So many busy, happy things...

I have felt guilty not posting in so long, but I have hardly known where to begin. So many happy times, so many blessings, and we have been so busy enjoying them all that there hasn't been time to post and do any of them justice. Here are a few highlights.

Mark had a good experience at Cub Scout Day Camp. He moaned and groaned a little about walking up and down the hills, but there aren't that many of them, and the exercise on uneven terrain was really good for him. By the end of the week he felt stronger and more fit. Here's a photo of the two of us when I went up on the last day.



The day after Day Camp, little Ethan, son of Joshua and Hillary, was born! I don't have a full-size photo of him, so this one will have to do for now. This one was taken on the day he was born, July 24, a little pioneer day baby. He is growing by leaps and bounds, and he looks so much like Joshua.



On July 28 Mark and I left for 4 days of camping at Sparks Lake with our dear friends, Ken and Dorothy Jenson, and some of the other "empty nesters" from our ward. Holly and David and Arora came out and joined us for a day (they didn't stay the second night, because Arora was throwing up in the tent the first night). It is so peaceful and relaxing at Sparks - we felt like we really got away from our daily life out there at the lake.

Mark in his favorite relaxing position at Sparks Lake. We went in fully clothed because it was so hot - with our clothes wet, we stayed cool for a couple of hours after we came out.


Paddling the canoe with David and Arora.


Mark and Ken feeding the birds - bits of bread in each hand and on top of their hats. If you look closely, you can see the bird that landed on Marks right hand.

After we came home from Sparks Lake, we were here for just a Sunday, then we turned around and headed to the hills to go backpacking with grandkids. Our first outing was to Twin Lakes with Kat and Sarah. They are seven, and this was their first backpack outing. They did great!

Kat and Sarah on the trail to Twin Lakes.

Sarah and Kat learn how to set up their tent.

We had directions to a "letterbox" hidden beneath an old log about 1/2 mile past Upper Twin Lake. It made a great adventure and treasure hunt for the girls. Here is the moment where Kat and Sarah discovered the letterbox. We brought stamps and a stamp pad with us, and we all put our signatures and stamps into the tiny journal tucked inside the letterbox.

Mark, Sarah, and Kat enjoyed drinking their hot chocolate on the "bouncy log."

The four of us (me, Sarah, Kat, Mark) ready to hike back to the trailhead.

We met Jayesh at the trailhead and traded the girls for Josh and his friend, Kameron Christensen. Jay took the girls home, and we drove with the boys to Olallie Lake, where we donned packs and headed for the multitude of small lakes that surround Olallie. We had three days of joy hiking among the lakes and hills nearby.

Kameron and Josh pause by a small meadow.

Mark, Kameron and Josh swimming in Sheep Lake with their Thermarest sleeping pads.

Mark at the top of Potato Butte. Mt. Jefferson is in the background.

Kameron and Josh - ready to hike on a rainy morning.

At the end of the hike - back to Olallie Lake. (me, Kameron, Josh, Mark)

Then this week I went to Utah for a very quick trip. I helped Polly drive down for her sister-in-law's wedding. Too long a trip for just a mama and three young children! The kids were great on the trip, but we stopped frequently to let them get out and run around, so it took a very l-o-n-g time. We left at 5:30 am and didn't arrive until almost 11:00 pm! Then I spent a day and a half with Katie. It was really fun to visit her before her baby arrives sometime in the next 2 or 3 weeks.

My mind to your mind...

Here's a photo of Mark and me at cub scout day camp, 2008.

Cub scout day camp begins tomorrow, and I can't go. I'm working in Salem for Oregon Dept of Ed for the next four days. Sweet Mark has agreed to go all week. I am really grateful for this, because I know from experience that it makes all the difference in the world for the boys to have a consistent leader there throughout the week. Mark is patient and he has tons of scouting experience, so he's a natural for this "opportunity."

But there are SO many details that go into organizing a pack for day camp! Our pack has been growing by leaps and bounds. When I first became involved with cubs in our ward about 5 years ago, we had only 3 boys going to day camp. This year we have 13, organized into 2 dens! Along with the 13 boys, nineteen different adults are going up on various days to lend Mark a hand. It's been a major pain organizing who is driving each day, determining which den they will help supervise, collecting 32 different health forms (kids & adults), procuring 14 different t-shirts, helping boys make 2 different den flags and den yells, etc, etc.

And now I need to transfer all this info to Mark, so it will all be successful without me there. I've made a notebook for him with list after list, printed out the huge email I just sent to all the parents, inserted copies of the den rosters and the late registrations and the camp receipt and...

He has the coolers and the ice packs and the den flags and the water bottles and the t-shirts all in a pile. I've told him about the new cub scout with food allergies (wheat & milk), and what to do if the boys get too over-stimulated (take them for a walk), and how to contact the parents if there's a problem.

How did the world manage cub scout day camp before I came along? How will Mark do this week? Worry, worry, worry. Silly me, he'll be fine of course. It's not that hard after all. Take a bunch of 8-, 9- and 10-year olds, add in some really super parents, head off to a beautiful, well-run day camp, and voila! I'm sure they'll have a wonderful time.

And not only that, I've transfered my mind to his mind...it's all in the notebook...list after list after list after list...

Blueberry Wealth

I was out early this morning, picking blueberries again. I stood in the same spot for nearly an hour, and still couldn't get all the blueberries from just that one side of the bush picked. The bushes out front are only 2 years old; their trunks are no bigger around than my thumb. These bushes in the back were old when I moved here 30 years ago. The trunk of the largest bush is as big as my thigh (unfortunately, that's a goodly size...). Could they be as old as the house? 100-year-old bushes?

I don't know the lifespan of a blueberry bush, but I do know that I am wealthy in blueberries. Already I have nearly 40 cups in the freezer, and there are at least 20 more left to pick on the bushes. I was contemplating blueberries as I stood and picked this morning...

...how hard they work to convert sunshine into sugar for all those berries. Berry after berry after berry, loaded with sugar and antioxidants.

...sweet memories of picking blueberries year after year. I remember picking blueberries when Kendra was a newborn. I would put her in her little carrier chair and sit her under the blueberry bushes. Birds sing and the shade flickers overhead when I stand and pick blueberries.

...speaking of birds, the last time I was picking, a hummingbird flew near and hovered about 2 feet away. He zoomed away, and then came back to hover again a few minutes later. Was he checking me out? I don't think hummingbirds eat blueberries; I think they only drink nectar, although if he wanted some blueberries he could have them. There are plenty of blueberries on my bushes to share a few with the birds.

...if Mark and I ever build houses on our back property, maybe I'll build the handicap-access "grandma house" in the back corner near the blueberry bushes. That way, when I can't manage the big house any more and I move into the little cottage out back, I'll still have blueberries.


Here's another photo from the yard. Early in the morning, the bumblebees are still asleep in the lavender bushes. This bumblebee was still dreaming lavender dreams when I snapped this photo early yesterday morning. (It's fun to click on the photo and see the bumblebee up close in the middle of the lavender. And no, I didn't take the blueberry photo. That's an image I found on Google.)

Real Age

Have you ever checked out the Real Age website? It asks you a bunch of questions about your health and lifestyle, and then it emails you with your "real age."

I took the survey this evening, and my real age came back as 49.8 years! Not bad for a 55-year-old.

Some of the positive factors in my "real age" are beyond my control - my parents are still alive and still married to each other, I don't have a family history of breast cancer, etc. But some of them are completely within my control - taking vitamins every day, getting enough sleep.

With the negative factors, though, I have control of everything. My negative factors include: I don't have a dog, I'm not getting enough whole grains, I'm neglecting my muscles, and I have a high body mass index (BMI - in other words, I weigh too much). I got dinged for having a lot of stress in my life, too (adding a child to the family, worrying about my job situation, etc.).

Gee, how much younger would I be if I lost weight, got a dog, and ate more whole grains? The world might never get rid of me, so it's a good thing I'm not that perfect. We all need to take our turns here on Earth.

It's a privilege...

Years ago, when I had a houseful of children, on an evening when the kids were especially wound up and noisy and disrespectful. I got angry, as moms sometimes do, and made the mistake of trying to threaten them into better behavior. "If you kids don't calm down," I yelled, "you'll be outside sleeping in a tent tonight. It's a privilege to sleep in the house!"

The kids gaped at me, open-mouthed, and then burst into guffawing laughter. They poked fun at my short-term rage and my ridiculous threat. After a bit, I grinned and backed down, defeated by my own self-righteousness. They knew I wouldn't drive them out into the dark, and they were right.

Over the years, given my love of camping and backpacking, my family has turned that memorable faux pas into an inside, teasing joke. "Remember," they'll tell me from time to time, "it's a privilege to sleep in a tent."

Yesterday I had a rough day. I worked all day in Salem, came home briefly, then went out to Scouter's Mountain for a day camp meeting to wrangle the t-shirts that should have been ordered and hadn't been, then cried on the way home about another sadness. I went to McDonald's and bought a hamburger and a milkshake and ate them by myself, still teary, at Clackamette Park. Finally got home at 8:00, spent another hour tracking down day camp details, and then Maleena came downstairs, hurting from her Tuesday surgery, wanting something to eat. Mark was at a meeting; I'd hardly seen him all day, and come to find out he hadn't picked up any groceries earlier in the day. So I went to the store, resentful because I wanted a little time for something I chose to do, not something I was expected to do by others. Driving home 15 minutes later, my cell phone rang; Maleena was calling to tell me that Mark was home and he'd gone to the store on the way home from his meeting.

Something in me snapped. I dumped the groceries on the counter and went upstairs to start a load of wash - I wanted a shower and I was out of clean underwear because I'd been working all week and hadn't done any wash - but the washer and dryer were full of Julia & Mike's laundry. Went into my bedroom, which was still a mess from the wall-painting project Mark had undertaken last week, and things still weren't put back where they belong. I was mad and tired and sad and sweaty and I didn't want to deal with anyone.

So I did what any self-respecting backpacking grandma would do under those circumstances: I went and grabbed my backpacking tent and a Thermarest and a sleeping bag out of the basement, and stomped out to the orchard, where I set up my tent and sleeping gear. I cried a while, then pulled out my headlamp and my book and read for a while. Maleena came out to apologize for making me go to the store, and Mark came out to check on me, but he didn't try to talk me into coming back inside. So I read a while longer and then slept until 4:00 am, when I had to go to the bathroom, so I went back in the house and slipped into bed next to Mark, who was awake waiting for me. We talked for a while and went to sleep until morning, when I went out to put the tent away.

I sure don't want to get all emotional like that very often, but yes, it's a privilege to sleep in a a tent.

Thumper's Rule

"If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all," was Thumper's etiquette advice.

I think my version of this would be: "If I can't say it to someone's face, don't say anything at all."

Avoiding gossip? We all know that's what we're supposed to do. And yet for years I have meddled in the lives of my children, trying to help them get along, trying to help smooth things over, sympathizing here, explaining there.

I don't want to do this any more. Interfering between adult children is a bad idea, because mediating a relationship means there's not really a relationship. Although it hurts my mother heart when my children are in conflict, I need to get out of the way and allow my children to be honest and real with one another, instead of avoiding issues. My children end up negotiating around the elephant in the living room, because they're trying to keep me happy.

Joseph Smith said, "I teach my people correct principles, and let them govern themselves." If my family members aren't governing themselves very well, I still need to get out of their way. I have taught them the best I can, and I will continue to offer encouragement (always) and counsel (when they ask for it), but I will stop talking out of two sides of my face, stop trying to agree with everyone, stop trying to make everyone happy.

I will be honest. If I can't be honest and kind, I will be quiet. I choose love, I choose kindness, I choose to not take sides.

The Right Kind of Cancer

Survivors' Lap - Relay for Life

Mark wanted to walk in the Survivors' Lap at the Relay for Life on June 27. He walked a lap at Clackamas Community College with a bunch of other cancer survivors. When he was actually walking with all of them, I was more moved than I had anticipated. I think I've kept the reality of his cancer at arm's length for a long time, and this made it all more real. Kind of funny timing, since he already had the surgery, and the biopsies are all negative. As his doctor said when he told us the news, "If you're going to have a cancer diagnosis, this is the one you want - stage 3 and completely operable." I am so grateful that he is cancer-free. Four weeks today since his surgery.

A Work in Progress

The back yard is coming along. I am still working on convincing Mark that it really is important that we get the rest of the swings installed. The barkdust is all in place, and the steps are almost finished. Nate has been doing a super job getting them built for us. They are strong to stand on and attractive to view. I am thrilled to finally have use of this access to our back yard!

100 Years

The house was built in 1909, and we are gearing up for the birthday party on the 4th of July. We'll have 40-50 people here for an afternoon picnic, and an on-going circus here at the house as we enjoy time with Polly and her 3 kids (Eric stayed in California to work on his doctoral dissertation), Kendra & Chris and their 2 kids, my parents, Mark's mom, and the local families: Greg & Cheryl, Julia & Mike & Josh/Sarah/Kat/Maddy, Nate & Ashley & Blake, and David & Holly & Arora. More family arriving today and tomorrow: Mark's brother Mike & wife Julie, Mike K's daughter & granddaughter Christina & Kaitlyn, and Cousin Eva.

Ten Things I Love About My Garden on This Morning in June...

The lavender is in bloom! It just popped this week. The whole front of the house is lovely, lovely, lovely.


The blueberries are thick, and they will be ripe soon!


More flowers in bloom, and the evergreen shade garden makes a deep green contrast.


The funky little brick-and-stone path I made to fill in a weedy patch near the garden.


The garden! The squash have blossoms, there are tiny tomatillos and tomatoes, the peas are almost there...ahhh...


This dandy new sprinkler we bought yesterday. I had to twist Mark's arm just a little...


The backyard play area I am creating for my grandchildren. This is a work in progress. Stay tuned!


Learning to use the nail gun yesterday to create the play area border out of maple limbs. It will soon be filled with fresh barkdust, the weeds will be gone, and new swings will hang, waiting to tempt the little ones.


The cherry trees are loaded with cherries this year. Oh, I hope they are still on the tree when the family comes for the 4th.


The cherries I picked and ate for my breakfast this morning.

Spooning

Mark has finally recovered from his surgery enough that we can sleep close together again. Oh, hallelujah! I hadn't realized how much I miss curling up behind his back at night and listening to his slow breath. I think I'm falling in love all over again.


But then he snores! Definitely not in love with that. I added "ear plugs" to my shopping list yesterday. We'll see if wearing them helps me sleep better. Actually, he (usually) only snores if he's lying flat on his back - he did that a lot the first two weeks after surgery - so if he's on his side, not only can I spoon up behind him, but he's less likely to snore, too.

Speaking of sleeping...here's a video that makes me smile every time I watch it. Click HERE.

Updates: Taking Control, 100 Days, Aunt Mary Anne

Here's a photo from my front yard last week - a gorgeous poppy!


Taking Control
A week or so ago I asked Mark to give me a blessing of comfort. I was feeling pretty overwhelmed. I hadn't said anything to him about my frustration with the growing clutter, just that I felt I needed a blessing.

I was surprised when the counsel given to me, not once but several times during the blessing, was to "take control." I asked Mark later what he thought that meant, and he said it was my blessing, it came from God, and it was up to me to discern meaning, not him.

I didn't think much about it after that. I'm embarrassed to admit that I mostly forgot about it.

Then, a couple of days ago, I noticed that I was feeling a little guilty because I kept making decisions around here--how to prepare for our family reunion, when to do some things, what to do about weeds or clutter or other "things" that needed to be taken care of. As I wrestled with that guilt, a little prompting came..."I told you to take control. You're doing what you need to do."

This business of taking control can be interpreted in a couple of ways. One way is that I need to take control of some issues here at home because Mark is still recuperating from surgery, and there are things that need to be done. The calendar hasn't stopped because he's taking a nap. This kind of control won't last long term. Mark will regain his strength, and we'll go back to the shared model of decisions and planning that have worked so well for us in our marriage. But for now, at least some of the time, I need to get things done and not feel guilty about it.

There's another way of taking control that I need to accept. We have a large household--nine of us, including Maddy--and there are many people and many belongings that have to coexist. I dislike conflict, so my first inclination is to duck and cover when the clutter builds up or the personalities clash. But that doesn't take care of the situation, and since we're likely to all be together for at least another six months, it's about time I stepped up and accepted my role as matriarch of this household. That doesn't mean I have to be domineering or mean or cranky. It means I have to accept the responsibility of leadership, even when it's uncomfortable, because then we'll all, ultimately, be more comfortable.


100 Days
I'm on Day 10 of my 100 Days goals. So far I have...
read 50 pages in the Book of Mormon,
written 6.5 pages toward my book
exercised every day except the Sundays
eaten (mostly) on the Curves plan and lost 2.5 pounds.

Aunt Mary Anne
Today my cousin Karen sent this update:
Yesterday the doctor removed the breathing tube to see if Mom could talk to us. In a very raspy and labored voice she told me that she wanted us to get her out of the hospital. When I asked if she wanted to go home she nodded "yes". I told her that if she was removed from the machines that she would die. Then I said that we wanted to keep her comfortable.

She was in tremendous pain. Along with the doctor we decided to start comfort care yesterday afternoon. As the morphine
began to work the pained expression on her face disappeared.

The doctor and nurses said that she would be unresponsive today. About an hour ago Katy and her family and I were at the hospital. When we spoke to her she tried to open her eyes and she nodded yes when I asked her if she
knew that it was me.

Mom is such a fighter and continues to amaze everyone as she defies the medical predictions. We simply want her to be pain free and at peace.

P.S. I asked her two times if she wanted to go see Dad. Both times she has replied very strongly "no". Boy is she still mad a him for leaving her with all of the junk around the house. I miss him greatly on this first absentee Father's Day. (My Uncle Bill died 6 months ago from colon cancer. He was a notorious packrat, and their entire basement is filled with his "treasures." I guess Aunt Mary Anne didn't "take control" of that part of the house years ago!)

I Want to be a Shovel When I Grow Up

I was reading this morning in the Book of Mormon, in one of the chapters that quotes Isaiah:

"And he hath made my mouth like a sharp sword; in the shadow of his hand hath he hid me, and made me like a polished shaft..." (1 Nephi 21:2 or Isaiah 49:2)

Isaiah says that Christ has helped him to speak (and write) clearly; Isaiah's words, because of Christ, divide truth from error. What could my mouth be like? It seems presumptuous to want my mouth to be like a sword; that seems about right for a prophet or someone like that. But maybe, through Christ, my mouth could be like some useful tool.

I would like to write like a shovel, a good tool that digs in the earth and helps to build things. A shovel helps things to grow, and helps to dig out nasty weedy things. Alone, by myself, my words are like a little trowel, or a plastic shovel in a child's sandbox. But with Christ's help--by living His commandments and following his example--my mouth can gradually be like a bigger shovel.

Right now I think I'm like one of those little army surplus folding shovels. But if I continue to stretch with opportunities to serve, and learn to be more humble, childlike, and Christlike, I may be able to say one day, "and he hath made my mouth like a strong and sturdy shovel." I would like that. When I come to that place, He will have made me his polished shaft; I will be hidden in the shadow of His hand.

Out Walking

I don't do well with inactivity. The stars finally aligned this evening and I was able to get out for a walk - a very BRISK three miles from home, down through Singer Creek Park, then over through Water Board Park, past the Armory, and home up Molalla Ave. Walked all that up and down in 1 hour, and came home with my face all red and breathing hard, but it felt so GOOD!


This is a map of my walk. If you click on it, you can see it enlarged.

A year ago last night I was camped on the Eagle Creek Trail with my 8-year-old grandson, Joshua. It was my first (almost) solo outing, the shakedown for my 50-mile hike later that summer.

That night in the tent I lay away and worried that The Big One (earthquake) would hit, and a tree would fall on the tent, and we'd be killed. Or the tree would just miss us, but the trail would be all messed up and we'd have to climb over trees to get out. And then we'd get to the High Bridge and it would be out from the earthquake and we'd be trapped. And my cell phone wouldn't do any good because we were so deep (3 miles in) up that canyon of the Columbia River Gorge, and there's no cell reception that far in. And even if I could call, it wouldn't do any good because Portland would be destroyed from the earthquake.

Sheesh! Not a restful night, but I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

It feels so good to move! To get out and pump the legs and arms and suck air into the lungs and feel that red river carrying the oxygen all through my body. This is what I was made for, to be walking the earth through my journey of life.

On the way up Molalla this evening, huge gray clouds everywhere, the threat of rain. (So what? If I got wet, I would just dry off when I got home. The rain can't go any deeper into me than my skin.)

And there on Molalla, with the cars whizzing by and the tacky businesses and weeds in the cracks, I looked up and there was a HUGE rainbow stretched out in front of me. It was the whole bow, the whole huge curve of it from one fir-covered horizon to the other.

"The report of my death is an exaggeration"

Aunt Mary Anne is alive!!

The life support systems weren't pulled last night after all, because the proper documents hadn't been signed. By the time the family went in this morning, she had rallied! The doctors put in a pacemaker, and it's working. Her heart is strong, and she is breathing on her own.

My cousin told my other aunt that "she is aware, and feisty." That sounds like my Aunt Mary Anne! They are keeping her sedated for now. I wish I had more news, but I imagine it changes frequently, so it will be best for me to wait patiently.

It was odd for me to hear this afternoon that she hadn't died. To be so far away, and have this whole assumption in my head...my reaction when I learned that she is alive was, "What?!?" I was almost thinking, "Wait - she's supposed to be dead!" That sounds awful, but it's true. I had been grieving for her all day, and when I got off work and called home to tell them I was on my way, I heard the news. It's kind of embarrassing that I had her dead in my imagination, when really she was fighting to stay alive. It makes me feel a little guilty somehow. As if I shouldn't have assumed that of her; I should have had more faith and assume she would somehow pull through.

Well, my own silly guilty feelings aside, this experience has certainly given me a tender opportunity to reflect on God's plan for each of us here on earth, and on His tender mercies and miracles. I am deeply grateful that I get to be here on the planet for now, and I am so happy to continue to share it with Aunt Mary Anne, at least for now.

The Scent of Water

I ran across this phrase as I was reading this evening in the Book of Mormon:

"...I beheld that the rod of iron, which my father had seen, was the word of god, which led to the fountain of living waters, or to the tree of life; which waters are a representation of the love of God; and I also beheld that the tree of life was a representation of the love of God." (1 Nephi 11:25)

I really like the thought of a fountain of living waters that represents the love of God. It makes me think of beautiful forest streams that seem to spring out of the ground to give water and life. This verse reminded me of another verse I love. It is in both the Book of Mormon and the Old Testament:

"Therefore, with joy shall you draw water out of the wells of salvation." (2 Nephi 22:3 and Isaiah 12:3)

And then there is this:

"For there is hope of a tree, if it be cut down, that it will sprout again, and that the tender branch thereof will not cease. Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, and the stock thereof die in the ground; yet through the scent of water it will bud, and bring forth boughs like a plant." (Job 14:7-9)

The love of God comes in so many ways. This evening we ate at the picnic table under the cherry tree. It was a perfect evening in early summer. The air was alive with promise, and after dinner I picked six cherries from the tree above my head for dessert.

A few minutes ago, after I had already started writing this post, my mother called to tell me that her only sister, my beloved Aunt Mary Anne, is dying. She went in for a fairly simple procedure this afternoon as part of her chemotherapy treatments for breast cancer. Her heart stopped during the procedure, and they have had her on life support all afternoon, but she never revived. Now they have removed the tubes, and she will die peacefully sometime in her sleep tonight, with her children at her side. She was always kind to me. She was opinionated and bossy and blunt, and also deeply tender and loving. I will miss her so. I am certain that she will be greeted tonight by my Uncle Bill, who died just last December, and by her parents, my wonderful maternal grandparents, who I still think of often, and miss, even though they died over thirty years ago.

The sweetest gift, of all the gifts from a loving God, is to know that we can be together again, and that families can be together forever.

Cherries

It is really difficult for me to buy cherries at the store. They never taste as good as the ones from my backyard orchard. However, some years we don't get very many cherries - could be bad weather, or not enough bees, or too many birds, or...who knows? The first year I lived in this house (summer 1980) we picked over 100 pounds of cherries! For many years I canned quarts of cherries every summer, and we had all we could eat while they were ripe. The last few years the harvests have been pretty meager - enough to munch on, a handful at a time, but not enough for big canning or drying projects.

I wonder who planted my cherry trees? There is one Black Lambert, but I almost never get any of those cherries. They come on first, so the birds go crazy for them. They aren't as sweet, so I don't mind sharing. There are four Royal Anne trees, and those cherries are the best. They are a pinkish-yellowish color, and so sweet and delicious. I picked a handful of them to eat this evening, and there are many more that will ripen in the next couple of weeks. I don't know why the birds don't seem to bother them next. Then there is the pie cherry tree. It's always loaded with cherries, tart and ready to be baked and sweetened into pies and crisps and cobblers.

The pie cherry tree is relatively young, a volunteer since I moved here 30 years ago. But the other trees are all very old and well established. They may have been planted soon after the house was built in 1909, but I don't know if they are really 100 years old. Someone planted them and tended them, and I am the lucky recipient, these many years later, of the sweet, delicious, fresh fruit.

Climbing a little forward...sliding back

This is no fun. I wouldn't make a good nurse. Things I don't like about caring for an invalid:

1. It's like climbing up a sand dune. You take a step forward, and then you slide back again.

2. You can't plan on time for yourself. You can't plan on where to work on a project. Sometimes the invalid needs you by his side. Sometimes he needs you to go away (but not too far away) so he can rest. Sometimes your whole day is shot to pieces because he might have a blood clot in the back of his leg, so you go sit in the ER for 4 hours while they do 15 minutes worth of testing to determine that no (thank goodness) he doesn't have a clot, just lots of swelling. (That was today.)

3. You never know what to plan for meals. Sometimes the invalid only wants a little of something bland. Other times he's ravenous and you have to fix a whole meal, not of what you might think to fix, but what sounds good to him.

4. You can't actually SAY any of this, because it's too mean. He is the one who is hurting, after all. And you are up and healthy enough to run his errands, go mow the lawn after the time at the ER, just plain walk and sit and get out of bed and even pee all by yourself! So what do you have to complain about!!?? He can't even get his legs in and out of the bed by himself.

OK, I just had to get that out of my system. Sorry. Today has been tough on both Mark and me; we both feel like we're struggling on a sand dune. Will we ever get over the hump? In our heads we know we will. Mark will get better. I will get my life back. So will he. But emotionally, it's a little hard to believe right now.

And there are, by the way, a few things I DO like about caring for an invalid (when the invalid is Mark):
1. We get lots of quiet time together.
2. We have to rely on each other.
3. He lets down his guard; privacy isn't an option, so it's very intimate in a definitely not sexy kind of way.
4. He is patient and kind and funny and I am a lucky woman to be married to him.

A Day in History?

I read the following headlines on Yahoo this morning:

Iran voting extended as thousands flock to polls.
U.N. widens sanctions on North Korea, China joins in
Confusion expected as analog TV broadcasts end after 60 years
Historic tobacco regulation bill aims to stop teen smokers
Iraq: senior Sunni lawmaker shot dead outside mosque after prayers in Baghdad

And these were some of the headlines in The Oregonian newspaper:

Oregon goes on alert for destructive mussel and other invasives
Oregon legislature votes to insure all children
Scientist argues that Cascades volcanoes sit atop an epic sea of molten rock

These headlines got me to thinking. Some of them seem like they could be pretty significant. (Although I'm happy to report that the article about the scientist who thinks the Cascades are sitting on a puddle of lava as big and potentially destructive as the one under Yellowstone went on to say that he's probably wrong.) But still, wouldn't it be cool if tobacco were finally regulated to the point that we didn't have more teens start smoking? I'm thrilled that all children in Oregon will finally have health coverage, and I wonder about the significance of today's vote in Iran and the violence in Iraq. When we can look back with a longer view and put today's events into perspective, will the events and news of today seem all that big a deal in the bigger picture?

Perhaps, 100 years from now, it will matter far more that Oregon's waterways are clogged with zebra mussels than that one person was elected here or another politician was murdered there. Perhaps today is a critical tipping point for a major issue of the future.

Or maybe not. Maybe all these attention-demanding headlines are not so big a deal; we only think they matter because we see things in the short term.

You just never know, when you get up in the morning, what will happen on any given day. We plan ahead, we think we have some kind of control and order in the universe, and then something changes--personally, locally, nationally, internationally. Maybe in the universe.

Maybe it's been there all along, and the only news is that we didn't know about it yet. I used to think that the day we got Mark's cancer diagnosis was the day "it" happened, but really he had had cancer for months or years before that. We just found out on March 13. A couple of weeks ago the downstairs bathtub broke. We thought it happened on that day, but when we tore it out, we realized there had been a hole leaking for some time. That was just the day we found out.

100 Days

This has been a weird beginning to summer vacation this year. Since I took most of the last week of school off to be with Mark after his surgery, I missed most of the end-of-year markers, including the teacher workday yesterday. (I did go in for finals, to be able to have closure with my students, and last night I went and helped with a small graduation ceremony for the kids who got an Oregon basic diploma instead of the OCHS diploma.)

Anyway, I feel like I need something to signal a new season for me. I'm not sure how the thought of setting out some 100-day goals came to me, but I like the idea of using the next 100 days to make some positive changes in my life.

Day 1 will be tomorrow, June 12.
Day 100 will be Saturday, September 19.

For the next 100 days I want to:
1. Read my scriptures every day.
2. Write a little of my book every day.
3. Exercise every day except Sunday.
4. Eat healthy foods every day.

If I read 6 pages of the Book or Mormon every day, I will have read the entire book by September 19.

If I write just 1 page of my book every day, I will have a 100-page book written by September 19. Actually, I already have about 20 pages written, so that would make it a 120-page book.

If I walk just 1 mile a day, I will burn an extra 100 calories/day. At that rate, I could lose 3 pounds by only doing that, and chances are good I would actually do much more. When I walk, I often walk 2 or 3 miles, and when I work out at Curves, I generally burn at least 350-400 calories.

If I follow the Curves eating plan, I would be on track to lose 10 pounds by the end of 100 days, which would put me back within the healthy BMI range.

So here goes! Wish me well! What would you like to do in the next 100 days?

Order out of Chaos...

...is what I wish I had. I suppose these times when the clutter gets out of hand can teach me something. Patience, for one, or maybe the larger meaning of patience, which is surrender. Control is when I get what I want, and surrender is when I recognize that I don't get what I want, and I decide to accept it.

Gosh I'm tired tonight. I don't suppose any of this makes sense, but it does mean something to me. The clutter in the house is piling up. Julia is swamped with Maddy's care, I have been buried with end-of-school grading (a little) and taking care of Mark (a lot) and Maleena (some).

Maddy gained 3/4 of an ounce last week. She's only in the 6th percentile for weight. Julia is being diligent about following up with doctors appointments and advocating for a helpful diagnosis. Maleena had five teeth pulled yesterday. She was in a lot of pain yesterday, but is making improvement today. Mark had his prostate removed for cancer last Thursday. His recuperation is slow and difficult.

I have a huge writing assignment due tonight for my PSU class. I have it written (25 pages double-spaced), and just need to go back and revise it a bit. Thank goodness this professor encourages email submission of the final assignment. Every other professor I've had in this program wants a printed copy under their office door by a certain time.

My house is cluttered, and my writing is, too.

Classroom Management

Hmmm...Dorothy's response to my previous blog has got me to wondering about my classroom management. Is part of the reason I enjoy teaching because I get to tell 30+ teenagers at a time what to do?

When I began teaching 14 years ago, I used to wonder if the student-teacher ratio ever occurred to the kids. Did they notice that they outnumbered us 30 to 1? What if they staged a riot? Even if the cafeteria workers came to help, there would still be at least 15 students for every adult. They could easily pin us down.

Of course, they never did. One time a group of freshmen protested the policy (no longer in force) against coming to school with one's hair an unnatural color. A group of rebels, led by a young lady (formerly blonde) with long, green hair, refused to come back to class after lunch. They staged a sit-in at the flagpole in front of the school, changing "Hell no, we won't go." Still makes me chuckle. That's the most unfriendly I've ever seen the students become.

As a classroom teacher, the more likely problem is that one or a few students become difficult during class. I have learned that it never works to escalate the situation. It is always better to get things calmer and then talk with the student(s) as individuals. When a student is difficult, it usually means that she is bored. One of my favorite colleagues often reminds new teachers that the best classroom management is a strong curriculum; if there are classroom management problems, then the first place to look is in the lesson plans.

But "classroom management" sounds so bossy and so impersonal. I rarely think of my time in the classroom this way.

When I was finishing up my undergraduate courses, I took a pre-education course at Lewis and Clark College. It was taught by an adjunct professor; I don't remember his name, and I only remember one thing he taught, but that one thing completely changed my view of education and how I approach my days with my students. "The only real teaching," he said, "is done one on one." I thought he was full of baloney. I knew about class sizes, and I knew this wasn't possible. He was talking pie in the sky, but he was completely serious. "Until you have a relationship with a student," he went on, " you can't truly teach them anything."

That part rang true, and I remembered it. From day one, I am working to build a relationship with each student. I make it a point to have their names memorized by the third day of class. It's not impossible. Work from a seating chart, spend some time on name-memorization games the first few days, grade an assignment for every student within the first three days. Make that a meaningful assignment. I ask the kids to write about something meaningful to them, and I use that as a way to get to know them, too. I work at letting them get to know me. I make a point of saying good morning + their name to every student as they come in the door.

The relationship building doesn't end after three days. The most critical thing I can to do help my students be productive and learning is to treat them respectfully. The Golden Rule works. I refer to them as "readers" or "writers," not "students." If they come in late, I don't make a big deal; just mark the tardy in the attendance book and say, "I'm glad you're here."

Because I am. And so they are, too. And when they know that I am glad to see them, that we have purposeful work to do, that I will help them respectfully if they are struggling, the problems--for the most part--don't even materialize. It's actually not even about control. It's about sharing the planet.

Control Issues

I was the bossy older sister. I have had to learn to pay attention if I am to avoid becoming the bossy wife. I try to strike a balance in my life: I want to be a strong woman, not an overbearing woman.

Some of the ways I am a strong woman:
I pursue education.
I participate in activities that I love, such as hiking.
I choose to be compassionate to my family.
I write. I try to write the truth.

Some of the ways I sometimes slip into being overbearing:
I get cranky when Mark has messy areas (usually his dresser or his workbench).
I expect Mark to do things a certain way.
I make judgments about others.

Most of the time I am strong, patient, and compassionate. However, I also know that I secretly indulge in being a control freak in little ways. I think they are mostly harmless. Here are some of the secret ways I indulge my control issues:

1. I hang all my clothes in rainbow-color order in my closet. (Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet. Then white, beige, black.)
2. If possible, I hang my clothes on matching-color hangers.
3. When we remodeled the house, and I put up most of the insulation, I made sure that the printing on the insulation paper was right side up, even though it is now covered by drywall and no one will ever see it or know.
4. I keep things in certain pockets in my backpack.
5. I arrange my spice drawer in alphabetical order.
6. I secretly wish Mark would hang his tools on a pegboard. (I know it ain't gonna happen. But I keep hoping.)

Spinning into Tomorrow

Mark is feeling better! While walking laps with him around the nurse’s station, I read this poem that one of the nurses has written on a whiteboard:

Round and round time turns,
And so it may be that once more
I shall meet summer.
But this day, this night,
These will never come again.

Kyogoku Tamekane
(1254-1332)
Japan)

I would like to go for a walk with Kyogoku Tamekane. I think similar thoughts often, myself. On Fridays, I frequently think—Hooray! It’s Friday! A weekend to relax, to work on my own projects, to be able to call a little of time my own. But then I also think—I will never get to live this week again. This Friday marks time that will never come back.

At 55, I am increasingly aware of time’s passage, of death’s doorway away from Earth-time and into a new experience. I feel pretty certain that I will gladly pass through that door when the time comes, but in the meantime I don’t want to miss out on anything here.

I am so glad I went hiking last summer. I mean my Big Hike, the 50-mile solo hike. On my last night in the woods alone, I lay in my little tent and felt the woods around me. I imagined that I could see all those river drainages, all the millions of trees, the shoulders of Mt. Hood, the deer and bear and other creatures each in their place. And as I lay there, on my back, I was certain I felt the earth spinning beneath my shoulders and my hips, spinning and spinning away from yesterday and into tomorrow.

Courage to Write

Gee, after you haven't posted for a while, it's hard to get back into it again.

I have been reading "If You Want to Write" by Brenda Ueland. I love what she has to say because she is not inhibited about being "correct" - her focus is on saying what is true for her, and encouraging others to write according to what is true for them.

She says, "Everybody is original, if he tells the truth, if he speaks from himself. But it must be from his true self and not from the self he thinks he should have be. ... If you speak or write from yourself you cannot help being original."

These thoughts encourage me. They put courage into me - courage to try to speak up from my view of the world, a view which is hopeful rather than cynical, a view which leans more toward faith than to despair.

Ueland's book concludes with these thoughts: "And why should we all use our creative power and write or paint or play music, or whatever it tells us to do? Because there is nothing that makes people so generous, joyful, lively, bold, and compassionate, so indifferent to fighting and the accumulation of objects and money. Because the best way to know the Truth or Beauty is to try to express it. And what is the purpose of existence Here or Yonder but to discover truth and beauty and express it, i.e., share it with others?"

So I will try to write at least one true thing every day, at least one thing that is beautiful, at least to me.

For Katie

Just for you, my sweet pumpkin. I'll post a real blog soon. This week has been a l-o-n-g week. Jury duty and Parent-Teacher Conferences. I'm beat.

I'm a Dork about How to Blog

I can't figure out how to make my blog look as good as everyone else's. My photos always look dumb - they won't go anywhere except right on top, and the ones of the babies aren't even the same size. Someone told me to do the blog in html, but I can't figure out how to make that work--the "edit html" tab doesn't even work for me.

Argghh!! I'm a beautiful-blog soul, trapped in a dorky blog.

Beautiful New Grandbabies

It's been a whirlwind three weeks - three new grandbabies! Each one arrived in good health, and of course they are beautiful. So here I would like to introduce...

Rebecca Jennete Carlson, born March 28. She weighed 7 lb, 14 oz, and was 21 1/2 inches long.

Madeline (Maddy) Sophia Koponick, born April 1. She weighed 6 lb, 2 oz, and was 19 1/4 inches long.

Blake Everett Haynie, born April 15. He weighed 7 lb, 7 oz, and was 21 inches long.

Grandma Kathy agrees to Pay it Forward

Pay it forward
I read this on Kendra's blog, and thought how wonderful it would be to receive a gift from HER- so here goes!

Pay It Forward--a little blog game called "Pay it forward."How it works: The FIRST THREE people to leave a comment on this post will receive at some point during this year a gift from ME. What it will be and when it will arrive will be a total surprise. The CATCH is that YOU MUST PLAY TOO! Before you leave your comment here, write a pay it forward post on your blog to keep the fun going (you can cut and paste these instructions). Then come back and let me know that you are going to play, and sit back and anticipate the arrival of your gift.So, to all my family and friends, don't make me feel like a dork. Leave a comment and play along!I've decided that the gifts I give will be something handcrafted by me. So it might be cookies (if you live close), or a something I would sew, or something else creative and crafty. Maybe even a chance to go hiking with me! It will be a surprise, but I think you will like it. Have fun!