All About Carly

We have had the most fun this past week with my daughter Camille, her husband Dave and their daughter Carly at our house.

Not only did we get to celebrate Christmas with them,

but it was also

Carly's First Birthday!!

And her first time eating chocolate cake!

She wasn't too thrilled with the clothes, but she did like the toys.

Christmas morning with a baby was also a fun experience.

By now she had gotten the hang of opening gifts.

And this picture is my absolutely most favorite.

It was taken by my daughter Kristen one morning just as the light came through the

kitchen window.

What a sweet baby!!

I am going to miss giving her hugs and kisses

Oh, and thanks to Kristin Klein, I have also been introduced to picnik

which you can see I have been having a lot of fun with. :-)

Earthly Poor, But Heavenly Blessed

I wrote this last year, but felt it could bear being posted again. It is one of my favorite memories and one of my favorite posts as it is one of the few I took a great deal of time to write. I hope you enjoy it.

While sitting in my daughter’s house this past week, I noticed her Christmas tree—sparsely decorated with two dishtowels where a tree skirt should be. It quickly took me back in time to my second Christmas with my husband.

We were married in early July and had our first child, Camille, in April. In the fall, my husband quit his job to attend graduate school, and we lived off a student loan and what I could make selling Tupperware.

Going back to school necessitated moving into a less expensive apartment. We found a duplex, set back from the road and nestled in a grove of trees. It had a bright, cheery, orange door, but once inside, the apartment lost most of its charm. Green was everywhere. The sea foam green walls were devoid of artwork and emanating from the forest green, shag carpet was a musty, tobacco smell. The kitchen linoleum was so worn it was difficult to determine its original color, but the green walls, olive green appliances and dark brown cupboards gave the room a dreary and depressing appearance.

Beyond the kitchen was the laundry room, where we placed our daughter’s crib, and directly across from it was our bedroom. Next to the bedroom, in stark contrast to the rest of the apartment, was a bright, yellow bathroom from which we could easily hear the neighbor’s conversations drifting through the vents. We filled the kitchen cupboards with cans of turkey chunks from the church cannery (a gift from my sister) and the freezer with hamburger meat purchased on sale from the butcher. We placed our worn, and I am sorry to say, green sofa along the wall that separated the kitchen from the living room and across from it we put our oak rocking chair, which was on loan from my parents.

I walked from the bathroom to the kitchen and around to the living room and sat down on the floor. Looking around the apartment I realized there was no longer any use denying it. We were poor.

Fall turned to winter and the bright colored leaves lay slumbering on the ground under a blanket of snow. It was December, and while the outside world bustled about preparing for Christmas, I was in bed recovering from surgery.

Then came a knock at our front door. First entered my neighbor Melinda, followed by her husband Kevin, arms laden with simmering hot casserole dishes and freshly baked rolls. Next came our neighbors Doug and Linda, returning our laundry smelling freshly washed and looking neatly pressed.

As we gathered in the living room to visit, I looked around, silently absorbing the scene before me. Dominating the room was our Christmas tree; a poor, scraggly, little thing propped up rather unceremoniously in an empty ice cream bucket and supported by river rock. Its spindly branches were draped with silver, metallic icicles in an effort to disguise the sparseness of their needles.

I sat next to the tree in the rocking chair, rocking my baby, now eight months old. My husband sat cross-legged next to me on the floor and our four guests, who were providently thin, scrunched in next to each other on the couch.

I could hear sweet musical laughter as stories were shared. I could smell the aroma of freshly baked bread in the kitchen begging for my attention, and I could see the Christmas tree lights twinkling next to me. I felt the warmth in the room, first on my skin and then deep down in my soul.

Suddenly it hit me. We were rich.

Life has changed much since then. We moved to Arizona, added four more children to our family and our worldly possessions increased. And yet many years later, we still count as our greatest blessings---and hence the source of our greatest wealth---family members and good friends who have brought such great joy, and richness. . . to our journey.

I am feeling very "rich" right now as well. My house is filled this week with my children, in laws and even a baby. What a great blessing this is!

May you all have a very Merry Christmas!

Rolls Part II, or . . . There are Angels Amongst Us

(For this to make sense you will need to scroll down for part one)

When I arrived at the hospital, I found my friend seated by her son’s side holding his hand. He was in pretty bad shape, but after a while he did begin to respond and we all breathed a sigh of relief. I had become very good at watching hospital monitors when my mother was ill, so I took up my vigil watching. After a while several family members started filling the room, so I hugged my friend goodbye and slipped out, ready to head home and take back the roll assignment.


But then I looked at my watch. It was now 3:30 p.m. and I still hadn’t marked a single item off my original Christmas to-do list. Being just a mile from the mall, and knowing the rolls were well cared for, I decided to head south for a quick run into Penney’s.


I hurried up the stairs, found what I wanted and got in the long line of customers waiting to check out. Just before it was my turn, I noticed an older woman ahead of me wearing a “Grandma’s Rules” t-shirt. As the little old lady hobbled off, in my cheeriest voice I commented to her that I liked her shirt. She didn’t even look at me as she walked past. Note to self, “Don’t try to be friendly to old grumbling grandmas during the Christmas rush.”


I put my purchase on the counter and pulled out my wallet, when I noticed a set of unfamiliar keys sitting on the counter, most likely belonging to the old woman. I handed them to the cashier, made my purchase and hurried down the stairs to head home. But as I reached the door my conscience began to bother me and I thought I should at least look around to see if I could spot the owner of the keys. After a cursory search, my conscience was eased and I headed out.


Then into my mind came the thought to go back and leave by a different door. On my way back through the store, I glanced over and there at the cashier stand was Grandma Grumpy. I went and told her that she may have left her keys upstairs. That is when I learned I had been judging her erroneously.


She responded with, “Oh, no!” She caught hold of the table for balance and then looking at me pleadingly she added, “I can’t go up and get them. I just can’t.” She went on to explain she had recently had surgery and had only been home a few days. She was feeling okay earlier and thought she could hurry to the mall to make a few needed purchases but now she was feeling very ill and couldn’t do anything but go home.


I ran back up the stairs and across the floor to the cashier. Hoping I looked honest, I explained I had found the owner of the keys and would take them to her. She no longer had them. She had taken them to “Lost and Found” so I now needed to go there. No problem. I ran back across the floor, found “Lost and Found” and asked if I could have the keys. “Sure” the lady said, “You just need to tell me what they look like and I will give them to you.” Are you kidding me??? I didn’t think telling her they weren’t mine would be a good idea at this point, so doing my best to remember, I vaguely described them. She handed me a set, and hoping they were the right ones, I ran back across the floor, down the stairs and over to where I had left the old woman standing. Only she wasn’t there. She had wandered off in search of a chair.


Finally, I found her, gave her the keys and headed once again for the door. But just as I got there I glanced back and noticed the woman attempting to gather her packages. I knew there was no way she could carry all those items, so I went back and offered to help her to her car. She accepted my offer and we very slowly made our way across the parking lot to where her car was parked.


And then my day changed completely.


With tears in her eyes, she reached up and gave me a very big hug and said, “Thank you so much! You are my angel.”


As for the rolls . . . well, other than Lisa’s husband trying to tell me she burned them, all was well. Lisa brought beautiful, fluffy and perfectly golden rolls to the dinner that night. As I enjoyed one with my meal, the words of the grandma at the store kept echoing in my mind. I may have been her angel, but Lisa had been mine.


And then I realized something. When I ran off to help Wendy, Lisa needed to help me because I had been helping Michelle, and I was helping Michelle because she had been helping Jennifer, and Jennifer and Wendy both helped me at my daughter’s wedding.


It was a circle of sisters. It was a circle of angels.


And then I remembered a quote by Joseph Smith in this month’s visiting teaching message that said, “‘If you live up to your privileges, the angels cannot be restrained from being your associates."


I was surrounded by angels.

And that is a pretty nice place to be.

The Rolls That Almost Weren't or . . . "I Will Get By With A Little Help From My Friends."

Yesterday started out as a calm day. I arose early for my last day of seminary this semester, eager for my Christmas lesson and just as eager to put seminary away for the next few days while I focused on Christmas. I had a Christmas to-do list a mile long and couldn’t wait to start checking off the items on the list.


I hurried home from seminary and listened to phone messages. First message-- “I was just calling to remind you that you are bringing dessert tonight to the Relief Society meeting.” When did I sign up for that? Well, no matter. I added “make dessert” to my list of things to do. I also had a message asking to borrow some table cloths for a funeral on Saturday, so I added, "find table cloths in storage and wash" to the list--that list I was going to tackle right after I ran a gift down to a friend who was leaving town.


On the way to my friend’s house I visited with another friend. The Relief Society dinner was at her house and her assignment was rolls. She was way behind in her house cleaning and decorating as she had spent a few days helping another sister in the ward sew table cloths for her daughter’s wedding and now didn’t know how she would also find the time to make the rolls. So, I told her I could make them for her . . . and added “make rolls” to my list.


I decided to hurry and get the rolls out of the way and then I could start on my list. I got out all the ingredients, mixed up the dough and proudly set it on the counter to rise. Done! And in record time! I glanced over at the vast array of dirty dishes left behind, debating if I should wash them now or save them for later, when I saw, right there in the middle of the mess, the yeast. The very yeast that should have been mixed into the dough. Okay, deep breath. It will be all right. I will just knead the yeast into the dough mixture and pray for it to rise.


But an hour later the dough was still sitting there in its original lump.


With thoughts of “will anyone really notice if I just BUY the rolls?” running through my head, I got out all the ingredients and once again mixed them into dough, this time being careful to add the yeast.


Just then the phone rang. It was a lady in our stake calling to tell me that a son of a friend of mine was being rushed to the hospital. My friend was on her way to be with him and had asked that I come as well.

I looked at the rolls and wondered what I would do with them now. My daughter also needed a ride to basketball practice and I knew I needed to hurry to the hospital.


I quickly shaped the rolls into balls and placed them on cookie sheets (without letting the dough initially rise) I told my daughter she was going to practice early, and then called my friend Lisa. Lisa is someone you can always turn to in an emergency and I had an emergency now. I would take the rolls to her house so she could “roll-sit” them for me, and if they got ready to bake before I returned, she would bake them as well.


My only mistake was setting the pans in the back seat—on a slant, so when we arrived at Lisa’s all the rolls had slid to one side of the pan and were scrunched up next to each other. I left Lisa to care for the rolls and headed to the hospital. . .

Tomorrow—Part II

Christmas Memories

So what Christmas do you remember most? I have a few that stand out in my mind—each for a different reason. Some of my favorite memories are . . .


1. The year I got a bike lock. I was about 14 at the time. My brother, Randy, had recently returned from his mission and was a poor student. But he had my name for Christmas and when I opened the gift it was a bike lock. I appreciated the gift, but my bike wasn’t working so it seemed like a gift I would have to save for a later day. Then he went downstairs and carried up a bike. It wasn’t a new bike, it was my old one, all fixed. Not having any money, but being a very good artist, Randy bartered with the Schwinn company to fix my bike in exchange for painting a Christmas scene on their store windows. I was so touched that he would work that hard to give me a gift that I have always remembered it.


2. The year I got photo albums. Along the same line, one year my husband gave me photo albums for Christmas. That is a gift I will always treasure, because he not only gave the albums, but he spent countless hours filling each page with pictures from our trips. It was truly a gift from the heart.


3. My first year in the mission field. I remember this Christmas mostly because I was so very lonely. I was serving in Esmeraldas, Ecuador at the time, which is a very poor town on the coast. It was very hot, very humid and very dirty. It was everything a Utah Christmas is not. It was also the first time I had been away from home for Christmas and I very much missed my family. The people were so poor that we did not eat with the families, and so for Christmas we were on our own. But my companion and I started singing Christmas carols wherever we went, on the bus, walking down the streets and on the front porch of the little house we used for a church building. We always were singing a Christmas song. That very simple act changed that Christmas for me from one of sheer loneliness to one where I felt the Christmas spirit very deeply. I will always be grateful for that memory.


4. My parents first year in Guatemala. My parents were called to serve in the Guatemalan temple and so moved there for three years. During their first year, I felt bad they would be away from everyone for Christmas so we decided to take Christmas to them. We arrived (myself, my husband, and all five of our children) late Christmas Eve and spent the next several hours wrapping presents for my parents. In the morning we all watched while they un-wrapped the gifts we brought. We also had collected clothes from the people in our stake and took down several suitcases filled with clothes for needy families. So part of our day was spent sorting through those and planning ways to distribute them. It was a Christmas I think we will all remember as it was totally focused on serving others.


5. Last year. In many ways, last year was the Christmas that wasn’t—at least in a traditional sense. My son, who had recently married, was in Utah with his bride, and I was in Colorado with my daughter who had just given birth to our first grandchild. My husband was home with our three younger daughters. I missed the Christmas Eve party at my house and being awakened early in the morning by kids eager to open their gifts. However, as I held that dear sweet baby in my arms for the first time and celebrated her birth, I felt very close to a young mother many years ago, who held her first child in her arms on that very first Christmas morning. And my heart rejoiced with her.


While reflecting over my past Christmases, I find it interesting that the most memorable gifts were not those that cost the most, or the abundance, but rather those that came wrapped in love. And the Christmas memories I hold most dear are the ones whre Christmas was the most simple.

Just a thought. . .for your journey

And The Winner of the Give Away Is . . .

Last night I wrote down all the names of those who had entered my drawing for Rebecca Irvine's latest Family Home Evening Book give away!!

I placed all the names in a bowl.

Then to make if really official, I had my husband draw out the winner. (After all he is a licensed CPA! :-)

And the winner is . . . (imagine a drum roll here)

Congratulations to you!!

And thanks to all of you who entered the drawing! I will be getting the book to "Be Thou Humble" soon.

A Touch of Sweetness in Deep Sorrow

I had a very sweet experience last Friday night. My husband was asked to visit a woman dying of cancer and I went with him. Although she has been in my ward in the past, I did not know her well. However I know two of her children as her daughter served on the seminary council one year, and her son is a very good friend of my daughter’s.


When we arrived we found her lying in bed, very thin and frail but bright eyed. Her family’s sorrow was quickly evident as during our stay all shed tears. One daughter climbed into the bed next to her mother and sobbed on her shoulder. Another daughter was eager to tell her mother about her new boyfriend who had plans to come to Arizona after Christmas to meet the family, but her voice choked as she realized that might not be soon enough. And yet another daughter stood with a brand new baby who will never remember meeting her grandmother. And there on the floor sat her son. He will be turning in his mission papers soon. The mother asked me how long it will take before he receives his call. It nearly broke my heart to tell her it would be a couple weeks.


Sitting there in the small room, took me back to a Christmas six years ago. Then it was my friend, Meg, who was dying of cancer. It was heartbreaking to watch her slip away little by little each day. And yet, one of my most fond memories is of climbing onto the bed next to her and addressing her Christmas cards, since she was not able to do it herself. Meanwhile, entertaining us was my friend Lisa, who was also on the bed, near the bottom, reading Christmas stories. As the three of us sat there together, sharing stories and giggles, I felt warmth and love flow into the room and wrap around us like a thick soft blanket. And for a few minutes the veil seemed so thin I was sure I could reach out my hand and part it.


Now here I was again, in a room watching someone slip from this life and I yearned for something I could do, some words of comfort I could offer, or a gift I could give. Just then she shifted her position and her feet hung over the side of the bed. So I asked, “Would you like me to rub your feet?” She responded, “Would you like to do that?” I told her I would. So she directed me to some lotion and I removed one of her slippers and began a massage. Her feet were small and thin and dry and the moisture from the lotion was quickly absorbed. But it was my hope that in the midst of her pain, the massage would be pleasant. I do not know if that was the case, but it was all I had to offer. I had nothing else. And although I know it wasn’t much, while sitting there with her foot in my hands I suddenly had come into my mind a picture of the Savior washing the feet of His disciples and I felt in my heart the love He had for them and for all of us. And my heart swelled with love for this dear sister.


It is hard to put in to words my feelings, but for me it was a very sacred experience and one I hope I always remember. I wish the best to this dear sweet sister and her wonderful family. My heart goes out to them at this challenging time. And I will be forever grateful to them that in the midst of their pain and sorrow they allowed me to come into their home for a few minutes, and learn a little more about the Savior and His love for us.


editor's note: I heard at church this morning that the sister passed away late last night.