano books. He tells me that his piano teacher reminds him of Cleopatra. This is not an insult.
I guess that’s how I will end. Mark has always been content to do things his own way. I enjoy watching his life, long legs dangling from the tree in the backyard, climbing the fence, doing his jobs diligently, and hopping around on the carpet as he plays a video game. He is my companion all day and he makes me so happy.
I think that Monday is my favorite day. The week still has possibilities at this point.
Monday is the day I pick up the weekend mess. We have neat and deliberate new holes in our walls from the new wiring in several rooms, thanks to Rob and Richard. There is a ceiling fan to buy and some furniture to move back into place. Most notably, there is no longer a network cable strung across the entry hall and hanging down the banister.
I think that Richard and Rob had a great weekend with skiing, home improvement projects, and a concert. I took a picture of Rob at a restaurant we visited. Our number just happened to be his new age.
I love how painting helps me to focus, find beauty, appreciate color, and marvel at God’s creations. I become more aware of my Creator as I paint.
It is good to be aware of things outside ourselves.
I live in a home within a neighborhood and create a little kingdom within my walls. In the business of working and relaxing in my home, sometimes it’s easy to forget my neighbors. But if the walls were lifted, I would become aware of just how closely situated I am to others. Perhaps I’d see that my Heavenly Father places many more people within my reach than I think. Perhaps I’d be less likely to stay inside or in my own space because I would be aware of the needs of my friends.
One act that is helping me to be more anxious for my neighbors’ needs is studying the Gospels in the New Testament. As I write out answers to “thought questions” from Julie Smith’s Search Ponder and Pray: A Guide to the Gospels with my study, I have seen the faces of my neighbors as I have asked how I can apply the teachings of Christ. I have felt promptings to do many things out of my comfort zone. I have a lot to learn.
When I wonder if I should reach out, I think of the image of people sitting in their homes, isolated, but really just feet away from one another. I see that barriers such as age or experience, religion or wealth needn’t separate us and that I can and should make that walk to someone’s home.
The final weeks of this less than halfhearted winter signal the end and beginning of many things.
Paige has decided to attend BYU. So ends the up-and-down anticipation and insecurity in that area of her life. She is intensely busy with her classes, but beautiful sketches and paintings continue to emerge from her bedroom studio as do A’s on calculus tests and English papers from her classrooms. This end of high school stress has an overlay of fresh excitement for a new life in college.
Daniel and Timothy skied on Saturday and missed their bus ride home. I got to see where they ski for the first time when we picked them up. It was a sunny and warm ski day and the slopes were busy with little figures. These brightly clad skiers, Alpine lodges, trees, and sparkling snow were absolutely the most beautiful things I have seen all winter.
Daniel and I have been watching old musicals that I unpacked from storage. He is busy with an AP class and a research project. He has a busy social calendar which includes church dances, movie and game nights, and last week, an afternoon of sledding with a crowd of friends. We have had some late night talks which are enlightening and entertaining.
Timothy loves his after school jazz band. His goal lately is to build tiny models of all of his favorite Star Wars ships and to tease Mark. He has been attending Scout merit badge clinics and I’m still not accustomed to seeing him at youth activities. I’ll catch a glimpse of him and feel a little sentimental. How did he manage to arrive at age 12 this quickly?
Mark finished his first reading of the Book of Mormon and immediately began reading the Old Testament. If anybody can do it, Mark will. He’s put the pressure on me to help him finish his Wolf badge in Cub Scouts. The boy knows what he wants to accomplish and does it.
Baseball begins in a few weeks. It will be Timothy’s last season. It will be another season of machine pitch for Mark. The parks are beautiful here and the backdrop of the mountains is still a stunning sight to me. I look forward to evenings spent outdoors.
We bought new patches for Richard’s Scout uniform. Soon the Catalina Arizona Council patch and commissioner paraphernalia will be replaced with the Great Salt Lake Council and Assistant Scoutmaster patches. Ropes and pioneering poles are standard equipment these days. We miss having the missionaries in our home now that Richard is no longer the ward mission leader, but I think he enjoys spending time with Timothy and the other boys.
I am writing my book and playing the violin, keeping up with my study goals, and not exercising enough. I smile every time I look at these plates my grandmother gave me on my kitchen mantel.
The End.
It was 2009. I was feeling blue and I was feeling put upon. Church was a challenge and I didn’t feel understood or nourished by the people I was working with there. I was weary of the political commentary I heard in the halls and from comments in classes. I was grumpy, so I decided to fix it with bread.
I baked bread for several days and delivered the loaves to people in my town. The recipients were a mixture of people I loved and people I needed to learn to love. After the first delivery, I was a believer in the bread-baking cure for social maladies.
People reacted in strongly positive ways to receiving a loaf of warm, homemade bread. They would tell their friends; they would announce it in Sunday school that they loved my bread; and one night at a church auction, my offer to bake bread sold for over $100 for our cause. More important, people saw a loaf of bread as an act of love. It was a bridge to better friendship. I exchanged some of my pride and harsh judgments for a little effort in the kitchen and a new reputation for generosity.
Baking bread was one of the tools that helped me to finally accept living in Sahuarita, Arizona and enjoy it.
Richard really hurt his knee while skiing a few weekends ago. Over the last two weeks he’s taken various days off from work to rest in bed and try to heal. His brother Rob is coming to town in a week and he wants to be healed so they can ski together. The reality is, Rob’s ski trip of epic proportion will probably not include Richard.
Richard yells out in pain now and then, even when it’s the middle of the night. Is it from physical pain or mental anguish? Maybe both.
On Saturday, my sister loaned him some crutches. Bionic Richard was then able to propel himself in great strides ahead of us. This made him lucky because we chose to visit BYU that day and it was one of the bleakest, coldest days we’ve had in a while. He could get between buildings long before any of us could.
The kids and I shopped the BYU bookstore until every aisle was exhausted in its possibilities for our happiness and entertainment. Richard languished in a corner of the store, found a chair, and then settled down for a nap. No one disturbed him because he looked so tired and was obviously physically challenged, his crutches propped against his chair. Sad, sad, sad.
The next day, church seemed to brighten Richard’s mood. The crutches were a source for conversation, opportunities for humor, and some sympathy. He came home and told me that he must have talked to every member of our congregation. That seemed to help him to perk up, even if he might have to go to a doctor.
He’s not had to use the crutches as much the past two days. His moaning has decreased, and he was active all day yesterday. We’ll hope that it’s the beginning of better days for Richard.