Did I write that I didn't want to be released? Did I encourage "enduring to the end?"
Can I add some contingencies to those commitments?
Maybe if I were to get a trip to Oahu for a few days, or maybe if somebody else wanted to take over the early morning school preparations and pep talks about feeding the dog, making the beds, and the blessings of teeth-brushing....
How about just a little bit of that magic-nose-twitching ability --you know, like on Bewitched?
I promise, pinkie promise I wouldn't abuse it....
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Ring Out Wild Bells!
Ring in the new...year, with new cousins and countdowns, and raisin-like bodies after hours of swimming feats in chilly weather. It seems, with all that life throws at us, that seeing relatives every few years still strengthens family ties a-plenty, but we adults sometimes forget that some were not born, or too little to remember past reunions. The Hall cousins had a wonderful time partying and playing this past weekend.
Some pictures (pre-official family photo since my lame-o battery died right then):
Noah and Sus appreciate that Russ can keep flawless time with Gracee in the bouncy seat and Schuyler in his lap.
Eh? What d'ya say?
Little Red Millie Hood, on our way to dinner at Stokers
Jarom and Joey
A posed action shot: Steven, Susie, Abbie and Sam
Aunt Susie (in Vanuatu-like garb?), with Gracee as the bear and Alethea w/ sleepy Jesse Dean
Ethan and Aubrey (in the photographer's shadow)
Millie, Joey, little Slade, and Sam
Noah and Abbie
So long, Farewell --we'll see you Arizonians soon.
Some pictures (pre-official family photo since my lame-o battery died right then):
Noah and Sus appreciate that Russ can keep flawless time with Gracee in the bouncy seat and Schuyler in his lap.
Eh? What d'ya say?
Little Red Millie Hood, on our way to dinner at Stokers
Jarom and Joey
A posed action shot: Steven, Susie, Abbie and Sam
Aunt Susie (in Vanuatu-like garb?), with Gracee as the bear and Alethea w/ sleepy Jesse Dean
Ethan and Aubrey (in the photographer's shadow)
Millie, Joey, little Slade, and Sam
Noah and Abbie
So long, Farewell --we'll see you Arizonians soon.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Roots and Discovery
Grandpa Hall used his timeshare powers to host a Hall Family Reunion in St. George for New Years. Each of the seven children and their families had their own "condo" with ample space. The children played day and night with long lost Hall cousins, the adults sang and played games, managed determined swimmers (despite the frost on the grass) and visited. Maxler wasn't as pleased as his siblings about such an adventure, and on our 2nd very long night together, he and I packed up in a hurry and headed down the mountain in search of some ibuprofen and decongestant. I drove down Bluff, past familiar and tall unfamiliar buildings. I passed "Wells Court" where Uncle Scott used to tend to his animals for so many years, and I started to tear up. I pulled into Smiths. The baby and I spent a long time there. And even though I have shopped at Smiths all over the state, this one is Grandma's, with Ross Hurst's just next door.
I haven't been down to Dixie since Grandma died. Part of me was wanting to close that chapter --so much had changed about the city with it's expansion. Part of me didn't want to go back and remember. But part of me is Dixie bred. I know the landmarks. I love the red rock. My feet recall that prickly stiff grass, the sands of Snow Canyon, and the lava rock by the "Secret Pools of Living Youth." I am 34 years old. When we climbed to those pools long ago, surrounded by Wells cousins, and young uncles --I wasn't developmentally capable of realizing the magic of such a secret. The pools, the people, the journey -- the secret lay in the living -- in the being together -- and now in the memories of it all.
I left the store and drove up past Hurst's --"Rah, Rah, Ross, Ross, Ross" my mind rehearsed. I came around the back and through Smith's parking lot again. I went straight. There was Mary Ellen's, there was Schuyler and Afton's --and there was the driveway we always parked our variety of station wagons, late at night....Grandma's. It seemed little. The whole house seemed little. It has always been, of course. The blue looked a bit faded. I drove past it, looking back. I turned left, past Scott and Jillyn's old place. Down by the tabernacle, right past old houses and newer condos --straight at the light, past the movie theater where we'd seen Back to The Future when it first came out. Next through the busy intersection and after a stretch of development that is less familiar, I spot the small white out buildings that were once part of the Wells Dairy Farm.
Later that day, after we'd said good-bye to all the Hall travelers, Star drove us out to Santa Clara -- what a change on that road from the days we frequented Gary and Marsha's place. Our destination was the home of Jacob Hamblin -- one of Star's ancestors. It was a peaceful spot. The children were intrigued by the cotton growing right outside the door. Star felt connected and proud of his heritage. Elder Hill promised that a trip to the St. George temple visitor's center for the viewing of a new film would prove valuable to our family. We felt compelled to comply. We entered the center and were warmly greeted. "Is this all one family, Mom?" an Elder and his wife asked me. "Yes, and it feels like a lot of people on Sunday mornings," I smiled. We had the theatre to ourselves. Only a Stone Cutter began. It tells the story of a man who was called to work on the Salt Lake temple. He lived in Alpine, and would begin his walk to the temple on Monday mornings at 2am in order to arrive with the other workers at 8am. He stayed with his son each week until Friday, when he would walk back to Alpine and reach home around midnight. He did this for many years despite amazing challenges. The image of his walking and limping up the hill back lit by dawn's pink hues will remain with me. He was only ....a stone cutter, ...a father, ...a servant of the Lord.
It was hard to persuade the children to leave. The spirit there could not be denied. I could feel it. My children could feel it. We walked out a different way than we had come, past the large Christus statue with his outstretched and marked hands. Star took the baby and started the loading process. Dusk was settling in, and with it came the Christmas lights and the music from the Nativity still on display. Millie was captivated. Pres. Hinckley's voice came over the speakers. She looked up at me with happy recognition and ran to hug me. I picked her up and held her close. And my mind cast back to a specific memory from a January 15 years ago:
Star and I had traveled to AZ to meet his family. On the way back I wanted him to see St. George --after all, that was part of my roots. Grandma had been gracious and we had left her to visit the temple. It was the temple where my Wells cousins had married, and where my siblings had photos in sun suits and straggly hair. We stood there, somewhat giddy in our excitement, dreaming up a "happily ever after" sort of ending to our college romance.
And now -- with a Suburban full of children, snacks, bedding and books, I was overcome with the realization that in many ways my story resembled the old stone cutter Moyle; It included an uphill, determined trudging that may not end for years, but I do not want to be released from this calling of motherhood. And besides, imagine how many lovely sunrises and sunsets he must have witnessed.
I kissed little Millie's cheek. When we climbed in the car Star said, "We're just going to drive by the cemetery and let Mom get out for a few minutes. Would you like that, Mom?" I nodded, tears pooling again. I had not ever been to the St. George cemetery without my parents showing me where all the Wellses were. It took me a few minutes to locate them. I saw Annie's stone, and then up a row were Hannah and George. The fonts were identical, as though there had not been almost 40 years of separation. They said simply: Mother and Father. On the next row was Uncle Scott and their David, Jillyn's name already carved there --waiting. Oh---that upward, long journey for us all --week after week, year after year. But....as I searched for those names in the Dixie grass, I was back lit with one of the most spectacular sunsets I'd ever seen.
God was in his glory. He knows my roots, and He knows what that means to me.
I haven't been down to Dixie since Grandma died. Part of me was wanting to close that chapter --so much had changed about the city with it's expansion. Part of me didn't want to go back and remember. But part of me is Dixie bred. I know the landmarks. I love the red rock. My feet recall that prickly stiff grass, the sands of Snow Canyon, and the lava rock by the "Secret Pools of Living Youth." I am 34 years old. When we climbed to those pools long ago, surrounded by Wells cousins, and young uncles --I wasn't developmentally capable of realizing the magic of such a secret. The pools, the people, the journey -- the secret lay in the living -- in the being together -- and now in the memories of it all.
I left the store and drove up past Hurst's --"Rah, Rah, Ross, Ross, Ross" my mind rehearsed. I came around the back and through Smith's parking lot again. I went straight. There was Mary Ellen's, there was Schuyler and Afton's --and there was the driveway we always parked our variety of station wagons, late at night....Grandma's. It seemed little. The whole house seemed little. It has always been, of course. The blue looked a bit faded. I drove past it, looking back. I turned left, past Scott and Jillyn's old place. Down by the tabernacle, right past old houses and newer condos --straight at the light, past the movie theater where we'd seen Back to The Future when it first came out. Next through the busy intersection and after a stretch of development that is less familiar, I spot the small white out buildings that were once part of the Wells Dairy Farm.
Later that day, after we'd said good-bye to all the Hall travelers, Star drove us out to Santa Clara -- what a change on that road from the days we frequented Gary and Marsha's place. Our destination was the home of Jacob Hamblin -- one of Star's ancestors. It was a peaceful spot. The children were intrigued by the cotton growing right outside the door. Star felt connected and proud of his heritage. Elder Hill promised that a trip to the St. George temple visitor's center for the viewing of a new film would prove valuable to our family. We felt compelled to comply. We entered the center and were warmly greeted. "Is this all one family, Mom?" an Elder and his wife asked me. "Yes, and it feels like a lot of people on Sunday mornings," I smiled. We had the theatre to ourselves. Only a Stone Cutter began. It tells the story of a man who was called to work on the Salt Lake temple. He lived in Alpine, and would begin his walk to the temple on Monday mornings at 2am in order to arrive with the other workers at 8am. He stayed with his son each week until Friday, when he would walk back to Alpine and reach home around midnight. He did this for many years despite amazing challenges. The image of his walking and limping up the hill back lit by dawn's pink hues will remain with me. He was only ....a stone cutter, ...a father, ...a servant of the Lord.
It was hard to persuade the children to leave. The spirit there could not be denied. I could feel it. My children could feel it. We walked out a different way than we had come, past the large Christus statue with his outstretched and marked hands. Star took the baby and started the loading process. Dusk was settling in, and with it came the Christmas lights and the music from the Nativity still on display. Millie was captivated. Pres. Hinckley's voice came over the speakers. She looked up at me with happy recognition and ran to hug me. I picked her up and held her close. And my mind cast back to a specific memory from a January 15 years ago:
Star and I had traveled to AZ to meet his family. On the way back I wanted him to see St. George --after all, that was part of my roots. Grandma had been gracious and we had left her to visit the temple. It was the temple where my Wells cousins had married, and where my siblings had photos in sun suits and straggly hair. We stood there, somewhat giddy in our excitement, dreaming up a "happily ever after" sort of ending to our college romance.
And now -- with a Suburban full of children, snacks, bedding and books, I was overcome with the realization that in many ways my story resembled the old stone cutter Moyle; It included an uphill, determined trudging that may not end for years, but I do not want to be released from this calling of motherhood. And besides, imagine how many lovely sunrises and sunsets he must have witnessed.
I kissed little Millie's cheek. When we climbed in the car Star said, "We're just going to drive by the cemetery and let Mom get out for a few minutes. Would you like that, Mom?" I nodded, tears pooling again. I had not ever been to the St. George cemetery without my parents showing me where all the Wellses were. It took me a few minutes to locate them. I saw Annie's stone, and then up a row were Hannah and George. The fonts were identical, as though there had not been almost 40 years of separation. They said simply: Mother and Father. On the next row was Uncle Scott and their David, Jillyn's name already carved there --waiting. Oh---that upward, long journey for us all --week after week, year after year. But....as I searched for those names in the Dixie grass, I was back lit with one of the most spectacular sunsets I'd ever seen.
God was in his glory. He knows my roots, and He knows what that means to me.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Wells Family Christmas Party
A marathon celebration of the season and family: Gooey nachos (in honor of Matt's b-day), soups, sledding out front, a talent show, cousin gifts, a skype call to sleepy missionaries in South Africa, new African Jammies with matching soft friends, Scott's caramel popcorn, and Matt's masterpeice: "Home for Christmas"(my poor mind must have reached it's limit -- I sobbed from beginning to end of that home movie.)
Some photos to mark the occasion:
Whoosh!
We started youngest to oldest --"Skymax" smiled for his talent.
Jules waived.
Aggie and Henry did "Once there was a Snowman."
Who needs a plate -- just bring the whole bucket!
Parley sang "the Eency Weency Spider."
Millie composed her own song about the beauty Christmas, and how it's "good for me." (many of her original compositions have this this theme.)
With excellent posture, Nathaniel plays a memorized piano piece.
Madeleine is our 1st flute player in the Wells family.
Eliza reads an original poem about the sanity of the giver of "the 12 days of Christmas."
Every good talent show needs a good audience.
Zach plays his favorite song of the season, "Who Would Send a Baby?"
A weary Lyddie burys into her Daddie's lap as Nathaniel watches yet another performer.
A clever adaptation of "Sisters" ('Lord help the Sis. that comes between me and my book')
Some African clad friends gather for a Christmas story as the party winds down.
"And to all a good night!"
Millie figures she might as well just settle here for a bit -- the stairs are so far away.
Some photos to mark the occasion:
Whoosh!
We started youngest to oldest --"Skymax" smiled for his talent.
Jules waived.
Aggie and Henry did "Once there was a Snowman."
Who needs a plate -- just bring the whole bucket!
Parley sang "the Eency Weency Spider."
Millie composed her own song about the beauty Christmas, and how it's "good for me." (many of her original compositions have this this theme.)
With excellent posture, Nathaniel plays a memorized piano piece.
Madeleine is our 1st flute player in the Wells family.
Eliza reads an original poem about the sanity of the giver of "the 12 days of Christmas."
Every good talent show needs a good audience.
Zach plays his favorite song of the season, "Who Would Send a Baby?"
A weary Lyddie burys into her Daddie's lap as Nathaniel watches yet another performer.
A clever adaptation of "Sisters" ('Lord help the Sis. that comes between me and my book')
Some African clad friends gather for a Christmas story as the party winds down.
"And to all a good night!"
Millie figures she might as well just settle here for a bit -- the stairs are so far away.
Ain't it Thrillin?
To frolick and play on Christmas Day!
Abbie in her new boots and snow pants
Uh Oh --I wouldn't want to tangle with Dad and snowballs
Millie is set to join the group with the snowman kit
On top of.....all covered with snow...
J. was excited to finally express his deep and abiding love for Zach
Zach must have Abs of steel (well, Abs of some sort)
Such sibling sweetness...how long will it last?
Zach gets revenge
What a day! Merry Christmas to All!
Abbie in her new boots and snow pants
Uh Oh --I wouldn't want to tangle with Dad and snowballs
Millie is set to join the group with the snowman kit
On top of.....all covered with snow...
J. was excited to finally express his deep and abiding love for Zach
Zach must have Abs of steel (well, Abs of some sort)
Such sibling sweetness...how long will it last?
Zach gets revenge
What a day! Merry Christmas to All!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Time for....
Recently, I have had little time to blog, little time for laundry, little time for anything really. How can this Dec. 25th deadline alter all daily routines, all local traffic, all music being played night and day in homes and stores? It has great power. And then, on a Sunday like today, as I sit in the congregation and listen to the Christmas Choir presentation, I feel the glory of the season --for just a few minutes I am allowed to just be. My husband's lovely tenor voice sang the first solo. His gentle vibrato was like the ghost of Christmas past-- a reminder of a time when he performed frequently, and I was young in my love for him. I did not yet understand.
My Abbie and Millie, in their matching red dresses from Grandma Wells sang in a little quartet next--their voices clear and high, and faces bright. They are confident --unaware of Christmases to come, where responsibilities will inevitably bring a gravity to their world. Sam alternates between laying across my lap for a tickle-back, and kneeling in the corner with his "guys" and hymnbooks, buried deep in his imagination. He is at peace today. Zach, my Christmas baby from long ago has finished passing the sacrament, and has joined the ward choir on the stand. He is in his suit. He is standing next to his father. My mother-in-law sits beside me. She is quiet and calm, as usual. I feel like squeezing her arm, her shoulders, and attempting to express what her time with us here has meant to me. It is as if, after all these years, we finally have the gift of a bit of time to slough off our shyness about each other.
Millie has returned from the stand. She sits by Susie, Russ and their Gracee girl. She smiles broadly at the baby in hopes of one in return. She is rewarded, she climbs up on the pew and twists Susie's long hair. Russ looks on and smiles as well. We begin the closing song, my chubby baby has already spit up on Grandma's coat and skirt. He is finished being social. I take him and roll his body into mine and begin my perfected bounce. He falls for it and relaxes into sleep.
I smile. I take a mental picture of the joy captured in this Christmas present. It is joy that is possible only through the adoration of the Christ child.
Abbie's Sunday afternoon creation of the nativity (rock, hay from the barn, wood from the shop)
My Abbie and Millie, in their matching red dresses from Grandma Wells sang in a little quartet next--their voices clear and high, and faces bright. They are confident --unaware of Christmases to come, where responsibilities will inevitably bring a gravity to their world. Sam alternates between laying across my lap for a tickle-back, and kneeling in the corner with his "guys" and hymnbooks, buried deep in his imagination. He is at peace today. Zach, my Christmas baby from long ago has finished passing the sacrament, and has joined the ward choir on the stand. He is in his suit. He is standing next to his father. My mother-in-law sits beside me. She is quiet and calm, as usual. I feel like squeezing her arm, her shoulders, and attempting to express what her time with us here has meant to me. It is as if, after all these years, we finally have the gift of a bit of time to slough off our shyness about each other.
Millie has returned from the stand. She sits by Susie, Russ and their Gracee girl. She smiles broadly at the baby in hopes of one in return. She is rewarded, she climbs up on the pew and twists Susie's long hair. Russ looks on and smiles as well. We begin the closing song, my chubby baby has already spit up on Grandma's coat and skirt. He is finished being social. I take him and roll his body into mine and begin my perfected bounce. He falls for it and relaxes into sleep.
I smile. I take a mental picture of the joy captured in this Christmas present. It is joy that is possible only through the adoration of the Christ child.
Abbie's Sunday afternoon creation of the nativity (rock, hay from the barn, wood from the shop)
Monday, December 15, 2008
The Power of Suggestion
It's surprising to realize how easily I am persuaded by things I read or hear. I try to maintain objectivity, but I find myself swayed...
Like at Big Lots, there are signs all over that say, "Get it before it's gone." I start feeling some pressure to make decisions quickly, and threatened if another shopper comes down my aisle.
Signs like "Simplify" always make me feel overwhelmed -- simplify?! I'd like to ...where should I start?
Last night our home teachers brought over a cute little brown and pink box. It was filled with Almond English Toffee, hand-made by some Wendy Sue in Lindon. Inside and outside was her little jingle: "It's not meant to be shared." Oh no! You might guess that I suddenly took on a very stingy and protective attitude about that candy. Logically I know that I don't really want all of those delicious, crunchy, chocolate-covered morsels -- but that power of suggestion....
I cannot be held completely responsible for my actions. (I might feel a need however, to remove the batteries from my bathroom scale for a while)
Like at Big Lots, there are signs all over that say, "Get it before it's gone." I start feeling some pressure to make decisions quickly, and threatened if another shopper comes down my aisle.
Signs like "Simplify" always make me feel overwhelmed -- simplify?! I'd like to ...where should I start?
Last night our home teachers brought over a cute little brown and pink box. It was filled with Almond English Toffee, hand-made by some Wendy Sue in Lindon. Inside and outside was her little jingle: "It's not meant to be shared." Oh no! You might guess that I suddenly took on a very stingy and protective attitude about that candy. Logically I know that I don't really want all of those delicious, crunchy, chocolate-covered morsels -- but that power of suggestion....
I cannot be held completely responsible for my actions. (I might feel a need however, to remove the batteries from my bathroom scale for a while)
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