Tuesday, February 14, 2017

I love to see the temple

I went to the Oquirrh Mountain temple this morning, as I've been doing each Tuesday since the new year began--except, of course not the past two Tuesdays, when we were, first--enroute to Merida, and then still in Merida--enjoying sunshine, sites, and good company, with Sharon and Gardner. While in Merida, we attended a temple endowment session, and then I went over to the initiatory area and took two family names through the initiatory ordinances.

Anyway, back to the story of the day. When I arrived at the Oquirrh Mountain temple, the parking lot wasn't full. Cool, I thought, no lines. Then, I pulled on into the parking lot and I realized there were NO cars--it was closed for a couple weeks. So, I headed to the Draper temple, about 20 minutes away. That parking lot was full, but the inside didn't seem crowded inside. The sisters at initiatory welcomed me with open arms and the wait was minimal, for a Tuesday morning. As I was waiting, it occurred to me how amazing it is to live in an area where I have 3 temples within 20 minutes of our home.

The beautiful, but currently closed for remodeling, Jordan River temple--10 minutes from home.
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Oquirrh Mountain temple--15 min from home.

This one I took myself, this morning. A gorgeous spring morning. 20 min from home.

Mount Timpanogos temple--30 min--I think I'll go here next week.

Salt Lake City temple--always a treat to come here, 30 min by train,

Bountiful, Utah temple--two of my kids married here, about 30 minutes by car. Spectacular setting.

#feeling blessed!

Thursday, July 30, 2015

What a week it's been. Last Wednesday, July 22nd, we (Frank, Sarah, Dinah, and I) delivered Caleb to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. It was a day I'd been both living for and dreading since the day Caleb was born, 18-plus years ago. I knew from experience that there would be a huge hole in my heart as he walked away from me.
We were pleasantly surprised, at the curb, by the sister missionary offering to take family pics. We'd been told not to plan on it, but to arrive a bit early and take final pictures up near the Provo temple--which we did.
Thanks to Aaron and Marcy McLendon for offering to meet us at the temple to visit and take what we thought would be these final pictures for us!

When it was time for the final goodbye, Frank got out to get the luggage, and I handed my phone to Dinah, telling her to take a quick picture through the open door. The sweet young sister missionary suggested that perhaps we'd like a picture with the whole family. We explained that we thought we couldn't do that. She said that we had a few minutes and let's just do it! So we all gathered--
for a final shot. What a sweet tender mercy that was. An elder that was helping with the process used Caleb's camera and took a couple shots so that he'd have is own copies. 
One final hug and off he went. 

It was a long drive home, hard to face coming around our corner and seeing the Nissan that Caleb drove to school and to work for the past couple years. Then we had to walk in the house to see the flags of his mission--they're still, I'm less affected by them 8 days later, but I plan to move them to his room at least in time to decorate for Christmas!
I had Dinah close his bedroom door so that I wouldn't have to see the emptiness every time I went upstairs. I've since been in the to put some leftover things away. It's getting better!

Sunday, September 21, 2014

My Father, the Veteran

One of my regrets in life is that I never asked my father very much about his military service. These regrets have bubbled to the surface recently as I followed the events of the Utah Honor Flight—where numerous volunteers and sponsors provided an opportunity for 66 World War 2 vets to fly to Washington DC to visit their monument, and other sites on the Mall. My emotions were very close to the surface as I listened to interviews and memories shared, of experiences that some of the men, in their 80s and 90s, hadn’t spoken of for years. These men were my father’s age, and once again, I realized that I’d not taken the opportunity to learn about this time in his life.

Dad military

Some of the few things that I do know are:

He was away from home, in southeast Idaho—Rockland—living with his Uncle Richard and Aunt Dorothy, attending high school, when he realized that he would be drafted. Rather that wait for that, he returned home, to Bonners Ferry, Idaho, where he enlisted in the Army Air Force. (I just learned, on Friday, why it was the Army Air Force and not the Air Force. There was no Air Force, as it’s own branch, until 1947. I’m sure Dad could have told me that if I’d bothered to ask.)

He was sent to boot camp in somewhere in Texas. I don’t know where. He went down with some buddies, but while there he came down with the flu and they shipped out without him.

While figuring out what to do with him, someone discovered that he had a natural ability to teach and he became and instructor on the base. I’m not sure how long he worked as an instructor, I just know that this is how he realized what he wanted to be when he grew up!

At some point he was sent to Europe. He traveled by ship, out of New York City, and got sea sick. But it seems like he worked through it after a few days and managed to enjoy part of the journey.

He was stationed near Wiesbaden, Germany as part of the post war occupation troops. There was a lake nearby, in which he enjoyed fishing.

I don’t know what his duties were, I don’t even know how long he was there.

I’m grateful for his service and I’m grateful that he avoided the fighting.

I’m grateful to those who gave their lives and to those who returned home safely, so that I enjoy the blessings of freedom.

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Two interesting experiences:

This morning, I met a new piano student. She is an exchange student from China--here until December. Her name is Regina and she is 15 years old. She walked into the studio, with her "exchange mom". While the mother and I were discussing, Regina had her eyes and thumb glued to her smart phone--teenager in any culture! As we began, I put the phone out of her reach and had her play for me. She played a few things and as she settled in, her counting became more accurate and she plays rather nicely. The most interesting part of that 30 minutes was communicating with her. She speaks decent English--but not necessarily in musical terms. She knew basic counting and such, but not the English word for, say, fermata or legato. I checked to see what she could read in English--even less. Then I had her write her name in Chinese. She quickly did so. It was fascinating to watch and beautiful to look at when she finished. She brought some music with her, ranging from a "Chinese piece" (her words), to Beethoven (Fur Elise, of course), to David Lanz (Christofori's Dream). Music truly speak any language!

The second interesting event involved a "moving sale", held by a gal in our neighborhood. The sign said, "Name your own price." I drove past just to see what she had. I spotted a bread maker and got out of the car to check it out. There were a few other people mozying around. Someone asked about a price on an item. She said, "Whatever you feel comfortable paying. It's name your own price." A few minutes later, someone else asked for a price. She repeated, "Whatever you feel comfortable paying. It's name your own price." I noticed that one person seemed to be making a purchase, but it also seemed that the others chose not to buy what they were asking her about. I didn't purchase the breadmaker. I wasn't comfortable offering what I was willing to pay, for fear of insulting her by offering too little. I suspect she would have accepted it, but perhaps would have felt short-changed. On the other hand, maybe she would have been fine with my paltry little offer. I just couldn't bring myself to find out.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

I haven't updated it a while. I've had a wonderful semester in my Family Stress and Coping class. Here's the link to the Prezi I had to create. At first I HATED doing it, then I got the gist, and rather enjoyed myself!


Friday, January 3, 2014

My Collection

In the course of putting away Christmas d├ęcor, I got enthused and dusted and rearranged the tops of shelves where I keep my treasures. I hadn’t taken a recent inventory of my teapots. Here’s what I dusted off this morning:
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I love this style of the put stacked on the cup.

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From Beatrix Potter’s home in Windmere, England. Thank you, Sarah!

                                      Same trip of Sarah’s—Big Ben!

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From Oaxaca, and Atzompa, a small village famous for it’s green pottery, just outside of Oaxaca, Mexico.

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Another great Christmas pot over a cup combo.. I have a plate, cup, bowl, and platter to match this.

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From Brazil-- Sarah brought them when she came home from her mission.

Bekah picked this up for me at the White House gift shop—Martha Washinton’s teapot (probably not!)

From my sister-in-law, when she visited her daughter in Okinawa, Japan!
I don’t know…. but I like it!

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From Sarah’s China trip. It’s an actual tea set, not meant to be just decorative.
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It came with it’s own cool tea set box!

From San Miguel Allenda, Mexico. We searched high and low for this one.
I have four little teapot ornaments, but they’re all packed away. I’ll add them onto the blog next Thanksgiving, or so.

Here they all are. I’ve decided that I need to get back to Disneyland because I need a Mad Hatter Tea Party tea pot, and perhaps a Mrs. Potts!