Atticus Lives

My Work of Art

2010-07-24T11:15:00.000-07:00

In the last year Angela has started doing flowers for weddings and such and I have beheld arrangements that stop my breath, or stop my steps as I study each bud and petal and marvel at her genius in flower design. This year I've luxuriated in blooms.

Angela is on vacation now and the house is bereft of flowers. I took to my yard in need of a flower fix. I picked a few "Double Delight" roses and placed them in the glass bottles I've saved for fifteen years, as their shape and hue delighted me. These glasses are a permanent fixture in my kitchen window, mostly empty, but often filled with a few flowers or leaves of the seasons.

So, today I placed the roses in their places above my sink, looking out through my window. Joy crept through my veins as a truth rang out. These humble arrangements throughout the years have given me greater joy than even the most marvelous of compositions. They have brightened my spirit, enlivened my senses, and soothed my sometimes heavy soul. Countless times I have come to my window, either purposely or by chore, and I am caught by a joy though simple, is pure and lasting.

Angela is the "Monet" of flower art, and I am a child with her tempura paint, and though I delight in the artist, I am content with my painting.

My Favorite Quote

2010-04-19T11:21:00.000-07:00

I ran across this quotation one day years ago and my heart recognized the truth. This is my favorite quote of all time and because I keep losing it and then having to search for months, I am putting down on a blog so I'll always have it when I need it. I hope it will find another heart for it's home by my pasteing it here on these pages.

I love you all.

Catherine

Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and

try to love the questions themselves . . .Do not . . . seek the

answers, which cannot be given you because you would not

be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live

the questions now. Perhaps; you will . . .gradually, without

noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.

RAINER MARIA RILKE

Letters to a young poet

Norton 1934, 1935.

We Are Not Birds Of Prey!

2010-03-14T10:40:00.000-07:00

It happened! The best parental lecture I've ever heard or witnessed, happened in my home Sunday morning. I hear all you nay sayers out there thinking, "couldn't match the lecture of '04.......ya da ya da.....," whatever, I know what I heard and I can't deny it.

I'll lay out the setting for you:

James and Chase bored
James and Chase invent new game - "Battlefield"
James winning battle every time, duh, he's 3 years older
Chase no longer happy and attacks with full strength, (note: although he uses teeth, kicking, slugging, etc., for some reason doesn't pull out the scratching this time.)
James unfortunately doesn't use any of the above, but scratching - hence - he's the one that is in trouble. (note: burdens of a first child, to be addressed in different blog.)

Now to THE moment - Angela sees scratches and calls the boys in for the umpteenth lecture on how fighting isn't okay! But this time she pulls a real zinger out of her repertoire,

"BOYS - WE ARE NOT BIRDS OF PREY!!!!!!! WE DO NOT USE TALONS!!!!!

Unfortunately I can not give you the rest of the story. My twisted mind immediately took off for the computer, although I haven't written a blog in over a year, I knew in that moment inspiration had come at last.

"Paralyzed With Awesomeness"

2009-12-09T19:35:00.000-08:00

A favorite saying at our house, originated by James, of course, but usually used by Chase, goes something like this..."Hey, Grammy come'ere quick, you GOT to see this, you'll be "Paralyzed With Awesomeness." So I started thinking shouldn't everyone in their life have many many moments when they are totally "Paralyzed With Awesomeness?"
Sadly at that particular moment I couldn't think of anything. Pretty ungrateful for a 50ish woman. But then....Haloween happened and Weston came down from Utah with his parents, and the three kids got ready for tricks or treats, and I saw them there sitting on the couch. Ninja Warrior, Cuddly Bear, and (my favorite costume ever) Pollen Jock. And indeed, I was Paralyzed With Awesomeness.

My First Uluru Moment

2009-01-10T17:03:00.000-08:00

For Christmas Roy got a giant book with different wonders of the world. As he was flipping throught the pages he uttered, "Ayers Rock, (pronunciation with a long A). James as he was pausing in his passing of presents looked over Bompa's shoulder and amazed me for now and for all times with, "I believe Bompa, it is pronounced "Iyers Rock also known as.....", he then lowers his voice when he notices people have stopped in their unwrapping and are looking at him quizzically. Ben encourages him, "What, James, also known as what?"

AND I KID YOU NOT!!!!
He then opens his mouth and utters..."Uluru."

Then he's off to the next present. Meanwhile we all look around a little bewildered, until somebody, I can't remember who, gets up and goes to research on their own. A few minutes later we quietly, without embarassing James, pass around our new found knowledge. (Apparently not so new to James)
Uluru,(pronounced oo-la-roo), is in fact a giant rock, 5 miles around and who knows how high somewhere in the middle of Australia. It is called "Ayers Rock", (yes, the "a" pronounced as a long "i") and the Aborigines call it Uluru.

Whenever anything happens in the rest of my life, where I learn something absolutely unheard of yet amazing....I will call it an, "Uluru Moment."
Thank you James, you never fail to amaze and entertain me. I love you, you little Uluru, you.

Do You Have It In You?

2009-01-10T16:40:00.000-08:00

We recently watched "The Wizard of Oz" with the grandboys, and Chase has really taken a fascination to the whole thing. Last night he went into my room put on some red sandals, Roy's cowboy hat and came out with,"I'm the Wicked Witch, now I need a broom." But when Angela found a facsimile of a broom, Chase looked resigned and shook his head, "No, mom...I can't be the Wicked Witch, I just don't have that laugh in my body."

Perhaps it says something freudian about my character, but I DO have a wicked witch laugh in my body. It has been coming out since I was a little girl, scaring my animals and friends, then later when I had children....some were mesmerized but shaken and would ask for it again and again; and some flat out, would shut any book with a witch in it, afraid I might let loose. Angie told Chase to ask Grammy if she had a wicked witch laugh...the result...his eyes widened as he shrunk in size and has not asked me again.

Big Bess

2008-09-17T17:17:00.000-07:00

Look at my new PINK beach cruiser!!!! I am sooooo excited, I got a bicycle and I haven't ridden a bicycle in about eight years. It even has a basket! Because it's a girl bike, I can ride it in my skirts/jumpers and I feel just like the Wicked Witch of the West, carrying away "that little dog ToTo", I can even hear the music...as I pedal away.
The one problem - the last time I rode a bike I crashed spectacularly - body flying over the handle bars - landing head and chest first with such speed the I hit and bounced a few times before I stopped. It was ugly. I replay it often in my head, and not only was it ugly, it was pitiful.
I really haven't ridden a bike much, even when I was a little girl. What caused the accident was when I tried to move from the road to the sidewalk, I sort of leaned a little to the right, (kind of like changing lanes) only this doesn't work for bikes, I found out belatedly.
I know you are thinking, "What kind of idiot is this?" Yeah...well...I don't have a real answer for that one. Many people including my husband have often wondered what transpires in the mysterious realms of my mind.
So....new pink bike....new enthusiasm...first ride around the block...
You guessed it, I didn't even make it around the block before I crashed (this time an embarrassing crash in front of the road workers, but no bodily harm)
This is where my hero comes in. BEN! Yes, my son, with great patience, and enthusiasm coached me for the next hour on how to ride a bike. Within the safety of our little "Willows Neighborhood" I cruised and recruised the streets until, even the road workers could see that I had, if not mastered, at least become competent on this PINK cruiser. I LOVE IT!!!! No kidding, I am sooooo jazzed, excited, giddy and over the moon for "Big Bess" - my new PINK bike. And for my hero - Big Ben.

2008-09-02T17:15:00.000-07:00

The flies that circle in my house are not as cute as the fly on the above pencil, and hence the violence which befalls them will not be as shocking if you try and picture those nasty, black, germ filled buzzing insects that fly into your food or eye. And we all know where those sticky, prickly feet have recently been; does fecal matter come to mind? (a new phrase used by my second son to annoy me)
"Hand me a Towel!", I scream, when I see that sickening menace. As if by instinct, I grab the closest towel, or piece of cloth that I can put my hands on and then I take to flailing about with uncontrolled passion. The cloth smacks the kitchen counter and knocks down the mixmaster, the loaf of bread, and assorted utensils.
Unsuccessful - Curses!
I next whomp the window sill, knocking down my beloved shells, beloved crystals, and beloved Tiffany glass rendering. You see, even my treasured collections are not safe when the almost insane frenzy of murder overtakes me.
Unsuccessful - Rats!
Don't worry, no loss of worldly goods will stop me on my quest for...
at this point Roy pins my arms to my side and eventually calms me as he persuades me that he has a better record than me, and so I resignedly pass the towel.
The fly is killed, time passes, and the next day I hear-
"Hand me a towel!", Chase, my 3 yr. old grandson bellows. Oooooooh what joy consumes my bosom knowing that important traditions are being passed along.

An Elated Grammy Kate!

2008-08-01T17:15:00.000-07:00

Weston Joshua Earl is here on earth. He came two weeks early, weighing 6lbs. 4oz., and he looks just like his proud papa. He has a strong spirit of peace and something else I can't put my mind around, but when you hold him in the night when everythings quiet, the strength of feeling is almost palpable in the room. Getting to know this little lad will be a joy!

Emily and Josh are thrilled and Emily has a hard time unwrapping her arms around her treasure, although she is generous in sharing, I can tell she feels empty when he's not tucked up against her - probably cause for 9 months he's been tucked and smushed and it's natural for both of them.

I'll e-mail a site where everyone can look at more photos - cause of course, he's gorgeous.

Thank you for everyone who has been so kind and sweet to my Emily, I feel so blessed to know others care and look after her.
Love All of You!

A Sorrowful Obsession

2008-06-18T17:17:00.001-07:00

I have a need to make things better. Consequently, I often act impulsively to fix, or heal, and live to regret it. I "take on" a needy family, befriending them only to learn down the line that their problems are too complicated to ever resolve, but have unwittingly created their unhealthy dependence on me.

I once jumped out of the car to rescue a beaten prostitute, hauling her into my van not knowing her pimp was tailing us and more importantly, that she was mentally unstable, as she stripped to show us her weapons of nails and broken glass. Another time I jumped out of the car on a freezing winter day to give my coat to a coatless pre-teen on her way to school, only to scare her to death as she thought I was trying to kidnap her. (the fact that she spoke no English didn't help)

So, you are probably getting the picture. Dogs are another object of my sorry obsession. Every dog we have ever owned has been in need of rescuing because no one else was crazy enough to take on the load of problems. Poopie (we did not name him), a 11 year old beagle with serious mental problems. Jimmy, neglected from birth, the vet advised us to take him back. Muffin, who was sooo mentally slow, we ended up giving him to the crazy neighbors next door, which was a punishment no living thing deserved.

There are countless others, but the last and saddest attempt at being a savior involved my beloved dog, Captain Tanyon. Captain Tanyon was 9 months old and terrified of everything and everybody. He crawled in on his belly and quivered out of reach. Instead of choosing one of the six, healthy, socialized and happy puppies crawling all over me, I took home Tanyon. I was advised by two experts to return him. No matter what I did, they feared he would turn into a fearful/aggressive dog. I was convinced my love could conquer all. I did not conquer anything, but my heart. I loved this dog, as I have rarely loved anything other than my children and grandchildren. Tanyon, in turn, adored me. Other than Roy, he tolerated everyone else and took a immediate dislike to Ben. The whole relationship was so unhealthy that everyone, even an amateur psychologist could point out the potential disaster. Everyone, except me.

Long story - short...Tanyon turned on my grandson James, biting him twice. We returned Tanyon to the breeder and my heart has seemed empty every since. As Tanyon foamed at the mouth, in terror, sensing what was moments away, I felt my obsession had done more harm than good for all involved, especially this dog as he looked at me with pleading eyes to save him once more, only this time I couldn't. There is a lesson to be learned here, but I'm too bruised to learn it quite yet.

water balloons and bubbles

2008-05-20T15:12:00.000-07:00

I know it's been a long time, but here goes...

Summer officially begins for me when Chase
demands, "Time for water balloons, Grammy?", actually it started at 2yrs with, "Ga,Ga, boons, Grammy?" and, at 3yrs, is now, "Gwater bawoons, Gram?"
Also blowing bubbles is high on the summer, have tos. This year Angie got a fancy balloon gun that was loads of fun. Jumping on the trampoline with a sprinkler squirting underneath saved us on our first 100 degree days.

Whole days can be spent in the backyard with a small trickle of water, a bucket to catch it, and hundreds of water balloons filled-then broken, filled-then broken, filled-then broken. But this year our starting day began with a slight deviation from the norm. After tens of balloons met their demise throughout the yard, Chase suddenly took a liking to a baby orange balloon. He cradled it and then paced around the yard searching, until he found just the right spot, under the base of a fern. He gently placed the gwater bawoon, with a..."you wait right there, kay?" Then with his head and arms leaning against the cherry tree, he started counting...."1, 2, 3, 7, 12, 5, 6...weddy or not, you be caught!" Amazingly, Chase searched everywhere in the backyard, until at last he found the orange gwater bawoon right under the fern..."Oh, there you are," he exclaims with a giggle . The giggle at the end is what sealed this experience as one of my favorites.

So.....what are you up to this summer?

Meet Eve

2008-03-29T17:34:00.000-07:00

After waiting over 30 years, since I owned my first home, I finally planted an Acer Palmatum, or, Japanese Maple. Around the corner from my home is a beautiful maple tree, that in the spring puts forth a "born again" green, lacy leaf that delights me. I pick one every spring and put it in between glass, mount it, and proudly display this essence of spring in a frame. After several years of this rite of spring, my children asked me, "Mom, why do you keep displaying a marijuana leaf in our front room?" How would I know? I've never even seen marijuana, unlike my experienced children. Yet, even though they protest, I still continued displaying my beautiful spring leaf. And now I have one of my very own, NO, not a marijuana plant----a maple tree.

You'll think me extremely silly, but I even got teary eyed when it was finally planted. I'm somewhat romantic and sentimental about nature, and this toddler tree will mature into a majestic and mystical specimen, just "ripe for the imagination", as Anne of Green Gables would say. In fact, Anne would probably christen this tree something like..."Flora of Emerald Isle"...but, I've decided to call her "Eve." Kathy, the tree expert, explained to us that this particular specie of tree is the mother of all the hundreds of varieties of Japanese Maples. Every new specie is a graft from this type of maple. Wow, my tree is the mother of all the maples, I shall call her Eve.

James and his phrases.

2008-03-28T14:44:00.000-07:00

James is my wonderful and very Einsteinian grandson. One of the best parts of my day is hearing some of his unique phrases. For example: I'm driving down the road and he says with a sigh, "I live in dread of Thursdays." Did I mention that James is 6 yrs. old? Apparently Thursday is an early day and he dislikes getting up early. On another drive, when Grammy (me) was getting him to school late out came, " I absolutely loathe getting to school late, you know. "Yes, loathe, was the word he used.
He cracks me up. But today when I was walking through an empty and quiet house, I noticed a note written by James, on the floor, with no hint of what it was, or whom it was to.

"I READILY ADMIT"

was alone----on a page-----with the discarded pen underneath.
It was a little eerie, cause what 6 yr. old knows that phrase, and what would a six year old be "readily admitting?" Was he getting ready to beg his little brothers forgiveness for teasing him (who can't read/ so perhaps a bad theory)?
Or was he ready to admit to some dark secret he's been keeping for days and can only admit to by writing and leaving the note, anonymously, in a random spot? Yet, at the last minute, he can't make the full confession, hence - WHAT? READILY ADMIT WHAT??? The suspense is torment.

Living with James, is anything but dull. If only I could transfer a few of his brain cells to me, I'd be tossing out phrases with the best of the phrase tossers. (phrase tossers? is that a legit term?)

Who Are We Really?

2008-03-04T12:33:00.000-08:00

When I purchased this azalea plant

every bloom was a deep fuschia, and it bloomed for two years as a fuschia azalea bush. Then one year I noticed a lighter pink bloom. "How exciting," I thought, "...what a fabulous plant." The following year - white blooms. "Now wait a minute. Is this a schizophrenic azalea bush?"

Every day I walk by this fascinating bush and enjoy that one plant displays three distinctly different colors, and I wonder at the cause. Is it the soil? Too acidic? Too alkaline? Or is it the root system? Or perhaps the cause is in the very DNA of the plant. (Assuming of course, that plants have DNA). As my mind tends to do, I started drawing life metaphors from the sight before me.

It is always interesting when I visit Utah because most people know me as the "Cathy" they saw growing up, aka, the fuschia bloom. I'm now in a blinding white stage, but I realize I went through a light pink stage also. Also, many of the close friends in California are used to my light pink personality, and have failed to pick up the subtle clues that I am definitly more white these days. To defy all logic, my children look at me and see an orange bloom. My very own flesh and blood fail to see any pink, white or fuschia, and insist I'm through and through orange.

What I find to be my own personal truth, is although I may have been all three colors at one time or another, I'm ultimately a little of all of them, occasionally bursting forth with a major pink day, or surprising myself by the whiteness I displayed in a situation, where, dog-gone-it, I thought I'd given up that white mentality. Remember in Disney's Pocahontas, where she sings - You can't step in the same river twice, the rivers always changing, always flowing...Right On!...come to think of it most of my life philosophies can usually be summed up by Disney songs. (After raising 5 children I spent way more time with Disney than I did with Freud ) Ahhh...I digress...as to "The Tale of the Changing Blooms", who knows, maybe my children do know me best and next spring, sure enough, I'll walk out my front door and I'll behold a vibrant orange azalea.

Having fun in Paris

2008-02-10T21:51:00.000-08:00

I can't think of anything more beautiful or joyful than my Abigail in "I'm full of life and I've just got to leap" mode. I wish all of you could see what a beautiful dancer she is. I feel soooo guilty that I never put her in dance classes, she has a gift. She moves with perfect feeling to music. And besides, she's got the best booty for shaking I've seen, since Beyonce. She's a little shy though, so if you see her, don't come right out and ask her to shake it for you. You are gonna have to warm her up with some good music; talk about nature, art, and poetry, then - bang - you'll have her doing anything you want - (of a pure and refined nature, of course)

NOTE* This blog, is not meant for any young men looking to court said booty shaker.

My Ram in the Thicket

2008-02-01T15:55:00.000-08:00

Recently Muslims in parts of the world,as part of a religious rite, slaughtered a ram in rembrance of Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac to God's wishes. I saw a picture of a young muslim girl kissing her pet ram just before the slaughter and it brought back vivid memories of when I participated in a similar event.

When I was 16 I went to Southern Utah to "survive" for 30 days off the land, while hiking over 300 miles. Usually we were given a ration of 1/2 c. dry oatmeal, 2 tbl. brown sugar, and 1 cup of flour to eat for a week. But one particular week we ate completly off the land. We ate ant larvae, black snacks of some variety, a rattlesnack, and lots of greens, while hiking over 50 miles. When we reached our base camp, a ram was tied to a pole in a small haven surrounded by trees. We were informed that we would kill the ram, to experience a profound gratitude for the ram giving up his life, that we could eat. The deeper metaphors were left for us to discover on our own.

What I remember most vividly was that this ram KNEW what was going to happen. He started breathing so heavily that he labored to just take in a raspy breath. His entire body trembled with no control. His eyes darted from person to person.

The girl that volunteered to kill the ram, elected to use a knife to slit his throat. She was not strong enough and so after stabbing the knife in, was unable to slice to the other side. A man offered to help, but with no success. Finally one of the leaders loaded a gun to kill the ram, who had been crying with an eerily newborn baby sound. The shot sounded and it was finally over.

What did I learn from this macabre experiment? Well, right then I learned that no matter how hungry I was I would not eat the meat. (I was the only one out of 35 to do so). I learned that we all share a spirit of life, witnessed by the rams behavior of pre-knowledge. I learned that if they were trying to teach me about God sacrificing his son, it did not work. I just felt horrible, with no greater principle to hold onto. As the years have gone I can't say that I have progressed into any deeper metaphor. Did I equate God The Fathers sacrifice of His Son? Partly yes, but...the lesson seemed lacking and as much as I wanted to think of God's sacrifice, I just felt empty. Mostly, I just keep thinking whoever came up with this idea, must have thought it would profoundly affect young minds to a more spiritual bent. But what actually happened for me was a disgust that a group of humans could take part in such a needlessly painful way to slaughter a living animal. It was wrong. Wrongly conceived. Wrongly executed.

I think of that young muslim girl slaughtering her pet ram and I hope that with the sacred rites of her religion, her experience will have meaning that will strengthen her beliefs, instead of leaving her bereft and questioning.

Anchors

2008-01-29T13:07:00.000-08:00

Roy was made Bishop in our church last week. It was an amazing day with experiences too sacred to share on a blog site. My soul was full and my mind was on overload. When I was speaking I mentioned my inadequacies and questioned my ability to be a strong support. But when Roy was at the pulpit speaking, he gave me a tribute that I want to remember into the eternities. I don't know if it was the words exactly, or the feeling I could feel teeming inside him that made it so memorable. But when he spoke it was like poetry. I will share what I remember, but I'm sorry that I've lost his phrasing and words that made the imagery so beautiful.

He said... "Catherine thinks of herself as an anchor that drags me down, but what she has never realized is that she has a depth, sensitivity, and knowledge of the gospel and life that one can only get if you have been to the depths and gained it there.

I see her as my anchor, in the best of ways. I'm able to grow and stretch and learn because she anchors me. Without her I would have been crashed on the rocks long ago."

Thank you, my dear and cherished partner. I will always treasure your image of an anchor. I love you.

Goodbyes Are Hard

2008-01-09T12:41:00.000-08:00

My Abbie's gone to London.
I started going through all the art work of my children, trying to make space in my home after the holiday haul and I found this self-portrait of Abigail, when she was in kindergarten.

She still has a beautiful and infectious smile. She still has a little left of her original very strawberry blond hair. Her eyes have morphed into a kaleidoscope of greens, grays, and blues. And she still has a gorgeous and very huge nose (exactly like the portrait) Just kidding, about the nose.

And I'm wondering where all those 20 years went. After her four months in London she will go back to BYU and finish her education, and I realized that these last four months, while she's been home earning money for her trip, have been an unexpected and probably not repeated gift. I already said goodbye when she went off to college and now this goodbye is even more painful, cause she's grown into such an engaging and loving adult.

Goodbyes are hard, whether they are school, or a mission, or long distance moves, or even deaths. Sometimes it's hard to live in the present when our memories of treasured moments of the past entice us to linger and long for a repeat showing.

Pain

2008-01-05T12:00:00.000-08:00

Angela spent the night in the hospital in horrible pain all by herself. She even drove herself. I get a call at 7 am from the hospital. It's a kidney stone and it hasn't passed! She's got a few more days of misery until they will consider doing surgery, hoping it will pass on it's own.
I had a kidney stone when I was first pregnant with Patrick. It was pain on a scale from 1 to 10 - a 10!!!!! (for those medically interested, it was a staghorn stone, the one in the above picture called agony - they can't pass on their own they have to be removed surgically) We don't know what kind of stone Angela has, yet.
But - my little baby - is in terrible pain and I can't do anything to help. When I went to pick her up she was trembling with pain and had a green face. She said, "There was a little baby in the other room all night, I'm just sooo glad it's me hurting, and I'm not here with one of my babies."
She also said, " I was hoping that at some point the pain gets so terrible you pass out." Yeah, like in the movies - at what point is the pain bad enough you get to experience oblivion?

Families

2007-12-22T12:02:00.000-08:00

THERE IS NOTHING QUITE AS FUN AS WHEN THE FAMILY GETS TOGETHER!!!!!!!

Sorry.....I couldn't help it, this picture is priceless.

What I really wanted to express is how much over the years I've come to treasure my extended family. I remember just starting out in married life and everyone was wonderful and perfect. Then a few years latter, everyone had such weird quirks and ideas which could be irritating. Then several years after that, those strange traits were endearing and I realized I had as many or more strange traits as anyone. I used to become soooo frustrated when my mother would call me EVERYDAY. I was married and independent and a call to ask me daily what I was having for dinner seemed such an irritation. Now, I would give anything for that "irritation". Roy has wonderful brothers and sisters; I have wonderful brothers and sisters, and who we are in very large part is due to our parents. Ergo - our parents were wonderful. Our modern life somehow fosters the idea that if anything is inconvenient or less than perfect, from appliances to people, just get rid of it, make your life as easy and smooth as possible. But relationships are anything but easy, and the harder one works at a relationship the more valuable it will become. If we all foster patience, versus judging, our differences can be part of our strength. I've been too slow to really internalize these truths, and I'm sure I will still be challenged, but when the family gets together, you all look delicious to me, warts and all. I hope that big, old, giant wart on my nose won't keep you from loving me, cause I've discovered a real truth....you just can't have too much family.

Ruby Kat Moon

2007-12-11T10:35:00.000-08:00

When I was in Hawaii Pat told me a story about an employee that had a horrible divorce, and at that time was allowed to petition, without legal battles, what her name would hence forward be, and she chose....Ruby Kat Moon. She then moved to Hawaii with her young adult daughter, they both got a job working on Pat's boat, and she is a fantastic amalgam of personality.

I just couldn't stop thinking about that name. It just rolls deliciously off my tongue. It has "great scope for my imagination," and I tried for days to come up with a better "life's just been shot to hell, so I'm gonna start over with an edgy sort of vivacity," sort of name. Tingles of excitement just burst around my nerve centers when I say that name...Ruby Kat Moon, Ruby Kat Moon, Ruby Kat Moon. Without a doubt, there is a Ruby Kat Moon deep inside me. A Ruby Kat Moon would wear hats, without self consciousness. A Ruby Kat Moon could say truthful and outrageous things, without feeling guilty. A Ruby Kat Moon would twirl and sing in a meadow with abandon. A Ruby Kat Moon could....oooh.....the list just goes on and on. Do you have a Ruby Kat Moon soul? And what is his or her name?

Paradise with Pat and Jess

2007-12-05T15:24:00.000-08:00

It's been too long since I've been back from the Big Island, but it is and will always remain for me a runner-up to what Heaven has to be.

Whether the lushness of the wet side or the ocean's colors, beauty and life of the dry side, I just can't get enough.

And here is Patrick's own "A Bay" (Anaehoomalu) I just wish my cheap camera could have caught the real colors.

And my own Pat and Jess - the greatest treasure I will ever see or experience in this paradise.

The Roots of Life

2007-12-05T14:34:00.000-08:00

When I was in Hawaii visiting Patrick and Jessie, everywhere I turned nature seemed to be speaking to me in metaphors. Anyway, life lessons seemed to pop before my eyes whether I was visiting the rain forest, or the beach or the volcanoes. Perhaps I was just in a contemplative mode, but I wanted to come home and write them all down. This picture of the tree with it's hundreds of roots pushing through the bark and heading deep into the soil spoke forcefully to me of my own "roots". Is every energy source necessary for my growth reaching for fertile soil? Do I struggle past the inconveniences or hardships to breakthrough and reach the rich nutrients awaiting me? And am I firmly, determinedly, holding on?
Saying all this is probably redundant, for you probably got all that just by looking. But, wow, isn't that tree a sermon? Now, for this tree...
Further on in my walk in the botanical gardens I came to the older more mature version of the first tree. I certainly felt this trees age. I felt like my roots had been struggling for soooo long, but sometimes they dried along the way trying to reach the deep soil. Some of my roots were brittle from hard lessons, or life just not turning out the way I'd thought. But, other of my roots were still just as vital and were reaching down from tremendous odds to stay firmly planted.
I guess you could say the first tree was me at 25; strong, assured and sure of my course and outcome. The second tree is me at 50; seasoned, broken in places, but still struggling. A kind of enduring sort of beauty, not particularly beautiful, but admirable.

Transformation

2007-10-17T12:59:00.000-07:00

Transformation can happen when a few key elements come into play at the right time and in the right setting. Walking on a windy day, the threat of rain ( even a few drops make it better), rays of sun pushing their way earthward between moving clouds, AND...just the right music. Before you know it I'm transformed into an ageless sprite freed from reality, restrictions and despair, where possibilities abound and my body beats with the rhythm of music and nature, where unadulterated joy rushes along my nerves and suddenly, in the middle of the street, I've been known to dance. I've been known to reach my arms skyward, palms up, back arched, and twiiiiiiirl. A slow, all encompassing twirl, drinking in the elements. I've also been known to strut with a cocky sort of attitude, if the music has a strong beat and attitude.
An ode could be dedicated to the wind, or the sun rays or the moving clouds, but it's the "right" music that I'm thinking of now. A swelling of violins, or a syncopated piano rising from bass to a sentimental treble cleft.
Example - swelling starts -If could fall into the sky, do you think time would pass me by...
cause I'd walk a million miles...violins crescendo - if I could just see you.....tonight. violins madly stringing... tada da da da duh.
Or something terribly drippy and sentimental -
Don't dream too far, Don't lose sight of who you are, Don't remember that rush of joy,
He could be that boy....I'm not that girl.
Or, something with drawn out vowels
Pretty lady on my mind got me gone (gauhn) again
Or, an unusual male voice
John Mayer, Ben Harper....
Or, a strong beat with personality
(STRONG DOWN BEAT/ REST) Come on over, Come on over baby
The next thing you know - I start strutting and life is goooood.

I brake for rats!

2007-10-05T12:05:00.000-07:00

Today I swerved to avoid hitting a rat in the street. It was sitting on it's hind haunches and eating smashed leftovers and I slowed, recognized it was a rat, and swerved. Here in Northern California, as in other areas, rats are disgusting, carriers of disease, and I swerved. What has happened to the little girl who used to put a stone on the body of a daddy long legs and proceed to pick off, one by one, the spiders legs, or the girl that used to burn to toast any handy bug that I could put under my magnifying glass? Do you know that I now go out of my way to carefully trap bugs in my house so I can release them in the backyard? President Spencer Kimball told of a song called, "Don't kill the little birdies," that changed how he forever saw any living species. We once had a mole in our front yard that was destroying the many dollars worth of landscaping that we had invested in. We tried everything, and finally Roy plugged up all the holes but one, then flooded the routes out, all the while waiting with a shovel to crack his skull. He finished the job, came in the house, took a shower and came out still shivering. It was a horrible experience that he even teared up over. And.....I'm glad he did. Cliched as it is, life becomes precious the older you get, and in animal years I'm ancient. I'm glad, I think, that I "brake for rats," although I don't think I'll put that on my bumper sticker.

The Magic Bag of Happiness

2007-09-24T13:59:00.000-07:00

Don't be alarmed but if you look at the picture to the right you will actually be looking at
"The Magic Bag of Happiness." That's right folks...it's here...
and it's real. On the day of my 51st birthday my grandson James was concerned that there were no balloons, no plans for a party, no games, not near enough presents and we were just having a lousy old dinner to celebrate my aging event. So while I enjoyed myself outside on the hammock with a cross word puzzle - the better to allow all the cooks in the house to whip up a feast - James came out several times chatting with me, in his very articulate and grown-up syntax, explaing that he was gravely worried that my birthday was a bust. (He just didn't understand that for a woman that has cooked dinners for all of her life, a good dinner prepared by "qualified" hands other than her own, is a marvelous present.) But back to the magic bag...after a goodly while James comes out cradling, as if a treasured baby bird, "The Magic Bag of Happiness." Now, so you have some background...this bag is very familiar to me. It is a bag containing a child's game called "Rush Hour Jr," which includes plastic cards, a small grid, and playing cards - hence - my puzzlement in why he's gently cradling it.
"Grammy, this is "The Magic Bag of Happiness" and when you choose one of the pieces inside, it will give you whatever you need to make you happy." James senses my skepticism, "Now if you touch a car...it's not really a car, and if you touch a card...it's not really a card." Wow, this is getting really trippy ---"No, Grammy, it's just something to hold onto. It's grabbing it out of the bag, THIS bag that makes it magic." Looking into those sparkling and earnest blue eyes, who was I to doubt? Magic? Happiness? He's right. I have it everyday. All I have to do is stop, really look, believe, and reach - ahhhh, a hug from my James (or
Chase) - yup, it's all around me.

My Fairy Tale Ending

2007-09-10T12:37:00.000-07:00

I kissed my prince and he turned into....a dolphin. That would be the happy ending to my fairy tale. All my life I have loved dolphins. As a pre-teen I would walk the mile and a half to our town library and spend Saturday afternoons studying about dolphins, then go home to dream about them. Luckily when I got my license I could drive to the Salt Lake library which had greater depth and variety to my favorite subject, but still spend my free time studying this fantasy of mine, instead of perhaps....ah....dating-or at least dream of dating-like any healthy 17 year old.

When I was pregnant with Angela, Roy and I traveled to San Diego's "Sea World." Tears ran down my cheeks the moment the dolphins swam into the large show pool. After the show, Roy held me as I continued to cry and tried to make sense of my feelings. Dramatic? Okay, no question, but it was the pinnacle of all I had dreamed. I was just a hick, small town, Utah girl who wasn't ever going to go to such exotic places as San Diego, California. But- exotic did enter my life when, as a young mother, we moved five miles from our own "mini" Sea World. At this marine world there was a dolphin petting pool, which I would spend every second my whining children would allow. *Note: they had a point - they were missing the whale show, the tiger show, and the fantastic playground, while mom wooed this fat dolphin called Gordo. But Gordo and I became best of friends. He allowed me, and me only, to pet him when I was there, ignoring all the other reaching hands. After letting my children drag me away to actually spend time with them, I returned to Gordo after an hour absence. He circled the pool increasing his speed till water slooshed out, finally rising high above me to spit in my face. I was devastated until the docent explained that he was acting out his anger; after all, I had abandoned him for a whole hour. Gordo died about a year later and that was then end of my dolphin days. Although my son Pat, who lives in Hawaii, frequently has awesome encounters with dolphins ( I'll let him blog about ), it still left me on the outs. But, this summer we went to Six Flags Discovery Kingdom - a cheesy, tacky excuse for "animal shows", in the guise of an amusement park. James and Chase got splashed by the orcas, but the show was bad. It would hurt too much to see the sacrilege they would make of the dolphin show. I just couldn't go. But just before we left I saw a small sign in a neglected corner of the park, "$45.oo to pet a dolphin" - sooo..., I used to pet Gordo free as often as I wanted, sooo... Pat gets to swim in their native environment; free of gimmicks and a pure encounter, so? I'm desperate. I paid. I petted and rubbed and cooed and kissed and even now, writing about it, tears are welling in my eyes. Dramatic? Yeah, but......he's my prince.

The Bad Fairy

2007-09-06T13:53:00.000-07:00

Santa Claus in the Robinson household was great!!! The Easter Bunny - probably a little better than average. The Tooth Fairy? An abject failure. Roy and I have never been able to pinpoint exactly why the tooth fairy just didn't have the drive and passion to fulfill her or his calling. Picture the scene: a toothless grin in an eager face, talking constantly of the coming night with the magical transformation, and the morning when he or she peeks under the pillow delighted with the coins left in place of the very familiar tooth they had wiggled endlessly. They are tucked in, assured that the tooth fairy is somwhere near just waiting to delight them. Morning comes - NO COINS - the tooth's still in the envelope - look some more - no coins. At this point a very sad and disillusioned child comes to breakfast with the envelope in their hand. It's now up to mom to explain this fiasco. "Oh, honey I'm sure the fairy just forgot." (good one mom- now the kid thinks they're not worth remembering) or - "I'm sure the fairy just had an extra busy night, soooo many teeth, you know." ( oh so, now the busy fairy gets to all the kids but yours, how do you think that feels?). Now replay this exact scene over for the next night, and the next, and the next. No kidding, now you know how deprived dear little Abigail felt. Her experiences were the worst. But each of the five children all lived with the failure of being remembered by The Tooth Fairy. Not just one time but with several of their teeth. There are no excuses, nothing can justify the wrenching pain and lifetime of scars that disgusting fairy inflicted on the Robinson children. Booooooo to that fairy!!!! Booooo!

A Genuine Steam Engine Ride

2007-08-14T20:19:00.000-07:00

Our adventure this weekend was to ride a 100 year old steam engine at Roaring Camp Railroad. Chase was mesmerized by the steam engines sounds and the visual impact of the steam spraying and puffing. James said, "I could have thought of lots of things to do today, but I couldn't ever come up with something this wonderful."

That sure made me feel good about coming up with the idea. Especially since the last time I went there was when my children were little and there was an accident on Highway 17, we sat in 100 degree weather for hours, finally took some tiny road off the highway, wandered for what seemed like hours, to finally arrive and eat a horrible meal in a dusty, hot picnic spot, be attacked by insects and MISS the train. I vowed never to come back. Oh well, what's a vow? This time couldn't have been better. It was a beautiful, cool day and the giant sequoias were majestic as we gazed skyward and the train chugged it's way up to the top of Bear Mountain. The sun's rays pierced the leafy heavens that towered hundreds of feet upward.

After the train ride, we walked a nature trail through the redwoods. We hid in the hollows of burned out sequoias and found the tree John C. Fremont camped the night in. Once you crawled through the small hole at the bottom you entered a 15 foot wide and 30 foot high hideout. Cool! We stared at the cross section of a giant trunk that marked when Jesus was born, when the civil war started, and other amazing facts all told in the rings of the tree. With a music cd about lonely peas and crabby crabs to sing to all the way home, it couldn't have been better.

Yarnstorm

2007-07-25T09:44:00.000-07:00

Is there something in the world that just grabs those creative juices and ideas tumbling pell-mell through your mind? I have several (later blogs to be expected), but rich colored fabrics and especially colorful yarn, with their various textures, stir my unused well of latent talents to bubbling.

Suddenly, I get this urge to Knit. But it's the URGE, not the knitting that gets me excited. It's

what all the beautiful colors and textures do to my, at rest, creativity. That moment when creativity goes from passive, to full throttle. It's a moment charged with possibilities and the accompanying adrenaline resulting in joy, is a wonderful by-product.

But whether it's knitting, or painting or dancing, or remodeling my house, just looking at these colors revs up my thought engine.

More often than not I do nothing with these urges. Sometimes I feel slightly bad about that and other times I am satisfied that I can have those juices flow and not feel the responsibility to do anything about them. Just to know that there are sparks just waiting to be ignited is exciting enough. I like not having the burden of always acting, doing, becoming. Just to sit comfortably as the ideas tumble through my imagination is an experience complete with it's own kind of satisfaction.

I think for my daughter, Angela, table settings and cookbooks. Roy, well, it's a sketch book, with accompanying paints. Abigail - nature, and challenge. Emily - nature, and travel. Pat - perhaps the thought of adventure. Ben - mmm...mmm...a ball of any sort? I know they have many others. What are some of yours?

But, dang, when I see something like this, I'm just sure I can knit. And that knowledge is good enough, so don't expect so see me with knitting needles any time soon.

Sunglasses for every mood

2007-07-24T17:44:00.001-07:00

Oprah proclaimed today that,"Sunglasses are like shoes, you should have some for every mood." Feelings of isolation washed over me. I've never really been "into" sunglasses or shoes and I know that most the people around me are. My children, friends, strangers and even Roy all get excited about sunglasses. I don't get it!!! Doesn't anyone want to see the colors in the world just the way God intended them. I get driving with sunglasses on long trips to reduce eye strain. And maybe on a really sunny day at high noon at the beach, but no thanks, I just can't pass up true ocean colors, or a sunset without artificial tints. Admittedly if I looked like the model above I'd go for it. I guess I've never been with it, as I notice each Sunday as the really beautiful folks have more pairs of shoes than I have had in my whole life. But it's time to face facts: GI Joe has sunglasses, beloved bunnies have sunglasses....I can get sunglasses for sassy moods, chic moods, sophisticated moods...I'd begin to walk with a strut...I'd....I'd.........................Oh forget it, I'd much rather buy new plants for my yard.

Head over Heels or High Wide and Handsome?

2007-07-18T18:10:00.000-07:00

Anyone that has seen me water the lawn, weed the garden, paint a craft, cook a new recipe or more recently, cut hair…..surely has seen a woman “jumping in with both feet”, “flying by the seat of her pants”, or as a past Bishop described me, “that woman is a loose cannon.” Defintion: an unpredictable person or thing, liable to cause damage if not kept in check by others. Because James recently gave a lecture on “idioms”, I decided to use his lesson to try and describe why I chose this picture to accompany my blog name. It seemed the most representative of all the idioms that describe me. “Head over heel” seemed appropriate, but interestingly enough the phrases that seemed on the mark had swear words in them – like –“Hell bent for leather”, or "arse over teakettle”. (That one gave me a chuckle) You know, I always start with such good intentions. I see a small weed in my garden – I bend down in my Sunday dress – ahhhh…another weed…another…compacted earth…needs mulch…sack of mulch is new….grab anything handy to gouge hole in sack…sack explodes…try to clean up before Roy sees…, I think you get the idea. Oh did I mention, ALWAYS, dirt in apparently hilarious locations on my person. Let’s see… What about, “Helter-Skelter”, Meaning: In chaotic and disorderly haste. Or, “Pell-Mell”, Meaning: In disorderly confusion. The trouble is I am opposed to the negative connotations implied in all these idioms. I maintain there is passion, enthusiasm, and yes, a good deal of grace involved in my spontaneous jags. HAZAAAAA! I have found it! “ HIGH, WIDE, and HANDSOME” Meaning: In a carefree and stylish manor. Stylish…hmmm…Stylish… I’ll take it! (for those of you wondering, high-wide-and handsome, originated in the mid 1900's in reference to the independent cowboy)

Rose Colored Glasses

2007-07-03T16:58:00.000-07:00

Driving home from Utah to California, I woke from a long nap somewhere in the middle of Nevada. Roy was driving with a big smile on his face and a "little bounce in his drive" (if that can be a phrase) (cause that was what he was actually doing) - "So, Roy, how's the drive?" Roy looks over to me with a big grin. "It's fantastic, great, everything's wonderful." I'm a little unsure, I mean he has to have been driving a long time now with no break so I inquire further, "Are you sure you aren't tired?" Roy again looks at me with that contagious grin "Really, I'm fine, I'm just loving how beautiful the colors are this year in Nevada. They are so much greener and richer. It's just been wonderful." Having driven Nevada several times in my life, I cynically look out the window. Hmmmmmm......Then I look back at Roy.........sure enough, Roy has his dark green sunglasses on. "Roy! It's your sunglasses - the desert's just the same." Roy puts his hand up to his glasses and takes the snap on shades off. "Wow! No kidding - it was just the glasses! Isn't that amazing?" Yeah it certainly is. Roy was happy thinking that Nevada was a verdant desert and now he's happy that he has magical glasses. Roy just happens to be the kind of person who looks at life with rose (or green) colored glasses. Amazing?....... Yeah.

A Thousand Splendid Suns

2007-06-24T18:58:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading this exceptionally moving novel. The author is gifted in creating characters and the art of story telling. But for me this novel reached deep in my gut and wrenched and extracted a huge emotional land mine. Kabooom! I cried so hard and so long that after I went through all the Kleenex, I gave up and got a hand towel. Poor Roy, who had to start a road trip to Utah at 5 a.m. the following morning, was woken up by my wails and spent a few hours holding me, trying to grasp WHY I was in this condition. He left still not knowing. I got two hours of sleep that night. And spent the next day mostly in bed, recovering and wondering what had just happened to me. Occasionally for me, and I suspect others, stress and unresolved feelings get stuffed down somewhere slightly below the conscience level. This time I kept stuffing and stuffing knowing that sometime I would need to pull this all out and get rid of it or deal with it. But sometimes all that careful planning goes haywire when we get hit with an undetected road side bomb. My bomb was..."A Thousand Splendid Suns" by Khaled Hosseini. As I started weeping for the beautiful story and the endearing characters, the tears just wouldn't stop and at some point I realized the tears were no longer about the book, and they just kept coming and coming. Resolution to all this: 1-It ended my writers block. Everytime I tried to blog in the last few weeks - there was nothing. Just nothing. 2- It ended the nothing. The feeling of feeling absent from everything and everybody and somehow just moving through life as a vague automaton. I feel today, mostly tired, but I FEEL. 3- No matter how many times I tell myself I'm fine, I've dealt with my fears....they like to creep back and hit me with the force of an atom blast. So...you know I think it's okay to say "This is hard for me, this frightens the heck out of me!" No matter how logical it seems to be otherwise. 4- And mostly, it reminded me even if it's great, heaving, sorrow.....it's better than a dark, endless void pulling you slowly downward. 5- No matter how many times I tell myself, "Most people are NOT like this, so stop being this way!" It doesn't change the fact that I AM like this - I feel deeply about things. From nature to dogs, from children to family, from written words to music in my heart......I FEEL DEEPLY! - and it's NOT going to change. Like the 17th century poet, who expressed his feelings about his homeland as "a thousand splendid suns", in my heart I have moons and suns casting their light and their shadows, too inumerable to count, but they make up who I am - Kate.

Quote by.... 17th-century poet Saib-e-Tabrizi "One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs / Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls."

Yes, This Stud Is Mine!!!!!

2007-05-28T11:30:00.000-07:00

Yes!!! He's Mine!!!! This is my Roy, who at the age of 54 1/2, and hasn't water skied in years, is positive that he can get up on one ski - and - HE DID! He also climbed to the top of Half Dome with Emily and Snap last year and survived his fear of heights.

He is up for any adventure. He talks to complete strangers and actually gets them talking (something he learned from his dad)- he still flirts with sales ladies - and he still doesn't know he's flirting - and he still gets his problem resolved to his best interests everytime - even on the phone. He absolutely adores me and will do ANYTHING I ask of him, and I'm ashamed to admit that I've taken advantage of that trait - (never knowingly though). He thinks he can fix ANYTHING - and most of the time he does!!! (another trait from Gramps) He let me have dogs, when he doesn't even really like them. He even washes off Tanyon's (our dog) tummy when he pees, when I don't feel like it - which isn't very fun cause Tanyon has a crooked Ying Yang and can't hit the bush, but dribbles all over himself. Everyone in our church says he's the best at the pulpit, cause they love his smile and his voice. He loves to run whenever there's an errand to do or a project - he just starts running like he's a kid. He loves dumb jokes and loves to retell them to everyone, although Emily is usually the only one to laugh. He has beautiful blue eyes surrounded by oodles of laugh lines. He loves stupid - but really funny movies - you know the ones where the pre-teens are busting their guts - and he beats all of them for the most open, full, gut laugh. He likes to practice funny faces in the mirror, so he can use the best one at an appropriate time. He puts towels in the dryer and brings them to me, without me asking, if I'm cold and can't get warm. He gardens with me and pretends to love it, cause I love it. He loves to build sand castles with moats ( the moats are his passion) with anyone on the beach, but his favorites are his two grandsons. He loves to play football, basketball, or any sport, although he isn't particularly athletically gifted - but it has never stopped his enjoyment. He gets excited about something new, just like a little kid and his excitement is contagious. He......., oh this is just a start....but mostly...he loves me, and...HE'S MINE!

The "Time of Your Dreams"

2007-05-17T15:29:00.000-07:00

Emily called briefly from her honeymoon to ask us to look up on her e-mail the next bed and breadfast along their trip up the Mendocino Coastline. When James overheard that the newlyweds had called he made this pronouncement...."I bet they were having the time of their dreams!" That phrase has been sounding in the back of my mind for a few days with a haunting type of truth. Why not? If you had to choose between --"The time of Your Life" -- or --"The time of Your Dreams" --which would you choose? Well, I don't think I could have dreamt anything better than Saturday, May 12th around 11:30ish. Emily at total peace and happiness. I don't know anyone I think deserves to have a happy ending more than Emily. She was absolutely radiant - but more importantly, with all the pre-wedding stresses and jitters, to see her sealed to her loved one, Josh, and then see the complete peace wash over her as she held on to him, just filled me with the joy of all my dreams.
Another of a moms dreams - in middle age-dom - is getting all the children together, and that also happened to me for a little more than a week. It is SOOO rare now when all these adult children, living all around the country, and with all their different lives and schedules, can actually get together and play. Seeing my children playing is a wonderful dream, as they all laugh and tease and reminisce together. Wack - a - Mole was the game of choice this time, and although I participated one night and it left me aching for several nights, it was hilarious. Ridi would wind up the wacker with a huge grin on her face, and then deliver the blow to the booty of the poor "mole" (usually Emily). The triumphant golfers returning as if, men of ancient times returning after a rousing hunt. Everyone folding napkins, tying ribbons, and working like demons to make Emily's wedding a wonderful "Time of Her Dreams". And, it happened!!! For there are times, although maybe fewer and shorter than we'd like that we have for a moment - THE TIME OF OUR DREAMS!!!! That is my wish for all of my friends and family, as I think of you this moment, each of you, with your struggles and challenges, that you may also have--sooner than you'd even hope for - THE TIME OF YOUR DREAMS! I love you all, Catherine.

An Old Friend

2007-04-26T19:21:00.000-07:00

31 years ago, just before I got married, it dawned on me that I would need a bed! Yeah, Roy and I had never discussed it, and so my dad and I ran to Levitz and picked up the cheapest double bed I could find, it took all of a half hour. Little did I know that this would be the one possession of ours that somebody, anybody, should have put a little thought into. Nobody told me that I would grow old on this bed and suffer aches in my joints. Nobody told me that I would grow bigger and a teeeny, tiiiiiny, double bed would seem awfully small, sooner or later. Nobody told me that I would fall off a horse at 45 and be bed ridden for months on an old, uncomfortable, sagging mattress.
I remember quite clearly when I was sixteen I visited my church leader in her huge home. She and her husband had a loft on the third story with a window dome over their bed looking up to the heavens. Underneath that dome was a teeeny, tiiiny, double bed. (Incidentally, they had 10 children) Another leader asked them how they could have spent all those years in that little bed. She replied, "Oh, we've always vowed that we would spend our lives in our marriage bed, and we've never regretted it." Well, that did it....being the romantic that I am, I vowed right there that when I married I would have a double bed and we would never get rid of it.
About, 5 years ago our children took pity on our aches and sleepless nights and bought us a new bed. But, they were considerate enough to buy another "double" bed because they knew our romantic history.
So today when a QUEEN size bed came in through the bedroom door and James and Chase happily wore it in, I couldn't help think that at the age of 50, some part of me had given up on the romantic notions of my past. I am bigger, and Roy does toss and turn, and I do have aches and pains and a little extra room would be nice - but, a large part of me wanted to tell them to take it back! Somehow hanging onto those young, romantic dreams seemed important. Why? I haven't really figured it out yet....or perhaps...in my heart of hearts, I'm still a young girl soon to be married with all the hopes and dreams ahead of her - and admitting otherwise, isn't something I'm eager to embrace.

The Flat Road

2007-04-22T13:49:00.000-07:00

When Neal Maxwell was driving across the Nevada desert he pondered on the landscape around him and later he made a statement something like, "Don't be impatient with the flat periods in our lives, these are the times we should reflect on the hills and valleys we have lived through, and prepare for the new terrain coming up."
I have driven the Nevada desert many times, especially when I had a young family and after several trips, I too pondered and came to a strong conclusion, " Somebody should blow up everything from Wendover to Salt Lake City, just a giant...KABOOM...and we'd all be the better for it."
Needless to say - the differences between us are all too obvious. Yet now that I fly to Salt Lake City instead of drive, I admit I recall with fondness some of the adventures along the flat roads. When Roy and I were just married we'd have hour long talks that led us down unexpected and illuminating highways of thoughts.
Then with the young children, the hundreds of games of "In My Grandfathers Tool Shed, there was a....", and "The Minister's Cat is an....alligator cat", or the plethora of traveling songs, the worst being "100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall."
As a young child, staring out the window of the back seat and watching the shadows speed past, while the humming sounds of the tire and engine lulled me into a sort of halfway world, where I seemed to float somewhere above myself.
Some of my favorite times were the magical "Toby" stories that kept the children enthralled for another thirty miles. Roy sometimes took a turn story telling and they would invariably be about cowboys, and ranches, which we patiently endured, except for Pat, who would come from the back corner of the van for the first time of the trip and perch himself as close to his dad as possible. Once he was so engrossed in the story, that when Roy got to the part when the rancher nursed the cowhand back to health, young Pat cried out in horror, "He NURSED him!!!!"
Yeah, I guess there is a place for the flat, monotonous, boring stretches of our lives. They can sometimes turn out to be paths of wonder.

What do you LOATHE?

2007-04-12T09:01:00.000-07:00

Last night at dinner James was trying to acurately define the word - LOATHE - and after asking his mother and the rest of us, he nodded his head in satisfaction and announced, " I loathe Porsches!!!!" Yup, folks, you heard it here and you heard it correctly, James loathes Porsches. I envy James's ability to know so definitively just what he likes and just what he loathes, it brings him such ease of mind. James actually means what he says, you see there are no grills on porsches and a grill is an absolute must for his idea of a car. But I grew up thinking porsches were the ABSOLUTE tops in a must have car, so I yearned for one. I even kept going out with a guy for awhile that I didn't really like, but, he had a porsche.

James's behavior gave me an idea...if I just said, with great conviction, that I loathed something that I really painfully yearned for, maybe the longing would go away. Poof! like magic.
So here goes...I loathe first class seats in air planes. I loathe Hawaiian sunsets. I loathe family rooms, you know, a room where everyone can gather and there's enough room for all to play and laugh and then go to their bedrooms at night and not have to put mattresses and foam on the floor, covering all available space just to accomodate your loved ones. Yup, that I definitely loathe. And what about a trip to the beautiful homes and gardens of England, imaginging Austin, Bronte, Eliot and others, oh, decidedly unabashed loathing. I absolutely loathe the idea of a vacation home in some beautiful, wooded mountain lot.

There - I feel much better! Sort of............well..............okay, it didn't help at all. From now on I will be as firm in my yearnings as James is in his loathings. I ache, pine, and yearn for a Hawaiian sunset....yeah....those longings feel right at home.

Comfort

2007-04-08T17:53:00.000-07:00

At Easter dinner Chase was accidentally whammed in the head by the Brita water pitcher, and I really mean whammed. After a few shocked moments, the tears started flowing and then broken hearted sobs. (He was adorably happy and babbling moments before, so it was a real shock) Angela kissed and cajoled but he wouldn't be eased. But as soon as "blankie blue" was laid on his cheek, he melted into the blankie and Angie's shoulder. His entire body softened and curved to his moms. The crying abruptly stopped. He laid on her shoulder a few minutes and then he was ready to continue with Easter celebrations.

Oh how, at times, I long for comfort that complete. There are times sorrow and anxiety are so actute I feel my body screaming inside for aide. Yet often I will turn down other's requests to assist, even at times turning from a similarly loving shoulder and hug as Chase had. Are my sorrows really that greater? Have I learned that a hug and shoulder aren't enough? Or, do I for some reason turn from the very comfort I may know deep inside could help?

Sadly the answers are not easy, or have not been found, yet I watch Chase melt into "blankie blue" and I long with every part of my soul for my own blankie.

Gotta Love Those Toys

2007-04-03T12:31:00.000-07:00

James has just been talking to me about the Ninja Turtle he just got at McDonalds - Donatello! Wow, did that bring back memories of my boys and the absolute NEED to get all the turtles, and the pizza shooter. We knew the personalities of each turtle and the boys could give the equal of a "Doctoral Thesis" on the turles, and Splinter, and Shredder.

When I was a young girl the absolute "Must Have" was a troll doll. Oh how I loved my troll. I would spend hours combing my trolls hair (with the special comb attached to the doll) All the friends would sit around at recess and talk about the merits of blue vs. yellow hair, or that the white hair was fuller. We had troll families, and friends, and whole societies. My troll got me through many a long church or a sad alone time, or a special hide out together and have a heart to heart talk time. My troll did tend to take me away from the "barbie" friends, or the special "feel like a real baby", baby doll friends. But, at last, after trying very hard to love barbies and even baby dolls, I had found my real love and my real friends. Knowing me now, it seems a natural fit.

So what about toys? Angela had to swim the whole length of Burgess Pool (which took her weeks and weeks) to get the beloved "Cabbage Patch Doll", which then, Emily just had to have one for her own. She begged and pleaded and bargained for one. I think Emily was much more attached than Angela. Then there was the beloved "He-Man and She-Ra! " Even I loved that whole romance of that series. Later it was "Strawberry Shortcake and Lemon Meringue" and the others.

The boys, of course, loved the "The Ninja Turtles" but their real obsession was "G. I. Joes," which they thought about and plotted to get the newest or the rarest "Joe." Daniel Mason their neighborhood friend seemed to have all the really hard to find ones like, Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow! ( as seen in picture) But he obviously had the better mother(my boys thought) who would take him to Target every day to see if a new shipment had arrived and hadn't already been picked through. (Daniel's mother assured me she didn't go to Target daily)My boys reminded me of my failings often.

And now, here are my grandsons, James and Chase. James only too happy to jump on the latest must have new toy trend. And then Chase will come toddling up voicing in his own 2 year old speak... Yace hab ell! (meaning: Chase has Raphael)

So who did you love and (using Chase speak) who did you hab?

It's Time To Hang Up Your Boa!

2007-03-28T16:17:00.000-07:00

I admit I love any show on t.v. that has some sort of dance and singing competition to it. So I discovered a few weeks ago - ta da - Let's Find The Next New Pussycat Doll". Now for those of you who are not familiar with this group (like me) you might recognize....(imagine a music beat playing) "Don't Cha Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me." I've watched all of ten minutes of this show and I Do Not Recommend This Show!!! Repeat-Not! But...In that ten minutes I have picked up some life wisdom that begs to be repeated. In fact when I heard these small tidbits of knowledge I was deeply moved, my soul stirred. Get ready, here is the first:
NUMBER 1 - Every woman has a little pussycat doll in them. Wow, I didn't know that. The next time I go out, I'm gonna git down, snap my finger, give some unsuspecting man a feline sultry look, and watch out! There gist ain't gonna be no stoppin me. You bet, my claws are ready and my purr is revving up-so be prepared.
NUMBER 2 - It's time to hang up your boa! OOOOOOH....that's harsh. At the end of every show one girl is eliminated from the competition. (A little background info)-each girl has a bright red boa that she dances with in rehearsal, at home and finally in the competition. After their bootylicious number one girl is called out and told, "Sorry hon, but it's time to hang up your boa." A truer statement has never been said. For each of us, at some time, we will all have to hang up our boa. But, will we know when, and will we do it with the style and class a boa retirement requires. I don't know about you, but when I last got up in front of the ward in an old robe and curlers with fake eyelashes and belted some lyrics from "Guys and Dolls", why oh why didn't I recognize that a boa ceremony would have been appropriate. Oh no... I had to go on to dress up like The Mad Hatter, A Cheerless Housewife, and countless other moments that were past the true pussycat stage. I sorrow to know that when I got up to bear my testimony in church and happened to fall down, all the way, legs over head-only to stand up and wave to the congregation- didn't someone I love come to me and say, "Sorry, sweetie, but it's time to hang up your boa." Remember: Friends don't let their friends carelessly flaunt their boa's.

MAMMOGRAMS! PG 13 - for males

2007-03-25T10:08:00.000-07:00

My mother died of breast cancer so you would think that I would be at the medical center yearly for my mammogram, but you would think wrong, because somehow the fear of the MAMMOGRAM is stronger than my fear of cancer. Does this make any sense to a rational woman? Of course the answer is no, but here are the facts: 1- I haven't had cancer, although I've seen the misery, first hand, that it can cause. 2-I have had MAMMOGRAMS and KNOW the pain they cause. thus...The real pain is greater than the perceived pain. Does that sound like a good theory to anyone who actually studies psychology, logic, etc...
Well here are the next set of facts: 1- each MAMMOGRAM is totally different depending on the clinician giving the exam. 2- each MAMMOGRAM is totally different depending on the size of your breasts. 3- each MAMMOGRAM is different depending on the time of the month.

So...after three years of no MAMMOGRAMS I finally went in and hit the slab, so to speak. You know what, not too bad this time!!!! That is why I am dedicating this blog to "The Professional Mammographer with a Gentle Touch."
One year I had a girl that had just gradutated, I guess that could be a term, from her mammography clinicals....I fondly refer to her as "The Mammographer From Hell", I was one of her first 20 victims. After that experience, I trembled uncontrollably, I broke out into a sweat, couldn't stop from crying with a whinning to it, and then tossed my cookies. I was in pain for several days.
A few years past I had lost alot of weight and as women all over know, this means the bust size goes first, so I was really small. Those exams were painful but never, ever compared to the MAMMOGRAMS of a larger bust size.

The conclusion: 1- I heartily encourage all women to get mammograms. IT COULD SAVE YOUR LIFE. 2- Some of you won't have too bad of an experience. 3- Some of you will want to rip someone's eyes out. For the latter I suggest blogging, it's a great way to vent.

The Great Puzzle Challenge

2007-03-22T17:34:00.000-07:00

Today I was challenged by the "Great Dragon Puzzle" created by James Ballard. I tell you, he is very tricky, and clever, and sadly my puzzle went down in defeat. Here are the rules: each person draws a picture, then cuts the puzzle up in several pieces, then hands the pieces to the other player, who then tries to put the puzzle together.

The person whose puzzle causes the greatest challenge for their opponent wins. Besides the fact that James clearly had the better picture! He also had a strategy not stored in my aging gray matter. Namely... cut your pieces into teeny, tiny, 1/100th of an inch pieces every so often just to make the other person sweat. He also used a little known fact - make your picture soooo scary that the other person trembles while putting it together, causing shaking hands to fumble with the microscopic pieces. If you plan on coming to our house any time soon here is my advice: BEWARE AND BE SCARED!

Treasures

2007-03-20T09:58:00.000-07:00

Pebbles!! Oh the joy of scooping and sifting through the millions of tiny stones the ocean transformed from giant boulders for billions of years. Each pebble has it's unique shape, it's unique color which makes each pebble a find. My quest this day, as it has been before, was to find the perfectly rounded (like basketball round) white pebble. Through my years of searching I am beginning to think that nature does not create such a find. In fact, it leaves me wondering whether nature is trying in it's own way to teach us that conventional perfection is an illusion...but alas, we will leave that blog for another day. But today....Delight!!! Dark red pebbles, soft sea foam green pebbles, pearl and clear pebbles, pebbles that are an amalgam of the various rocks in which they were honed. Then there is the touch! Each stone seems so refined, so smooth. I find myself on a new search for the perfect worry stone. A stone of good size to fit between one's thumb and fingers, with the right degree of, yes, I'll say-smoothness. A stone, when worried between agitated fingers has the power to ease all the cares from ones soul to the very core of the stone. After years of worrying, a stone has a sleek, dolphin-like feel, truly a treasure.

The highlight of the afternoon was seeing how infectious the quest for treasure can be. James would come running up to me with each new pebble, describing just how unique THIS new pebble was. "Isn't this just the best, Grammy?" I look at him and I look at the stone...what can I say but, "Treasures!"

So...speaking of treasures...we found absolutely spectacular specimens of sea glass, they were blue, aqua, clear, amber, white and each ...and we...and I...ahhh, treasures!

Just For Show

2007-03-14T14:17:00.000-07:00

I remember when a family (who will remain unnamed) finished a 2 million dollar remodel which included a huge library, then proceeded to call a respected teacher to ask where they could go to find old leather bound books so their library would look authentic, somehow missing the point that if they weren't using their own books the library was already not authentic. Okay, so I admit, I love the look of leather bound books and if I had my own library I imagine I would probably purchase some used books just for effect. You probably get where this metaphor is leading, but here goes, anyway...When all is said and done I hope that enough of me is genuine, worn from life's road. That I am genuine, like "The Velveteen Rabbit" That I am real. Because every now and then it occurs to me as I'm embellishing a particular story, that doesn't need embellishing cause it's really good on its own, that parts of me are for "show".

2007-03-10T09:37:00.000-08:00

Raffi was singing to me today and I was singing along with him..."All I really need is a song in my heart, food in my belly, and love in my family." In the middle of a full voice aria, it occurred to me that I couldn't really sing this with a full heart, cause there were some other things that I really need. Like a bathtub, a Jane Austen novel, a good hair colorist and stylist, 500 thread count or above sheets, "Project Runway", and "The Office", and..., and.... Not to mention the really important things like no wars, and the end of the torture in Darfur, and..., and...., well there we are. Hmmmm..... Have you noticed that some songs we sing with full belief when we are children are not necessarily true. But, the catch is, we think they ARE true. We grow up expecting them to be true. Like - "When Your Heart is Filled With Love, Others Will Love You." - NOT - and how about, "Families can be Together Forever", what if you don't want your extended family to be together forever? What if you have an in-law that has made your life miserable and the thought of living with them forever seems more like hell than heaven. Okay, so maybe we should teach our children, "Send in the Clowns', or, "Rainy Days and Mondays", or how about, "Cat's in the Cradle", you know that part - "...when you coming home dad I don't know when....". I'll admit I'm being facetious, I don't think we should teach our children, "Apocalyptica." All I know is that today I felt great when I was singing along with Raffi. I feel great when I sing children's songs. Even if all our childhood truths twist and change and even seem to wound us at times, I would never trade the joy I felt and still feel singing and believing those innocent and pure dreams.

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams."
Eleanor Roosevelt

...Speaking of Spring...

2007-03-07T13:37:00.000-08:00

Speaking of Spring...when I was a little girl I spent hours at the very bottom of our property (about 2 acres away from the house), where I felt very alone and free to be whatever I created. Well....I decided that I was the guardian of all the spring blossoms, trees, and creatures. At the very back and left of the yard was dozens of lilac bushes, then a small lane of grass bordered on the right by dozens of crab apple trees, which formed a brilliant branching arbor to walk under. Each spring, robins would build nests in the crab apple trees. One year the nest was so close to my reach that I would daily climb up and inspect the brilliant blue of the egg. I would carefully pick each egg up and hold it in my cup shaped hand. One day an egg slipped out of my hand and landed with a splat on the ground. I heard the mother bird chirping madly at me. I was devastated! I cried as I picked up each piece of shell, and yet I couldn't fix it. Sometimes I wonder if at that moment I realized what it meant to be kicked out of "The Garden of Eden." Innocence with all it's wonder and magic was shattered by reality. I had killed a bird. For I truly knew and had seen new born birds and I knew the tragedy of this accident. My magic kingdom had been ruined, I lay prostrate on the grass sobbing. Although I had grand adventures in my yards for many years, with all the magic of imagination, I never played the "Guardian of the Spring Kingdom" ever again.

Creation

2007-03-07T12:30:00.000-08:00

It's a standard family joke that years ago Catherine went on vacation for the first time and came home with 100 pictures of lava. (It certainly wasn't 100, but I admit a trifle too many) What befuddled me greatly, was that no one, and I mean NO ONE seemed to see the absolute magic captured on film. The day I hiked miles over nothing but black hardened lava in the very hot and humid Hawaiian sun, to suddenly see, smell and hear the magnificence of a hot lava flow, will always be one of my favorite days on earth. I watched the black lava about two feet high and several feet long, slowly move like an awakening dragon, twisting and rolling over itself, then suddenly turning a scorching red pouring over the earth, only to quickly turn darkest black again. It's movements were wildly unpredictable and exciting as it crackled and hissed. Suddenly, I had an amazing thought wash over me - I was witnessing creation. Creation happening at it's very most elemental form. It was as if I was allowed to stand near to God as He formed the earth. This black, red, hissing, oozing, boiling mass was life! The start of all life on this beautiful planet I live on. And in just a few places on earth it is still happening, and I witnessed it.

A Fine Character

2007-03-02T14:34:00.000-08:00

My father had a huge nose, and I have a rather large nose, some would say huge. But it wasn't until I had teenage children that I had any clue that I had a huge snauzola. In fact, I thought my nose was one of the very attractive parts of me. My mother repeatedly told me while I was very young, that my nose, "...indicated fine character". She would smile and lift up my chin with her hand and admire my nose, all the time repeating how lucky I was to have such good character. I grew up believing that people would look at me and naturally know I was something pretty special. In fact, I was sure my nose, aka, character would be one of the things my, yet to be found, fiancé would be attracted to. I believed without one doubt. Then....my teenagers brought reality into my life, not just by comments, but comparisons, and sessions in front of the mirror. Oh horrors -they were right. I had a huge nose. I had noticed when I gave Eskimo kisses at night that my nose was the only one that didn't bend. It was true! But, what was it that for so many years convinced me otherwise? Quite simply - it was my mother's image of me. My mother's belief that my nose was beautiful and had character turned into my belief. As one of my daughters pointed out to me recently, a mother is the mirror of their child's image of self. Oh what a fragile, but essential mirror.

love

2007-03-01T18:39:00.000-08:00

"There is no remedy for love but to love more"
Henry David Thoreau

Last week these 5,000 year old skeletons were excavated in Italy, not far from Verona, Romeo and Juliet's fated city, where they loved and died. This picture left a haunting image wedged in my mind along with a myriad of questions. Who were they? How did they die? And did they meet death while gazing into each others eyes? I admit to being somewhat jealous, as I doubt whether I will leave this life while holding my loved one, his gaze strengthening my fears. I have been extremely lucky and blessed because I have a wonderful companion who is my best friend and source of all comfort, except that of my Lord. Such love does exsist, it always has and will continue to fall on a lucky few. Why me? I don't think the answer has anything to do with my conduct or Roy's, it just is. And for that I will hold on tightly, gazing into his eyes as we face the future.

"There is no remedy for love but to love more" Henry David Thoreau

2007-03-01T17:17:00.000-08:00

Why Atticus?

2007-03-01T08:43:00.000-08:00

If I could become one character out of all the characters I've read about in fiction, it would definitly be Atticus Finch, from Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird". And yes, that includes serious thinking about Jane Eyre, Elizabeth Bennett, and Woodstock, (who I feel lives a life of great creativity, ease, and a slightly warped sense of humour). But, there never has been serious compettition for the place of Atticus. His strength, courage and kindness are equal in their depth, and he has a fierce sense of humilty and gentleness. I love that one can be fierce in gentleness , fierce in kindness and fierce in humility. Just saying the name aloud..."Atticus", fills me with the best I could ever hope to be. I guess you could learn a great deal about me by reading the book. Wouldn't that be a great game at a party...Write the fictional character you would most like to become, then everyone place the names in a hat and read aloud and have everyone guess who chose which character. But I would love to go further and have each person tell why that particular character has a hold on them. I feel like we would learn so much more about a person from such an exercise, than a series of conversations at school, work or church. I like that idea so much, that you now have been warned if you come to my house for a party or just a informal chat.