Normal is a dryer setting

A friend of mine at work confided that her 17 year old daughter may be bipolar. Normally a high achiever, she is flunking out of school. She is depressed and acting out. Such a worry. I have tried to get her in touch with a neighbor in the ward (Kathleen) who has a son who is bipolar (John) and another son who suffers from anxiety. I thought it would be good for the two women to get together.

Kathleen had a book she had loaned to my friend. As I returned it, we ended up taking our evening walk with Kathleen and Roy. Kathleen had several interesting things to say about coping with a bipolar child. She said that anxiety is the most common of mental illnesses (who knew it was considered in the mental illness spectrum?). She said that the average time to diagnose and find proper medications for bipolarity is TEN YEARS. (Their son is 32.) She ended with, "Tell your friend that normal is a setting on the dryer. None of us are really normal. There is no such thing."

Work continues to be anything but normal. Lots of words occur to me, but normal is not one of them.

Grandma great is certainly not normal. Bob stopped by to visit on his way home from work. He offered to warm up a dinner in her fridge. She told him he must go buy her dinner or she would starve. Definitely not normal.

Several of our neighbors have had children return home to live with them. They are between jobs, saving money for a new house, waiting for their house to sell, or going back to school. One week we had three new family memberships read in - all were children returning to live with their parents. One of my neighbors has a daughter (call her Sue) who has moved back with her husband into her parent's home. They are newly married and young. They have had trouble with cars, and she is pregnant. Currently, Sue's husband works part time while he goes to school, seeking a degree in elementary education. Sue works full time, securing the insurance for the family. How great that her parents can help them out, and that she feels comfortable asking. Sue says she wants desperately to be a full time mom when the baby is born, yet even with two incomes and insurance they need to live with her parents. I see lots of stress in their future.

We went to a wedding reception with our good friend Jay (his wife was to the young women's broadcast with a granddaughter). While he has been plagued by severe pain in recent years, now his pancreas has given out (requiring him to take three enzyme pills with every meal/snack) and his heart is malfunctioning. Constant pain, doctor's appointments, and medications are his new normal.

I went out to lunch twice last week with friends from our old Relief Society presidency. Both have had stress with a child. One said, "I have lowered my expectations. If my son isn't suicidal, I count it as a good week."

Normal is a dryer setting. Most of us are just doing the best we can. Life is perfect for none of us.

New Phone?

As I was leaving one class in the business building, and dashing to another in Old Main, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to give Grandma Great a call. The phone made an odd sound I've never heard before. I actually wasn't sure it was even my phone, but I looked around and couldn't see anything else that could make that noise. As I walked, I kept hearing the same noise - diddle diddle diddle. I kept looking at my phone, thinking maybe it was time to trade up to an iPhone. I called Steve to see if it kept making the noise while I talked. It did, but he couldn't hear it. Since I was going to class, I decided I should just turn off my phone so it wouldn't be disruptive. The noise didn't go away. I was really confused.

I kept walking and looking at my cellphone for an explanation. The noise continued. Diddle diddle diddle. When I got to class, I handed my phone to one of my students and said, "Can you make this stop? I've turned it off and it is still making noises." After a minute, he said, "It isn't your phone. I'm putting my ear right next to it and it is coming from somewhere else." I had a brief thought that maybe Martians had attached themselves to me, when I looked down and saw I was still wearing the microphone I use to record my lecture. Evidently, the mic is programmed to complain when someone attempts to steal it. Pretty funny!

Failure to Communicate

We have been studying pattern matching in my advanced algorithms class. Pattern matching is just finding a piece of text (the pattern) in a document. We have algorithms for doing that effectively.

The homework question reads:

Given a pattern P and a text T, determine if P is contained within T or if P can be split into two pieces so that the first piece matches the end of T and the second piece matches the first of T. In other words, P is found by wrapping around T. Hint, think elegant (and simple).

One of my Asian students sends me an email: I didn't understand the hint you gave to us for problem 5. "Hint, think elegant (and simple)" Is this an example? in which elegant is a pattern?

So funny!

This rivals my experience a year ago in which a Nigerian student had written (in a paper I was presenting), "This cannot possibly be true". In his mind he was saying, "It possibly is not true". I explained that "cannot possibly" is even stronger than "cannot". It means it is absolutely impossible for it to be true under any circumstances. He argued, "No, the possibly creates doubt." I told him that is not what it means. I STILL don't think he believes me.

My partner in teddy-grahams

On Sunday, they sustained Steve as a nursery worker. It was amazing to see how the kids related to him. He had Hadley just giggling. Finn crawled on his lap and just snuggled in. It is a great calling for Steve as there is no stress, and he is needed.

I keep having people say things to me like, "Whoa. How can you do nursery? I would hate it. I can't sit on the floor. I'm so not good with kids." Or, "I've done that before. I was called for six months, but was ready to be released. It just exhausts me."

Poor strategy. If they don't want the calling, shouldn't they be convincing me how wonderful it is, so I won't want to be released?

I think it is fun. Kids are so amazing. It is easy to make them happy, and you always know where you stand. You can melt tears with a song or a funny face. There is never a dull moment, and you get to visit with other nursery workers. And when they have messy diapers, you get to take them to the DADS. I love it. It's the perfect calling.

Testimony

Tonight was our Relief Society birthday party. Lesa Stevenson (wife of Presiding Bishop Gary Stevenson) spoke to us. Through their calls as mission president, Seventy, and now presiding Bishop, they have still kept a home in our ward.

She recounted the devastating series of earthquakes (over 500) that hit Japan two years ago. They lasted for days. Lesa said, "You were always rocking." The earthquakes generated a tsunami, which swept away nearly 30,000 people and took out the nuclear power plant. She said she was with friends who had come to visit when the first earthquake hit. They were to meet Gary for lunch, when they could see smoke in the distance and their tour boat kept crashing into the dock. Luckily, they found cabs to take them home and were able to contact Gary moments before the entire cellphone network in Japan went dead. There was no communication for sixteen hours. She showed message boards in disaster service centers where people pinned notes saying they were there, where they were going, and who they were looking for.

She showed pictures of the "yellow shirts" worn by LDS volunteers as they cleaned up the wreckage.

Lesa told of Reid Tateoka, the Sendai mission president, who went against protocol and invited every missionary in his district to attend a leadership training in the mission home (high in the mountains). Four times he went to his wife to tell her what he wanted to do. Every time she told him that it wasn't what they had been trained to do - which was to invite only the district leadership. Finally, he said that is what he really felt he should do. The leadership training was March 11th - the very day the earthquakes hit in Sendai. Every missionary was safe.

Lesa told of a mission in Tokyo in which the mission president's wife needed to leave for a medical treatment. Before she left, she felt prompted to bake. She filled up all the freezers. She bought extra supplies. She stored lots of water. Her husband couldn't quite understand why she was doing it. She was gone when the earthquake hit, but because of following her promptings, there was food and supplies for all of the missionaries who descended on the mission home.

A few weeks before the earthquakes, Elder Holland came to tour the mission. As he met with the missionaries, he asked to give them an apostolic blessing. He did so, and it was wonderful, but before he ended, he paused and began again to bless all of the members. Towards the end, he paused again, and blessed all of the people of Japan and the political leaders. While such blessings are not usually, recorded, he gave permission for this one to be recorded and shared. So touching.

Gradeschool Memories

This semester has been an absolute killer. I'm afraid I haven't been a very entertaining partner. In an effort to be slightly more fun, I've been looking for plays for Steve and I to attend. Yesterday we went to "Murder Room" at the lyric. Two and a half hours of British farce was a bit tedious, but one of our (former) YSA ward members was in it, so that made it fun.

We had run a variety of (boring) errands such as shopping at Dillards closeout sale, picking up cheese, getting books at the library - so we arrived at the Lyric somewhat early. There were only two people in the theater, an indication that matinees at the Lyric are not well attended. Patron arrived slowly. Because we had all purchased our tickets online (with 'best ticket in the house' options), we were all clustered close together, even though we could have each had a whole row to ourselves.

I saw an elderly woman in sandalls (with no socks) and her younger partner(a daughter, it turns out) make their way to the seats next to me. I helped them read the seat numbers to locate their seats and hoped they didn't freeze in the chilly theater. The woman looked so familiar, so I asked who she was. Before she uttered the name "Zetta Peterson," I recognized her as the mother of my childhood friend, Lizette. I said, "You are Lizette's mother." She corrected my pronunciation "LEE-zette". None of us ever called her LEE-zette, but evidently her mother was not aware of our pronunciation. Lizette died ten years ago of breast cancer. Her obituary is below.

Lizette and I had been good friends in gradeschool, but never did anything together once our small school class was mixed with others in the valley at Logan Junior High.

I am the first to admit I have a terrible memory. While friends of mine can tell you what they ate at which restaurants on their honeymoon forty years ago, I vaguely remember we did go on a honeymoon. Others can give you a play by play of each pain during delivery. I'm lucky to remember whether it was morning or night when I delivered. If I didn't have a child as proof and a birthday we celebrate every year, even that memory would be dim.

Anyway, for someone having such a terrible memory as myself, I was amazed at the flood of memories that came back as I visited with Lizette's mother.

Peterson's had a huge, stately home on First North and First East, by the old library. It was a classic older home, like one you may expect to see on the set for Gone with the Wind. I have flashes of memories:

Being invited for Sunday dinner (they had chicken) and really not wanting to go. I didn't want to deal with the social expectations of eating with her family, nor having to eat food that was prepared differently than I was accustomed.

Sleepovers and having Lizette read me stories she had been writing.

Playing hide and go seek.

Doing the polka in their living room until we collapsed on the floor.

Walking to the library together. It was Lizette who introduced me to "Nancy Drew mysteries".

Trying on elegant clothes as dress-ups.

Having Lizette show me the "cooking wine" (gasp) her grandmother had in her apartment kitchen. So funny. We both thought having cooking wine was risque.

A carnival themed birthday party where each room was fortune telling or cards.

I remember watching her sister, Leita (the one accompanying her mother at the theater, ten years our senior), get ready for a dance at the college. Lizette told me Leita used a glue to keep her ears from flapping. [Really, why do I remember such things?]

I remember sitting out on the playground at recess having Lizette tell us stories. The group grew until there must have been twenty of us. The story ended with the heroine climbing a wall and looking over the other side. Lizette asked us what we thought she saw. We all gave our ideas. She said our thoughts about what we saw indicated our true beliefs about an after life. She never told us what was on the other side.

It was fun to visit. I told Mrs Peterson that I had such fond memories of her and her home. I told Leita that we had considered her to be the most elegant and exciting of big sisters. I could see I brightened their day, as they did mine.

Here is the picture of our fourth grade class. Lizette is the one with glasses on the top row. Can you find me? Steve got it right on the third try.

Obituary: Lizette Peterson-Homer Dr. Lizette Peterson-Homer, 51, of Columbia, Mo., unexpectedly passed away at University Hospital on Thursday, July 18, 2002. Lizette was born Feb. 24, 1951, in Cedar City, Utah, to Edwin L. and Zetta B. Peterson. She completed her bachelors degree summa cum laude at Utah State University in 1973. She went on to the University of Utah to earn her masters and doctoral degree in clinical psychology. She married Andrew Homer at her parents home in Logan on June 5, 1978. Following her clinical psychology internship at the Salt Lake City Veterans Administration Hospital in 1978, she took a position at the University of Missouri-Columbia where she spent her entire academic career. At the time of her death, she was the Byler Distinguished Professor and the Curators Professor of Psychological Sciences at the University of MissouriColumbia. Prof. Peterson-Homer led a distinguished career as a researcher, scholar, mentor and editor in the fields of clinical and health psychology and was internationally recognized as a leader and innovator in the field of pediatric and child clinical psychology. Her achievements were many and varied and included the award of Curators Professor, the highest professorial rank at the University of Missouri, the Distinguished Scientific Contribution Award from the Clinical Psychology Division of the American Psychological Association, the Society for Pediatric Psychology Significant Research Contribution Award, the Shannon Award from the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development and the Chancellors Award for Outstanding Research and Creativity in the Behavioral and Social Sciences.

She was named a Fellow of the American Psychological Association. She authored four books, 38 book chapters and 145 scientific journal articles and made landmark contributions to improving the quality of the lives of children. She served as the editor of two of the most influential journals in clinical psychology, the Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology and Behavior Therapy and was the founding editor of Cognitive and Behavioral Practice. She was also on the editorial boards of a dozen scholarly journals.

Lizette always described herself as a teacher. She was a highly sought after mentor who supervised 21 masters theses and 33 doctoral dissertations and a popular undergraduate instructor. Lizette loved the outdoors, the mountains and the ocean, hiking, swimming and snorkeling. She enjoyed gardening, cooking, reading mysteries and attending her childrens sporting and school events. Lizette had a strong and beautiful spirit. She cared passionately for her family and her profession. She is survived by her husband, Andrew and son, Geddes, both of Columbia; her daughter, Kestrel of Santa Cruz, Calif.; her mother, Zetta Peterson of Logan; sisters, Leita Peterson of Los Angeles, Calif., and Edwina Cross of Ashland, Ore.; and her brother, Edwin T. Peterson of Vernal, Utah.

Released...

Steve was released on Sunday. His memory issues were causing too much difficulty in conducting and serving in the YSA ward. We were each asked to spend a few minutes bearing our testimony. Here's mine:

From the time I was a little girl, I held missionaries in awe. After we got married and moved to the mission field, we had a steady stream of missionaries in our home. Steve was a Seventy then. I remember thinking, "I am so excited to me a missionary someday." Because of Steve's medical condition, it is painfully obvious that we will never be able to serve a mission. This calling has been such a blessing in my life. It has been the mission I planned on.

When our daughter Kimberly graduated from college, she was in need of a new experience. She had been living at home. Her older sister was leaving to take a job. Her friends were all married. She was between boyfriends. She needed a change. She decided to move out. She picked an apartment without knowing her roommates. I remember praying that her roommates would be amazing. I wanted them to be religious, goal-oriented, out-going, social, fun-loving, supportive. When I met the roommates, I was underwhelmed. My own daughter possessed MUCH more of all those positive attributes than did her roommates. I remember thinking, "What's with that? That is not what I prayed for." The spirit whispered to me, "No, but this is her chance to be an answer to somebody else's prayers." And she was.

I know that many of you don't feel like your prayers are answered in the ways you desire. I have found with prayers that sometimes the answer is "yes". Sometimes it is "no". And sometimes it is, "This is your chance to the be answer to someone else's prayers." May you continue to be the answer to someone else's prayers as you have been to mine.

Food for thought.

For someone, like myself, who has toast and a glass of milk every single morning, I stand in awe at European breakfasts. The hotel put on quite the spread.

There was sausage, hot dogs, and spicy hot dogs. Bacon and salami. Melon, water melon, grapes, and kiwi. Dried fruits such as apricot, plums, and mango. Grilled vegetables. Scrambled eggs, boiled eggs, and Spanish omelet (served cold). Sliced bread, rolls, pastries, muffins. All types of cheeses. Tomatoes. Fresh sliced vegetables, including greens. Yogurt. Cereals. Tomato juice, apple juice, pineapple juice, orange juice, milk.

The food looked and tasted incredible.

After our fifth breakfast, Steve said, "Breakfasts are getting boring. They are always the same."

Since his typical breakfast also consist of milk and toast, I was totally dumbfounded. At the hotel, he had more choices for breakfast than are served in my house in a lifetime. Then, I got to thinking - with all those choices, he had really eaten the same thing every morning - bacon, sausage, eggs, bread, and yogurt.

His boredom with breakfast was of his own making.

How many times do we miss out on what this life has to offer by failing to take advantage of our choices?

It's food for thought.

Things I never knew

This photo of City History Museum (Museu d'Historia de la Ciutat) is courtesy of TripAdvisor
This photo of City History Museum (Museu d'Historia de la Ciutat) is courtesy of TripAdvisor
This photo of City History Museum (Museu d'Historia de la Ciutat) is courtesy of TripAdvisor

This photo of City History Museum (Museu d'Historia de la Ciutat) is courtesy of TripAdvisor

We went to the Museu d Historia de la Ciutat (history of the city). So interesting! There were artifacts from the first to fifth century BC. They showed toothpicks and makeup containers!

They had uncovered part of the city from the first to sixth century AD. Recycling was popular even then. The walls to the city had recycled cornices and parts of statues utilized. They unearthed a laundry as part of the city. They would encourage passers by to urinate in containers outside the laundry, as urine is used for sterilization and to set dye. There was evidence of ash and lye, both used for cleaning.

The city had pools for bathing - warm, cold, and hot. They directed hot air underneath the pools to warm them. The pools were available to all, regardless of status. I'm thinking clean bodies is a benefit to all.

They showed a fish factory. The heads, bones, and intestines were saved to make a delicacy, garum. The fish bodies were salted in big vats for three weeks, with a heavy top layer of salt to keep out the insects.

The top part of the museum was dedicated to newer developments. They had "funeral portraits" which were small busts of the deceased. I think when I die, my family should create a funeral portrait for my headstone, to make up for all the paintings no one ever did of me (See Picasso really could paint). Of course, maybe the grandkids could do a Picasso style picture of me.

We also learned about calico (printed cotton). Who knew it would become such a fashion statement.

Picasso really could paint

I learned that Picasso really can paint! We tend to think of him as being so odd. And indeed his later paintings were so strange. Even with the name, it was hard to tell what they were. Below is "girl in the mirror"! It actually does look like a girl in the mirror.

Some of his others are totally unrecognizable. However, I really liked his early work - before he got so creative.

When he wanted to change colors, he would "clean his brush" on the canvas, leaving the paint in an obvious spot.

He painted his sister, Lola, many times. I'm feeling bad that none of my siblings chose to paint me!

During his "blue" period, everything had a blue cast. Sometimes the colors didn't even stay in the lines.

The museum showed various versions of the picture, as he painted over sections.

Lots of his paintings had windows - to show transition.

I thought this "still life" was interesting. He made lots of them as they were easy to sell. (No clue why??) They made a big deal of this early still life, saying he had copied from various other painters. The black outline from one painter. The flatness of the flowers from Matisse. The flowers on the left, his own trademark. Who knew? It looks liked a boring still life to me, but now I see more (I think).

For a time, he was interested in the socially marginalized. I like the "Madman" below. His enlarged feet and raggedly clothes were symptomatic of mental disorder and poverty. His hands pointing oddly to his head connoted unrest.

He was also interested in other forms of illness.

It was a very interesting experience!

Parc Guell

Such a delightful place. Commissioned by a friend, Gaudi is at his best with this park. It was originally a private residence, but they must have gotten tired of the hike to get there. Now it is just a city park. So much fun!

So not an artist

We visited the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art today. I don't know how many times I heard, "Why is this art? I'm so not an artist? I don't like contemporary art. Couldn't kindergarteners have done the same thing?"

I actually kind of enjoyed it. There were exhibitions on women's rights, oppression, loss due to war, Palestian issues. I found myself doing a lot of introspection.

I could have so used a tour - but one in English didn't start until much later.

One of the interesting things was a display of three bottles of coke. One empty, one half full, one full. At first, you thought there was something about the bottle being half-full (and that view of optimism). What they were really showing you is that people took the bottles and inscribed a message on them ("Yankees go home", for example) and then returned the bottle to the manufacturer. You couldn't see the message until it was filled again.

Another interesting exhibit was a film of a fellow who had been commissioned to draw a mural - and THEN paint over it. It was to demonstrate revisionism. Weird.

Another weird thing was a room where you had to take off your shoes. Inside was a floor of sand (covered with plastic), balls on the floor, and images being displayed on the wall. It connoted drug use. The kids who were at the museum loved kicking the balls around. At that exhibit, we met a couple from New Jersey who were as disgusted with the whole museum as Steve was. The fellow had such an accent, I couldn't tell it was English for a while. So funny!

Life's Work

We visited the Sagrada Familia today - the life's work of Antoni Gaudi. The Basilica was started in 1882. Gaudi got involved the next year. He devoted his life to creating this "bible in stone". He died in 1926, yet the work on the Basilica continues. They think it will be done in 2026 (100 years after his death).

How impressive! It would be exciting if all of our life's work could be displayed in such a visual form.

He patterned his creations after what is found in nature. It is interesting how much geometric exists in nature.

Even inspiration sometimes needs help...

For years now, I've been trying out for nursery.

When I was in the primary presidency, we would have so much trouble getting people to accept the nursery calling. I would often visit the nursery so they could see how great I would be there.

When I knew I was going to be released from YW in the near future, I spent every Sunday School time in the nursery so they could see my talents. It didn't work.

When I was in the home ward RS presidency (but attending Steve's YSA ward), I would leave his three hour block but be too lazy to sit through another Sunday School lesson. I looked for a place to hang out. I tried going to singing time, but after a few weeks the primary president finally asked me if she was being released and I was her replacement. I decided nursery was a safer place. I hung out in the nursery for the hour before RS for a year. I thought it was great fun.

For the past six months, I've been teaching CTR-4, and have loved it. My partner was released today (to become a compassionate service leader). We got a new Primary presidency as well, displacing teachers and nursery workers. They said they were moving people around and wondered how I would like scouts or Valiant-9. I told them I would do anything they wanted. I paused, "I could even do nursery."

The fourth time is the charm! They took me up on it. Sitting on the floor, eating teddy grahams, playing with kids. It doesn't get any better than that!

There's no place like home

Grandma Allan has been fighting any attempts to move her into a safer and more convenient location. With the incredible storms we have been having and her loss of mobility, getting out of her home is tough!

On Thursdays, Grandma has a regular hair appointment. I can almost never take her. This semester is an absolute nightmare. I have meetings virtually every Thursday. Kathy has been spending a lot of time in Boise, as Lauren has had some health issues. Steve has stopped driving. Knowing last week's hair appointment posed a problem, Kathy and I suggested that home health care wash her hair on Wednesday and her cleaning gal put a few curls in it with the curling iron. Evidently, that was unacceptable as Grandma asked her visiting teachers to take her to her hair appointment.

This week we had the added issue of a dentist appointment.

A great granddaughter, Taylor, and her boyfriend were to be chauffeurs. Taylor doesn't have a car. She and her boyfriend took the bus to Grandmas, getting there an hour early (as with buses, you don't have much choice). They took her to her dentist appointment (driving Grandma's car) and waited for her to be done. Then, they drove her home. After that, they had to take the bus back to their apartment.

I said to Grandma, "WOW. That took hours. You should pay them." Her response was, "Oh, they weren't doing anything." I was in shock. She wants to remain in her home so desperately that she won't allow herself to see all the effort that it takes to keep her there. Someone comes by every morning to bring in her newspaper (as it is too dangerous for her to go out to get it). Someone shovels her walks multiple times a week. Someone comes everyday to help her get dressed. Someone brings in meals virtually every day. Home health care comes five days a week. A cleaning gal comes each week. She gets multiple calls a day.

I think we may have reached a turning point this week, however. She fell again on Friday. With two artificial knees, if she falls, she must have help to get up. She was sick with gastrointestinal issues, requiring multiple cleanups of the carpeting. Luckily, Bob and Kathy were available and willing (as much as anyone is willing for such cleanup) to come to her aid. There reaches a point where an almost 96 year old woman just needs full time access to care. Too bad we don't have any magic slippers to return to a happier time.

An ounce of prevention is.... evidently impossible

We fly through JFK this week on our way to Barcelona (for a conference). Looking at the chaos in NYC after a foot of snow, I decided it seems crazy to deliberately fly into such a mess.

According to USA today: Delta was among the airlines to relax its rules, saying travelers scheduled to fly to nearly two dozen cities from Maine to Pennsylvania would be permitted to make a one-time change to their travel schedules without the standard fee.

More than 6,600 flights have been canceled since Thursday in the United States, with most of those coming at airports affected by the storm.

So, I decided to take Delta up on their offer.

After spending a half hour on their phone system (which always stated the response was invalid and to try again), I learned that they could indeed route me through Paris on the departing trip (which is the exact route my return trip takes). HOWEVER, they would charge me $750. I said, "I thought it was free?" They said, "Well, the flight to JFK hasn't been canceled yet. But even if I waive that fee, I still have to charge you $500 for a difference in fare. You got a good rate when you scheduled two months ago." I said, "But I'm going to the same place via a standard route."

Unbelievable. They'll charge me $750 to reroute me to avoid a storm, but if they choose to cancel my flight (forcing rerouting), do they ever pay me $750 for MY inconvenience? ARGGGG!

Larger than Life

There has been a great deal of stress trying to get of grandma's needs taken care of. Today she had a dentist appointment. Since Steve is no longer driving and Kathy had to work, her chauffeur options are pretty limited. I told her I could take her if she could move it to my lunch hour, but I had other obligations the rest of the day. I've got so much to do, that I'm barely staying afloat putting in twelve hour days.

Anyway, Norm arranged for his grand daughter, Taylor, to drive her. Alda was less than thrilled. She said to me, "I'd rather have you do it, because you are larger."

If that isn't motivation to get on that treadmill, I don't know what is. So funny!

Another Gift

I thought of another great memory for the week that came via FHE.

We were playing human foosball. We had been planning it for a while. During Sardines, we found the PVC pipe (from the last time someone played human foosball). People that had played said it can be pretty dangerous. We brought an exercise ball and a volleyball (not knowing which would be better). After one kick, the exercise ball was selected. I think it was a good choice, as I saw several people get nailed and not be disabled. Everyime it was kicked, I swore it was going to be the end of the exercise ball - but it survived the abuse without mishap.

The activity was on Martin Luther King day, but I decided not to cancel FHE because it was our turn for the gym. Who can give up gym access? We had about 16 youth come - three girls and 13 guys. Is this even the true church when more guys come than gals? It was so fun.

After a half hour, we abandoned human foosball in favor of volleyball. Our ward is big on volleyball. One of the volleyball standards is stripped, so Steve served as the anchor. Since we had too many players, two on each team would cycle out. That gave me a chance to visit with them one on one.

One of the gals who came is an engineer for Logan City. She thinks it is cool that we are both "engineers". We always have some good laughs when we are together. We chit chatted back and forth.

I had made cream cheese apple dip - which is always a hit. People tried to guess what was in it. They slicked up every apple slice I brought.

One of the benched players, Jeff, was new to the ward. I had learned that during the weekends he serves as security for the general authorities. He hinted at amazing stories, that were too personal to share. We talked of his issues on gun control and how he learned to shoot so well. Impressive guy!

One of the young men in our ward is from our home ward. He has been un or under-employed since he graduated in economics seven years ago. Several weeks ago, he had created a YouTube video explaining the Laffer Curve. It was so creative. I told him he was a natural and should consider becoming a teacher.

During his bench time, he told me he had decided to get his PhD and was asking about admittance and letters of recommendation. It was a good feeling to know that I had helped him to find direction. I told him I would be happy to write a letter of recommendation telling people what a great guy he was, but obviously could not comment on his academic abilities. He said, "I may need that. I'll keep you in mind."

I saw Jeff give me a double take, wondering why the 1st counselors wife is giving advice on PhDs. I loved it! I will really miss this calling when Steve is released, but I am reminded that callings are divided into minutes. If the minutes are successful, the calling has been successful - even if we don't serve the full length.

Every Day is a Gift

In the spirit of 'Everyday is a gift", I feel the need to reflect upon a favorite moment of the week. I am teaching CTR-4s. I pull their names from a can when I need a volunteer. I like the way it works, but I never know if the child really wanted to volunteer (though I've never had one turn me down.) The class is new to me, so I don't know what to expect when I call on them to pray.

Last week, Brock gave the closing prayer. He started out in a manner typical of four year olds, but then he became much more specific, using language not typical for a four year old. "Thank you for the gospel." "Thank you for our teacher." "Thank you for my family who loves me". The prayer showed no signs of coming to an end. I opened my eyes to see how the class was dealing with it. They were all folding their arms, with their eyes tightly closed. Being as I had no witness, I kept my eyes opened as I was totally taken it by the beauty and sincerity of such a special little boy. He continued, "Thanks for the temple." "Thanks for the tabernacle."

I found myself examining my own prayers. When is the last time I gave thanks for the tabernacle? Have I ever given thanks for the tabernacle?

I was filled with such love for one little boy. I don't think callings get better than CTR-4.

Closed door policy

As some of you know, we have been facing stress because of Grandma's decline and inability to perform "daily acts of living". This has created a host of interesting family dynamics. Everyone who has gone through it, or counseled people through it, tells me this is typical of how families react.

My analytical mind tries to make sense of it all.

One thing that is intensely interesting is the expectations of whose time is demanded.

When I was a young assistant professor, I would leave my door open a lot, to be accessible to students. I found students would interrupt my work to ask, "Can I borrow a stapler?" "Where is the restroom?" It occurred to me that because of my gender, they were confusing me with the secretary, who (in their minds) is infinitely interruptable.

As I got to be better known, the interruptions would still occur. Students from other classes would ask, "Can you help me with my assignment?" I would say, "I know how, but if I answer questions for everyone who wanders by, I will not complete the work I am expected to do. You need to see your instructor." They would say, "I don't want to bother him." or "It isn't his office hours." Other times, they would ask, "Is Dr. X (with an office next door) available?" I would say, "I'm not sure. Try his door." Then, they would respond, "Oh, I don't want to waste his time if it's not convenient." MY time wasn't valued, but his time was. Obviously, this did not go over well. I now keep my door shut, like everybody else does.

I see the same thing happening with care for Grandma. Kathy's time is demanded while others' time is not. Kathy needs to be gone for the week. For months now, Grandma expects Kathy to bring dinner over every night, even though she has leftovers (and plan aheads) in the fridge. Grandma refuses to warm them up. Grandma keeps asking, "How am I supposed to eat this week while Kathy is gone?" Kathy has said, "Well, you will have food in the fridge you can warm up. Plus, Bob is a pretty good cook. If he cooks something, he may bring you some. If he goes out for take-out, he'll call to see if you want something." Her response was, "Oh, I couldn't do that to Bob." She has been 'doing it' to Kathy for years, but she can't do it to Bob? My experience indicates that people think women are here to serve. Evidently it is ten times worse if you are a nurse.

The other thing that is so interesting (in the expectations of who does what)is Grandma's desire to stay in her home. Staying in her home is no picnic. She stresses about yardcare, cleaning, getting to appointments, food. Her mobility is getting bad. She can't get to bridge or other social events without someone to take her and pick her up. She has to rely on others for multiple things throughout the day, from having her paper brought in to delivering her meals. Her ability to get out is severely limited. She never even looks at her yard anymore. I'm convinced that the primary reason she wants to stay in her home is that it is convenient for JaNae and Lynda when they come. She has said repeatedly that they need a place to stay and that they won't visit her if they don't have the benefits of their own space. They need a home away from home and a car. I find it interesting that she doesn't care what heroic efforts it takes from the Cache Valley siblings/spouses, as long as it is more convenient for her daughters.

For months now, Grandma will call Kathy and say, "I'm hungry. I haven't eaten since breakfast. Can you bring me dinner?" She doesn't do that to me. She evidently senses what I would say: "We are having leftovers from Sunday. We sent some home with you. Can you warm them up?"

No wonder Kathy is forced to 'close her door'. It is self preservation.

Did I miss the memo?

We have been having some terrible weather. The poor air quality ranks us the worst in the nation. Sub-zero temperatures are rampant. On Thursday, the freezing rain turned my car into an instant ice ball as I left for work. Walking from the car to the building was horrible. I drug myself up the steps to Old Main by clinging to the ice covered railing.

On Friday morning, I left for work at 7:30. The frozen rain made the roads slick. The fog was incredible. I couldn't see twenty feet. I was going twenty miles at hour tops, and saw absolutely no one. I left my subdivision. I got to the field road. I traveled past the school crossing. I saw no cars, no people, nothing. All of a sudden, I had the thought, "Travel is so dangerous. We have been told not to leave our homes. Everybody knows it but me. I didn't get the memo."

By the time I got to Cliffside, I finally saw a few cars, crawling along. If they got further than a few car lengths away, they completely disappeared. I had to concentrate to figure out where I was, so I didn't turn early or end up in the river. My co-worker said he turned too soon and ended up in a business parking lot downtown.

I was so relieved to get to work. Next time, I'm so looking for the memo.

Journal Keeping

A friend loaned me a book about a woman with Early Onset Alzheimers. The book had far too many F-bombs for my liking, so I won't even tell you the name. I found this interchange touching:

"You're so beautiful," said Alice. "I'm so afraid of looking at you and not knowing who you are."

"I think that even if you don't know who I am someday, you'll still know that I love you."

"What if I see you, and I don't know that you're my daughter, and I don't know that you love me?"

"Then, I"ll tell you that I do, and you'll believe me."

Alice liked that. But will I always love her? Does my love for her reside in my head or in my heart?

******* While the book isn't true, it is written from the vantage point of the Alzheimer victim. I wish more people going through tough times would record what its like.

I picked up a book on CD on my last trip to the library. I grabbed, "Here if you need me." - a true story about about a warden chaplain. Since I only listen to it going to and from work, I'm only a few CD's into it, but am touched with her story. Her husband dies early in the book, and she talks about coping with the grief. Like I say, I like books that deal with real issues.

Sardines

I have played sardines (also known as "hide with me") with children, but would never have thought of doing it for an FHE. It was a blast. We had about 30 come, which is really good for us. One person hides in the church. Then everybody searches for them. Whoever finds them, hides with them. When the last person has found the (then) crowd of hiders, the game begins again.

Abby was the first person to hide. Our build is old. There are multiple odd rooms, two entrances to the basement, nooks I had never explored. You are wandering around peeking into closets, under tables. Eventually, you notice that you aren't seeing the other players and realize you must be one of the last to discover the hider. Abby had hidden behind the organ she plays every Sunday. There is a little room to hold music stands and the like. When I found her, there were about ten others already there. After three seconds, I made my exit knowing my claustrophobia was not going to tolerate actually hiding with a bunch of other people in a tiny room.

Kevin was the next one to hide. I never did find him. Evidently there was an attic above Abby's hiding place. Who knew?

Jake hid off the stage, and uncovered a stash of pvc pipe that had been used for human foosball. What a find!

My favorite hiding place was Kathryn and Cassidy, who hid together. We couldn't find them anywhere. It was getting near the end of the activity so most of us sat in the RS room eating treats instead of actively searching. We wondered if they had gone home. Finally, we rallied the troops and set off again. I had been in the high counsel room each time someone had hidden. I was sure crouching under the long table would be a great hiding place. This time as I entered, Nick suggested I look behind the chair in the mothers nursing room (Like I say, this is an OLD building.) What I didn't know was that he was just trying to get me out of the high counsel room. Kathryn and Cassidy were standing in the window sill, behind the curtain. Nick had actually found them, but was unwilling to get into the window sill with them. We all had a good laugh.

The Kitchen Frozen in Time

We built our home in 1986. In recent years, we have remodeled the kitchen – knocking out a wall, updating all the appliances to stainless steel, replacing all the cabinets, adding a double oven, a gas range, wood floors and granite countertops. I love my kitchen. My bathrooms have been updated with new toilets, showers, floors, countertops, sinks, and lighting. Last summer, we had the two, small decks dismantled and replaced them with one large trex-variety deck. I loved my home before, but I have embraced the changes. Not everybody embraces change.

The first time I saw the Allan’s home was January 1971. Steve and I were dating. I was impressed with the huge living room with needle-point chairs, a host of plants, and white carpet. Steve would laugh that the kids were not allowed to go in the biggest room of the whole house. The family room was in the half-basement. TVs were prominently utilized in the family room, kitchen, and parent’s bedroom. The parent’s bedroom was most impressive. A huge king-sized bed with large windows filled the room. While master-bathrooms are common now, at that time, the custom bathroom (with maroon sink and toilet) was an eye-catcher.

The entire house was the picture of cleanliness and organization. Junk did not accumulate anywhere. It was dusted every day and even the base molding was cleaned once a week.

While there was love and magic in each room of the house (to say nothing of the amazing yard that was filled with roses and blooming flowers the whole summer), the kitchen was fascinating. Shaped in an S, though the storage space was minimal, it included a double oven and range. While the adage, “A place for everything and everything in its place” was the motto of the entire house, it was never more true than in the kitchen. The pans (which hung in the corner cabinet) had to be carefully nested and placed in a specific location or they just wouldn’t fit. Every item in the kitchen had a precise location. The hallway laundry area doubled as a pantry (as there was absolutely no room for foodstuffs in the kitchen). The sink was always perfectly empty, dirty dishes having been thoroughly rinsed and placed in the dishwasher, ALWAYS.

I remember my first meal there. The living room table had been extended with multiple leaves and was covered with padded segments which exactly fit each underlying panel. The table was set formally, with two forks and a salad plate, even for Bob (who was only 12 at the time). The plates were warmed in the bottom oven and delivered to the table minutes before the prayer. From that tiny kitchen came incredible food. Homemade rolls with jelly, roast with chili sauce, broccoli with hollandaise sauce, potatoes with rich gravy. That divine production known as Sunday dinner has been repeated many times during my tenure as an Allan. While there was rarely a salad, there was always absolutely amazing desserts – angel pie, raspberry pie, layered angel food cake, chocolate cake (made from scratch).

Steve’s folks are ten years older than mine, but they always seemed much, much older – receding hairlines, gray hair, formal attire. How I wish I could turn back time and enjoy them in their relative youth. I didn’t know what old was.

At 95 and a half, Alda is still in her home. In physical appearance, the house layout is still the same. The last remodel took place 54 years ago (when the home was six years old). Yet, not everything is the same. The converted bedroom, turned TV room, has a lift chair to facilitate standing. The toilets have raised seats with attached grab bars. The shower has a chair to facilitate the showers Kathy lovingly provides each week. The walker and four-pronged cane betray the age of the only inhabitant – Glen having died eleven years ago.

Yet, the kitchen is exactly as I remember it forty years ago. The heavy stoneware is too difficult for her to lift, but she likes it. Her Christmas Corelleware, purchased to replace the unmanageable dishes, has been sandwiched in amongst the existing plates. The cups, hardly two alike, are a motley collection; including cheese spread glasses, misshapen insulated mugs, and glasses proclaiming a hole-in-one. One would think the bent measuring cups would warrant replacement (as measurements are certainly not accurate), but they still work and purchased replacements will not be used. The only meal she cooks each day is breakfast – and it is quite a production. How she finds the energy to prepare waffles, sausage, toast, and grapefruit every morning is as much of a miracle as the kitchen itself.

The other morning when I stopped by, her toast was precariously placed on a clam-shell like plastic bowl. I had never seen it before, so I asked what it was. She laughed and said she had placed her toast on a disposable plastic plate in the bottom oven to keep warm. It had melted, and formed to her fingers as she took it out. Rather than dirty another plate, she just used it.

Everything in the kitchen is still stored in exactly the same place as it was forty years ago. The bread drawer is virtually empty. The drawer below it has a single open bowl of sugar. The bowls she needs to make waffles are above the range, where she cannot reach them without standing on a stool. After falling multiple times in the last year, she knows to keep her feet on the ground. I asked if I could rearrange the bowls to utilize space within her reach, but she would not permit it. She started to say, “I just won’t be here that long,” but stopped herself mid-sentence. She explained, “People are in and out enough. They can get them down for me.”

She has that right. Of course, the dropping by is not out of convenience, but out of necessity. Kathy and Bob are saints, “dropping by” to bring in her newspaper, clean up from breakfast, take her to weekly hair appointments, give her showers, bring her dinner nightly, clean up from sickness, and help her to bed. If that isn’t enough, this year they have added to the “to do” list - hauling over their snow-blower to clear the driveway.

With Grandma’s abilities declining each month, friends passing away, and beloved activities abandoned, perhaps there is comfort in having a kitchen where nothing changes.

Managing Failure

The Computer Science Department has been going through tough times. Of the last 15 people we have hired, 12 left before getting tenure. Some were denied tenure. Some left for greener pastures. Some could see the writing on the wall. Of the three that did get tenure, two required fighting it at the university level (rather than having it be a solid vote for tenure at the central committee level).

Two of our assistant professors would have gone up for tenure next year. They were married to each other. One left in August for another position in Texas. She said, "I don't think I ever would have gotten tenure at USU". I think she would have as she was terrific, but still her perception was that she wouldn't. She got a $27K increase in salary at her new university. She left behind her husband and two year old son.

Her husband informed us he was also jumping ship four days before classes started this Spring semester. He was scheduled to teach. We had just had his tenure evaluation meetings and written the letters. By the time he informed anyone he was leaving, he had cleared out his office. He left without explanation and without a forwarding address. Evidently he took an industrial position closer to his family.

Another one of our assistant professors goes up for tenure this year. I just learned that the dean turned him down for tenure because of insufficient funding. This guy is AMAZING. He has an incredible publication record, he is a beloved teacher, he is great on committees. He is the perfect colleague. His funding isn't abysmal - it just isn't at the level the dean requires. (As you may recall, we were forced to change colleges, so this is a new dean for us.)

It is so discouraging. This dean expects MIT grant acquisition, without providing MIT salaries, MIT caliber students, MIT connections, or MIT resources.

I got the following note from this colleague:

Just wanted to say thanks for all your support. I always think about writing a book about our jobs in academia, the title would be "Managing Failure". It would be all about how the constant barrage of negativity from grant reviewers, paper reviewers, admin, students, and colleagues can be turned into something positive. So I very much appreciate hearing some kind thoughts, though you are ruining my book :-)

This makes me so sad. I feel badly for my colleague, but it is terrible for the department.

Keeping up appearances

When Zach was asked to guess the ages of his grandparents, he came up with:
Grandma Cheryl: 99
Grandpa Dick: 86
Grandpa Allan: 99
Grandma Allan: 26
I would elaborate on my secrets of youth, but I need to go dye my hair. :-)

I know what you are doing...

I took Ari to Primary with me today, as I had to teach. As I saw my little neighborhood gal in the hallway, she said, "I know what you are doing! You are having a live nativity scene." I told her that would have been a great idea. So cute.

Ari

There is nothing like tending a baby to make you see life through new eyes.

She is a mover! She can find any electrical cord in the room.

In the tub, laying on her back she will twist to the side so she can drink the bathwater. I've explained that this is not a good thing to do, but she just ignores me.

The cutest trick, however, happened yesterday. Steve had been gone for the morning taking his Mom to her hair appointment and grocery shopping. When he got home, I gave Ari to him. I reached for her, and she leaned to come to me - like she wanted me to take her. To see if this is really what she was saying, we had Steve offer to take her. She turned from him and snuggled into me. So cute! I guess that will teach Steve to leave for a whole morning.

I loved Steve's face as he is feeding Ari.

She is fast. Nothing escapes her. She was to that remote like a pro.

When she found herself in the mirror, she was so excited.

Made my day...

When we got home from our walk, we were greeted with such a creative gift from one of my primary children (and his amazing family). So thoughtful. It just made my day!

OCD

I must admit, I'm a little OCD when it comes to wasting food. I think it is a familial disorder which I attribute to parents impacted by the great depression.

When people deliver food to my house, I feel compelled to eat every bit - both to honor the gift and to avoid waste. I make cookies to use eggs that are getting old, scour my cookbook for a way to use dated sour cream, make banana bread when the bananas are fit for nothing else, and am thrilled that I found a way to use ice cream that is past its prime.

For the last several years, I've found a new way to avoid waste without it going to my waist. I leave it in the student break room in the department. Of course, I have made scotcheroos or taken chocolate milk mix for the express purpose of sharing, but usually I take food I just can't consume. Garden produce is loved, but they will eat anything. I've left ramen noodles that were nearing expiration, excess cereal that had been opened, cookies that were leftover from FHE, and even half-bottles of pop. While you can hardly take a half bottle of pop to your neighbors, when you leave it in the break room, everybody just assumes that someone else had the first glass - which of course, they did. It just wasn't the same day. Yesterday, I took a half bottle of coke, added a full bottle of Sunkist, threw it in a bowl of ice, and graced it with a stash of plastic cups. That afternoon, there was a party as a bunch of students sat around drinking pop and visiting.

My "treats" are left before students arrive - both because I get there early and because I don't want to advertise the fact that they are just getting left-overs. Thus, it isn't clear who is bringing stuff.

A few weeks ago a fellow knocked on my door asking if I was the one who brought the hot chocolate mix. He wanted to let me know how much he appreciated it. Another day, someone posted a note in the break room "Thanks Dr. Allan".

Pretty nice when you can be thanked just for being OCD.

Grandma must be smiling

This weekend, we made the trek to Boise for chocolate dipping. For Kimberly's new family, it was a first. Lori has never dipped for herself (being as she is allergic to chocolate), so it was a first for her too. From the evidence of missing chocolates, Kim's kids appreciated the tradition.

Michelle, Trisha, and Greg are planning to dip this weekend.

Grandma would be so proud. It was always so important for her to pass down the skills. Since chocolate dipping always hit at the cross section of the term winding down and holiday events picking up, it was hard to find the time to make it happen. I would start to get phone calls. "Smiths is having a sale on peanuts." "There is a coupon in the paper for the good kind of sweetened condensed milk." "Do you want me to order your chocolate with mine?" I was slow, but I got the hint. How proud she must be that so many of her offspring keep the tradition alive.

As we got home from Boise, Greg cooked a gourmet dinner for us: grilled pork chops with blackberry sauce, baked asparagus, baked sweet potatoes fries. Yum! He must have inherited some of Grandma's love of recipes and cooking.

Smile away, Mom.

It takes a village...

When Kim’s hematocrit dropped after 12 years of being stable, the National Institute of Health wanted to see her again. She had been to see them as part of the ALPS study in September of 2010, but because she was basically symptomless, the visit was routine. Kim has been having a lot of muscle pain (in back and shooting "fireworks" kinds of migratory burning) for the past two years, but nothing that the NIH thought was ALPS. With the drop in hematocrit, everything changed.

On Monday, August 8th, Kim sent a text saying that because I was her Mom she thought I would want to know that she was headed to the NIH. After a quick phone call, I started making my reservations to go with her. I had never been, and I hated to see her make the trip alone – especially since she was in so much pain and had absolutely no energy. Her appointment was on Thursday/Friday, but the schedule was loose. They wanted to do blood work , have an echo exam, and a bone marrow biopsy. The wrap up meeting was scheduled for 12:30 on Friday. Because flying to the East coast takes most of the day, I planned for an early flight on Wednesday. My only constraint was that I needed to be back in town by Saturday so I could tend Ari, while Trisha and family went to the lake. I scheduled the last flight out of Washington Dulles – leaving at 5:55pm. There was only a forty minute layover in Chicago, but I figured Southwest would make sure I wasn’t left behind. Besides, I had few choices, if I wanted to be there for all of her appointments. It seemed silly to go that far and miss the summary.

My flight on Wednesday left at 6 a.m. I drove to Chelle’s the night before so I wouldn’t have to get up so early. Getting to Bethesda went smoothly, including finding the NIH shuttle to take me to campus.

It was so great to be there with Kim for two days. We talked non-stop, and literally ran from appointment to appointment. During our time at NIH, Kim met with physical therapists, rheumatologists, and the ALPS doctors/researchers. She had an MRI of her pelvis and lower back, a bone marrow biopsy, and lots of blood work. The research nurse talked to us about ALPS and risks associated with it. Kim met with teams of doctors who explained exercises, medications, and types of doctors to consult in Boise. It was indeed ALPS. T-cells were in her bone marrow. A new medication was proposed.

The final wrap up meeting slid until 3:15, but I needed to catch my shuttle (provided by NIH) back to the airport to make my 5:55 flight. About 3, I got a text from Southwest saying my flight was delayed a half hour. My first reaction was, “Oh, that will be nice as I won’t have to rush so much to get to the airport.” Then it hit me. I only had a 40 minute layover in Chicago. Leaving thirty minutes late meant there was no chance of making the flight.

While I was waiting for the 3:30 shuttle, I called Kim to tell her my flight woes. She said, “I should call Southwest.” I said I would see if I could get a number at the shuttle desk, but there was nobody there who knew a thing. I woman who was also waiting for the shuttle said, “The number is 1-800- I FLY SWA”. Then she added, do you know what numbers those are? On a cell phone, there is no number associated with a letter, so I was clueless. She looked it up for me on her computer and told me the translation. I called and the agent told me there was no other flight that night, so if I missed my connection, I would be in Chicago for the night. He hesitated and then said, “Can you get to BWI?” I said, “BWI, I don’t know. What is BWI?” He replied, “Baltimore Washington International.” I said, “I’m waiting for a shuttle to Dulles that should come any minute. I don’t know how to get to BWI.” A woman in the room interrupted me with, “There is a shuttle coming for BWI to this very spot. It should be here any minute.” I told the guy I could get to BWI. He said, “Great, I’ll put you on a 5:15 flight that IS on time.” I said, “I’ve already printed boarding passes. What do I do?” He said, “When you get to BWI, you’ll have to get a new boarding pass.”

Whew! However, by now it was 3:40 and I had no idea how far away BWI was. The shuttle driver was cowering in the corner saying traffic was HORRIBLE. He had left BWI at 1:30 and was just now getting to the NIH two hours later! It was normally a one hour drive, but on Friday, rush hour had begun. I said, “Rush hour at 1:30, how is that?” He said, “It happens every Friday. It’s just crazy.” I called southwest back who told me I had no other options, and wished me luck.

All the way to the airport, I kept thinking, “I so am not going to make it. My flight leaves in an hour and a half and I don’t even have a boarding pass.” I got to the airport just before 5. The first thing I heard was an announcement saying, flight 709 was boarding. ARGGG. I figured I’d talk to the ticket agent and see if they would put me on a flight with another carrier. I had promised Trisha weeks ago that I could take Ari, and spending the night in Baltimore hardly seemed appealing. The southwest agent greeted me and said I needed to print a boarding pass at the kiosk. As I got it printed, she watched me. As I finished, she approached and told me I needed to go thru security in the basement as it was faster. I ran down the stairs, only to find the line moving like molasses. I waited my turn. When I got to the agent at the front of the line, I said, “I realize I’m not going to make my flight”. He said, “Okay, well, this is how the gates are laid out. You have to go up some stairs then back down. Gate 1 is on the left.” I flew down the corridors dragging my laptop, carryon luggage, and a backpack. I got to the gate before the plane left, but the door was shut. The lines for the ticket agent were forty people long. I saw one woman at the front of the line say something to the agent and run for my gate. I followed her. Another fellow followed me. The door to the gate was still closed and no one was around, but miraculously, as we got there someone did come through the door.

The woman said, “ I love you guys. I’ll always flight Southwest because you take care of me.” He said, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We are all ready to leave. I may be able to help. “ She handed him her boarding pass. He said, “Sorry, this isn’t an official boarding pass. This is just a travel document. You’ll have to go upstairs and get a boarding pass. You’ll never make it. We are leaving NOW.” I handed him my boarding pass, and he sent me running down the jetway. The fellow behind me didn’t have a real boarding pass either. I was the only one of the three who made the flight.

I could not believe it. I made it. I looked back on all the helpful people who had made it possible. It truly takes a village sometimes. Thanks to you all!

Five new grandkids in one week!

It was quite an eventful week. Ari was born on May 26th.

Kim was married June 2nd.

Thanks for all the family support. It was great to see so many of you.

Wacky Wednesday

I brought a few new books for the kids when Steve and I went to spend time helping out after Ari's birth. The Berenstein's Bear book was pretty lame, but Halle and Zach both really liked "Wacky Wednesday" and "Have You Seen My Dinosaur?"

We planned to take pictures and make them wacky, but this is as far as we got. Given my photoshop skills, we may get no further.

Playing Princesses

One of Halle's favorite things to do is to play princesses.

As you can see, she has Barbie-sized and miniature versions of the same dolls. Here is a bit of our play time:

Halle: I'm on a motor cycle. Do you want to ride it?

Ariel's up here. Come on. Eric get down.

Me: How do you jump up there? Halle: Be careful

Me: How do I get down now?

Halle: I'm falling. Ariels' waiting for Eric. Let's walk to the ocean.

Here's a glass. It doesn't break. Do you want more? That one's dirty. You need a new one. This is Kool-Aid. Let me poor. You want another cup? We both have Kool-Aid. I spilled it on you. You like water better. Hand me the cup. I need to put in back on. You haven't drinked it up.

Me and Eric are going to go here. Look out the window. Be these dolls.

Me: Let's go on a lovely walk to the garden.

Halle: Not without us. Hold my hand. Open the doors, Rapunzel. Tiana and Belle are here. I want to come in. I've been waiting. Open the doors, Rapunzel. Now! Is everyone in?

These are fancy shoes. Woo. I like them. They play Ring around the Rosies. We need another doll (to play Ring Around the Rosies).

Sit down. I'm the teacher. [She gathers all the dolls and lines them up for her class.] We need all the princesses. Come on. Ok. Ok. Ok. Everyone clap your hands like this. Fly like me. Belle, come here. Everyone listen. We have a dance. Dance with me.

I can't find the beast. Where is Grandpa?

Old People in Church

Ali spoke in church today. It was senior day - for high school seniors to visit the ward for the first time. She gave her top ten reasons for coming to a YSA ward:

10: Church always starts 5-10 minutes late

9: Sacrament meeting is so quiet you can hear the cups drop - and an occasional cell phone.

8: Any activity you go to has lots of treats.

7: You don't have to sit by old people who snore in church, unless you are sitting by Brother Allan.

It was pretty cute. Since it is Steve's 63rd birthday today, it is particularly appropriate.

Come Back

Shandy spoke today as part of the RS presidency in the YSA ward. When she was called to the presidency, one of the major focuses was to rescue the less active. She said, "When I first came to school, I left the church for a year and a half. Visiting teachers and ward members never gave up on me. Finally, I came back because I knew they cared about me." Then she told the following story:

When I lived in Provo, I taught kindergarten. Derrek was a repeat kindergarten student. He didn't have many friends and didn't feel comfortable in class. One day he was trying to cut out the sun for a picture. He kept cutting off the rays, so I told him I would cut it out for him. I had him get a cup of water to clean up the paint brushes between colors. As he got back to the desk, he spilled the water all over. As I was cleaning it up, I had him get a cup of paint. Instead of a small cup of paint, he brought over the gallon container. He tripped and spilled yellow paint all over himself and the carpet. He was devastated and ran from the classroom. I didn't know what to do. My classroom is a mess and one of my students has left. I felt I should call the office, but something told me just to find Derrek. I thought, "No, I cannot leave the class unattended, I need to get help." Again, I felt I should just go find Derrek. I lined the kids up against the window and said, "Watch for me, I'll be coming back. I'm going to find Derrek. He is missing."

I left and started looking for him. It really wasn't so hard, as he left a trail of yellow paint. I found him sitting behind the dumpster crying. He thought I would be mad at him because he kept messing up. I told him that I was not mad and wanted him to come back. He stood up and gave me a big hug - so now both of us are covered in yellow paint. As we walked back to the classroom, the kids saw us and started screaming, "You found him. You found him." They ran from the classroom and surrounded Derrek. When they saw he was crying, they all started crying. It was so tender.

I kept hoping no one would drive by and wonder why we were all outside in tears covered with paint.

She continues, "That touched my heart so much. There are always those who are waiting for us to come back. There are those who will share in our joys and our sorrows."

It was a sweet message.

What a difference time makes

We had a birthday party at Miskins yesterday for the twins. After dinner, we were playing outside. Chelle and Halle were playing "hide the duck". Chelle was counting and Halle hid the duck in the middle of the front yard, in full view. I decided it needed to be hidden better, so I sat on it. Halle was so distressed and insisted that I move off of the duck. Chelle informed me that they always hid the duck in plain view. The next time it was Halle's turn to hide, she put the duck over in the neighbor's yard and sat on it, proud as can be. What a character.

What are the chances

There is a gal in our YSA ward who was formerly a member of our home ward. Jade would always come sit by me, until she got engaged to a member of the ward in November. For the past few months, neither she nor her fiance have been coming to church. Her parents are completely opposed to the marriage. The wedding was scheduled and cancelled twice, once after invitations were addressed. Her mother comes to RS (in the home ward) and cries through most lessons. It has been a very difficult time for both of them.

On Tuesday, Steve was supposed to go to the church to interview Ali for a temple recommend for baptisms for the dead. Since he shouldn't be in the church with a member of the opposite sex without someone else there, he asked me to tag along. Little did we know that the bishop would be there for an interview with Jade's boyfriend. Jade was with him, but the interview was not with her. What are the chances that Jade and I would both end up at the church with nothing to do but visit with each other? I somehow think that was supposed to happen.

Brooke

First thing in the morning Brooke crawls in our bed to read Wacky Wednesday. Minutes later Drew joins us. After a while, preparations for school begin.

Brooke:  Why are you still in your nightgown?

Me:  I'm drying my hair.

Brooke: Give me that.  I'll dry your hair. [She dries my hair for a while.  She leaves and comes back with toothpaste.]

Me:  Why do you have toothpaste in my bedroom?

Brooke: Grandpa's in the bathroom.  I had to sneak in and get it.  Grandpa's harrier that you are.

Me: Really? Where?

Brooke: Everywhere.  When you finish drying your hair, you need to do it. [I start reading my email on my ipad.  Brooke decides to help by clicking on the next email for me.  I've never read email so fast!]

Me: Brooke, you need to leave so I can get dressed.

Brooke: Just give me that (the ipad) and i won't even look up to see you.

Me: you can take it in the other room while I get dressed.  (She almost fell getting off the bed.). Oh, don't hurt yourself.

Brooke: I meant to do that.

[I could hear her in the hallway laughing and saying,   "I took a picture." Actually she took lots of them. Don't be alarmed. The deformed one is just "mirror" mode.]

Drew

Today was the day for the bubble machine. The adults were supposed to be weeding while Drew played, but I never seemed to make it weeding. Drew and I played. I took notes on our conversation. When he asked what I was writing, I told him I was doing my homework.

Drew: Grandma, come on. Pop them fast, not slow - like this. Look, look, look. How many bubbles are there? There are 2000 bubbles. Let's take a break. Oh, no. More bubbles in the grass. Off the grass, you bubbles. Two thousand bubbles are coming out. Pop them. [Running, dancing, flailing his arms, and jumping.]

Now I'm going to stop the bubbles. [Singing as he runs around.] More bubbles.

I'll do my pose [reminiscent of dancing with stars].

Me: Oh, my camera needs to be plugged in. It says low battery.

Drew: Go plug it in. Then you can come and just watch me. Grandma, come over here. I'm going to do the pose at the very beginning. Hurry, Grandma. Come watch.

Me: Do you think maybe I should help weed a bit?

Drew: No. Can we go somewhere else? Up here [in the jungle gym]. We have to go. Bubbles will be up here. This is the bubble castle. You will be the queen. I will be the princess. I will sleep up high. You will sleep below. Come on - in the bubble kingdom. Come on. Hurry. This is the bubble kingdom.

Moms and Dads watch movies before they go to sleep. You should watch a movie. When you weren't looking, the princess slides down the slide.

Grandma move. Look behind you. Actually, I sleep in the twisty slide. I won't go all the way down. Now, I'm awake. I already ate breakfast. When you were doing your homework, I slipped down. My shoes are too slippery. Ouch, that hurts.

Me: I'm watching a movie.

Drew: So its bedtime? I sleep in the twisty slide remember?

Drew: Let's play something else. Grandma, can we play hide and seek? I take all the turns of hiding and you take all the turns of counting. Go find me. Search everywhere.

Me: [after counting to ten, but not moving from my spot] Is he in the apple trees? Is he in the garden?

Drew: Are you up in the castle? You have to come down. You have to search everywhere, not just in the castle.

Drew: Here I am. I was hiding in there. Now I hide, you count. You'll get a turn after I hide.

Me: Found you.

Drew: My turn. You count.

Me: [after counting to ten] I bet he's under the slide.

Drew: I'm not.

Me: I bet he's in the castle.

Drew: I'm not. I'm here. Over here. Still my turn. You count again.

Me: [I keep counting past ten.]

Drew: Say "Ready or not, here I come."

Me: Ready or not, you will be caught.

Drew: No, ready or not, here I come.

Me: Ready or not, you will be caught.

Drew: Okay, Catch me.

Me: I can't find you.

Drew: I'm in the twisty slide.

Me: No, I don't think you are.

Drew: [Squeals] I am.

Drew: Put down your homework. Let's play tag. You are first. [We play tag until we are breathless.]

Drew: Let's play monkey. We have to climb. Put down your homework. You have to help me cross the monkey bars. [I do]

Me: Who is going to help me?

Drew: No one.

Such a darling boy. So full of life and energy.