Oh Holy Night

On that holy night long ago in Bethlehem God sent us the most precious gift of His son, Jesus Christ.
He has blessed us with five wonderful sons and three daughters along with spouses and grandchildren now. How could we be more blessed than to have wonderful family, friends, good health and the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
In a small way we return thanks and send out our sons Tate and Tavner to Angola and Mongolia to share the good news and glad tidings of the Gospel with the people of these countries.
We send our love and best wishes to all.

Merry Christmas, Lorin and Liza

Martin's Cove

This is Tiffany on the right and Garrett beside her pushing and sometimes hanging and being pulled.

Promises
D&C 2: 2
And he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers.
I think this may mean that the “fathers”, the early members of the church, some of whom were my ancestors, promised to sacrifice that I might enjoy the freedom of religion and the freedom to build temples here in the West. I think my/our promise to them is that since they made that possible for me/us that we will in turn remember them and previous ancestors and see that their temple work is done.
I experienced this “turning of hearts to the fathers” in several different ways as we trekked at Martin’s Cove. First I thought of the pioneers who sacrificed so much to bring their families to Zion, I thought of my own ancestors one of whom was Anson Call who lead a rescue party. As I shared his story to my group I found that one of the brothers in our ward was a descendent of Anson’s also, so I found a cousin.
In sharing our experience with the rest of the ward I knew that they wouldn’t understand the whole import and significance of our trek. Words just couldn’t express it. You can try to recreate with words the wind, the dust, the camaraderie of the group, the poignancy and triumph of the “woman’s pull”, the stark, rugged, exquisite beauty of viewing the Sweetwater River with the rocks behind as we had our testimony meeting, but they can’t feel it and smell it as they sit in the air-conditioned chapel. What they understand compared to what we experienced is minute. Likewise, although we experienced a mini trek, I am sure that we have but little comprehension of all that those pioneers suffered. As one quote said, “neither word nor pen can describe the sorrow and suffering.”
The question I have to ask myself is “My ancestors fulfilled their promise to me, how am I doing at fulfilling my promise to them?”

Prayers for Sale

Prayers for Sale by Sandra Dallas

My rating: 4 of 5 stars


Sandra Dallas always puts a surprising twist on a story. She did not disappoint with this one. A story set in a mining town and Sandra has done her research on mining, quilting, and personal relations. I was sorry when it ended I was enjoying the language and story so much."Tap her light." ( or in non- mining terms, "take it easy").



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A Year of Lasts

To exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on creating oneself endlessly. –Henri Bergson
This week brings the graduation of my seventh and eighth children, twin boys. As I gather the pictures for their Senior posters to display on graduation night, the past 18 years converge and distill on one 28”x22” piece of flimsy white cardboard. Even though I have walked this walk six times before I still ask myself, “How did this happen? How did these little boys who I used to pull onto my lap together to read a story turn into young men who now tower over me. Where did the last 18 years go?” I know that I am not the first parent to entertain such thoughts, I think every parent who has watched their child leave the nest has had similar thoughts. “Sunrise, Sunset, One season following another, Laden with happiness and tears” as Tevye from Fiddler On the Roof so aptly sang.
Last August I took the last “First Day of School” picture. After putting miles and miles on our car chasing cross-country runners all over the state this year we attended the last cross-country race, served the last prom dinner, and held the last parent-teacher conference.
Tonight as I sit with the other parents they seem like family because we have car pooled to so many of the sporting events and shared so much bleacher time together. I watch their sons and daughters march into the gym to the strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” and feel a tug at my heart strings as I realize that they are moving on too. The days of zip-your-coat-here’s-your sandwich mothering have passed and the nights of the basement overflowing with kids, popcorn, movies and Mafia in the dark have quieted. I will still see the parents, on occasion, and their kids on rarer occasions. There is a sweet sadness as I quietly grieve the end of our close association.
So as the graduates stand to change their tassels from one side of their cap to the other and look forward to new time of life, I too look forward to a new time of life. A time that I have watched my friends arrive at, some years ago, that time of the “empty nest”. After 29 years of sending kids out the door to catch the bus I look to open a new chapter in my life. It is both exhilarating and unsettling for both the graduates and me.
The wave of nostalgia passes and I collect myself. My mothering of the past 18 years has been to prepare these boys to leave home, do their own wash, be independent, go to college and serve missions. So why the tears as that is exactly what they are doing? I should be happy, right? I am! I am! But could I just go back to the days when they would hold my hand as we walked and I could nuzzle into the downy softness of their just washed Johnson’s Baby Magic hair? Could I just savor a few more ordinary days? I guess that is what pictures are for.

Dancing in Blue Lace

Dancing In Blue Lace
Today I set about mending a dress of my mother’s. This wasn’t just any everyday dress, this was a formal blue lace ballroom dancing dress lined with blue satin. I believe Mother made it to wear in a ballroom dance floor show. Each year the stake sponsored the Gold and Green Ball and perhaps she made it for that event. At one time she and Terry were called to the ward dance directors as a couple. This would have been in the early 1950’s, possibly in between her sixth and seventh pregnancies of Christy (1952) and myself (1954). Terry recalls that, “Mother and I could waltz really well.”
When I first tried the dress on I was surprised that is really wasn’t that much too big for me. I am a bit shorter than Mom was but always in my mind she was or at least she was always complaining that she was heavier that she wanted to be. There of course are no size tags in this dress because she made it but I am guessing that it is maybe a size 12. I wonder where she bought the fabric, did she go to Salt Lake or Idaho Falls or was such yardage to be found in Afton, Wyoming?
The dress is made in two parts first the under dress/slip of navy satin and then the lace overdress. It is waisted with a long skirt cut to flair gracefully at the bottom as she turned and danced. It has a fitted bodice with a unique sweetheart neckline with no shoulder seam but the back coming over the shoulder and down 3 or 4 inches to meet the front bodice which was gently gathered to create fullness across the bust. The front neckline folds over ever so slightly to create a soft lapel on the lower part of the neckline. I have not seen a similar treatment and wondered if she had seen it in a magazine or if she just designed it and draped it into what she saw in her head. Being a seamstress myself I know that some designs evolve as they are being created. The sleeves are a short softly gathered puff with a slit, there is a ribbon that runs underneath from the shoulder seam to the end of the sleeve which lifts it up and creates fullness along with a small shoulder pad. She made a belt out of three different colors of velvet ribbon sewn together, light blue, wine and navy. At the end of each sleeve is a knot of matching ribbon.
As I looked at her neat stitches inside and out I could easily imagine what enjoyment she experienced as she fashioned this elegant costume. What sheer joy in the creation process as it took shape and from yards of flat fabric as it became a beautiful dress. I could see this dress had been worn a fair amount as it was showing signs of wear as the lace was pulling apart in places. How many times did she wear it and where I wondered. I can just see her smile and her face light up as she danced around the room complimented by her handsome son Terry. Was she doing the waltz, the foxtrot or the Viennese. Dancing was one of her great loves and she passed this onto her daughters and I see it surfacing in her granddaughters as well. I could see some places that had been mended and altered. I think she must have loaned the dress to someone shorter than she and they shortened it at the shoulders but it was done with red thread and basted. I don’t think it was Mother’s work because she would have never used red thread. There was also some mending done at the waistline with a turquoise thread and again I don’t think she would have used any other color than what matched.
As I finger the hand stitching on the facing of the underslip I can see her fingers with the needle and thread deftly and gracefully moving in and out to make it lay just perfect. Has she become more perfect than she really was in my mind? I don’t think so because I have this dress and others to prove of her abilities. Pressing and mending the fabric that she so lovingly sewed I feel connected to her. I feel great gratitude that she in turn shared her gift of sewing and creating with me and that she instilled in me a love for beauty and refinement.
The thought ran through my head that she would have been a wonderful designer and could have worked with Rose Marie Reed designing swimsuits or formals, she certainly had the talent. She chose instead to be our mother and use her creative talents sewing for us girls and teaching us to be mothers ourselves. I think she would be pleased if she could spend a day with us as we delight in our recreational sewing gatherings, she would appreciate the décor of our homes and how we set a lovely table. I think too that she would be pleased to see how we have emulated her in our domestic and mothering skills, but then we had the best teacher.
Now if I could just come up with some place to wear her dress and let it dance once again.
Liza B Wilson March 2011

Pepto Pink

“Sacarle todo el provecho”

Living in Mexico’s Yucatan, I am learning a lot. Yes, my Spanish is improving but more importantly I am learning about another culture and that there are more ways to do something and more ways to look at something than just my way. In simple words, “there is more than one way to skin a cat”.

For example, today as I was walking out to get my fresh squeezed orange juice (this orange juice deserves a whole paragraph by itself but I will refrain and press on), I passed a crew of men painting a large building pink. Permit me to clarify “pink”. This was not a muted salmon or soft tangerine, it could in no way be considered pastel or subdued rose. It was pink, hot Peptobismal pink. This Pepto pink edifice had elbowed its way in between two comparatively bland, blasé beige buildings that hadn’t recently been painted. Had I been the one choosing the color I would, no doubt, have chosen a more subdued color. Beige is safe, conservative and conventional, like I tend to live my life.

Our neighbors south of the border live life with much gusto, intensity and color. Intensity describes how they do many things. They find any excuse to have a fiesta and then they do it with intensity, playing their music loud and partying into the early morning hours. The men wear strong aftershave and the women wear very high heels. They work with intensity in intense heat and eat intensely hot ( as in spicy hot) foods. They live life with enthusiasm, relish and zest. They avoid the bland and blasé.

They have a saying here “Sacarle todo el provecho”, which means; get the most out of it, enjoy all the benefit, grab all the gusto. A quote my brother sent me says it in different words.

"You'll seldom experience regret for anything that you've done. It is what you haven't done that will torment you. The message, therefore, is clear. Do it! Develop an appreciation for the present moment. Seize every second of your life and savor it. Value your present moments. Using them up in any self-defeating ways means you've lost them forever."

I could certainly take a page out of the Mexican’s book and experience more of life! I want some of their warmth and intensity to rub off on me. So I am considering painting my conservative red brick house not Pepto pink, but Pepto purple (purple is my color). What do you think? That would make quite a statement there on Alta North Road now wouldn’t it? Hmmmmm….Somehow I don’t think that would go over real well in the neighborhood nor with my family. They would be whispering amongst themselves that surely the heat and habaneras chilis of Mexico had gone to my brain and made me loco.

No, you likely won’t see a Pepto purple house on Alta North Road but I am considering ways that I might live life with gusto, with keen enjoyment and pleasure. Well, enough of this sitting in front of a computer screen, I can do that when there is 3 feet of snow on the ground and it is freezing outside (next week). So if you will excuse me, con permiso, I have fresh squeezed orange juice and a ripe mango that I am going out on the balcony to eat in the warmth of the sunshine, then I will walk down Avenida Paseo Montejo and delight in the Pepto pink, Pepto purple and Pepto turquoise homes and tomorrow I think I will swim in a cenote.

Sacarle todo el provecho!!!

Reuniones Domingos

Got up early and ran/walked 3 miles (wore my Pearl Izumis).


Returned, changed for church, walked 2 miles to church by temple (wore my Skechers, practical comfortable, frumpy)
changed into my strappy heels outside of church, attended Sacrament meeting. The talks were on Free Agency, Personal Revelation and the Holy Ghost. Decided to attend the rest of my meetings at Santa Lucia.

Walked a mile to Santa Lucia in strappy heels (I was exercising my free agency but without personal revelation or the Holy Ghost, this was not a good idea)
Enjoyed the "meeting" at Santa Lucia, didn't see anyone else in Skechers.

Changed back into my Skechers ( it was a good meeting as now I had personal revelation and was listening to the Holy Ghost). Returned home, soaked my feet in cold water and attended to my blisters. Learned the lessons of pride, vanity and humility

La Casa Montes Molina

The neighbors around the corner have such lovely home and they invited me in. Let me share some of the beautiful vistas.

Tiffany Window

Carmita is 96 years old and has lived and cared for the home and its owners since she was about 20.

Baccarat Crystal from Europe.

La Casa Montes Molina.

The neice of Tia Josephina and her son who took us through the home. She owns the home and her son manages it for her. It is a superb place for partays, soirees and lunch.

The Lomoges china, service for 150 set out for the upcoming fiesta. This is the company Lamoges, they also have the everyday Lamoges.

His Needs, Her Needs: Building an Affair-Proof Marriage by Willard F. Harley Jr.

My rating: 5 of 5 stars


A healthy marriage, if it is to stay healthy requires time, attention and yes work if it is to weather the storms that inevitably come in the course of a lifetime. This in a fairly succinct manner gives excellent counsel to help enhance a marriage. He does belabor the point that if the needs aren't met an affair will ensue.

I choose to focus more on what I might do to be a better wife rather than on the prospect of an affair.

I would recommend it to all married couples to be read with an open mind,setting pride aside (such a faithful,familiar and yet destructive friend really a wolf in sheep clothing) and with the thought of "I am not perfect and maybe I could change a few things to make our marriage happier." It may not all apply but some of it will and more particularly if you discuss it together. Isn't your marriage worth a few hours of your time to see how you might make it better?



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Perfect Snow Day

Yeah! School is called off because of snow!!!!! A gift, a bonus, a perfect day!
I will confess these have not always been my thoughts. When I had two preschoolers, two grade schoolers and two middle schoolers I was happy to see that big yellow bus take four children away for a few hours leaving only two under foot (that was before we had the twins). When the call came that school had been canceled my first thoughts were of wet snow clothes and green puddles on the floor from the sheep barn. I thought of kids cooped up in a small house, picking at each other and yowling “He hit me!” “ I did not I only bumped him!” “Bumped him my foot! You can’t fool me now go to your room and don’t come out until you can be kind to your brother!”
I hate to admit that those conversations took place in our home. I really had hoped to be the perfect mother. Then I talked to Joan Durtschi who had eleven children and she shared with me that she loved snow days. I stared at her in amazement. She said she would play board games and do puzzles with her kids all day long, it was an extra holiday. I gave that some due consideration and decided that perhaps I had a BAD ATTITUDE.
But then I was young, I thought that my house was always supposed to be “home show” clean, my children’s hair combed, their clothes matching, and dinner on the table by 6:00 p.m. with all the children sitting patiently at the table waiting for the blessing on the scrumptious well balanced meal. You know the Norman Rockwell type of setting.
I determined to take a page out of Joan’s book and make snow days into happy days. I am pleased to report that I improved. The first step was to recognize that the “perfect picture” and happy kids and mom were not necessarily one and the same. I had to relax about the “home show” house and remember that puddles can be mopped up and melted cheese sandwiches with hot chocolate are perfect comfort food. Then I had to step out of my production oriented mode of washing, cooking, cleaning, mending and remember that my most important job was building a relationship with and teaching my children how to work and play. I often recited a poem that my mother quoted to me.
Cooking and cleaning can wait 'till tomorrow,
for babies grow up, I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs and dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep. –Ruth Hamilton
Snow days became something we all started looking forward to. Days for building snow huts and snow men, playing Monopoly, Battleship and Scrabble, we collected a closet full of puzzles that we have done and the kids learned how to play Rook.
It did take energy, no doubt about it, but it also takes energy to be upset with each other and one has a much better payoff.
Young mothers, RELAX! Don’t sweat the small stuff and just about everything is small stuff.

This morning when the word came of no school there was whistling, whooping and hollering for joy. It was a great day to make what my son calls “The Best Chicken Noodle Soup in The World” (bless him, at that moment he is my favorite child). The twins were home from high school and didn’t have any practices they had to go to, our older son was home on a college break and our married son had his work called off and he came up with his little family.
We had soup and rolls and leftover cake from Sunday. The grandkids scattered toys all over the front room, a puzzle was started on the coffee table and we had a lively game of Rook while the puddles evaporated in the hall.
Today my stars aligned, a perfect snow day and I got an ephemeral glimpse of me being the “perfect mom”.