Happy New Year!

Too long away . . . I'm at Hales' for New Year's Eve and have snuck onto the computer to get online. I have 47 e-mails! Agh! Deleted most of them. Jenny took the Christmas tree widget off my blog earlier this morning on her computer when I was at her apartment helping her clean out her closet, a several hour chore involving eight full kitchen-size trash bags for DI (like Goodwill). We took off right after for a matinee movie, Enchanted, which left me exactly that! Happy all evening. Listening to most everyone here playing Thump Thump on card tables in the other room and the remains of the football game. Just finished off a chocolate mint brownie.

Have great pics of our vacation, one I especially like of Kent and his dad and lots of Joseph and Andrew and plenty of this snowy landscape. Will post them when I get home. I failed last week to post what I wrote about our rental car, a hilarious episode. The weak unsecured wireless signal in Dad's neighborhood (that tempts me every day there) kept crashing as I tried to edit the blog, so after awhile I stopped everything and time has passed and it's old news.

Happy New Year!

We're driving a Prius, Regina!

When Kent got in Friday night we got an upgrade on the rental car, a hybrid Toyota Prius. We had to read the owner's manual to start it. I've ridden in Regina's Prius, so I knew about the climate and audio controls - get it started up, some heat and tunes, and we're on our way. We were surprised at the "power down" when we slowed, like to turn or at a light. Fast forward to Saturday noon, we're on 500 West in Bountiful in the left turn lane signaling to turn into ShopKo. The car powered down as we waited, I mean dead quiet. We're waiting, then for some reason Kent pushed the Power button, and now the car's dead. So now we're an obstacle in one of the busiest streets in Bountiful in front of a major shopping center on a big BIG shopping day. You gotta love how everyone honked and gestured. I took out the owners manual and looked for emergency blinkers while Kent messed with the Power button and the transaxle knob and the parking brake - anything - to get us into drive. I got the hazard lights going to my great happiness so drivers around us could quit behaving like idots. A good Samaritan sprinted from his car to us, reached through Kent's window and, giving pointers, fiddled with the controls. It took a committee but finally the Prius powered up and inched forward, so our man stepped in front of oncoming traffic and (I love this part) held it as we turned into the shopping center. Kent called thank you and Merry Christmas as we passed. He was impressed! What a genuinely considerate man. Kent practiced driving in the ShopKo parking lot before we got out onto the street!

We're having a happy vacation. I got sick Friday and am keeping DayQuil and Kleenex at hand. Have seen the kids and their kids and friends and both our sisters and brothers that are nearby. Played Scrabble last night and enjoyed pizza and root beer and snacks and watched BYU beat UCLA in college football. Very glad today's a day of rest.

Snow Day

We got socked in overnight - big, BIG snow! Dan was out in it Christmas shopping and Scott too driving meds to people. I was at Dan's with the boys kind of freaking out, really loving the sudden downpour and worrying about my boys on the roads. Scott's phone died and that made me nuts.

We're buried this morning. Dan threw the kitchen blinds up and yelped - it's snowing sideways! Lake effect weather - cool. Yesterday winds were blowing people around on street corners. We're headed to the airport in a minute to pick up the rental car and Dan's saying we've got to get a move on, you don't know the traffic mom. I do too, I remember this.

Journal entry

Here's what I wrote when I woke up this morning all cylinders firing.

December 19, 2007 It’s quarter to six and predictably I’m up. I was awake at 5:00 and ready to go, but I waited until ten after, then called Kent. Seminary's over at 7:00 (5:00 a.m. here) so I knew the students and Linda would be gone and Kent could be padding around getting breakfast. Without me at home he starts early a morning routine that ends with getting breakfast and going to work. By twenty to six he unlocks the front door and turns the lights on, and not in his jammies either; he gets the paper off the driveway and reads it in the bedroom while the kids come and Linda teaches. Somewhere in there he shaves, lays out stuff he needs like his wallet, keys, mail, wedding ring, you name it; yesterday morning I left packages for him to mail, please, two to Houston, one to Burley; reads his scriptures and prays. When I’m home I fix him breakfast after I teach. This morning, like I said, he’s getting his own.

I’m sharing Scott’s apartment! Last night he tucked me into his very own bed with multiple blankets and the fan blowing on me. Heaven. Then he went to the grocery store because 9:00 p.m. is still very early, and we’d talked about bacon and eggs for breakfast. He came home with Kroger-brand frosted mini-wheats and microwave popcorn and I don’t know what all else, I hope bacon. This I know because he was standing in the bedroom door after, and instantly I was awake. I didn't move a muscle while he was gone, and even then didn’t so much, just said hi and what did you buy? He laughed. I’d been down deep you have to know. His covers are a quilt mom tied for me when I was in high school, and a fleece comforter I made Scott when he was in high school, neither of which he's given up. They’re piled on his bed and I was under them and, well, I was cocooned. Scott stated from the doorway he’d gotten cereal and said he was going to make popcorn now and watch a video. I’m happy.

I’m listening to Josh Groban’s “Awake” album while I write. Fitting. Plugged in to my MP3 player with ear buds. More heaven! Italian, Spanish and English all, his songs inspire me. Scott’s slumbering in Brandon’s bed and the apartment is silent. In between tracks I hear snow melting. Water dripping above me at ground level. The only thing in this early, quiet space. I’ve talked to Kent like I said, and know he’s breakfasted and on his way to Children’s Friend happy. His Accounts Payable clerk is back to work and as of yesterday he is now NOT in charge of his and her department too. The last three weeks have been stressful with him doing the work of two. Winnie quit almost a month ago and Amber was rehired then, but told Kent she couldn’t move to Warner Robins before the 17th; then on that day, Monday, her child was sick and she couldn’t start until yesterday. Kent was positively glum Monday night. I listened to how many things went wrong during the day for him (multiple, including Amber not coming in) while I packed, watered plants and fished in the fridge for perishables. To hear him happy this morning makes me smile.

Among several things that made Monday a bad day, Sunday our heat pump stopped working. The house was cold Sunday night with the fireplace running in the living room only and in a pinch, the emergency heat. Before he left for work Kent called Bucky Holland (HVAC company) and asked a technician to meet him at the house during the morning to inspect. I would be gone. When I called later to find out what happened, he said the compressor unit has stopped working. I gasped. We had a brand new AC/Heat system installed only eleven months ago! How could the compressor unit have kicked the bucket? I guess I should thank goodness it quit Sunday rather than when we both will be in Utah. Kent added something else disturbing - the garage door was up when he got to the house. I assured him I’d closed the garage door when I left, but it’s sad I didn’t watch it go all the way down, as it kicked up after I was out of sight of the house. I was sorry to add to our troubles with carelessness. Having the house vulnerable to anyone off the street (and, yes, the HVAC guy arrived before Kent did) is not cool.

We’re blessed all around because the compressor unit is under warranty and is now replaced (lighten up, Nat) and our house was not in fact broken into. Amber is back! I came safely to Utah. Christmas is coming and Kent will be here too, very soon. It’s morning, and I slept under a quilt my mother made me once, and Scott gave me the best bed in the house. And bought my favorite cereal. I'm lucky and it's good to be so blessed.

From "The Life of Mrs. Miles" Blog - http://lalalime.blogspot.com/

I check The Life of Mrs. Miles occasionally when I want to be inspired. She is a Christian woman who doesn't mind sharing scripture and uplifting quotes, and usually photographs quite ordinary things for object lessons or to give thanks over. She makes me smile often with her perspectives that are clearly heaven- or upward-focused. Read this, and tell me if this isn't the coolest article! Love you every one! Nat

I thought I might share a sentiment with you, (says Mrs. Miles) which was passed along to someone who has become a good friend to me over the time we've connected over the Internet. I'm talking about Kim B. who is a generous, thoughtful and funny, funny, FUNNY person, always able to poke fun at herself and see the humor in life. I don't know what exactly powers her, but she's always on hi-speed! The sentiment I'll share, though, is of another nature. It's a thought provoking piece, and oh so true. I know some may read this and think – this is coming from a Christian (me)? Being a Christian does not mean you have to LIKE everyone – we ARE human, after all, but we are called to LOVE one another – do you get that? What appeals to me about the following, is it serves to set boundaries for protecting yourself. I would like to think that people would consider me to be a positive and encouraging influence in their lives – and that I would be Christlike to them too. If I've not been, please, let me know!

Kim B.: It's better to be alone, than in the wrong company. Tell me who your best friends are, and I will tell you who you are. If you run with the wolves, you will learn to howl, but if you associate with eagles you will learn to soar to great heights. A mirror reflects a man's face, but what he is really like is shown by the kind of friends he chooses. The simple but true fact of life is that you become like those whom you closely associate for the good and the bad. The less you associate with some people, the more your life will improve. Any time you tolerate mediocrity in others, it increases your mediocrity. As you grow, your associates will change. Some of your friends will not want you to go on. They will want you to stay where they are. Friends that don't help you climb will want you to crawl. Your friends have the power to stretch your vision – or choke your dreams. Those that don't increase you will eventually decrease you.

Consider this – Never receive counsel from unproductive people. Never discuss your problems with someone incapable of contributing to the solution, because those who never succeed themselves, are always the first to tell you how to. Not everyone has a right to speak into your life. You are certain to get the worst of the bargain when you exchange ideas with the wrong person. Don't follow anyone who's not going anywhere. With some people you spend an evening; with others you invest it. Be careful where you stop to inquire for directions along the road of life. Wise is the person who fortifies his life with the right friendships.

Friday Morning

I’m thinking about the week. It’s about noon Friday, and I’ve been snuggled in bed for a morning nap under a striped woolly blanket for about an hour – heaven, and I’m thinking about the week now as I wake up. I’m doing that while I put deli turkey in the microwave to thaw for Kent’s lunch-on-the-run we always eat on the Fridays we go to the temple to work. He’ll have it with mustard he says since he’s giving up mayonnaise. He’s giving up mayonnaise because it’s not on the blood type A food regimen in the Eat Right for Your Type diet book he’s been reading and quoting to me all week. He’s lost, oh, a couple of pounds and hasn’t had but one bad headache this week and is decongesting, so the food choices he’s making are working. Last night, half an hour before I left for Enrichment meeting, I grabbed frozen lima beans out to simmer for twenty minutes. They take a long time to soften. He likes them so much and I was proud of myself for thinking ahead and having them ready for him for dinner. I thought he could add them to sardines. When I got home and asked him how dinner was, he said great! Then he murmured softly, holding me close, “Lima beans are poisonous,” and grinned. Oh, brother! Some foods, depending on your blood type, are toxic to your blood molecules, and others are highly beneficial - medicinal, they're called, while the others are poison. Limas are not even neutral, they’re toxic to blood type A's, which we are! Agh! I didn’t check the book before I cooked.

I told him a few minutes ago when he called that I'll make him a half sandwich with mustard on it to see if he likes it, so in a minute I’ve got to go. He’ll be home in half an hour. My Sunday clothes are hanging next to his suit ready to be packed – our shoes and my hair blower and curling iron are packed; scriptures are going, and my toiletry bag and what’s inside that is fairly unmentionable, and that’s all. Oh, and my temple clothes and my coat. It’s cold. We carry power bars for our meals at strange odd times during our shift on Saturday, and tonight we’ll forage for supper.

The week is nearly done. Monday I wrote about going to the mall with Jean. I haven’t talked to Jean but once since then and feel out of touch. She seemed chipper when I did call her yesterday. I’ve finished things I started days, weeks ago and needed tidying up, like Christmas wrapping and packaging and shipping; my 10 Things I Love book; visiting teaching. I’ve started new things, a new mystery series by Tamar Myers; hosting the cookie exchange at Enrichment meeting – a whirlwind thing involving Christmas tablecloths and centerpieces, apple and ginger ale slush (thanks to Marcia for the tip about buying chipped ice at Sonic); helping Mary, a sister I visit teach, rescue her son’s repossessed car and hearing the story of how each of her five children were conceived and born; hosting the Christmas breakfast for seminary this morning. I fixed Breakfast Pizza, a recipe I clipped from Southern Living and just got around to trying. So good! Less-fat sausage, salsa, eggs with seasoned pepper, and Mexican Cheese. I was up way too early this morning.

These things seem like a long time ago as I wake up and write and wait for Kent to come and think about life in general. I’m past crying over losing the baby this week – she wasn’t my child, but Shana and Justin losing their little girl has felt personal to me. I’ve grieved while I’ve wrapped presents and thought about Jean and run errands and made punch. And heard Mary’s stories and doled out cookies at the cookie exchange and listened to and loved every word of our new diet book with Kent. Regina popped over a couple of times this week, but I didn't tell her about Lily. I went to lunch with my HR buddies from Children's Friend yesterday and we're all fine; they don't need to know. Mom called a couple of days ago. I loved hearing her hello.

That’s all, not a whole lot more. I was happy to get Laura on the phone the night after her birthday, glad to have phoned right when she walked in the house and discovered her birthday package from me sitting on the bar. We chatted awhile and things seem normal. It won’t stay that way; life surprises us.

Sausage-and-Scrambled-Egg Pizza
1 (13.8-ounce) can refrigerated pizza crust
1 pound hot ground pork sausage (I used 1/3% less fat Jimmy Dean original, not hot)
6 large eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 teaspoon seasoned pepper
1 (16-ounce) jar salsa (I used my favorite, southwest black bean and corn)
1 (8-ounce) package shredded Mexican four-cheese blend
Sour cream (optional)

Unroll refrigerated pizza crust, and press into a lightly greased 15- x 10-inch jelly-roll pan.
Bake at 425° for 6 to 8 minutes. Remove from oven, and set aside.

Brown ground sausage in a large nonstick skillet, stirring until it crumbles and is no longer pink. Drain and pat dry with paper towels; set aside. Wipe skillet clean.

Whisk together eggs and seasoned pepper. Cook in a lightly greased skillet over medium heat, without stirring, until eggs begin to set on bottom. Draw a spatula across bottom of skillet to form large curds. Continue cooking until eggs are thickened but still moist. (Do not stir constantly.) Remove skillet from heat.

Spoon and spread salsa evenly over partially baked crust; top evenly with sausage, scrambled eggs, and cheese. Bake at 425° for 12 minutes or until crust is deep golden brown. Serve with sour cream, if desired. Makes 8 servings Southern Living, APRIL 2005

Jean and me

I've just come home from going to the mall with Jean. Jean is 73, petite, dark-eyed and lives across the street. This past January her husband, Ken, died from lung cancer. He was very courageous with his illness for the three and a half years we lived here before his death and now Jean is having to be the courageous one. She's got kids my age around her and, unbelievably, a four year-old granddaughter who she adores and who adores her and who she tells me about much of the time. I can relate because of Abbie, almost five. Today we bought a green bathrobe for her, Gracie, she who has all that money can buy and is a princess. Her grannie's sweetheart! One day Jean and I went to the mall and bought two red Christmas balls for Jean's Christmas tree, which has been up since the week after Halloween - really! She and Terry, her daughter my age who works two jobs and is giving up her unemployed 20 year-old to the military in a few days (thank goodness, she says), got the tree going as soon as the scarecrow and pumpkin and fall wreath on the front porch were packed away. It's a project, and has been, and will be for a few more days for Jean, Christmas is. It keeps her happy and busy. She's had beribboned gifts ready since before the tree went up, and now when we go to the mall she's able to relax because her shopping's done. If anything, she moans because she sees good sale prices and we shake our heads that she could have gotten something or other ten dollars cheaper. Today she got a sweater at Penney's for Terry with a $10 off coupon - hooray!

I too bought some Christmas presents at the mall. Yay! Jean and I got in the car about 11:45 and nearly died of heat stroke. It's 83 degrees, and the car was way over that. A.C. full blast, blow the hair back, watch out, one chubby menopausal woman coming through. Jean was laughing. At home I stripped everything off and started from scratch - capris and a short-sleeved tanky thing and Berks. Hair in a ponytail. Blew out the Sugar Cookie candle and turned on the overhead fans! Fa la la la laaa, la la la la!

I'm not even kidding, I could tan this afternoon in the back yard. Honestly though, rightly dressed and fanned now, I could go on like this all week. Thank goodness for my mental state I have no Christmas tree up, no gifts under it wrapped and waiting, no wreath on the front door and nary a Christmas knick knack upon the shelf. No Sugar Cookie candle burning, no Josh Groban giving up Silent Night or Ave Maria, no Snickerdoodles baking and the pilot light in the fireplace is off. I've stashed the several things I bought an hour ago in the closet - better for later when I'll be (apparently) snowblowing the driveway at 301 Edgemont Drive and watching "It's a Wonderful Life" or listening to The Carpenters and expecting company for eggnog and Skyline Chili and a tree-putting-up party on the 22nd.

Kent and I are going to Macon today to buy peanuts, Zest and DVDR+/-s in bulk at Sam's, a Tom Tom One at Best Buy (been holding out for rock bottom prices), and a steam cleaner at Walmart. The carpet is dirty. I need to clean it before Christmas, and that's now, 80 degrees notwithstanding. Jean would have done it, if it had been her, at the start of seminary when the kids first stepped foot in the house - dirty foot, that is. Jean irons her sheets and scrubs her kitchen floor on hands and knees. It helps with losing Ken, I know - keep a routine, keep busy- her heart is sore every minute. Work really helps. And going places with me, too. Or maybe it's how she's always been.

We are, all, kind of that way.

Pipsy loves popsy and diddley does, too, but broccoli gags me. Does it gag you too? (C.J.Heck)

"May you always see the world through the eyes of a child."
Oh broccoli, the beautiful!

George H. W. Bush : I do not like broccoli. And I haven't liked it since I was a little kid and my mother made me eat it. And I'm President of the United States and I'm not going to eat any more broccoli.

Dominic Monaghan: If I could uninvent anything, I would uninvent Hitler's mum, guns and broccoli.

Natalie: I love it. It's good raw, especially dressed in Ranch. Great with cheese sauce or pureed into soup (throw in some new potatoes, carrots and ham chunks). It fairly reeks of health and vibrancy on the stalk.

Enough said. We’ve been all about it this afternoon.



Yes. At almost 80 degrees and under beautiful clear skies Kent has hunted for heads of mature broccoli. He's found, inevitably, worms. He mashes them with a stick in the mud.



Twice he came in with lovely large heads we hadn’t known were under the biggest leaves, some already flowering (ack!), and when he went out for the third time to inspect I followed him with the camera set for close ups.



This, after we had both taken paring knives to the broccoli heads,



dissected these and prodded for clingy worms, which we found and which suffered ignominious death in the disposal. They hide well – Tuesday when we steamed broccoli for dinner, I found one on my plate (eeww) under the butter, limp and squishy. When we last picked, a day or two ago, Kent plunged the broccoli heads into a gallon of water and clamped the lid on.

We watched for death throes. Pathetic thrashing, strong swimmers, even floaties, but nothing. (I would have inched slick as snot up the side of the pitcher if I was them, but I'm not and, anyway, they have not a lick of sense. Who in their right brain would hold on and rethink the situation? I'm left-brained, and even I know to come up for air.)

At twenty minutes we dissected and prodded like usual. The buggers were clinging still, breathless from the adventure. Literally; they were goners. They felt nothing in the disposal.
---
Hey hey hey. Kent flicked this guy off a holey leaf just for the photo shoot. I fussed around with him, poking him with a twig when he played dead, then





mashed him.
----
Maybe this is why

Broccoli is frequently referred to as a vegetable parents try to force their unwilling children to eat. In The Simpsons episode Treehouse of Horror XI, Homer is killed by eating broccoli.

United States President George H. W. Bush was known to have an active disdain for broccoli, having actually said so in an offhand remark during his presidency. In response, a powerful broccoli agriculture lobby sent several tons of it to the White House.

In the TV sitcom Seinfeld, Newman refers to broccoli as a "vile weed!"

It’s icky and yucky,
A green pile I see,
And Mommy keeps saying
It’s so good for me.

But broccoli smells
When it lays on my plate.
It’s the stinkiest stuff,
That I ever have ate.

TAG

The rules of the game are posted here. Each player answers the questions about themselves. At the end of the post, the player tags 5 people and posts their names, then leaves a comment on their blogs letting them know that they have been tagged and asking them to read the player's blog.

Five Things I was doing 10 years ago:
1. Walking to and from work at Smoot Commercial while Brad took the car.
2. Studying physiology and anatomy in my medical assisting degree at LDSBC.
3. Writing letters to mom and dad in Guatemala. Missing them.
4. Eating my way to over 200 lbs.
5. Sewing Christmas stockings and quilted items for customers.

Five Things on my to-do list today:
1. Attend Christmas lunch at Children’s Friend.
2. Mail packages, one to Minnesota, one to Arkansas.
3. Shop for long-sleeved shirts with Kent at Penney’s after work.
4. Take a nap – sheesh!
5. Call the ladies I visit teach – one’s going into surgery the 14th, one’s dying, one’s fine.

Five Snacks I enjoy:
1. Sugar-free chocolate-flavored pudding (chocolate cake with fudge frosting)
2. Fiber One bars with chocolate chips (Baby Ruths; Butterfingers)
3. Fruit (fruit smoothie with a tall straw)
4. Cottage cheese and yogurt, mixed (vanilla ice cream with chocolate sauce and pecans)
5. Graham Crackers (yeah, GC crust with cheesecake and strawberries on top)

Five Things I would do if I were a Billionaire:
1. Not tell anyone I was – ever.
2. Increase my fast offering (big time) each month.
3. Buy Kent a candy apple red Dodge Charger!
4. Visit Italy, New Zealand and the Holy Land.
5. Buy every one of the kids and their spouses a brand new (crash-tested model) car.

Three of my bad habits:
1. Picking skin off my thumbs. Brad does it too. Think Dan does too.
2. Interrupting
3. Planning too much.

Five Places I have lived:
1. Shirley, Massachusetts
2. Pleasant Grove, Utah
3. Mission, Texas
4. Orem, Utah
5. Warner Robins, Georgia, home of Robins Air Force Base, sister base to Hill AFB in Layton, Utah, up the road from where I used to live in Centerville, where I used to have to walk to work because Brad had the car.

Five Jobs I’ve had:
1. Stapling boxes, sorting tomatoes and decaling grapefruit and canteloupe, Hidalgo
2. The Sewing Box, McAllen
3. Busy Hands, McAllen
4. United Precision, Blue Ash
5. Wasatch Front Regional Council, Salt Lake

Five Things people probably don’t know about me:
1. I have a classic ^ in my front tooth from holding pins in my mouth when I sew.
2. Locust have big eyes and I'm scared of them.
3. I love okra.
4. I have a little whistle in my nose that happens when I sleep. Separate from the clicking in my throat.
5. I’m really good at the ‘Magic Eye’ thing.

I'm tagging Amy! Go girl!

Blackbird, blackbird

Is this the weirdest picture, or what? I took it through the blinds into morning shadow pretty fast and with a zoom lens when I saw hundreds of blackbirds milling in the yard. Just as I snapped, they freaked out and flew at the house. Wasn't me! Something else, who knows, a squirrel or a twig - they're streaky like a school of fish. The Borg, one brain. Anyway, double click on the pic for a close up and look how cool to see the individual birds coming off the ground! Sorry they're in shadow, look at the red and orange in their wings, though. I didn't know they had any color at all...  is it the sunshine? They were gone in almost the time it took to snap the picture.

For your enjoyment, two birdies on the birdhouse. Isn't winter austere?

The trees are bare now

Things are bare around us in Warner Robins. Leaves have fallen from the trees in the last few days - fast and finally. They're strewn untidily by the back door, across the lawn and at the fence. There's sky everywhere. Shadows are long though, and the days impossibly short. Kent goes to work and comes home in the dark.

I’m thinking about my brothers and sisters today, for some reason a lot. We're fortunate to be getting together at the end of the month. Mom sent an e-mail today about her own sister Barbara who is being placed in a care facility. She's ill. I hurt for her, and for Mom, though I admit this is a practical move for my aunt. I’m sobered by life’s changes. Mom says they're opportunities.

It's dusk now. The sun's gone down as I write with a flare of light and now a steady darkening. I think I'm learning to fall. I talked to Laura yesterday and she told me several friends close to her are passing away, closer to dying as each winter day goes by. As each winter day goes by here, I close the blinds and get supper going. Laura is stronger than I know.

I’m in the mood to journal, essay life. Really it never is that tidy.

Be of good cheer

It’s almost nine o'clock in the morning and I’ve just put our Thanksgiving turkey carcass in a pot to simmer for soup. Vegetables and bay leaves and salt and pepper are in three quarts of water covering the bones. I’ve driven three students to Houston County High School, swept the front porch, washed towels and the kitchen rug, unloaded the dishwasher and loaded breakfast dishes, checked my e-mail, visited with Jean on her couch in front of the Today Show with coffee (her, not me), and made a grocery list. And started supper. At precisely 9:00 BYU broadcasting sponsors discussions from the New Testament, which I’m on my way to view with open scriptures and a marking pencil. We’re in The Acts and Romans.
---
Back. Good stuff! I've read and heard now something like be of good cheer, be strong and of a good courage at least three different times in separate places since Saturday. . . wait! I'm listening right now to Elder Howard W. Hunter speak at a BYU devotional even as I write this, and he's just saying "My emphasis today is fear not, little flock." Good heavens, is there here a conspiracy!? I was going to say (as Elder Hunter continues in the background) I'm astonished at the repetition; they've popped up all in a cluster, like mushrooms appearing - plop! - in our front yard after a humid night. First they weren't there, now they all are. Why?

Joshua chapter one is next in seminary, and there the LORD instructed the man Joshua to be strong and of good courage, verse 6 on cue. I mentally noted it. Now again this morning in the last hour. Acts 23:11 ...the Lord stood by him, and said, be of good cheer, Paul. And Acts 27:22, 24, 25 And now I exhort you to be of good cheer:, Fear not, Paul; and Wherefore, sirs, be of good cheer; for I believe God, that it shall be even as it was told me.

Maybe I'm looking for it? I don't look for mushrooms! But thank heavens for the scriptures and the way the words and impressions from them download into your brains and you start seeing things right in front of you you didn't see before.

We need a little Christmas!

Haul out the holly; put up the tree before my spirit falls again.
Fill up the stockings, I may be rushing things, but deck the halls again now.
For we need a little Christmas, right this very minute, candles in the window, carols at the spinet.
Yes, we need a little Christmas right this very minute –
It hasn't snowed a single flurry, but Santa, dear, we're in a hurry;

So climb down the chimney; turn on the brightest string of lights I’ve ever seen.
Slice up the fruitcake; it's time we hung some tinsel on that evergreen bough.
For I've grown a little leaner, grown a little colder, grown a little sadder, grown a little older,
And I need a little angel sitting on my shoulder, need a little Christmas now.

For we need a little music, need a little laughter, need a little singing ringing through the rafter,
And we need a little snappy "Happy ever after," need a little Christmas now.
I can't help it – I’ve been humming this all afternoon. Yeah, put up the pilgrims (there you go, back in your plastic boxes).



Bring out the Santas...



Get out your holiday cookbooks!



(All of them.)



And the cookie cutters! Oh, I'm in the mood . . .



And don't forget a little Christmas music.



Last week I started with all this; baked my favorite once-a-year-only Three C Bread, the closest thing to fruitcake I’m ever going to put in my mouth, and maa’an is it good. And better the next day. Been making Christmas lists, been shopping a little already (even been to the post office), listening to carols – hey, by the way, did you see the Oprah My Favorite Things 2007 giveaway show last week? It was filmed in Macon! I watched it and (you’ll laugh) bawled like a baby when Josh Groban came onstage at the end and sang a medley from his new Christmas album. Yes, I have it, it’s out of this world. Well, that put me in the spirit right there. That and the Three C Bread – I said it got better the next day and it does because the raisins get plumpier and the cherries riper and the carrot and coconut sweeter and pecans nuttier surrounded by all that brown-sugar goodness. Anyway, I’ve got to get the last of my turkeys and pumpkins packed up, even a ghost and black cat have been left on the mantel with fall trimmings. Time to decorate this house for the holidays!

Oh.

Before I go, I have to post one of my favoritest things already this season, this great picture of Mom. Dad, you did a super job! Probably because, Mom, you're in your element and the wind isn't whipping your hair all up into a froth. Maybe because you're happy to have your kids over for a few days and some help with the dishes. Dad caught you in the perfect light - I don't know; this is just a fabulous picture. To me it's Christmas early. It's beautiful. I love it.

No words needed

On a serious note . . .

I've been thinking of Christ in Gethsemane lately. Monday in Seminary we start Deuteronomy, the review (just before Moses dies and the Israelites are to proceed into the promised land) of the Lord's covenants with the Israelites and the consequences of their obedience or disobedience. For weeks I've been following Moses, wondering, I guess, if I would have been attentive to the 'shadow by day and the pillar by night,' the miracles that allowed passage through the desert: manna, the Bread of Life, water from the rock (see symbolism there?), victory over enemies, the brazen serpent raised to cure snake bite if one looked upon it. You can hardly imagine this roller-coaster episode in Jewish history without reading every day about it, and I have, and I'm grateful and exhausted. Exhausted because of the peoples' rebellion . . . Moses said of the Israelites, "Ye have been rebellious against the LORD from the day that I knew you." (Deut. 9:24)

Everything around them was a type, a similitude, of Christ to come and His sacrifice. Their rites and all the Law exhorted the people to look and live. Would I have recognized Jehovah then, tried to rise above daily ritual or distractions in camp to confidence in the Savior and where he was leading me? I think of Enoch's encounter with Jehovah in Moses 7:29, 32-33 And Enoch said unto the Lord: How is that thou canst weep seeing thou art holy, and from all eternity to all eternity? The Lord said unto Enoch: Behold these thy brethren are the workmanship of mine own hands, and [I gave] unto man his agency; And unto thy brethren have I given commandment, that they should choose me, their Father. I learned from this and following verses that the heavens do weep when we don't pay attention, don't remember him, stay distracted, or worse, rebel rather than look up and prepare to receive our own promised land.

I'm burdened by knowing the Savior was so anguished in the Garden of Gethsemane. We've been reading the New Testament every morning before Kent goes to work and have come through Matthew into the last chapters of Mark, coincidental with my many thoughts on sacrifice, covenants, obedience, suffering, and weeping in the heavens. Mark 14 describes Christ going into the Garden with the three disciples, imploring them to watch with him, saying my soul is exceeding sorrowful unto death; tarry ye here, and watch; falling forward and praying that if it were possible the hour might pass from him, but not what I will, but what thou wilt. I was drawn to these passages by one of the most insightful talks on the atonement I've ever heard, given by Neal Maxwell on March 30, 1986 at a BYU Devotional and broadcast one morning recently on BYU television. The talk is on Joseph Smith, an absolutely stunning discourse, and culminates in testimony of the Savior, which has been, for me, riveting. Attention-getting. I've included links to an audio version and transcripts, both. Please, sometime between now and Christmas if possible, take time to listen to this talk or read it with your families. It will truly move you.

document TRANSCRIPT

I started by saying I've been thinking of Christ in Gethsemane lately, and I rambled, but I hope I've come full circle. God in heaven is our Father, and gave us commandments to choose Him. He sent his divine son, Jesus Christ, into the world to draw us to Him. When we look into the Holy scriptures, study there, immerse ourselves, ponder and pray, we come to know the Savior and our own fallen selves, and keenly begin to want to do what is right and keep our covenants and the Lord's commandments. When we look away from stuff going on around us in camp, akin to the Israelites' idols, and instead train our gaze on the image which, as Nephi recounted, he prepared [as] a way that they might be healed; and the labor which they had to perform was to look, we have assurances and peace in this world and eternal life in the world to come, and Christ will not weep over us. I love this with all my heart. I give the rest of Nephi's description of the brass serpent, a type for Christ in the wilderness, and victory over sin and death: and because of the simpleness of the way, or the easiness of it, there were many who perished.

I think of His hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt,
Such mercy, such love and devotion, can I forget?
No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat
Until at the glorified throne I kneel at his feet!
Oh it is wonderful, that He should care for me enough to die for me!
Oh it is wonderful. Wonderful to me.

Afterward

We have a beautiful, stunning day! Wind and rain swept through mid-afternoon yesterday - I had just left the house with a pecan pie for my neighbor across the street and got wet getting home - and the leaves are on the ground now and the skies very high and clear. Sweatshirt weather finally - good for gathering the last of the nuts. They're under there. See our cabbage coming along, and the beets and "multiplying" onions off to the left? Our winter garden. I love looking at my tin american flag waving bravely in the faded flower garden. The cannas and basil are dead. A little spot of lavendar struggles along and the rosemary is absolutely in heaven.

Ahem . . .this is precisely all that is left of the pumpkin pie now. I have had not a single piece - I made it for Kent. When he showed up with his approximately third piece during the football game last night and mentioned he was having a little pie with his whipped cream, I said never a word. (I was busy with double-chocolate chip garbanzo bean cookies.)



He hasn't gained a pound.

Sweet Little Bird

Sweet little bird in russet coat
The livery of the closing year
I love thy lonely plaintive note
And tiny whispering song to hear
While on the style or garden seat
I sit to watch the falling leaves
The songs thy little joys repeat
My loneliness relieves. John Clare

Happy Turkey Day and a Thanksgiving Poem

It's Thanksgiving and I don't have to get up. But I'm awake before daylight like usual. Can't stay in bed, there's so much to DO! I'm thinking a mile a minute and I haven't even taken a deep breath; happy to be done sleeping. Ran right outside and took pictures after the morning rain.





Kent and I agreed two weeks ago we wouldn't eat a traditional Thanksgiving meal, no cooking, no messing things up this year. Ham sandwiches and pie maybe. Last night we went on a field trip to our new Kroger and Kent put a 12 lb. turkey in the buggy. (You call the grocery cart "buggy" here.) I eyeballed that bird and knew what was next:



And:



Onions are multiplying in our winter garden; sage, poultry seasoning, salt and pepper are adequately stocked in the cupboard and not past the sell-by date. Kent traditionally makes stuffing from scratch. The only reason he needs a turkey is for the hole. For the S T U F F I N G.










I've got a couple of pies to bake this morning - pecan and pumpkin. Then we're set. Probably eat about 1:00. Thank goodness!

Mom wrote me this a couple of days ago: Hi Natalie; While I was making out a grocery list yesterday, I thought of a great idea; that is to ask you to write a poem about Gov. Wm Bradford for Thanksgiving. You can share it with everyone. Smile. Do you like my idea? He deserves some specific attention having to scrounge for the first Thanksgiving out in the wild. He didn't have a Kroger nearby, that's for sure. I tried to jot down a few lines; and it isn't easy. Why should I stress over it when I can solicit the smartest daughter who writes poetry, to give it a try. Think about it, you know you have been looking for something to brainstorm about with no Seminary to stir your thoughts. I'll see what you come up with. Don't fret, just the basic few lines that would give us some reason to emulate him during the holiday and for the grand kids to think about. Love ya, Mom

So, enjoy this poem before you eat. Finished it yesterday.

The First Thanksgiving

In sixteen hundred nine our Fathers, ever on the run
From troubles in the mother land, from under England’s thumb,
From icky neighbors, all who bore hostilities and such,
Settled in the Netherlands. They never liked it much -
Holland’s ways were wicked, and their kids were speaking Dutch.

They hailed a ship to carry them – a hundred people, plus.
The “Mayflower,” a wooden rig, and cramped and cold it was.
September, sixteen twenty-aught, they sailed to Plymouth thus.
They landed late in wintertime and tried to ‘fitte a home;
’By spring the half of them had died of all who’d ever come.

Great-grandpa Bradford never passed. By April ’21
He’d been elected Governor in place of Carver, John.
His duties were to hear the crowd’s complaints and feed them all,
And true to character, he tried to heed their every call.
One day an Indian, Samoset, walked in and said, “Hey, ya’ll!”


From then they planted Indian corn with fish (I wouldn't want to),
With help from Samoset and Massasoit, and even Squanto.
Here, freinds (thought Grandpa Bradford) be a blessing by our syde!
And he and all the colony did take them in their stride.
“Ye Saints and Strangers,” Grandpa spoke, “togeather yey abide.”


The harvest in October brought their hunger to a halt,
With corn and fruits and vegetables, full ripe and with no fault;
And venison and Turkies, even fishes packed in salt.
Our Grandpa noted codd and bass, of which yey tooke goode store.
The Starving Time a year before would this year be no more.

Three days they entertained and feasted, "days of goode and plentie,
With Massasoyt and ninetie men in sixteen one and twentie.
And though it be not always so, as was it in these days,
Yet by God’s goodness do we now from want and famine raise,
And feel to make you all partakers of His grace and praise.”


They rallied to the table which was loaded to the gills,
Though not with such as we have with our fancy food and frills.
They gazed on Indian corn and peas and barley, nuts and wheat;
They nodded at the pumpkins, squash, and plums to make them sweet.
The ogled cod and bass and chicken, turkey and deer meat;
Then turned to Governor Bradford, who said, “Praise the Lord! Let’s eat!”

Natalie Bradford Holbrook, November 20, 2007