MISCELLANY

          This is a morning so quiet that I can hear myself chewing my gum.  My blinds are still closed, so I don't even know exactly what the weather is like, except that Weather Bug tells me there's a 40 per cent chance of mixed rain and snow.  So be it.  I'm not going anywhere today.  Even the dog hasn't wandered in yet this morning; he knows I won't stir from my sewing/study room for another 40 minutes to do anything interesting like take him for a walk or fill his food bowl, so why stir from his warm nest on the couch? 
           I've been reflecting this morning on how ironic life can be sometimes.  Following through on a New Year's resolution, I've tried to replace mindless internet surfing with working on genealogy.  While working on the Shurtleff line, I came across this ironic obituary:  The following is taken from a newspaper clipping of Mar 18, 1826: "Died in Carver, Mass, on the 6th of January, Mr Abiel Shurtleff, aged 93 years. So late as the 21st of December, this aged pilgrim walked to Plymout, a distance of nine miles in four hours, where he passed several days, remarking among other things, the he had reaped in his native fields eighty two summers, where in his youth he had seen wigwams and aged sachems. and that he had been a soldier in the campaigns of the ware of 1756 at Crown Point.  Abiel Shurtleff Sr died on 6 January 1826 at Carver, Plymouth, MA, USA, at age 93. Mr Shurtleff walked to Plymouth on "Forefather's Day," sat upon Pilgrim Rock and took a severe cold which resulted in his death.   I laughed aloud when I read this, on one level marveling the he could, at 93, walk nine miles in four hours, but also remembering how shocked I was when I saw his sitting rock for myself about 7 years ago.

                  I love this room I'm in this morning; it's my sewing room--my nest, my spot.  My husband created the room for me a few years ago.  It's reflective of my interests--computer at one end, sewing machine at the other.  Soft office chair for me, old oak straight-backed chair for Tom to sit in when he drops by all through the day as he works on his own "stuff."  Wine red walls, lace curtains, cluttered, scattered, unfinished projects here and there...me.  Grandson Vale asks often in family prayer for God to bless me while I do "Grandma Things."  If forced to define Grandma Things, he probably wouldn't be able to do so.  He knows I'm busy at my sewing machine or computer in all my leisure time, and you know what they are because I've told you often in these blogs.  Vale received this Grandma Thing just recently 

                     Until a few days ago, four large oak bookcases lined one wall.  They seemed to loom large, ovewhelming the room, catch-alls for miscellaneous "stuff."  We moved the bookcases into the living room and replaced them with a quilters' dream--a design wall.  A design wall is a pallette for me to work on sewing projects.  You can see six projects on the wall--my some days.  The catch-all with the oval handle is a gift from sister filled with pins, scissors, etc.  The seven red, white, and blue blocks are the beginnings of a Quilt of Valor for our son-in-law, Ben, who has served two deployments to Afghanistan.  See the Mormon temple block??  It's a rough design for a memorative something--the temple is Idaho Falls where we were married 41 years ago.  The small yellow and green block will find its way into a sewing machine cover I'm making for my sister, the tulip block into a pillow or machine cover for myself, and the longer piece is a table runner I started and don't know how to finish.  At the top,  are six little crocheted cups and saucers.  My mother made those in the last few weeks of her life.  I need to design something for them as well.  Thank heaven for sweet ironies in life, sweet husbands and children who pray you'll have good health to do your "Grandma Things," and projects to do and enjoy to keep yourself young.  AND a red room to do them in.  Love from here.  Mom

 

Listen to your heart. Even though it's on your left side, it will always be right! :)

 

                  

                

ON TURNING FIFTY

            No...not me.  I turned fify almost twenty years ago.  This time the one turning fifty is our oldest son, Mark.  I met Mark nearly forty years ago as the new bride of his dad.  We met at SeaTac Airport in Seattle.  Waiting for him to walk off the plane was a nerve-wracking ordeal filled with insecurity and doubts.  How would he feel about me?  Would he be accepting of me?

No need to have worried!!  He took hold of my hand and never looked back.  In fact, he talked all the way home, telling me the plot of a B movie called Freebie and the Bean, a blood and guts R-rated movie. Mark has loved me unconditionally and always treated me tenderly and with respect.  Today, he's a successful businessman, happily married,  father of three beautiful daughters and grandfather of 2.  Happy Fiftieth, Dear Mark.
             We Kennedys like February birthdays, so HAPPY BIRTHDAY to: Ivan, Connor, Ben, Nicole, and Brenna as well as Mark.

                 We're back to our normal, if dull, routine.  After seven days off school because of illness and snow, Vale was grateful to get back to his second semester at Columbia High.  He was recruited into Choir class and returned to band class as well.  There should be some joyful noises around our house now.  We've had a couple more days of power outages which seem to be caused by an ongoing feud between our local public utility district and Bonneville Power. We're keeping a list of lessons we've learned by "roughing it."  Lesson Number One is to put emergency supplies where we can find them in the dark.  Poor Vale stumbled around trying to find flashlights and candles which were scattered all over the house.
             Just recently, we had a lesson in our church class about procrastination.  The teacher, who always has us laughing one minute and crying the next, did an excellent job of making us squirm in our seats.  She got my Guilt Quotient up, and I determined to make up for lost time.  I started by determining to organize and clean out the shelves in my sewing room/office. First chore was a large stack of unfiled, loose papers.  Aha...I pulled out file folders and looseleaf binders to get those errant strays back into their proper order.  A choice, choice experience...better than any game of solitaire.  The stack proved to be unorganized pages of journals from years ago, pieces of my writing from as far back as 1963, letters to our missionary and our exchange students.  The afternoon flew by, and by the time I had everything properly organized, I was renewed and refreshed with not a guily pang in sight.
                 Life is good right now.  Tom, who's been prowling the house like a caged animal, can now get outside and move on with his projects.  He's even sneaking off to the woods to see if the snow has melted enough to allow him to start cutting wood.  Fun times...much love and happiness at our house, hoping the same for all of you.
Love from here.  Mom

"Some people are so poor that the only thing they have is money."

TRYING AGAIN

                                  I just saved my 2011 journal to an external hard drive--196 pages, single spaced, size 10 font. 117,000 words. My journal, since about 2007, has consisted of cutting and pasting the daily, often twice daily, emails I send to my sister, into a Word document. I don't include her responses. This endeavor has reaped a fairly accurate representation of my life each year. It's honest but not brutal; tender at times, touching, filled with words and feelings of frustration, anguish, soul-searching. As I read the journal, the tears flowed, laughter filled my house, and sweet memories flowed from every entry. What were near-fatal crises six months ago had become only a blip of the ups and downs of daily living. I also keep a Quotations file in my Word program. It's a collection of little poems, pithy sayings, words of wisdom I hear or see as I read, surf the web, or watch tv. No one will probably ever read my journals--they're really quite boring. In addition to my written collection, I have pictures...hundreds of pictures, which I've put onto my computer. Because I was new to organizing my pictures, I'd loaded literally hundreds of pictures three and four times. I've reduced my 377 files to 20. I'm now ready to launch into 2012.

                 We did manage to get through the holidays unscathed.  Thanksgiving was a quiet affair.  Vale was with us for Thanksgiving dinner; then his mom whisked him off to Vale Las Vegas, Baby to see Phantom of the Opera and Lion King.  We had no such excitement--just a quiet weekend together.  Christmas was a busy circus.  Marie's family came.  Our five grandchildren wanted only one thing for Christmas--snow.  The two smaller children have never seen snow; the older three had only vague memories of playing in snow, since they've lived in Guam and then California for the last four years.  On Christmas Day, it did snow and hail for FIVE MINUTES.  Our nine year old grandson exclaimed, "It's snowing!!  Heavenly Father does answer our prayers!"  There was no snow during their entire visit.  Poor babies.  A good time was still had by all. 

                   January brought snow.  Finally!!  We need the moisture.  A week or so ago was a wintry, stormy week.  A phenomenon occured in our area that I haven't seen in all the years we've lived here.  Hundreds of trees in our area were broken and downed by the horrendous ice storm.  Broken tree limbs and fallen trees clogged nearly every residential street in our town.  In the picture taken from the window of my sewing room you can see the branches and twigs that literally covered the entire surface of our front yard.  To the left is our neighbor's yard where a beautiful evergreen tree and an old-growth oak tree were downed by the ice.

Many of the smaller old oak trees in our yard were damaged as well.  Since we're town dwellers we had only an 18 hour power outage, but many in our area were without power for as long as eight days!!  Everyone is telling survivor stories.  I was impressed by a group of the retired men in our neighborhood who came by on skis with shovels over their shoulders to help their neighbors dig themselves out of 4 feet of snow!
                   Tom has been confined to the house for a few weeks and is feeling like a caged animal!!  He's kept himself busy, but he's itching to get outside and start the cleanup of the yard.  I've managed to make a few quilts in this confining weather. 

           The top quilt is for two year old Mason.  I feel that I will only be able to make one quilt for each of my grandchildren, so I've made them all so that they fit a standard double size bed.  Mason's quilt is a strip quilt; the white panel is an old-fashioned train puffing out his name.  I made two quilts that were quite similar--jeans/flannel quilts for my grandsons, Kahlil and Wyatt.  When Vale saw their quilts, he asked if he could swap the red and blue jeans quilt I made for him some years ago with Wyatt's.  Vale hadn't used his quilt because he'd always lived in California, and he'd outgrown it.  So we made the swap.  I revamped the quilt I'd started for Wyatt so it would fit a 6 foot plus young man.  The Ivan quilt is for almost 7 year old Ivan.  If you knew Ivan, you'd know how perfectly this bold, optimistic quilt fits him!
                 The red and green quilt was my gift to Tom for his december birthday.  For the first time in 40 years of marriage, I was able to surprise Tom on his birthday.  I went to visit my sister, explaining that I wanted to have some sister time before the weather got bad. We put the quilt top together in two days; Tom never suspected.  The picture is of the quilt top; I'm still dong the hand-stitching on that quilt.  I'm even doing my own design of Celtic Lover's Knots on the quilt.  (For those who can't tell, I'm the sister on the left.)

            Our stormy weather is gone--temporarily the weather man says.  We're well and keeping ourselves busy and fulfilled.  Hope all of you can say the same.  Love, Mom
“When our wagon gets stuck in the mud, God is much more likely to assist the man who gets out to push than the man who merely raises his voice in prayer—no matter how eloquent the oration.” (Deiter F. Uchtdorf)

This will be a long blog that I am compelled to write. This weekend is the 181st Conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Salt Lake City. Conference, as it's experienced by members of the church, is a unique and wonderful custom. Conference has been held almost every October and April since the organization of the Church of Jesus Christ in 1830. Thousands of members flock to Salt Lake where there are five conference sessions to attend; often missionaries hold reunions with other returned missionaries, and many families plan family gatherings and reunions around Conference sessions. The majority of the membership, however, must be content with viewing Conference via closed wire broadcast, satellite, internet, or the radio, or published copies of the talks. Watching in our homes, we plan special snacks, gather blankets and comforters, and enjoy the novelty of wearing our casual clothes to "church." We love Conference and our leaders and cherish their words, are comforted by their messages.

I've been a member of the LDS Church for 57 years, and I have embraced it with all my heart, even though I was coerced into joining. My father grew up as a member but drifted away. However, he felt so guilty about his inactivity that he sent we three children to church. For several years, we merely sat on the back row, stoically obeying our father's orders until we met Althea Herring--Althea WHITBY Herring. She instantly recognized that we had to be Whitbys because all Whitbys look alike!! Althea would brook no resistance; we were to be baptized immediately. We didn't know we could argue with such an immovable force. We were baptized, in spite of being terrified of the deep water in the font.

I am who I am--good or bad--because I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. I embrace the doctrines of the Church, which is very definitely a Christian Church, in spite of any bad press we've received on that subject. I try to live my life so that others will know that I am a practicing latter-day saint. Most of all, I have found within the sacred scriptures, strict tenets, and strong emphasis of family and service of the faith what I've needed to travel through the winding path of my life. I have, and have had, a good, blessed life, and this is not my swan song nor my last lament--I don't plan to leave this life any time soon. I don't feel that I've had nearly the afflictions, difficulties, nor tragedies that so many others have experienced in their lives, and I've sometimes wondered why not. For a Christian, afflications bring strength of character; Billy Graham once said that if a Christian doesn't have any problems, he'd better pray for some, so that he could be refined in the fire of affliction.

I realized today, while I was watching Conference, listening to our current president, Thomas S. Monson, that I never seem to see the trials of my life as afflictions when I'm going through them!! Once they're over and I have time to reflect on them, I think, "That was pretty tough, but it's over; we can go on." I feel this way because of my personal testimony of the power of faith and of prayer. The best example I can use is my experiences in dealing with my children and their struggles now that they are adults rearing their own families. When a child calls in crisis mode, I'm like the person who's been dog-paddling around in a quiet stream, only to realize that the rushing sound he hears is a nearby rapids that he's about to head into!! My child doesn't know it, but I'm paddling ninety miles an hour in a silent prayer that I may have the right answer or words of comfort at that very moment for their personal benefit. I have trust that a loving Father in Heaven is giving me a big shove, so that I can get back into the quiet stream.

The tradition of Conference that best explains what I've been trying to convey is that we believe in the existence of a modern, living prophet, who we accept as a mouthpiece of God. The first prophet I became acquainted with was David Oman McKay, the ninth President of the Church. To introduce President McKay, let me share this story:

I remember being in New York when President McKay returned from Europe. Arrangements had been made for pictures to be taken, but the regular photographer was unable to go, so in desperation the United Press picked their crime photographer--a man accustomed to the toughest type of work in New York. He went to the airport, stayed there two hours, and returned later from the dark room with a tremendous sheaf of pictures. He was supposed to take only two. His boss immediately chided him, "What in the world are you wasting time and all those photographic supplies for?"

The photographer replied very curtly, saying he would gladly pay for the extra materials, and they could even dock him for the extra time he took. It was obvious that he was very touchy about it. Several hours later the vice-president called him to his office, wanting to learn what happened. The crime photographer said, "When I was a little boy, my mother used to read to me out of the Old Testament, and all my life I have wondered what a prophet of Good must really look like. Well, today I found one."

I accepted David O. McKay as a prophet, and his words as prophetic, as I have accepted all other presidents and prophets up to this day. Just a few hours ago, I listened to the words of our current prophet, Thomas S. Monson. His talk was riveting, challenging, powerful. His sweet counsel on this day has moved me to share my testimony in this blog. Thank you for listening. Love, Mom

SEPTEMBER ENDEAVORS

Remember my blog about that Bucket List? I'm not doing very well on it. I had hoped to do a blog every Sunday so that I could chronicle events, projects, etc. "Hoped" is the operative word. After all, I'm a retiree...no real agenda or schedule. I certainly have plenty of subject matter! My challenge this week has been attempting to post pictures to the blog!! I think I have it now.

We've had a busy September. Lots of company. Here are Darla and Vale. Don't they look overjoyed to pose for yet another picture? Darla says she hasn't been this skinny since junior high, and has never been blonde, so we're showing her off. Vale has never been this tall, nor a 15 year old, so here he is.

Tom is overjoyed to have warm weather and a new calling at church. He is now the early morning Seminary teacher. The course of study this year is Old Testament, and his class consists of seven students--6 boys and 1 girl. Like most first-year teachers, he's spent an inordinate amount of time in preparation; in spite of the fact that he knows the Old Testament upside down and backwards. He has one mentally challenged student who stormily informed Tom that he would not come to Seminary...well...his mom was making him come, but he'd only be there for the first day. Then, he saw the spread of muffins, goodies, fruit, and juice that Tom lays out every day, and he's been a 100% attendee! The second Tom gets home from Seminary, he pulls on his work clothes and heads outside. His latest project is the back porch.

The floor has since been painted. Now, he's setting in his store of wood for the winter.

His next project is to cover up this unsightly space underneath the new deck.

Seminary has brought a change for me. I've inherited the dog duties. From 4am to 8, I'm Astro's mother. He never leaves my side: he sleeps next me, curls up under the computer table, or follows me everywhere. He'd like to join me in the bathroom, but I have to draw the line somewhere. We've become walking companions as well. In walking, I'm not as exciting as Dad; I won't follow him along the road, so he can "herd" the car; I won't allow catching helpless rabbits, and I do not allow unleash time, but I sing for him, and I talk to him and myself...what more could he want? I love the little marina where we walk. It's the site of one of Lewis and Clark's campsites on their trip down the Columbia and is a launch site for the Yakama Nation tribal fishing boats.

This has been a busy month in my calling at church. Our church family is aging, and I've been called on a little more often to provide comfort, assistance, and meals for those who are ailing in some way or another.

Of course, I'm still quilting. The name quilt isfor Ivan. The star quilt is for Kahlil...I think. Not sure yet.

Life is full and rewarding around here, and we wouldn't have it any other way. "There's only 1 thing 2 do, 3 words 4 you; 1 way to say those 4 words, so that's what I'll do: I LOVE YOU!"

YOU'VE GOT TO ACCEN--TU--ATE THE POS--I--TIVE

E-LIM-IN-ATE THE NEGATIVE, AND

AND DON'T MESS WITH MR. IN-BETWEEN!!

LOVE, MOM

"Dr. Seuss" Trees

I have a perch which I use often--the view out my kitchen nook window!! Since we built the house in 1975, I've stood at the window surveying our kingdom while conversing on the phone. In our front lawn are 22 of these ancient oak trees. Grand old gentlemen who've seen a lot as they've stood here on top of Strawberry Mountain protecting our little Camelot.

Some years ago, our neighbor across the street asked if we would allow him to have our trees trimmed as they were obstructing his view of Mt. Hood. Sure, if he wanted to spend that kind of money. We listened carefully as the tree trimmer explained what he'd do to the trees--sounded reasonable--maybe even good for the old boys. The tree trimmer never came back. A year later, we came home from work to a scene right out of a Dr. Seuss book. Our goreous trees had been nearly hacked to pieces!! Tragically, the tree trimmer had died, and our neighbor had hired an unemployed wood cutter to do the job. We were devastated, and there was nothing we could do because we'd given our consent a year earlier!! The Kennedy oak trees became the topic of much discussion around the faculty room, break room, and church parlor among our friends. We should sue!! The trees would never come back to their pristine glory!! The horticulture teacher brought droves of students by to see the horrible slaughter. Get over it!! Move on!! was the rally cry of other neighbors. Leave them alone. Mother Nature will take care of them. Which, of course, she did! Now, the trees create an overhang along the driveway and front yard, which gives us privacy and quiet.

Notice the absence of our bird and squirrel friends. After paying nearly $200 to replace chewed up wiring and hoses in our two vehicles, we had to reluctantly empty our bird and squirrel feeders.

I can't get a good picture of this view of our backyard. The trees here have grown so large that, from certain places at our window and on our sundeck, they obstruct our view of Mt. Hood. We may need to call in a tree trimmer, but we'll check his credentials before we allow him at the trees!!

The county assessor came by a month or so ago, puzzled by an assessment report he'd found from years ago. "It says here that you have a view of the river," he says, scratching his head. "I just don't see how you can." I explain that we did have a view of the Columbia River--before the Dr. Seuss tree incident.....

I love my mountain home and invite anyone who wants to see the old gents who kicked Dr. Seuss in the you-know-what to come on in!! We're mostly home...on the deck...watching the trees.
Love from Mom

All of us could take a lesson from the weather; it pays no attention to criticism." (Anon)