There is a marvelous book that I've read a little bit...it's called "The Five Languages of Love." It helped me lots to understand better the things to do that made Nyle, my husband, feel loved...the things that others do that make ME feel loved.
I feel the most loved through positive affirmation. In other words yesterday in Sunday School when the sweet lady next to me told me how much she enjoyed watching me write in my journal throughout all my church meetings, it made me happy, and I felt loved, and appreciated.
I also LOVE receiving gifts of time, love, thoughtfulness but the best is when someone verbalizes positive things about me.
I review the comments that are on my blog. On my gloomiest days I'm lifted by the kindness of others. I KNOW what a difference it makes in my life when someone says something as simple as, "You looked pretty in that outfit," or "You can always make me laugh." (Hopefully those two comments do not come together as in, "You can always make me laugh, in that outfit!" lol
I'm grateful for those that love me. I'm also grateful for the many, MANY people on the earth to love. Love IS a verb, and giving love to others ALWAYS lifts me, and make me happier. One of the greatest goals of my life is to love without thought of what I will get in return.
So....a challenge for any and all reading this little post, today, right now, this minute, find a way to brighten someone's day, maybe it's a smile to a stranger you see as you are walking somewhere. Jot off a note to your sister who is struggling. Maybe give a cookie to somebody who helps you....it's those very simple gestures that make a huge different in our world.
Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass....it's about learning to dance in the rain!
Monday, June 18, 2012
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Time to giggle
PEMFEST was today. I know that many of you will NOT be familiar with the name Pemberley. If you have read Jane Austen there is a larger likelihood. I live in a lovely little place that is very much like the tiniest of towns. Today we had a day long celebration with children decorating and riding their bikes in a parade, games, for children and adults, face painting, and the best of all was the delicious barbeque. It's a time that reminds me of my youth, and family reunions, or 4th of July parties.
I had the fun of sitting with a table of children, 12 years of age and younger. One of them LOVED to tell KNOCK KNOCK jokes. So....I have lived 55 years, and I believe that I have pretty much heard ANY KNOCK KNOCK joke that has ever been created. Still the teller of these jokes did it with so much adorableness I laughed as though I had never heard them before.
Knock Knock....Who is there? Boo. Boo who? Now here is a different answer from the one I've always heard, "I didn't mean to scare you!" Again, I laughed enthusiastically. I wish words could begin to describe these "beautiful boy." On an adorableness level from 1 to 10, 10 being the best he was way, way above a 10. Brown curls, brown eyes with lashes that any girl would envy, dimples, honestly this boy is going to break hearts, he may be already at the ripe old age of 4!
Often there is talk about the "Wounded Child." Most of us will not make it through childhood without encountering some rough stuff. Yet it was so wonderful for me today to remember those joyous moments of childhood when the most serious concern was yummy food, sunshine, friends, and family! I LOVE to focus on my "Inner child," I worry the most for my "Outer Adult."
I had the fun of sitting with a table of children, 12 years of age and younger. One of them LOVED to tell KNOCK KNOCK jokes. So....I have lived 55 years, and I believe that I have pretty much heard ANY KNOCK KNOCK joke that has ever been created. Still the teller of these jokes did it with so much adorableness I laughed as though I had never heard them before.
Knock Knock....Who is there? Boo. Boo who? Now here is a different answer from the one I've always heard, "I didn't mean to scare you!" Again, I laughed enthusiastically. I wish words could begin to describe these "beautiful boy." On an adorableness level from 1 to 10, 10 being the best he was way, way above a 10. Brown curls, brown eyes with lashes that any girl would envy, dimples, honestly this boy is going to break hearts, he may be already at the ripe old age of 4!
Often there is talk about the "Wounded Child." Most of us will not make it through childhood without encountering some rough stuff. Yet it was so wonderful for me today to remember those joyous moments of childhood when the most serious concern was yummy food, sunshine, friends, and family! I LOVE to focus on my "Inner child," I worry the most for my "Outer Adult."
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Touch
Touch is the name of a TV show. It shows how our lives are connected on this planet. I thoroughly enjoy the writing and acting of this wonderful program. The premise is presented in a different way than I ever have seen. The main character has an autistic son who can't speak. He discovers that his son is communicating with him through numbers....numbers that somehow connect people, or show a life lesson.
A couple of years ago my family took our youngest daughter to college. I had heard through the grapevine that my cousin worked in the bookstore. I hadn't seen this cousin in over 25 years. As a mature young woman of 12 I had a very big crush on this cousin...come on we were 2nd cousin's once removed...barely related. lol
So...I felt like I should visit with this cousin. So timidly I searched out his office and visited with him. He is still a charming, wonderful man and I very much enjoyed our reconnection. The story does not end there.
I found out that his wife is an author. She has self-published many books. We connected and discovered that we are kindred spirits. She has given me so much encouragement and courage in the quest to publish my own books.
It was in a Facebook message to her that another cousin, also related, connected with me again. (We hadn't seen each other in 20 years).
Now that's three connections...let's put a few more forward. My author friend and I were chatting on one visit. We discovered that the missionary companion I trained worked with her in the Salt Lake Temple in 1980. The missionary companion and I are still friends.
I found out that one of my daughter's friends from Oregon has dated my cousin's son.
I went to a missionary farewell today, for my cousin's niece. There I reconnected with so many cousins, and friends...and a couple sat down at a table next to me. We began chatting and soon found out that they live in the same small town that I live in. What's more they own a condo in my complex, and they rented it out to a couple that are some of my best friends.
I'm excited to see the other connections that will still come about through this friendship renewal. I'm so grateful for the experiences in my life. Some people like to call them "the hand of God." Some see them as coincidences. I believe that God through His love for us, has woven a pattern of people in our lives. People who will bless our lives, and people that we will bless their lives. To me these seemingly random connections are prove of a pattern, a design woven through our lives. Just as a quilt may have one color that weaves through the entirety of the quilt, so patterns in our lives show a purpose, and value for our lives.
A couple of years ago my family took our youngest daughter to college. I had heard through the grapevine that my cousin worked in the bookstore. I hadn't seen this cousin in over 25 years. As a mature young woman of 12 I had a very big crush on this cousin...come on we were 2nd cousin's once removed...barely related. lol
So...I felt like I should visit with this cousin. So timidly I searched out his office and visited with him. He is still a charming, wonderful man and I very much enjoyed our reconnection. The story does not end there.
I found out that his wife is an author. She has self-published many books. We connected and discovered that we are kindred spirits. She has given me so much encouragement and courage in the quest to publish my own books.
It was in a Facebook message to her that another cousin, also related, connected with me again. (We hadn't seen each other in 20 years).
Now that's three connections...let's put a few more forward. My author friend and I were chatting on one visit. We discovered that the missionary companion I trained worked with her in the Salt Lake Temple in 1980. The missionary companion and I are still friends.
I found out that one of my daughter's friends from Oregon has dated my cousin's son.
I went to a missionary farewell today, for my cousin's niece. There I reconnected with so many cousins, and friends...and a couple sat down at a table next to me. We began chatting and soon found out that they live in the same small town that I live in. What's more they own a condo in my complex, and they rented it out to a couple that are some of my best friends.
I'm excited to see the other connections that will still come about through this friendship renewal. I'm so grateful for the experiences in my life. Some people like to call them "the hand of God." Some see them as coincidences. I believe that God through His love for us, has woven a pattern of people in our lives. People who will bless our lives, and people that we will bless their lives. To me these seemingly random connections are prove of a pattern, a design woven through our lives. Just as a quilt may have one color that weaves through the entirety of the quilt, so patterns in our lives show a purpose, and value for our lives.
I love...
My family is one of my richest blessings. I am so grateful for my slightly enormous Mormon family. I have over 70 first cousins, and I'm actually friends with many of my 2nd cousins. All through my life they have inspired me, lifted me, and taught me
I have one sister, and one brother, but they have provided me with 16 amazing nephews and nieces, and over 40 great nephes and nieces. I even have one GREAT GREAT NIECE! I also have a beloved sister-in law, and brother-in law from my side of the family.
On Nyle's side of the family I have three living brother-in laws, and four living sister in laws, and sixteen nephews and nieces. Brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, from Nyle's side or mine, they are all my relatives, my family.
I'm SOOOO grateful for the chance I have had to marry my soulmate, and spend twenty-six years together, living, loving, and laughing....laughing SO MUCH! Although he's not as close now (since he's transitioned into his eternity), he will always be a huge part of my heart!
Our two daughters have enriched my life. I simply can not imagine how I lived life before they entered my life.
My parents, oh what a blessing they both were, and are. One of the richest blessings in life is being born to goodly parents. There are no PERFECT parents, but mine were and are perfectly wonderful.
My grandparents were and are one of my greatest examples. I love them!
You may have noticed there is a recurring theme in this post...GRATITUDE! I am SOOO grateful for the family I was born into, and the many beloved friends that have become my family by choice!
I have one sister, and one brother, but they have provided me with 16 amazing nephews and nieces, and over 40 great nephes and nieces. I even have one GREAT GREAT NIECE! I also have a beloved sister-in law, and brother-in law from my side of the family.
On Nyle's side of the family I have three living brother-in laws, and four living sister in laws, and sixteen nephews and nieces. Brothers, sisters, nephews, nieces, from Nyle's side or mine, they are all my relatives, my family.
I'm SOOOO grateful for the chance I have had to marry my soulmate, and spend twenty-six years together, living, loving, and laughing....laughing SO MUCH! Although he's not as close now (since he's transitioned into his eternity), he will always be a huge part of my heart!
Our two daughters have enriched my life. I simply can not imagine how I lived life before they entered my life.
My parents, oh what a blessing they both were, and are. One of the richest blessings in life is being born to goodly parents. There are no PERFECT parents, but mine were and are perfectly wonderful.
My grandparents were and are one of my greatest examples. I love them!
You may have noticed there is a recurring theme in this post...GRATITUDE! I am SOOO grateful for the family I was born into, and the many beloved friends that have become my family by choice!
Friday, June 8, 2012
Fox Trot Rock
Slow, slow, quick quick, slow, slow, quick quick, Papa said softly to me as he guided me around the dance floor. I looked down at our feet, trying to pretend that there was not another living soul in the room. I couldn't look Papa in the eye, I was mortified, no boy would ever ask me to dance after watching me dance with my Father!
It was the era of rock music, just before disco made it's appearance. I don't remember what song was playing but I was well aware that it was NOT music that most people would interpret by dancing the Fox Trot.
I was fifteen, with braces and acne. The phrase "With a face that only a Mother could love," certainly applied in this case. Only it seemed that it was my Father that loved my face, and he simply could not bear to see me sitting on the sidelines of yet another church youth dance.
Papa breathed heavily as we danced. It didn't occur to me until many years later how tired he was, having worked for nine hours, worked in his enormous garden for an hour, and then doing volunteer church work for another four hours after that.
He had known that there was a youth dance, and that I would be attending. I believe he also knew that I would be sitting on the sidelines, horribly shy, and definitely a later than late bloomer. So, exhausted as he was, he danced with me.
Some forty years later I don't remember many boys my age. I DO remember my beloved Papa, dancing the Fox Trot with me, and even attempting to move to Rock Music when I tired of Fox Trotting. I remember that he loved me that much. HE THOUGHT I WAS BEAUTIFUL!
Papa passed away twenty-one years ago. What I would give to once again Fox Trot with him. This time I would look him straight in the eyes, and I would be the proudest to dance with my Father. After all ANYONE can dance to Rock music, but not just anyone can Fox Trot, Fox Trot with my beloved Papa!
It was the era of rock music, just before disco made it's appearance. I don't remember what song was playing but I was well aware that it was NOT music that most people would interpret by dancing the Fox Trot.
I was fifteen, with braces and acne. The phrase "With a face that only a Mother could love," certainly applied in this case. Only it seemed that it was my Father that loved my face, and he simply could not bear to see me sitting on the sidelines of yet another church youth dance.
Papa breathed heavily as we danced. It didn't occur to me until many years later how tired he was, having worked for nine hours, worked in his enormous garden for an hour, and then doing volunteer church work for another four hours after that.
He had known that there was a youth dance, and that I would be attending. I believe he also knew that I would be sitting on the sidelines, horribly shy, and definitely a later than late bloomer. So, exhausted as he was, he danced with me.
Some forty years later I don't remember many boys my age. I DO remember my beloved Papa, dancing the Fox Trot with me, and even attempting to move to Rock Music when I tired of Fox Trotting. I remember that he loved me that much. HE THOUGHT I WAS BEAUTIFUL!
Papa passed away twenty-one years ago. What I would give to once again Fox Trot with him. This time I would look him straight in the eyes, and I would be the proudest to dance with my Father. After all ANYONE can dance to Rock music, but not just anyone can Fox Trot, Fox Trot with my beloved Papa!
Monday, June 4, 2012
Memories of Papa
This week has been unique. I came with my youngest daughter to Idaho. She has two semesters left to obtain her degree in Elementary Education. It just so happens that her university is 12 miles away from the tiny place where my Dad was born 92 years ago.
Papa was fond of saying that some people were born with a silver spoon in their mouth. (It's a phrase that means they are born wealthy). Papa continued by saying that instead he was born on a shoestring. (This means that he was born to poverty). Grandpa delivered Papa. To tie the cord he used the shoestring from his razor strop. (If you don't know what a razor strop is, that's what google is for now, right?)
Dad was the 4th child in his family. He was born in a one room, humble cabin. Previously the occupants of the cabin had been chickens. They were tossed out in honor of the newest inhabitants who had scrubbed the place spotless, and then painted it.
Grandpa and Grandma didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions. They did have infinite amounts of faith, courage, and love for each other and their children.
Eventually there were 10 children in the home, and this during the Great Depression. Frugality, and thrift were not abstract ideas to Dad and his family. They were the foundation of their lives.
I went to church last Sunday in the building where so much of my family events have taken place. Babies have been blessed there for three or four generations of our family. Receptions have been held there after marriages. My beloved Grandpa and Grandma held their 50th wedding anniversary there. Sadly the walls have also sheltered funerals.
It was joyous for me to have the chance to stand behind the pulpit and share my gratitude for the faith,
that lives in me which has been inspired by these dear people. My great-grandparents who sacrificed
so much to build a good life for their family. My grandparents who also sacrificed for their family. My parents who did the same, and now it's my turn.
I'm so joyously grateful for my heritage of faith, unconditional love, and sacrifice. I hope that someday my grandchildren will speak of me with the same sense of humility that I have when I speak of my ancestors.
Papa was fond of saying that some people were born with a silver spoon in their mouth. (It's a phrase that means they are born wealthy). Papa continued by saying that instead he was born on a shoestring. (This means that he was born to poverty). Grandpa delivered Papa. To tie the cord he used the shoestring from his razor strop. (If you don't know what a razor strop is, that's what google is for now, right?)
Dad was the 4th child in his family. He was born in a one room, humble cabin. Previously the occupants of the cabin had been chickens. They were tossed out in honor of the newest inhabitants who had scrubbed the place spotless, and then painted it.
Grandpa and Grandma didn't have much in the way of worldly possessions. They did have infinite amounts of faith, courage, and love for each other and their children.
Eventually there were 10 children in the home, and this during the Great Depression. Frugality, and thrift were not abstract ideas to Dad and his family. They were the foundation of their lives.
I went to church last Sunday in the building where so much of my family events have taken place. Babies have been blessed there for three or four generations of our family. Receptions have been held there after marriages. My beloved Grandpa and Grandma held their 50th wedding anniversary there. Sadly the walls have also sheltered funerals.
It was joyous for me to have the chance to stand behind the pulpit and share my gratitude for the faith,
that lives in me which has been inspired by these dear people. My great-grandparents who sacrificed
so much to build a good life for their family. My grandparents who also sacrificed for their family. My parents who did the same, and now it's my turn.
I'm so joyously grateful for my heritage of faith, unconditional love, and sacrifice. I hope that someday my grandchildren will speak of me with the same sense of humility that I have when I speak of my ancestors.
Friday, May 25, 2012
Memorial Day
Coming home tonight the traffic was a mess...even worse than usual. I realized it was a Friday, but it was even worse than your normal run of the mill rush hour Friday traffic, and then I remembered, oh yes, it's Memorial Day.
What do you do on Memorial Day? Do you take a trip, go hiking, have a barbeque, water ski, etc. etc.? Now please don't misunderstand, those activities are all worthwhile especially when you share them with family or close friends.
In my family Memorial Day was to remember...family members, soldiers that my Papa fought and died with in World War II, any that had passed into the next part of our eternal journey. We would spend Memorial Day weekend going to pretty much every cemetary between Kaysville, UT, and Archer, ID. OK, that's an exaggeration but when I was REALLY young it seemed that way. Actually there were only five cemetaries that we went too almost every year.
Now this is the part that may seem strange for some people to understand, we had SO MUCH FUN! Mama would fill the trunk with beautiful flowers that she cut from our garden. They would be in giant cans filled with water. (In later years we bought silks, not as messy). The fresh flowers smelled MUCH BETTER!
We would pack HEAVY...well at least my Mama. I seriously think she planned for EVERY eventuality! Hey, we could break down somewhere rural, and then we'd REALLY need a blanket in May, right? I often thought that if I dug down into Mom's suitcase, and boxes, and boxes I would most assuredly find the kitchen sink, nestled safely. On the other hand, when I was eight and we WERE in a car wreck, and the other car needed padding to stop bleeding, you guessed it, MY MAMA WAS PREPARED!
In the car we would take turns singing. My beloved Papa used to say that our family didn't always sing WELL, but we did sing LOUD! Hey, the scripture says, "Make a joyful NOISE..." We would each take a turn and choose a song to sing. One of my very favorites was "Old Grumbler is dead and laid under the ground." Pretty good subject matter for Memorial Day weekend.
We also played a festive game called "Beaver." To this moment I have NO idea why it was called that. It had NOTHING to do with Beaver's. It involved looking for certain items on a long list, such as a school bus filled with children (on Memorial Day weekend that one was pretty scarce!) If you were blessed enough to find a white horse or a privy with the door open you got to shout out BEAVER, and you WON immediately. Thank heavens they had more privies back then, with more open doors. Now if you can even find a privy the door is probably warped shut!
So, part of the fun was having Mama and Papa talk about the ancestors that we were visiting. My great-grandpa, Mayor of Brigham City, and his lovely wife. My little brother who died during birth. (He was beautiful, perfect, but the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck).
When we arrived at Archer, our final destination we would usually be there on Memorial Day itself. That was on purpose because if you landed there on Memorial Day it was better than a family reunion. I believe Papa was related to most of the people in that quaint little cemetary. I say it was better than a family reunion because I could go sit in the car and read if I got bored listening to adults chatting about this, that, and the other. (Reunions I was expected to stay, and listen, even when the discussion was BORING.)
This year is very tender for me. My beloved husband has joined the ranks of those we remember. He passed away in January of this year. Yet, he will never really pass away, not from the memories of those blessed enough to know and love him.
This year, I will no longer traverse the road between Kaysville, and Archer, but I WILL travel far in my memories, remembering, remembering, and treasuring all those that I have loved long since but lost awhile. I will remember them all with joy and gratitude for their influence in my life. Even great-grandpa Blackburn (the mayor) that I never met in this life. His example of strength in the face of adversity continues to inspire me.
What do you do on Memorial Day? Do you take a trip, go hiking, have a barbeque, water ski, etc. etc.? Now please don't misunderstand, those activities are all worthwhile especially when you share them with family or close friends.
In my family Memorial Day was to remember...family members, soldiers that my Papa fought and died with in World War II, any that had passed into the next part of our eternal journey. We would spend Memorial Day weekend going to pretty much every cemetary between Kaysville, UT, and Archer, ID. OK, that's an exaggeration but when I was REALLY young it seemed that way. Actually there were only five cemetaries that we went too almost every year.
Now this is the part that may seem strange for some people to understand, we had SO MUCH FUN! Mama would fill the trunk with beautiful flowers that she cut from our garden. They would be in giant cans filled with water. (In later years we bought silks, not as messy). The fresh flowers smelled MUCH BETTER!
We would pack HEAVY...well at least my Mama. I seriously think she planned for EVERY eventuality! Hey, we could break down somewhere rural, and then we'd REALLY need a blanket in May, right? I often thought that if I dug down into Mom's suitcase, and boxes, and boxes I would most assuredly find the kitchen sink, nestled safely. On the other hand, when I was eight and we WERE in a car wreck, and the other car needed padding to stop bleeding, you guessed it, MY MAMA WAS PREPARED!
In the car we would take turns singing. My beloved Papa used to say that our family didn't always sing WELL, but we did sing LOUD! Hey, the scripture says, "Make a joyful NOISE..." We would each take a turn and choose a song to sing. One of my very favorites was "Old Grumbler is dead and laid under the ground." Pretty good subject matter for Memorial Day weekend.
We also played a festive game called "Beaver." To this moment I have NO idea why it was called that. It had NOTHING to do with Beaver's. It involved looking for certain items on a long list, such as a school bus filled with children (on Memorial Day weekend that one was pretty scarce!) If you were blessed enough to find a white horse or a privy with the door open you got to shout out BEAVER, and you WON immediately. Thank heavens they had more privies back then, with more open doors. Now if you can even find a privy the door is probably warped shut!
So, part of the fun was having Mama and Papa talk about the ancestors that we were visiting. My great-grandpa, Mayor of Brigham City, and his lovely wife. My little brother who died during birth. (He was beautiful, perfect, but the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck).
When we arrived at Archer, our final destination we would usually be there on Memorial Day itself. That was on purpose because if you landed there on Memorial Day it was better than a family reunion. I believe Papa was related to most of the people in that quaint little cemetary. I say it was better than a family reunion because I could go sit in the car and read if I got bored listening to adults chatting about this, that, and the other. (Reunions I was expected to stay, and listen, even when the discussion was BORING.)
This year is very tender for me. My beloved husband has joined the ranks of those we remember. He passed away in January of this year. Yet, he will never really pass away, not from the memories of those blessed enough to know and love him.
This year, I will no longer traverse the road between Kaysville, and Archer, but I WILL travel far in my memories, remembering, remembering, and treasuring all those that I have loved long since but lost awhile. I will remember them all with joy and gratitude for their influence in my life. Even great-grandpa Blackburn (the mayor) that I never met in this life. His example of strength in the face of adversity continues to inspire me.
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