Full Purpose of Heart

"It is only in the present moment that we can experience growth, listen and learn, give and receive love, excercise self mastery, chose to do good or choose to be good." 

"...saying things we vowed we would never say in tones we vowed we would never use."

"Make your commitment obvious and let your spouse and children know it~~bask in the security it will give them."

"..from children knowing they are our first priority, deeply and truly feel it...."

All these mean something deeply for me at this time.  Every day, every interaction with the ones I have chosen to commit my life, my energies, my devotions to.  Everyone should be chosen carefully and with full purpose of heart.  Because down the line it will matter infinitely more than I dare imagine in the midst of the situation at hand. 

The petrified Cocoa Pebbles in the bowl on the kitchen table six hours after breakfast.  The wet swimming suit and towel stuffed behind the bedroom door and emitting the aroma of mildew.  The dirty socks by the bed.  Laundry by the hamper........   The sound of my voice is most likely a grating broken record day after day. 

I recall when I was getting married in all my naivete and I could just see me being a loving, loveable, adorable, cheerful, slightly higher than perfect, wife.  A doting, always patient, nurturing, always tutoring/mentoring/encouraging my children.  They would be brilliant and adorable and charming.  My husband would be the envy of all his friends.......

I guess it's a good thing we can't see our future imperfections and shortcomings!!  I don't think my young mind could have wrapped itself around so many disasters!  Mercy... It's a good thing we wake up daily to a fresh unknown adventure.  We handle the people, the timing and the emotions with the best wisdom we have at that moment.  At bedtime we look back on the day and flogged ourselves for what we wish we would have done better or at least differently.  We make determined affirmations to do a little better, be a little better tomorrow.  And every day is a new start.  A new education on us.  And I've had a good share of do-overs that I only hope have been do-a-little-betters.  If not for my sake~for the sake of those souls who have had to put up with me for all these 'overs'. 

"Never forget that these are the people whose names are now written into your Divine Contract." 

"....the Wonder of the individual and specific lives that are your daily stewardship."

Tomorrow is another day.  Tomorrow I try with more purpose.  I should start with an intense prayer, I think.

On Purpose/With Enthusiasm

We had a few troubling days. A few days of turmoil and rebellion. Dishonesty and decible 10 debates. I paddled around in a very blue mood. So disheartened. So feeling taken for granted. Not accomplishing anything because I was in a stupified state. I have let someone else dictate my mood, my activities, my sense of happiness, joy and enthusiasm for life. What a stick in the mud. And it seeped into and tainted every other interaction with all the other people on the planet. Why did it take me so long to see that one and figure out what my recourse was going to be. My counter attack. Sneak and overtake. (Well, it was a lot of whispers to God explaining I was at my wits end, I was sinking fast and I couldn't do it alone. Then He said.....) Go on, live your day the way you need to. Do the housework you planned on. Get out in the yard and have Spring Therapy, soak up some sun and gentle breezes. Sit in the swing and read a book. Get out the crocheting, the design and decorating books, attack the things I love with zeal and a renewed sense of passion. Can't control others, can't make them believe/think/hope the same as me, can't instill in them dreams and aspiration for their tomorrows. By living in sadness and pity and disappointment doesn't make anyone else come to the party. So, I looked up and winked and whispered (not too softly) thank You. And I started making dinner for my family. The ones there and the ones that may not show up. I hummed my cleaning the house Aunt Bea song as I semi danced around and tidied up, threw clothes in the washer, and even went outside and supervised my husband planting the peas in the freshly tilled dark earth. We laughed and tesased. We watered the grass and it smelled wonderfully calming. And then after dinner we watched a basketball game, crocheted around a baby blanket, and read "Doing What We Came Here to Do" . And I didn't once even feel bad that I wasn't in the car chasing down a wayward teen, crying on the inside of what she may or may not be doing. I didn't text her to get home and who are you with? She knows. She plays. I am a multifaceted being, a mother, a wife, a friend, a gramma, a neighbor, a dispatcher, a daughter of an aging/ailing mother, and I have chosen to live silently with some dibilatating diseases and live my hours/days/minutes with intent and on purpose the way I want my legacy to be carved on the souls of those I love. And I do love them ALL......always and forever.

Scenic Byways and Overlooks

I work in a job where multi tasking is a pre-requisite...and if you don't know how you better be quick to learn. Taking information over the phone, listening to officers over the radio channels, eating lunch, which is usually cold, tuning out excess office noise, halfway paying attention to co-workers and supervisors and typing all at the same time. And doing it with profiency. And not missing a beat. And every mother/wife has this as top on her resume. But there is a skill that I have to do on a daily basis that should not be included in multi tasking efforts. And that is operating a two ton motor vehicle to and from where ever........

I find myself digging in my purse (the size of carry on luggage) for a piece of gum, or chapstick, or ibuprofen, or the change that is floating on the bottom of it all. Or juggling my mug of diet Coke back and forth. And sometimes spilling and rescuing my diet Coke. Finding a new CD because the one that's in has been in for the past two weeks. And of course, directing all the traffic around me which seems to be all moronic. It's a wonder I haven't been mistaken for a drunk driver. Maybe I have and just haven't been pulled over yet. So my self improvement project for the up and coming months, years, decades, etc is to be an "in the moment driver". I vow to be attentive to the job at hand. Everything else can wait. I cannot afford to pay the consequences of driving distracted. It is a whole new experience I must say. And with all the object lessons I have had to document over the years I must admit it's been a long time in coming. I have been blessed exceedingly well. And I am thanking the good Lord for that. Here's to Happy Motoring!!

Sometimes three very different but also very alike females living under one tiny roof with one itsy bitsy bathroom, three separate but similiar attitudes and habits, all vying for their own space and boundaries, can some how get on each others nerves. In each others way. Each viewing theirs as top priority. Not quite open to see how fragile ego's can be. Or how close to the surface that can spring out in anger. That was today.

I was getting ready for work. My bedroom was in chaos from a project of 'simplifying' started earlier in the day and no time to finish. And that chaos makes me anxious. And frustrated at myself for not having order, especially when I know it's going to make David the same but times ten. The girls were home from school, tired and hungry and facing homework, which is definately cruel and unusual punishment heaped on by teachers. They were hit with their chore list for the afternoon. They were hit with a nagging to put away their jackets, backpacks, shoes and the don't forget to throw the soda cans away when you're done. Then everyone had a melt down to the 'maximum capacity' (according to Saige). I left for work feeling angry and justified for the anger. Why do they have to be such rebels? Why do they have to argue? Why do I lose self control?

I am driving to work. And it's white knuckled. And I'm getting a knot in my neck. And I am not noticing anything, paying attention to anything, 'seeing' anything on my way. I am living in that mad zone that I created and hung on to back at home. That emotion is carrying over into every aspect of my day. The potential for immense joy and an amazing journey is being missed because I haven't let go of the misery that is now over and done with and the girls have long since abandoned any allegiance to. I am going to miss the lesson and the teacher or the student that could be encountered along the path because I refuse to let go. And at that moment I felt light wash over me, I noticed the pinks of the evening painting the westeren sky. The snow dusted mountains that bounce back the last glints of day. Townsfolk taking in the light chill of the February evenings. And you know, I had the most amazing ending to a not-so -perfect-but- wonderfully magical day. Thanks for the Whisper, God, thanks.

on your mark, get set.....

As of late, I have noticed a peculiar pattern I have developed. Quite unheeded at first...kind of like crept upon my subconscious and just took over. I was running a pitcher of water to take outside for my cocker spaniel, LaKota. But I wasn't "running a pitcher of water" , I had myself poised as if ready for the starting pistol to go off, one foot angled and my weight ready to bear. Gosh, what am I in a rush for? What is so important that I am anxiously staged to bolt to my next project/goal?? I've gotta get back to the tv so no one will change my channel?? What? As I came upon this ephiphany I slowed down, relaxed my stance, listened to the water fill the faucet, the birds were dancing in the feeder just outside the window and the melody they sang was priceless. The breeze softly moving the lace curtain and the cool crisp wintery air wrapped around my face. Why have I become so anxious? So out of tune with the joys and wonders of my life that I am prepared to race off to some other monotonous task at hand and never enjoying any of it?

So I have made it a conscious choice to wake up every morning and say "this is the best day, this is the best day ever." And to go about noticing, and feeling, and smelling, and tasting, and experiencing the whole joyous journey that is my life. I am so blessed with a truly rich and satisfying life. Not that I don't have blue days, and really firey ornery days, and everything is an irritant day, but I have a spectacularly amazing life. I just have to find ways to realize, and feel, and enjoy what has been given me. And to revel in this particular spectacular monotous task at hand, and just be thankful for how much God must love me to bless me so greatly.

And on a lighter note, the other day I was getting ready to go to the gym and was putting on my sports bra. Bry was talking to me as I got dressed. She looked up at me and asked, "is that your training bra?" I wanted to tip over laughing but instead I told her, 'Yeah, it is. I'm training to defy gravity." And one day she'll understand.

Saige and Pretty School

Today I watched the little mini school bus putting down the street with it's load of precious cargo. I smiled. My heart smiled. I am immediately taken back to the late 90's and Saige was 3 and 4. And she had taken it upon herself to take the scissors to her bangs. Which were no longer bangs but 1/8" snippets of blonde sticking straight in the air and spiking in whichever direction the shower had decided. Momma had taken the curling iron and shaped and sprayed and styled the best she could. She dressed my Angel-Bugg in her cutest little clothes, hung her tiny back pack on her shoulders and sent her to the bus stop where Ms. Kathy picks her up. She is on her way to Pre-School, Head Start to be specific. But she thought we said 'pretty school' so that is exactly what it has been and exactly where she has been going for the past few months. Pretty School. And Ms. Jean (Tong) is her very most favorite-est person there. She is magnificent. She is awesome. She is her heroine. It is a special bond. Ms. Jean is very special. Now flash forward and Saige is turning 15 and she and Ms. Jean still love each other. They still have saved mementos, they still hug each other when they run into each other, they still make plans to catch up, sometime. There are special people in our lives who come and go, are never constant fixtures, but are always in our hearts, always in our souls, always making a positive difference, somehow. Pretty School. Ms. Jean. Wish every child had one of each.

Father's Day

It's Father's Day. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime, sometimes it was only yesterday, that daddy was here. He was always a bit larger than life, you know, like John Wayne. Kind of immortal. Except he was. Sitting with my sisters and a brother in the house we all shared with momma and daddy always turns into a "remember" session-and that was always punctuated with a lot of laughter. And daddy was a lot about laughter. And practical jokes. And incessant teasing that sometimes turned one of the sisters to tears. My brother was too much like daddy, from the sound of his voice to the way he chuckles when he thinks he has one over on you. Amazing since daddy was called to heaven to cowboy there when my brother was only 19. But anyway.....
We always list off the things daddy said....and how funny they are today. And how momma sometimes just shakes her head.
**The toilet is not a trash can. (so don't blow your nose and toss the tissue in the toilet...)
**Strike a match! (but if it was him to last use the bathroom it was...)
**Smells like roses!
**Why don't you buy your britches to fit you butt instead of your head?
**If you want attention I'll give you more than you want.
I never remember daddy missing work because he was sick, ever. He always went to work. His hard hat, his lunch box, the smell of the pines, the black dirt, the diesel fuel smell. And weekends were cowboy boots, spurs, cowboy hat, the smell of sagebrush and alfalfa and sometimes cowpies and horse puckey. And he expected everyone else to know how to work. And he taught us what employers want and that he expected us to give an honest days work for an honest days pay. He loved Lawrence Welk, and he loved to watch them dance. He loved Hee Haw, and he chuckled a lot. He watched all the cowboy movies and picked them apart. Like pointing out in the middle of something very interesting that there was a jet stream in the sky, or a power line in the horizon, or tire tracks through the sand. What? Are you kidding? Do you have to ruin it for the rest of us? He watched Gunsmoke and Bonanza. Would remark that the lightning in a summer thunderstorm is not going to stampede a herd of cattle. Man.
Anyway....I could never in a book say it all. Could never do daddy justice. I just sit as I type and smile.....kind of like his half hidden chuckles. I miss that man. I have very blessed to have been borne into the family I have. I'll see him on the other side...he'll probably be whistling "I Love You Truly" and tipping his cowboy hat, he'll look at me and say, "Couldn't you have gotten white sheet to fit your butt instead of your head?" And I'll be home, too.

Live An Exceptional Life by Robin Sharma

I love to read. I would read all day (well, some days) if it were possible. I enjoy all kinds of books. And I relish learning something new. Especially if it is designed, and I accept, to make me a better me. In some fashion or another. Well, I came across this article and it spoke to me, very faintly, and in often interrupted spasms, but I finally got it. And I printed it out. And I carry it with me to remind me that I have some refining to do.....

So I am sharing....

Mr. Sharma asks how one crafts an exceptional life? ...Life goes by in a blink. And too many people live the same year 80 times. To avoid getting to the end and feeling flooded with regret over a live half lived, read, and apply.....(he lists 60 ways---I, not so many) but they are all his.

1. Exercise daily. 2. Get serious about gratitude. 3. Keep a journal. 4. Know the 5 highest priorities of your life. 5. Say no to distractions. 6. Improve your work every single day. 7. Eat less food. 8. Find more heros. 9. Be the most ethical person you know. 10. Don't settle for anything less than excellence. 11. Savor lifes' simplest pleasures. 12. Save 10% of your income. 13. Write thank you letters to those who've helped you. 14. Forgive those who've wronged you. 15. Creat unforgettable moments with those you love. 16. Become stunningly polite. 17. Unplug the tv. 18. Read daily. 19. Avoid the news. 20. Be content with what you have. 21. Be passionate. 22. Never miss a moment to celebrate another. 23. Be patient. 24. Clean up your messes. 25. Be a great teammate. 26. Shift from being busy to achieving results. 27. Speak less. Listen more. 28. Be the best person you know. 29. Make your life matter.

I know I can never attain all of these. I can not even come close to some. But I can make my life, my attitude, my outlook closer to ideal every single day. Which means it's on the opposite end of the teeter-totter than becoming less and less like the woman I want to be. Like the person I want to be. And it would be oh so pleasant if I could leave some positive attributes to my favorite people.....

NOT a Hollywood Starlet......

Some days one can get caught up in the frenzied muddle of images, notions and sometimes shallow beliefs that bombard us. The forever pounding of a "perfect, have it all, do it all, symbolize it all" image of what a woman 'should' be. The perfect hair, the perfect clothes, the perfect size 0 body, the shiniest car, the well behaved/well dressed children, the husband that dotes on his 'princess'...and the perfect career. And, I admit, I get caught up at times only to find myself a little depressed and delusional. Can't keep up. Too tired. Too broken to fix......

It usually takes a good swift kick in the butt to regain my position in this narcissitic society. Yes, me, sometimes.

I am truly happiest, finding the most joy in life, when I remember that I AM a small town country girl from Glendale, Utah. That I grew up learning how to work and to work hard. To give a day and a half's work for a days pay. That running through freshly mown grass in my bare feet and wading in the creek with the same was sheer majesty. Sleeping outside under nothing but the stars, and being awed by the whole thing time after time. I am happiest in these kinds of scenarios.....not the superficial advertised and always unattainable "what I should be". I am a barefoot, simple, forever energetic and curious, blessed with talents that sometimes I shelf for a time. I am a little sister. I am a big sister to my one an only brother. I am a daughter, a grand daughter, a niece, an aunt, a friend, a babysitter. I ride a hand me down bicycle for years. I wear hand me down clothes for the same years. I took piano lessons and practiced thirty long long minutes every day- day in and day out. I have a grandmother that is a wonderful artist and school teacher and proper,and a grandfather that is an always learning, always reading, always studying, always expanding his intellect. And they both shared all of that with me. So I am blessed. I am fortunate. I am the person put here to be me. No one else has all the training possible to be the me that I am. (Not that anyone would trade me places!!) So, I smile, and I think back, and I think forward. I take all that is me and all that I would like to be and meld them together and live each day with all that sunshine in my past. And look ahead to all the sunshine coming up. Mingled of course with snow, and rain, and wind and rain, and clouds and rainbows. And it makes that 'muffin top' and that less than toned abs/butt/legs/arms a little less disgusting. The laugh lines around my eyes and mouth are there because I've had many, many happy hours. And though I wouldn't ask to do them all over, every experience that has been mine has brought me to loftier heights than a physical image could ever compensate for.

So when my grandson says I'm too heavy to go down the slide, that my arm looks like a horses' butt, that I am NOT his mother-she doesn't have that many wrinkles, I can just smile because what I got in return-the love of grandkids and the like-is so well worth it.

Screen doors and front porches

Little skinny girl with baby fine hair running amok through the house, usually chasing or being chased by my little brother. We plow through the screen door and the sound of the wood banging shut against wood, and bouncing back for a repeat, and the metal door latch clangs and swings. I so love the sound of a wooden screen door banging shut. I love the little grove the latch makes over time as it swings with the movements of company and family in, company and family out. I like peering out through the screen door at the seasons changing. At who is coming up the lane. At the sheets and towels gently swaying in the breeze on the clothesline. At daddy coming home from work, swinging his lunch box in one hand~and I knew there was going to be a candy bar for me and my brother to call dibs on. And some warm mornings would find me in a chair positioned in front of the screen door as momma french braided my hair so I could leave for school. And I watched the sun rise over the hills and complained about the braids most of the time. So now I am a homeowner and I chose to have a wooden screen door (or two) custom made for my little cottage of a home. I still cherish the same sounds and feelings evoked by the banging of the screen door. And then I sit on the front porch in my rocking chair enveloped by the evening air. Usually with a book. Or maybe some crocheting. Maybe just solitude watching the kids play on the lawn, or riding their bicycles up and down the lane. I take my childhood with me and I bask in the tranquil sounds and sights that made growing up in a small country town priceless and one of my greatest treasures. And I can call them up whenever I want. I just bang the screen door and sit in the rocker on the front porch for good measure.

G'ma Emily

This is the time of year for growing, renewing, and enjoying. Out in my front yard is a mound that seperates my yard from the neighbors. It is profuse with quakies whose leaves shimmer in the slightest of breezes. Roses and English Yew grow in a meandering fashion throughout. The earth around is piled thickly with bark that smells just like the Kaibab once a long time ago. I love sitting on the grass and watching everything grow and change and makes any time spent there relaxing and joyful. A yard takes a lot of work. A lot of watering. A lot of tlc. And money here and there. So we enjoy what we have helped to create. I always think of my g'ma Emily. She was a petite, proper, white haired g'ma. I adore her. I admire her. For many reasons. She reminded us, often, on no uncertain terms, that we were not to "cut across" someone's yard. We were to go around, preferably on the path. She would say, "Whether your name be James or John, the path was made to walk upon." That also went for her yard. That also goes for my yard......

Someone once posed a question to me in regards to the worst feeling I could imagine. I guess depending on the place you are in at the moment the answer could be multifacted. But throughout my winding journey in experience, I would have to say heartache/lonliness is at the very top of my list. Lonliness encompasses such a vast array of other emotions that it can overwhelm one at a moments notice. The evenings last for an eternity when one is alone. The nights are darker, the fears magnified, the sadness of loss of all that you have been and the unknown of what will become of the 'you' in the future. The heartache of lonliness brings one delving into what could have, should have, might have been done differently. Where did one go wrong? Was all the past a counterfeit? What was real? Was there anything real and genuine and sincere at all or did it just slowly die along the way? 3:00 am the inner alarm clock goes off and one finds themself sitting in solitude of every kind. Tears flow freely at that time of the day. No need to put on the happy face for the rest of the world, and for yourself for that matter-got to keep it all together-otherwise you might have to see yourself as less, as a failure in some way.

I have two friends in my circle who I thought were two of the happiest, most compatible wives for their respective husbands, who were the best mothers, the epitome of homemaker extraordinaire....we all know them! We may even be them. When both of their marriages came to this sudden, out of nowhere, nightmarish end-and for reasons not compatible with happily ever after, my heart aches for them both. I know their pain. I know their feelings of self worth-mostly that it is in the toilet right now. I know the loss of themselves and what they have invested soley in for the past twenty or more years. Where does this leave them? What does this say about them as women? As wives? As mothers? As friends, neighbors, members of the PTA and so on. I see them going through life stoicly and with a firm determination to come out alive and on top somewhere. And I see that their heart is crying over the simplest things they observe and wonder if they will ever have that again. So heartache and lonliness are at the top of my list. But knowing the pain increases empathy and compassion and genuine feelings of comraderie. And hope.......

Now, since I have rambled on to a lighter subject. Brylie has been tko'd by the team of trampoline/swingset crew. She was jumping on the tramp and then jumping to the cross bar of the swingset, swinging like Mowgli and jumping from the jungle vine to the entangled jungle floor and low and behold......she slipped-probably on a banana peel-and landed on her right elbow. She had just been told to knock off the monkyshines so she was coming to me, trying to control her sobs and with her 'tail between her legs' . And by joe, it looks a little out of alignment. The pain doesn't seem to go away. So off we go to the emergency room where she is checked by the very same doctor that mended her broken left index finger in March. I'll probably have child protective services knocking at my door. Low and behold it is broken. So she gets a neon pink cast from shoulder to fingers. And it is the second week of June. And she can't go swimming now until the cast comes off in six, yes, count it, 6 weeks. Summer without swimming-one might as well be in a monestary. She is taking it like a trooper though. She is a determined and willful fashionista diva. Do you know how hard it is to keep a 7 year olds fingers/fingernails/cast clean in the summer time when everything is done outside in the dirt, the grass and the rocks? Climbing trees. Riding bikes. Being seven. Not good. But we will survive. And today is anticipated and heralded as another jaunt in our summer adventure. Yeah, Bry!!

Picture it, the Valley, 1978. Yeah, Sophia is my hero. Two little girls with ponytails and ribbons, little sneakers with jingle bells on the laces-so I could keep track of them-picture perfect angelic loves of my life. When we are in the moment of diapers and bandaids and potty training and trying out independence we have no idea what the future holds in store for them. We read to them, take them on hikes up Red Hollow, four wheeling on the sand dunes, dutch oven cook-outs, getting firewood for the winter, PTA and playdates. Coloring books, learning to make beds, pick up toys, say I'm sorry, take in every stray that comes along, indescribeable joy that they bring to my heart. Still now, even when I recall certain memories, forever etched upon my heart. Even tears are now a part of the beauty of the tapestry that was woven by being family. One night I had the most intensely vivid dream which is still a replay, sometimes even when I'd rather not think about it. I dreamt that I was walking up a fairly steep and rocky road with a deep ravine off one side. Shauna was walking with me as I drug the wagon behind me. Sami was in the wagon. I turned to look at her and the side of the road was breaking off and the back of the wagon was sliding into the ravine. I was desparately trying to find a way to save her, my baby, and all I could do was hold tightly to the tongue of the wagon, and then I woke up. In a cold sweat. I could not shake the feeling of doom and horror for a couple of days afterwards. Several years later, real life hits. No dreams to wake up from. My baby is falling into an abyss and nothing I can do will save her. No matter how much I love her, no matter how hard I try (and cry and sometimes yell), no matter what experiences I have had to gain in the school of hard knocks can never, no never, change the fact that she will make her own choices, experience her own consequences (and the ones of our own making are sometimes the most bitter) and gain her own wisdom at her pace, in her way. And I still love her. And that's what momma's do. And that's what my momma has done through all she has endured with four daughters and a son. And a lot of grandkids and great grandkids and a few great great grandkids! I admire my momma for that. She still has an open and welcoming heart and home for all her family........I want to be more like her. I want to grow up to be "momma". For all of them.

the center of my galaxy.....God's Country

Home. My home. My favorite place to be. 295 s. Main, Glendale, Utah. We moved there when I was four, almost 5. It was the grandest adventure to explore all the rooms, all the left behind furniture from the previous owners, to slide down the stairs, paintworn and all, on the seat of my corduroy overalls. It was HUGE. There were numbers on the bedroom doors.....what's that all about? There was a Warm Morning Stove in the 'work room' downstairs and an Old Majestic coal and wood stove in the kitchen. And, the coolest, there was actually indoor plumbing!!!! We were uptown folks. ( No more parading down to the outhouse in the night, all four sisters in line.) We had a coal shed, a granary, a sort of garage that became home to daddy's leather, his saddles, his bridles, bits, saddle blankets, tarps, an old push lawnmower, the sheep shears we used to clip the lawn edges with, and a multitude of other necessities. We had a barn out back that housed the sweetest smelling hay, the not to aromatic manure from the cow and the horses, and we could actually make little 'homes' in the bales of hay at the top-unless of course daddy caught us. There was a pig pen out back but all I recall on that was the joy on momma's face when daddy was dozing it over the D7 Cat. I think I heard the sound of taps somewhere in the distance.
******I love to digress. I had the best of families, heritage, traditions that anyone should ever want. I came home from school to the smell of either bread hot out of the oven, or cookies or pies and my momma folding the laundry she had just brought in from the clothes line. They smelled like heaven. And freshly laundered sheets...oooh. Couldn't wait to crawl in between. Momma always had an apron on while she flitted around doing her chores and baking. She never went outside without a strawhat, long sleeved cotton shirt and garden gloves so as to keep her skin from getting old too fast. (I failed to acquire that trait and desire--sun and more sun for me.) We had big gardens which meant big harvests, big bottling and canning season. We had cattle which meant meat in the freezer and a cow to milk-always fresh milk and cream. We entertained ourselves with hiking, bicycle riding, playing in the creek, making huts, making paper dolls from old catalogs, going to gramma Adairs or Brinkerhoffs, going to the ranch up on the Paunsagaunt....nuff said. We were taught to work. We were taught responsibilities and consequenses, momma and daddy took us all to church and taught us and instilled in us this wonderful foundation and anchor to help us sail thru the inevitable trials we were sure to face one day. I cherish my growing up in the country with a cowboy daddy and a stay at home June Cleaver type momma. I love my three sisters and my baby brother more than I can ever express. I can never express enough gratitude for the heritage and legacy these and those before who came across with the pioneers to settle the desert and make it bloom. And, boy, we all have. Glendale. The Brinkerhoffs. The Adairs. The United Order. MY family. MY roots. Thank God for all this.

In the beginning.......

Who says you can't teach an ole' dog new tricks?? It may be true because I can't even teach a new dog new tricks. Any tricks. And I am not too sure that I can "blog" anything anyone in their right mind would bother looking up. No pearls of wisdom. No magical wit. No insider scoops on anyone or anything. But maybe I can embarass my daughters and all my grandchildren with tales of 'remember whens....' And they say if you write your own history (so to speak) it will be exactly the way YOU want it remembered. Cool. Shoulda done this long ago. Wonder if you can erase any history you want deleted and it would magically be gone-guess then there would be no color in a story at all.