WHO'D HAVE THOUGHT

The world wide web is filled with millions of commentaries and thoughts about marriage. But, truly, the loudest comment on marriage is longevity, so I think I have a right to make a few comments since I've been married forty years today. I fell in love with Tom the minute I saw him peek through my living room window as he rang my doorbell for the first time forty years ago. I'm not so sure that it was so much that I loved him; it was that he loved me, treated me as if I were the most important person in the world from our first meeting. I was 28 years old, and I hadn't had any man take me seriously, so I was in love with love!! Our first date was attendance at a BYU educational seminar in Tacoma, followed by a walk through Point Defiance Park in Tacoma, a movie, and root beer floats while we sat in Doug's T-bird convertible. We didn't discuss marriage; I don't even know what we discussed, but neither of us can remember the movie we saw. When he'd gone home, I called my best friend to share details and my conviction that we'd marry even though he hadn't asked. The next day, my "best" friend met Tom in the hallway of the church. I wasn't there. Knowing my comments on marriage were merely fantasies, she said, sweetly, "I understand congratulations are in order." Ugh...Tom, taken aback, thought to himself, "If it is within my power, I will never let another person hurt Julie again." And, he never has!!
I was lectured by friends at first; he had lots of strikes against him:

1. He was "older." 32 to be exact.

2. He'd been married before. To a strikingly beautiful woman

3. He had a son. An eight year old living with his mom in Texas.

4. He was broke. Boy was he broke!!

5. He was inactive in the church. He was working three jobs at the time but quit one so he could teach a Sunday School class.

I didn't care about any of that!! I was in love. I drove my mom and sister absolutely crazy with frequent phone calls extolling the virtues of this wonderful man. We met in March and were married in June. 40 years ago in the Idaho Falls temple of the Mormon Church.

I am still in love with love, and, coincidentally with this fine, upright, good man who

works every day to make sure that I will not be hurt. We're best friends, bosom buddies, soul mates...all the cliches in the book. We're so accustomed to each other that we complete one another's sentences, and, more than not, assume that what we like or think is what he/she likes or thinks. Here's to another forty years and on into eternity.

THORRY, MARIE

In my last post, I left out some of my children!! In defense of my blub, I was

trying too hard to get the blog done before church. So....I want, first and foremost, to correct that omission. We have a "daughter" and son-in-law who are very dear to us. They live in Saudi Arabia until Kevin's retirement which is soon; then they'll be in Arizona. Marie and her family are in Oxnard, California and are filling in their days until their Daddy returns from deployment.

My omission brought me a bit of teasing from Marie, it also brought back memories of the feelings that are so often brought to the surface when we are left out, ignored, or unappreciated. Most often, such incidents are not at all intentional, and some are hilarious to recall when we've recovered enough to accept them for what they really are, but they still leave an impression. Steve brought into the family an expression which makes the distinction between sins of commission--I meant to hurt you by my actions, and sins of omission--unintentional slights or slights meant to tease. He had been teasing Marie about a new boyfriend, and, when I demanded that he apologize, he said, "Thorry, Marie." Thorry is our code word for I'm only teasing or that wasn't intentional. On Mother's Day, I listened to a one-sided conversation between Tom and his mother. Grandma was gushing about a wonderful poem which our daughter, Susan, had written for her, sent in her card for Mother's Day. I can't describe the jealousy that pricked my heart, thinking that Susan had written a poem for her grandmother and not for me. Trying to hide my wounded pride, I wrote to Susan, asking for a copy of the poem. Susan's response was: "She must have read you the poem that was in the card. I didn't write it, but it was beautiful. It reminded me of the bonds between us women, that's why I chose the card for her." So much for feelings of anger. (PS. I hope no one will EVER tell Grandma Kennedy of this; she still thinks Susan wrote the poem in the card. Please, please don't ever tell her, even in jest!) On another occasion, years ago, a case of mistaken identity caused some consternation for one of my friends. She called to ask me for a private conversation, and I could tell that she was very upset. She explained how much she loved me, wouldn't hurt me for anything in the world, etc., etc. BUT, she could no longer live with the anger she was feeling towards me and wanted to get her animosity off her chest. I was dumbstruck!! What on earth was she talking about? They had been in the Tri-Cities...in a Costco store, and she'd seen me with....my new man!! After all I'd said about my deep and abiding love for Tom, how could I be carrying on an affair??!! You guessed it...she had seen my twin sister and her husband!! Oh the memories!!

Life is busy in our corner of the world. Tom is back in his element. He calls my sewing room my sanctuary, and his sanctuary is the yard, the woods, and his daily "stuff" outside. He's now free to roam in his sanctuary, and he couldn't be happier. Vale's days as an eighth grader are numbered: seven to be exact. This weekend, we celebrated Springfest, our community's local event. Notice Vale tooting his clarinet? He's the tallest kid in the band, which is a 5-8th grade group, and he's tallest in the school. He's helped his height along with some innersoles he found--two in each shoe--but who's telling? He was voted the Eighth Grader with the Best Hair!! Life isn't much fun if there aren't a few thorries to spice it up!! Love to All. Mom

I'll Try Again

I've neglected my blog for five months and haven't really missed the experience. Except that an inner voice has been nagging at me to do some writing and blogging. After all, my blogs and my daily emails to my twin sister are my journal. They are the written legacy that I'll leave behind for my posterity to peruse to get a glimpse of who I was/am. Neither my blogs nor my daily emails are great literature full of profound thoughts. Today's email topic, for instance, was a riveting account of the difficulty I'm having picking the colors for a lap quilt for my mother-in-law. So here goes...
I left the blogger world when Tom had arthroscopic surgery on his right shoulder in February. We're new to the world of illnesses and injuries, so we weren't quite prepared for all that recovery entails. Adding to the woe was an injury he suffered two days after surgery...a fall in which he landed on his left shoulder!! My most perilous times during the recovery revolved around the fact that I had to be the family chauffeur...in the snow...in Tom's beloved pickup....Ugh. The upside of this period is that it's over, and that Tom spent time to rest, read, and to work on his personal history. He also discovered two wonderful television series: Who Do You Think You Are and The Generations Project (BYU tv..Monday nights) which are about genealogy and tracing ones roots, so we're setting his computer up so he can do just that.

Vale's had a good winter. Besides his clarinet, Vale has taken up the acoustic and electric guitar and is participating in jazz band. Basketball was the highlight of his winter. I've forgotten now their team's win/loss record, but they did well. Low grades kept Vale out of track, but he's gearing up now for high school football. He will be staying with us for his high school years, which, seems to us, to be a good decision. A small school affords many more opportunities to participate in sports, music productions, and special classes. Vale's especially excited about a Robotics program at Columbia High.

I'm still doing what Vale calls "Grandma things." I've been quilting, doing genealogy, and working a small part-time job as a data entry operator. Spiritually, I think I've really re-inforced my belief in the value of constant, daily prayer, even in the most mundane aspects of my life. There's comfort in prayer, peace, calm. I'm a facebook addict, and I'm pleasantly surprised by the number of prayer requests made on facebook. I seem to have opportunities all day long to pray for someone else, a complete stranger, often a nameless person. It's nice to know that there are many, all over the globe, who believe in the power of a heartfelt prayer to a loving Heavenly Father.

A quilt for Kobe...Brenna's is underway.

We're grateful for our sweet family.

Mark and his daughters.

The new Darla after a 145 pound weight loss
















Susan's family is growing up.

Steve (upper left) doing manuvers

Tom on his way back to Maine to see his boys.

All is well here. The Columbia River is rising, but we're high and dry on Strawberry Mountain. Love to All, Mom

In one of my recent emails to my sister, I presented the truth that our life these days revolves around Vale's schedule--not ours. Vale is a fair student; he has all the smarts and talent to be a straight A student, but he has many other interests: video games, writing scripts and making movies for youtube, his electric guitar, and sports. Right now, the sport is basketball. He doesn't know all the intricacies of the game, but he can leap down the court in about four giant steps; he knows his position is under the basket, and he knows how to rebound. Vale hasn't played organized basketball since third grade, so he's on the Blended/JV team. They've had two games and skunked their opponents both times. In the last game, Vale had four baskets.

As to the rest of the family, we're aging at the appropriate rate and are still enjoying our senior citizen status. Tom fell on the ice a few months ago and hasn't been able to do all of his favorite projects. The fall stirred up something in his shoulder and ice packs, therapy, and strength-building three-times-a-day exercises haven't seemed to be effective, so this week, he gets to start the MRI/specialist routine to see what the next step will be. Tom, being the family worker bee, has voluntarily become our housekeeper and keeps the house neat as a pin. In addition to being Vale's chauffeur, homework monitor, housekeeper, cook, etc, etc, I have also become Darla's employee in her home medical billing business. I like being able to work at 3am in my pajamas and fuzzy slippers if I see fit, and I like the little nest egg I'm building for my old age. Astro is still chasing birds and squirrels, but they're all wise to him and don't take him too seriously.

Besides our immediate family, the other children seem to be doing well. The grandchildren and great-grandchildren are growing up in spite of our desires to keep them little and cute and innocent just a little longer. The adults have active busy lives. Grandma is hanging in there. All is well...all is well. Love to You All...Mom

We've lost Baby Jesus!! We've looked in every bin, tote, dilapidated box, and closet shelf, and He's nowhere to be found. It's not that we have no nativity sets; we have six or seven. Alas, the Baby Jesus we're looking for belongs to a large set that's to be our window display this year. The three kings kneel reverently, offering their gifts to...the floor. Mary and Joseph sit looking adoringly down at...empty space. Tom says it's a sign!! A poignant Christmas message..a parable.. about forgetting Christ in Christmas
It is a commentary that we feel such a loss. It's really just a plastic replica...a THING...after all. We have firm testimonies of the presence and reality of Christ in our lives. We try to emulate His teachings and practices. Yet, we're experiencing a rather traumatic vagueness about all of our other preparations. Our trees are up, but the other decorations are scattered here and there throughout the house, waiting to be arranged, polished, hung, USED. It's December 20, and I'm just now writing my Christmas letter. I HOPE I'll have my Christmas gift packages in the mail today...as long as there are 54 hours between now and the mailman's arrival at 5 I should make it.
Vale, our grandson, spent time helping me try to get my mojo on before he flew home to be with his mom for Christmas. We made lots of Christmas candy for the packages. We've made at least two broiler pan batches of fudge, which have already disappeared and not into Christmas boxes!!
We have a substitute! Since we thoughtlessly placed the Nativity set in the very spot our dog, Astro, calls his, we find that he has taken up a lonely vigil in Baby Jesus' spot. He's looking too!
Our year has been somewhat in keeping with the restlessness of our days without the Baby Jesus where he belongs!! We've had lots of ups and downs, highs and lows this year. Nothing specific, traumatic, or terrible...just life-changing. We'd settled into a retirement life of service, church and community, remodeling, genealogy, quilting, visiting. Nice, comfortable...Ho hum. Then, we received this subtle little email: Hey Mom. So, we just found out that the housing that we want to get in to...is pet free. No Astro. Of course Harmony is devastated. Christy can't take him because she already has 3 dogs. What would you guys think about taking him? I know Dad was at one point thinking about getting a dog. Anyway, no pressure, just let us know what you think ok? How could we resist?? A dog after all these years! He's a Corgi...a herd dog who herds Tom everywhere, including the bathroom. A few weeks later, our grandson, Vale, took up residence with us so he can spend his eighth grade year in White Salmon. My oh my!! We'd put homework, music practice time, video games, eighth grade angst, zits, sports, etc, etc completely out of our minds years ago. Now, they're back. We need that missing Baby where he belongs!!
We hope all is well with all of you!! We have loved and appreciated friends and family all year long through visits, emails, facebook entries, and phone calls. We're happy and reasonably healthy, and...at 3am this morning, while I was setting out our Christmas village, I found the little Nativity piece way down in the corner of a bin....Ahhh...I placed Him reverently and ceremoniously into His spot and remembered the phrase: Wise Men Still Seek Him. Oh that we'll be wise and always seek Christ's presence in our lives!! Love to All. Happy Holidays.

DO DREAMS COME TRUE?

I have a favorite wedding card which I buy as often as I can when I can find it. The card is all- white with an embossed picture of Cinderella stepping into her magic chariot. On the inside is the comment: Dreams Really Do Come True.



Dreams seem, often, to come true around Christmastime. A long-awaited toy becomes a bird in our hand; a visit from a friend or a dream trip seem to resolve themselves into magical moments. My thoughts have been on dreams coming true.



When our son, Tom, was a teenager, to our chagrin, he lived only to hang-out in the local parks with his friends and ride skateboards. There wasn't really a decent skate park or safe place for them to ply their craft, and they were often a menace to local drivers, merchants, and law enforcement. For most of his high school years, Tom tried to get a nice skatepark built at the park. He wrote petitions and requests, went to local town meetings, etc. Then he grew up and left home, but he never gave up on skateboarding and takes time to skate almost every day. A few days ago, in town for a few days, he remarked with pride, "Eighteen years after I started the ball rolling, there's a fantastic skatepark down in Bingen. Dreams do come true."



Steve, our Coast Guardsman, helped a young man with MS fulfill a dream when he helped him drive a Coast Guard boat and visit the Bodega Bay Station where Steve is assigned.



Recently, I was helping Vale with an assignment in his Pacific Northwest history class. He is doing a project on the Oregon Trail, which is living one's history, since we live in the area of the Trail and because Vale's great-great grandfather, Peter Franklin Clark, came to the Salem, Oregon area on the Oregon Trail. Frank Clark was an exceptional man--a man for all seasons. He worked the family farm in Missouri as a young boy, searched for and found gold during the gold rush, fought in the Civil War, commanding a local unit, Company A, Eleventh Missouri Cavalry, traveled the Oregon Trail and became a successful farmer in Zena, Oregon, served as justice of the peace, postmaster, veteran representative, and a deacon in the Baptist Church in there, and produced several journals and diaries. Only some of his journalistic efforts still exist. As I searched through Clark's journals, I found this gem in Clark's diary: "Here I must relate how old Uncle Ellis trapped me. We were talking about California and the demoralizing effect it had on young men, when I remarked that it was my firm belief that no one could stay in the California mines for a year without swearing, drinking, or gambling or even cosorting with prostitutes. 'Ha, ha, ha, now I have you, my boy,' he said. 'Did you not tell us a short while ago that you had done none of these things? So you had better own up.' But I would not.


So things went on, and I prayed in secret and persuaded myself that I could be a Christian out of the church as well as in it. When the war broke out, I went into it with all my energy, sometimes almost forgetting that there was a God. But I never wholly relapsed. I always came back when I got in a tight place, that is until August 21, 1864. In the hottest of the fight, I always asked God to protect me. But on this day, while the bullets were flying thick, it occurred to me: why should God protect me when I refused to know Him and by confessing, I then and there promised Him that if He spared me until I got home, that then I would do my duty. Very shortly afterward I received a letter from my wife, informing me that she had withdrawn from the Protestant church. Soon after, on the third Sunday in November 1864, I was baptized by the pastor of Pisgah, Reverend Henry C. Sollan, into the Baptist church. The following fall my two daughters were converted and baptized. About this time I was made church clerk, and so remained until 1874, when we all took letters before leaving for Oregon.

I have always regretted that I did not make public profession in 1846, for I believe today, February 15, 1905, that God, for Christ's sake, at the mourner's bench in Illinois, pardoned my sins. Since then, my sorrows have been many, my joys and blessings more than I deserve. But verily I believe that if I had come out on the Lord's side boldly, my sorrow would have been less and my joys many more. I therefore counsel you, my children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren who read this after I am gone, to at all times, and in all places, be ready to profess your faith and to acknowledge He who has saved you. But alas, if you're not saved, seek it now, never give over until you can say, "Jesus is mine."

I wonder if we, his many descendants, have made Frank Clark's dreams come true?

WHAT HAPPENED TO SEPTEMBER

A look at my latest blog entry brought on the immortal question: What happened to September? Well, here's what happened to September:





Grandson Vale, now 14, moved in to the spare bedroom downstairs. All memories of our "little" grandson were banished when this fourteen year old eighth grader walked off the plane. Suddenly, we're once again parents...demanding homework be done, supporting Scouts, PTO, and trying to understand video games, youtube, iPhones, et all.





Tom's energy has gone into a complete overhaul of the exterior of the house, all new siding and a new paint job, done solely by Tom. The new exterior also includes two beautifully finished decks, a fully enclosed back porch/workshop, and a gazebo which matches the house. In addition, we now have a neat little downstairs kitchen area.


have been sewing. Totes, an apron and a bag for a silent auction, and Welcome bags for new sisters moving into our ward. Today I was proudly shown one the green bags by a sweet little girl who told me it's her special bag for her scriptures.

I survived being mc for our fiftieth class reunion. A fun evening. When you're our age, all the pretense is gone. You no longer care who's gone bald or fat or had five marriages, and you really don't remember or care about the glory days of high school. Mostly you mourn the loss of those who've died, pass around pictures of grandchildren, hobbies, travel pictures, and wonder that you are one of the survivors.

Astro has found a lovely little girlfriend whom we call Daisy, since we don't really know her name. Daisy lives across the street but thinks she lives here, since she knows how to get our front door open, where to find the dog food dishes, and all about the dust bunnies under our bed!!

The frost is on the pumpkin now. Vale seems to be making his adjustment to a smaller school, the tremendous amount of homework he seems to have, scripture study, family prayer, new friends, school dances, etc., etc. Tom is laying in our supply of wood for the winter and planning an indoor project of finishing his personal history and doing research on some family names. I am musing over this little gem which I found on a quilting blog:

First quilter: "Are you busy making Christmas gifts? What are you making? How long 'til Christmas you ask? 77 days 14 hours. 44 minutes."

Second quilter: "I'm making a noose and hanging myself. I'll never get everything done in 77 days."

We love you all and are looking forward to Thanksgiving this year and our summer reunion with family. I'll try to keep up my blog better than I have and not lose any more months. Love from here. Mom

Some people change their ways when they feel the light. Others when they feel the heat.