I Love to Blog

There are certainly dangers in using the internet, but I have found a new way to communicate with our adult children. It is not that we don’t have time to talk together, because they all live nearby and we do see each other often. But sometimes in the crunch of quick visits, it is not as easy to catch up on activities and some of the deep thinking going on within the family. Enter BLOGGING!
I now have my very own web page and can update it anytime I want. I became interested through some of our very computer literate children. Alyssa began the process of having a blog (short for web log) quite a while ago. There were attempts to get others to join in. I thought it sounded interesting but intimidating and put the idea on file for another time. I also had some concerns about privacy. Finally "another time" came when Heather gave us access to her chronicle as written on her web page. It was delightful and gave a glimpse into her life that I treasured. Then she offered to help as I set up my own. We began on the evening of October’s Priesthood conference. I drove to her apartment and, as I am a morning person, she began the computer work, asking my opinion every step of the way. I gave the page a name, she found a picture on the internet that was free and appropriate and then she began doing the steps to get it ready for me. Heather made her web page using HTML (which I really don’t understand yet) but did mine following an easy format. We just had to select from the options given. I guess I am good at copying because I chose to set up mine with her ideas as a template. It contains a profile of me, a section for a photo of the week, a list of what I am doing in various areas of my life right now and a thought to ponder. These can be changed at anytime. Then I have a main part on which I can post anything I want. Kimberly showed me how to get photos onto the page. One evening Heather came over to show me how to delete photos and change their position. I am waiting for new lessons from one of them on how to make links to other places of interest on the internet. I’m excited about this! I know the internet can be misused, but it is also another way to share thoughtfully, to bear testimony, to practice writing skills and to love.
For me, having a web page and being able to blog is a good thing!

A New Year

This photo of Tracy was taken at Chris and Marsha's home. We were celebrating someone's birthday, possibly Nick's.

Today we got together here to celebrate the new year and Tracy's birthday. I like this picture because I believe it shows Tracy's compassion, kindness and his intelligence and interest in the world about him.

He is our second child and first boy. He was a handsome little guy with lots of dark hair (as least in comparison to our other little ones who were born "bald eagles". according to their dad.)

Having birthdays close to Christmas may not have been what Tracy and Alyssa would have chosen. The holiday season becomes a little hectic and maybe they don't quite get their due attention. Can't help it. The days they were born were good days for our family anyway.

Tracy was born a few days past his due date. Many people told us they thought we should try for the first baby of the year. Art definitely wished for a tax deduction. Tracy obliged by being born on December 31st, early enough in the morning so that Art could still go to the performance of "Messiah" in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. We both belonged to the Oratorio Society of Utah. I loved singing so I kept going to rehearsals even though I had no intention of singing for the performance. I had to tell the women who kept track of the rolls several times, that no, I wasn't going to show up "great with child" on Sunday. Blessedly attitudes about pregnancy have changed a great deal since then. Now I don't think it would be as frowned upon to be pregnant and also sing in a choir. As it turned out, Art was in the Tabernacle singing and I was in the hospital with our new baby boy listening to the concert on KSL radio. The words "For unto us a child is born" had very special significance that year.

Each one of our children were exposed to music in-utero since rehearsals began in the fall and were held every week until Christmas time. I'm glad they (and we) had those experiences with Handel's Messiah.

How Amazing Is She?

Alyssa in Cedar City-2005


Out my back window it looks cold, very cold. The latest snowfall has not melted much and the crust looks brittle. But my heart feels warm as I contemplate the life of my daughter Alyssa on her birthday. I have been looking through some photos of her. I love those that I have. Yet I am feeling nostalgic for the photos I didn't take as she was growing up. Taking pictures depended on whether or not we had a camera and finances. (It wasn't easy to provide for the needs of our young family.) When Alyssa was about six, my piano teacher friend, Royce, loved her new Minolta 110 camera so much that I got one for myself. Off and on, I tried to develop the habit of taking pictures. Most of those remain to be scanned into the computer, but since having a digital camera I have enjoyed taking more snapshots of our living. I like this picture of Alyssa. It reminds me of our many trips together to Cedar City to visit Aunt Fran and take in the Shakespeare festival. This trip included Heather for a girl's weekend. Great fun! The day of Alyssa's birth remains vivid in my mind. She was the first of our children to have her dad present for the actual birth. That meant a lot to me. And I remember how grateful I felt for her and humbled by another opportunity to raise a child. She has given joy to us throughout her life and has grown to be a remarkably fine woman. I love her a lot. It is easy to take people for granted. I am glad on this cold day that I can look back and realize how lucky I am to be Alyssa's mother.

Merry Little Christmas

(Photo: Nativity, 2005. Brittany as Mary; Stephanie in her reindeer hat, to the left, decided to be a goat.)

About 6 o'clock on Christmas morning 2007 the memories of Christmas celebrations in the past nudged their way through into my consciousness. I found myself weeping, a phenomenon currently common when either Art or I are feeling particularly vulnerable or emotionally tender. This time the realization that those earlier times were really past hit a soft place. I began thinking of the members of our family (and of our friends) one by one. I worried about struggles I knew about and "what ifs". (Worry is an old habit of mine, difficult to break.) That process felt way too hard, mostly because the problems of others are, for the most part, out of my control. Finally it came to me how grateful I am for each one. So I began naming each person in my circle of loved individuals one at a time. I thanked God for their strengths and asked him to bless lives according to his wisdom. The process took quite a long time. There were many strengths to list and each person is unique. I was struck again by the power residing within each of them. At that point, it didn't matter what the rest of the day would bring, I was content and at peace. BTW: The rest of the day was low-key and just right!

Visions of Gingerbread

Putting together a gingerbread house has been a family tradition for many years. It began with a recipe and a pattern using a cereal box for the template. That was really starting from scratch! We enjoyed doing it and the results were quite a bit like my Photo of this Week. Gradually life became more complicated and kits became more available. So each year buying and putting together a gingerbread house was essential. As grandchildren were old enough, they, too, became part of this process. When Nick was about three, he could hardly wait to have dad and grandpa come view the finished product! Some years we ate the pieces on New Years Day. Always a few candies were popped in the mouth when no one was looking. Sometimes I wanted it to remain; by the time I was ready to let go, it was so stale that even the birds didn't want to eat the remnants. This year has been a time to simplify. Each time we saw a gingerbread house kit in the store, Art would ask if I wanted to get one. Unfortunately, I couldn't muster the enthusiasm to do it. When I finally decided that, yes, maybe I would at least get a gingerbread nativity kit, they were sold out. So for this year, the picture will suffice to remind me of times past and maybe, just maybe, some fun possibilities for the future.

Pondering Freedom

This past week I have been indexing records of slave owners in the US in the 1800's. The work has gone relatively quickly this time. The handwriting is somewhat more easy to read than most and the facts are brief. But I have felt sad as I have typed these records for submission. I guess what made me most sorrowful as I read was the fact that the slaves themselves are not listed by name. It was as if they were things, not people. The form required the name of the slave owner, then one by one, each slave he owned was listed by age, sex and race. One particularly touching entry sent my imagination into a story line. This particular man had a female slave, age 27 who had three children, the oldest 13. So she was 14 when that child was born. There is no male slave listed who was of an age to be her husband. On the line for race for the children, there was the letter M. I believe that stood for mulatto. My dictionary says the definition of the word is "the first generation offspring of a Negro and a white person." So I am left to my own thoughts and imaginings as to the truth behind the statistics. This is real history at my fingertips.
I finish the record hoping that somehow the descendants of these people are able to trace them. I can see that it will take miracles for this to happen. And now I understand, more than ever, what a tragic time this was in the history of my country.
There are many ways to be a slave. I am grateful that I am not involved with the slavery of those times. Yet I know for myself that it is an awesome responsibility to have moral agency. And it is not easy. Today I am recognizing that I too am a slave to my own unwise choices when I am not careful (and prayerful). It takes a lot of effort to resist those things which drag me down. I hope I can remember the wonderful feeling it is to be truly free.

Making Your Mark

At my book club this week, one of the women said that she didn’t think she had made her mark in the world. I disagreed vehemently but I don’t think she was convinced, even though I know that she has taught school, raised a family, risen above many challenges, is intelligent and shares her thoughts with others, has been on 2 church missions and this is only a part what I know of her life.
Since that time I have been wondering what it means to make your mark. Does it mean you have to do something that the rest of the world sees as significant? Or is it possible to make your mark in quiet unobtrusive ways by how you live your life, attempting to be true to yourself and doing small acts of service? I know recognition has value; I know how it feels to be appreciated (or not), but somehow I want to believe that the everyday courtesies and kindnesses matter more than we think.
As I hugged my friend, I told her that she has made a mark on me just by being who she is. I hope someday she will know that her life choices have marked many others for good, and that on days when I am discouraged, I will remember the same thing about myself.