…walking into Paige’s room and finding surprises like this when she moves away to college. We’re in the middle of an art explosion here as she completes her portfolio. (Sorry for posting an unfinished work, Paige. The process is fun to watch, not just the finished product.)
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.
Paige was accepted to BYU a few days ago. In the next few weeks she’ll let us know which school she has decided to attend: BYU, Utah State, or University of Utah.
That’s all for today. Oh, wait. Is THIS what it feels like to exhale? Wow, that feels much better.
We met with Richard’s sisters and their families for dinner before the basketball tournament in Salt Lake. Simple gatherings like this are reason #852 that we are happy to live here.
Richard asked me to make this for his birthday today. We have this recipe from his mother. It is comforting, warm, old-fashioned, and full of butter and spice. Delicious.
Baked Apple Pudding
Mix and bake in an 8-inch square pan for 35 minutes at 350 degrees. Serve with butter sauce. The result will be a dark brown, moist cake.
Butter Sauce
Blend together in a saucepan. Warm but do not boil. Spoon butter sauce over cake and serve warm.
A few weeks ago, Richard came home unexpectedly early from work and I sang him this song. Minus the first few seconds, this song is awesome.
Last night was my favorite piano recital so far for our children. They each played so well. I could hear improvement in the areas they have focused their pratice this year, whether it is in expression, strengthening the hands, or dexterity. I thought I’d share a small part of my experience at this recital, even though it only focuses on one child. They ALL made us proud.
Daniel sat down to play at the grand piano at the small recital at our library. The room was full of young boys not far into their piano study. When they heard that one of Daniel’s songs had the word, “Wizard” in the title, there were excited whispers among the youngest of boys.
I smiled, knowing exactly what the notes were coming, having heard him play them for months. I expected that Daniel would play well and I trained my attention to the rows of children behind me and how they would respond.
However, when he began to play, I learned that my attention couldn’t be shared. The music drew me to it and I could think of nothing else. Daniel’s playing was affecting me in a dramatic way. When the dynamics soard in Grieg’s Wedding Day at Troldhaugen, I saw briefly the boys in my peripheral vision respond to its power, but my eyes filled with tears and could see no more that that. I realized that I was probably the one benefitting most from this music played by my son.
The phrases of music felt like a blessing, a benediction, a celebration of his years of work. I swept away tears with my fingers and applauded when he finished. I am wondering if it’s time to just embrace the tears that come more freely with the years, or to continue to try to hide them. Do I really want to hide tears of happiness?
We have taken a couple of days off from our regular routines to reconnect with each other. I am related to each of these darling and amazing women.
Today I taught a little oil painting class to the group. I didn’t get a photo of one of the paintings, but here are most of them.
Then we painted these letters to hang in the craft room at Spring Lake. My mom pulled out her guitar and we sang songs as we painted. What a happy time.
Mine is the PINK Starry Starry Night “A.”
Last week Timothy hinted meekly that he was playing in a concert during school. I wasn’t sure if he wanted me to be there so I asked him on a scale from one to ten, how much he would like me to come. (Helping him avoid having to say the awkward, “Please don’t come, Mom.”) To my surprise, he said, “8 or 9.” So I went and I was one of four guests, three of whom were clearly grandparents. In other words, I was one of the privileged few. He even let me take a picture.
He is growing up but he still lets me be in love with him.
Last night Paige and I hosted the salad course of a progressive dinner at our house for the Young Men and Young Women in our congregation. We entertained 3 groups of 15 youths and leaders. Timothy and Daniel were in one of the groups together, but Tim didn’t depend on Daniel, nor did he sit by his dad who is now one of his youth leaders. He sat beside the new boy. I was glad to see it.