I Byte

All of my trouble started with a virus that hijacked my laptop and held it hostage for 3 days. Fortunately, it wasn't anything that a simple system restore couldn't handle....or so I thought. Because of a series of events in the last 3 months, I think that virus didn't only invade my laptop, but myself as well. You see, at my house we have a new solution if ever anything that runs by electrical current won't work or isn't working correctly, and it goes something like this, "Did Mom touch it?" If the answer is "Yes" then you have your solution. It is either broken for good or broken badly enough that it will cost you a significant amount of money to make it ever work again.

Apparently, I have the touch of death for any and all electronics. Take a look at my list of casualties:

-Laptop fan
-Left front turn signal
-New cell phone
-Left rear turn signal
-Van automatic door latch on passenger side
-A crashed hard drive... for which I weep. Nothing was recoverable. In the technicians words "it is fried". A company in California tells me that they have a clean room where they can open it up, take the platforms out and retrieve the information for $755 for jpeg files and up to $2800 for any other files. (Sniff, sniff.) And yes, it had to die the day I had the external hard drive out ready to back up files.
So the lesson learned through this ordeal is for all of you procrastinators (like me) out there, I suggest you take the route I did and shell out $59/year to Carbonite. $59 beats $2800 any day and the best part is that I don't even have to think about it.
-Van door signal. Try driving around for 3 days with that constant "ping, ping, ping" ringing throughout the confined space of a car- I about drove up the road to the State Hospital and committed myself.
-Playroom DVD player.
-The replacement DVD player for the previous playroom DVD player.
-E-reader
-Van radio
-Refridgerator ice maker. It is amazing what a misplaced plastic bag can do. Just trust me on this one.
-Richard's ipod touch
-One of our phone handsets
-And this weeks victim, my good lap top's screen.

I wish I knew what a system restore for me would entail. I'm sure it involves an exotic location, lots of down time, and large quantities of delicious foods, so in other words, it's out of the question. But seriously, this is getting to be ridiculous, not to mention expensive, and I'm running out of ideas to cope with my new condition.

 Do you think the Amish would take me?


PS- I am not liable for anything that may happen to any electronic devices used in the commenting on this post. Please, comment at your own risk. ;)

How I Stack Up

Can I tell you that going camping generates a lot of laundry? And can I also tell you that so does being gone the week before at Girls Camp? Especially when you come home to find the one load of laundry that had been started still sitting in the washer...two days later?
Yeah....

We've been inundated with dirty laundry here at the Parke home.

More so than usual.

The other day I decided to hit it hard and plow through as much as I could. In between loads I was running children back and forth between various lessons, so the loads came out of the dryer into a giant mound just outside the laundry room door waiting to be folded and put away later.

After about 3 loads, the mound was starting to look like a small mountain and it got me thinking. So I asked Richard if he thought I could  get the mound to be as high as I am tall...a whopping  5 foot 3 1/2 inches, let's just round that up to a massive height of 5'4".

Richard laughed and told me the stack would topple before it would reach that height.

The challenge was issued.

I was up to the challenge.....

....or should I say that about 3 or 4 loads later the challenge was up to me?

It's the little accomplishments in life that make me happy.

 I know they will be a wrinkled mess, but I like to think of it more like my family will just be showing off the wrinkles of my success.

If they don't like the wrinkles of my success, they can learn to iron.

And, no. That is not the end of my laundry quandary. There is still plenty more where that came from.

Seriously, who needs a service project?

Where Sasquatch Really Come From

It had been a long day and it was barely six in the evening. I had already been up for over 12 hours and a jam packed 12 hours they had been. It started with setting up and then holding my first yard sale from which we went immediately into the season's last T-ball and Coach pitch games. From there a hurried hour drive took us to a baby shower for my niece Katie, who is expecting her first bundle of boy in September.

After basking in Katie's pregnant glow and gorging ourselves with lemon bars & various brownies, we pulled back onto I-15 to make our way home with a clear docket for the rest of the night. With the radio playing some of our favorite songs we settled in for the ride and I found myself lost in the hypnotic turning of the wheels when from behind me a chant began,

"PU-BER-TY! PU-BER-TY! PU-BER-TY!

At first, I wondered if I was so tired that I might actually be dreaming, but after stretching and shifting in my seat, the chant continued,

"PU-BER-TY! PU-BER-TY! PU-BER-TY!"

I concluded I was very much awake.

My next thought went to the possibility of the 5 Hour Energy shot I downed earlier and the Diet Coke I was currently sipping had created an overload of caffeine and was causing some sort of auditory hallucination. Because really, how would my almost seven year old know the word puberty? And why, in heaven and earth, would he be chanting it?

Certain my ears were deceiving me, I turned to Ashton sitting in the passenger seat wearing an amused look on his face as he shattered my theory.

"You know he's chanting puberty..."

Figuring I had to say something I decided on the blunt facts.

"Ben, you don't even know what puberty is."

The chanting ceased. Silence ensued. Wonderful, non-questioning silence.

Until Dallin in the far back decided to chime in.

"What is puberty, Mom?"

My mind shifted into high gear as I noticed Ashton stiffen a little in the seat next to me.

I decide to go with blunt facts again.

"It's when between the ages of 11-14 when your voice gets deeper and you start growing hair on your face, under arms and swimsuit area."

Agonizing groans erupt from the very back seat.

"Oh, NO! That should be illegal!"

Laughter from Ashton beside me.

Ben innocently asks, "So puberty is all about hair?"

Dallin, having suddenly become an expert, answers with, "Yep! Hair, hair, EVERYWHERE! Puberty pretty much changes you into a Sasquatch."

I turn the radio up a little louder and figure that would suffice....at least, for now.

Bad Habits and Best Outcomes

I have a bad habit.

Okay....I have more than one, but for this story's sake we are only going to talk about one.

I have a bad habit...that deals with my husband's wallet. And no, it is not that I spend all of his hard earned money either. Although, that may qualify under the bad habit heading too, but we are not talking about that bad habit, we are talking about my bad habit of washing my husband's wallet. If I had a dollar for every time I have exercised this bad habit it would make up for all of his money I've frivolously spent.

Seriously. It's that bad.

I know- "JUST CHECK THE POCKETS!" I know, I know, I KNOW!!! And I do...most of the time. Then there is the rest of the time where you have a mountain of laundry staring you in the face and precious little time to make that mountain transform into clean, folded, ready to put away laundry, so you just start plowing though the loads as fast as you can; there is no time to lose in checking pockets. And then there are days like today.

I checked. I promise. I really did. But when the wallet hunt started I had an awful feeling of where it was going to end up. But I checked! I removed keys, tissues (gross! I might add), and even a hefty chunk of cash that I even honestly returned. I couldn't have missed the wallet filled with all of the receipts from Richard's recent business trips!? All of the receipts that have to be faxed in order for his corporate card to be reimbursed? No, I wouldn't have washed them, because I checked.

A peek into the washing machine told me different.

It looked like Mardi Gras with all of the confetti that littered the damp clothes- a confetti that consisted of receipt paper. I wanted to crawl under the washer and co-habitate with the dust bunnies that undoubtedly live there and I could have, since I felt about that tall. I was numb. I didn't know what to do. Before being pulled away with a call for work Richard put his arm around me and told me it wasn't my fault.

I continued to pick out  pieces trying to find any that were big enough to be pieced together. Unfortunately, there weren't many. I felt awful. I felt sick. Richard came back and the arm went back around me as he quietly told me to stop what I was doing, that things would be okay, and that he loved me. Then he left to run an errand that prompted the search for the wallet in the first place.

I changed over the laundry and started dinner while confessing, via phone, the sin I had committed to my mom. Mid confession we were interrupted by the beep of call waiting- it was Richard inviting me out to dinner. Well, I figured that even sinners have to eat, so I readily accepted and ended up at Magleby's where we had a lovely dinner complete with creme brulee for dessert.

Now he could have been upset and ranted and raved, or worse, given me the silent treatment, which only would've have amplified the horrific failure I already felt that I was, but he didn't. Instead, we had an amazing evening. He felt bad that I felt bad. He realized that a true mistake was made and that true remorse was felt. And it was enough.

It may not be enough to pay his corporate card, but we'll worry about that when the bill comes. But for now, it is still enough.

A Late Night Education

Last night we had our annual sleep outside movie party. With having just finished packing away all the camping stuff away last week, we weren't too keen on dragging out the tent again, so we slept on the lawn under the stars. And it just so happens that with the Perseid Meteor Shower winding down, a tent ceiling would have just obstructed a most magnificent view. We also didn't actually watch a movie last night. Instead we read and told stories including the kids' favorite "The Vindow Viper". The only movies that played were the ones that our imaginations created for us in our minds- the very best kind, after all.

One of my favorite parts of the whole night included the sweet kisses bestowed all over my face by a brown eyed, feet-y jammie clad angel with her little arm thrown around my neck pulling me close . The other was when Dallin told us we had everything except a "pot to go to the bathroom in". We informed him, we did. It was 20 feet away in the house and it is called a toilet. I love that crazy nut of a kid.

As I lay awake at 2:30 in the morning gazing up into the star speckled night, I thought about how enjoyable movie party had been. There was no bickering about what movie to watch or who got to sit by dad on the couch. Everyone listened and laughed as others told stories and there was a tangible warmth as we laid on the cool grass together that was not created by the piles of blankets and quilts covering us. It was comfortable. It was enjoyable. It was memorable; just like being with family should be.

So last night I learned that maybe movie party each week might be a little more special with a little less movie all the time and a little more effort at really just being together. As these thoughts concluded my sleep deprived and extremely exhausted brain also gained knowledge of these 10 important or not so important things. I learned that...

1....apparently there was a train passing through with an engineer who must have been peeved he wasn't asleep at 2:30 in the morning like the majority of Provo. Because I'll tell you, he did his darnedest laying on that horn of his to wake up not only Provo, but the state of Utah.

2....Dallin talks in his sleep after he exclaimed, "Mom, guess what?" followed by a sentence of nothing but absolute nonsense.

3....the high pitched whine emanating from something electrical in our neighborhood had begun to alternate. This was more mind numbing annoying than its previous constancy.

4....the smell of dew dampened ground renewed memories of sleeping out as a kid...and an almost overwhelming urge to go toilet papering.

5....train #1's engineer must have a twin who was at the helm of train #2.

6....you can hear the backup warning beeps from the construction trucks working on the freeway all the way in my backyard.

7....meteor showers are incredibly captivating. I only wish they didn't get really started so late at night (or should I say early in the morning).  If only I could have propped my eyelids open to continue to catch all of those little lights streaking across the sky while I slept...

8....there was no way in that place low below that I was going to feel like running 6 miles at 7:00.

9.....in all of my 33 years and birthing of 4 children I still have not accumulated enough "batting" to combat the hardness of sleeping on the ground.

10....a Saturday nap was already sounding like an excellent idea.

39 Days

"Ah, summer- what power you have to make us suffer and like it." -Russel Baker


I am in my pajamas....not because it is 10:00 pm, but because I have been in them all day. I also had a nap today-- in fact, I had two. I have watched an abnormal amount of HGTV, yet I can't recall any details of anything I viewed. My house is in shambles due to 4 children being left to their own devices and luckily, my mother sent home a loaf of her homemade bread with us yesterday or those 4 children may have starved. I am not kidding-- I seriously popped 2 bags of popcorn for dinner.

 I woke up today feeling like I had been all I could be, given all I could give, and today it was time for a break. Couple that with the fact, that I came home from camping feeling like I was run over by a Mack truck, with a sore throat, and congestion that makes me sound like the dog my kids want, but can't have and the result you get is my day.

All was not lost, I will have you know that I did do something today. I looked up the date that school starts- August 24th. With today being the 16th there are 15 more days left in July and 24 until the first day of school in August, add them together and we end up with 39 more days of summer. I didn't look it up to know how many more days I had to endure my children being home all day because actually I really enjoy them being around. I looked it up to know how much longer I have to endure the non-schedule of summer, because I think it is starting to wear on me.

It seems like since the last day of school we have been running- and not the good kind of running that I really love. I feel like we have been running from one activity to the other, from one vacation to the next, and from one family get together to another, all in the name of summer. Don't get me wrong, I love to have fun like spending long days in amusement parks and weeks living in a tent with no running water and the nearest flush toilet 275 steps (yes, I counted) in the dark from my campsite because we are making memories. Memories that I hope my kids will repeat someday over a campfire to their kids in the same campground we frequent and on their first time visiting the same amusement park. Having no particular schedule to follow leaves way for plenty of memory making; perhaps just too much for my own good.

So I guess I've started looking forward to a time when bedtimes are set and adhered to. A time when the schedule includes homework, projects, and reading hours. A time when fun things are put on the calendar to look forward to during breaks and vacations. A time when life is somewhat predictable again.

Then 2 months into that time I'll be looking forward to a carefree summer again.

For Laughs

I'm not sure what it is today, maybe it is the withdrawals of depriving myself of a caffeinated beverage for 6 days, the lack of sleep catching up with me, or trying to get 4 belligerent children to do Saturday jobs, but I am...

Bummed. Irritable. Weepy. Glum. Rundown. Testy. Ornery. Depressed. And just in the dumps, generally.

I'm puzzled because I woke up this way, which is really unlike me. I came home from Ashton's basketball game to tell Richard to watch out because for some reason I was on the war path today. But before I could open my mouth he informed me that he was having a similarly bad day and left to get some air and run errands. So I did the next best thing to talking to someone and set about cleaning. I figured having things in physical order might make me feel emotionally in order as well.

As I cleaned off the microwave I found this magazine that came in the mail a few weeks ago.

I immediately started to laugh.

I don't know if you have ever looked at or even ordered something from this catalog, but I find it terribly amusing.

Yes, I am easily entertained.

It is full of various items that some I can actually see a hint of value in; the rest is...well....junk- for lack of a better or kinder word. As I flipped through it weeks ago, I found one particular item that had me in stitches.

As it did for me again today.

So I thought I would share it with you.

Just for much needed laughs.

Can you imagine turning over in bed to give your spouse a goodnight kiss and finding plastic pig nostrils?

(he, he) Yeah, neither can I.

Kitchen Moments

There are times in my life where I am reminded of how lucky I am to be married to the man I call my husband. Times when I am grateful for his patience while I was a fickle and silly 19 year old girl who was still growing up, and that continued patience as I still have much growing up yet to do. It is during these times when I realize just how much I do love him and why. I call these moments, “kitchen moments”.


They are called kitchen moments because 9.5 times out of 10, that is where they happen. Why the kitchen? Because, as I figure it, the kitchen is where I spend at least 50% of my life. It is where my computer is, my desk and calendar, and of course, the dishes and all those appliances necessary for cooking and preparing food which come in quite handy for sustaining my family’s lives. It is where homework and projects happen; meals, bedtime snacks, and even the morning combing of hair before we dash out the door for school. It is where life happens and hence, also my “kitchen moments”.

One particular kitchen moment happened a few weeks ago on an ordinary night as the boys were finishing homework and I was attempting to clean-up the kitchen, but found myself very distracted by the music coming from my new under cabinet docking station. “Moon River” a great song to waltz to, was playing and I was itching to dance with someone. So I grabbed Dallin and proceeded to drag him around like a rag doll. He finally got some sense of the rhythm along with that I would die if my friends saw me doing this, but I kinda like it look and we danced until I felt like I had adequately humiliated him in front of his older brother and I let him go.

That’s when Richard walked in. I feigned great disappointment that Dallin didn’t really want to dance with me and Richard said, “Start it over and I’ll dance with you.”

My husband does not do things he considers unmanly; dancing is considered one of these things.

But I figured if he’s willing I’m not going to pass it up, so we started to dance.

First, he started off like a snobby aristocrat at some fancy ball so stiff and proper; speaking with a fake English accent while commenting on how waltzing is lovely, or some other flowery word. Next we fell into a more relaxed sloppy sort of waltzing where many toes were crushed; the better part being mine. But this led into a portion where he seemed to be actually trying; being more led than leading we went around in small circles on the vacant piece of laminate floor. And even though, Henry Mancini & His Orchestra were playing a beautiful version of “Moon River” I had the words from another song playing in my head.

You make me shine like the sun

Fall out of bed, sing like a bird

Dizzy in my head, spin like a record

Crazy on a Sunday night

You make me dance like a fool

Forget how to breathe

Shine like gold, buzz like a bee

Just the thought of you can drive me wild

Ohh, you make me smile

Don’t know how I lived without you

Cuz every time I get around you

I see the best of me inside your eyes

You make me smile.

And then like a needle being ripped across the vinyl of an LP, my dreamlike state was rudely interrupted by…

“Do you guys really have to do that in front of us?!”

And

“That’s just wrong!”

And

GROSS!!!

…Spoken by our on looking offspring. And so we stopped. The waltz ended.

But I was reminded once again, how lucky I am that in a world that sometimes seems as though it has been turned upside-down and is filled with doubt and uncertainty I have someone there who, even when he may not want to, is still able to make me smile.

And as for my offspring, my greatest hope for them, besides learning some manners, is that they will be lucky enough in this life to find someone equally worthwhile to have kitchen moments with.

Which I hope will be rudely interrupted.

Magnetism

Ashton's 5th grade class has recently been studying about magnetism.  Apparently, some "magnetism" has rubbed off on Ashton, since he came home with this little note in his pocket yesterday.

Maybe it was just the spiked hair he sported yesterday...Or his incredible brown eyes...Or his killer smile (not shown in this pic.)

Whatever it was, he seems to have little Miss M's heart in a flutter.

This is the second time Miss M has "taken a shot" (his words, not mine) at him. The first was in December in the form of a note thrown into his desk during read aloud that read, "Will you be my boyfriend?" Back then he was honestly in a conundrum, with the What-do-I-do?-Girls-still-have-cooties! panic in his voice.

Yesterday, it was a whole different story.

He told me that, "This time there was just no getting out of it and he thought he was just going to have to say yes." This statement was said with the I'm-trying-to-make-it-sound-like-this-is the-worst-thing-in-the-world-because-you-are-my-mom-so-I-am-suppressing-the-excitement tone emanating from his words.

It is a little crushing to realize you are not the only girl in your little man's world anymore.

I know the hormones are changing; I can smell them when I stand close or not-so close, to him at the end of the day, but I'm not sure I was ready for this. Not girls. Not at 11 years old. I was born boy crazy, but I figured boys, especially my boys, would be impervious to cupid's arrow; and so my naiveté' rears it's ugly head again.

But this morning as I walked him to his appointed door where Miss M and his friends were waiting, he still gave me that arm around my waist sideways hug and I thought...I'm still number one...

At least, for a little while longer.

The Revolving Door

Do you remember your first experience with a revolving door?


I do.

And I was terrified.

I don’t recall where I encountered it, probably somewhere in downtown Ogden on an errand with my mother, but as a small girl that rotating X scared the soup out of me. The fact that my little arms and legs might not have enough strength to push my way through the entire process, fed the fear of getting stuck between the entrance and the exit in a small vestibule of suffocating glass. I’m sure this fear had a great deal to do with the claustrophobia I had acquired from being barricaded inside the kitchen pantry by my loving older brothers (jerks) more than questioning my own strength. I was a tomboy with 3 older brothers, I was tough enough.

But worse than getting stuck and having a panic attack where everyone can see, was the fear of getting caught between the rotating X and the wall as you entered its circular movement, especially if someone else was coming through from the other side and doing so at a mighty fast speed. If your timing wasn’t right, you were in trouble; having the correct timing was imperative. If it wasn’t fairly precise you would risk severing an arm, leg, or even your body- right in two! Well… at least, that is what my kid mind told me would happen.

But I did it. Somewhere I found the courage (probably from a mother’s soothing encouragement) and pushed my way through. And I am pleased to report that I have done so on many occasions since without the loss of life or limb.

There is a point to me writing about this, I promise; just bear with me.

After a recent phone conversation with my mother, I started to reflect on some important events that happened 11 years ago this month. As I thought about these events and their importance to me, I could only think of them in the analogy of a revolving door, of sorts. A revolving door between the entrance and the exit of this the world we know and the world we once knew, and one day, will know again.

Death & birth.

A revolving door.

One of which I was terrified.

I often questioned my choice of professions because of this fear. I worked with a mainly geriatric population, of which many suffered from terminal diseases. I lost many of my dear friends, but none while they were under my care or while I was present. For this I was very grateful. I just couldn’t deal with facing it and the unknown surrounding it. It was a cold, unwelcome, violent thief that stole loved ones and I wanted nothing to do with it.

I was also in nursing school experiencing my labor and delivery clinicals while expecting my first child. Giving birth was something I was never sure I wanted to do. I wanted kids. And I wanted to be a mother. I just wasn’t sure about the whole process in accomplishing that.

First of all, pain is not my favorite sensation (shocking, I know). Second of all, I was what you could call a private person and I wasn’t sure I wanted to be on “display”- even for a medical staff audience. I had seen enough births to know that there was plenty of both involved to put me totally out of my comfort zone. Now 4 kids later, delivered in 4 different hospitals, by 4 different doctors, and one of which was a natural birth (thank you, Canada and your socialized medicine), I can say that I have sufficiently overcome this fear. But facing it for the first time, I was not exactly confident in my ability to do it.

At this same time, Richard and I had the opportunity of caring for my 92 year old great aunt Annie in our home following the death of my great uncle Albert (86) to a self inflicted gunshot wound. In the midst of all our discussion of whether this was the right thing for us to do at that point of our lives and marriage, my biggest concern was –What if she passes away while she’s living here?

Irrational?

Maybe, considering all the other things like school, work, and the arrival of a baby in the near future that seemed to be more pertinent, but I couldn’t help it, that was the worry that weighed on my mind.

Caring for Annie was an adventure. I say “adventure” because like most adventures it was not easy, but it was one of the most fulfilling things I have ever done. But two months after Annie’s arrival, her health declined significantly and since our baby was due any day, we along with my mom and her brothers, made arrangements for Annie to be placed in the hospice wing of the local rest home where she could be taken care of until her time came to go.

It was a Saturday and all the arrangements were finalized, we were to take Annie that afternoon to the rest home. I went into her room in our little two room mobile home to give her a bed bath, get her dressed, and ready to go, but as I rolled her onto her side to wash her back I stopped.

I knew Annie was going somewhere soon, just not the place we had intended on sending her.

Her body had started to shutdown and the signs of it showed in the “mottling” that had appeared on her back and undersides of her extremities. I called my mother, a licensed RN, to come in and confirm my suspicions and she did.

The arrangements with the rest home were cancelled, it was finalized and my worst fear was realized- Annie would spend her last hours in our home.

As Annie’s last hours ticked away so did the daylight and nighttime was quickly approaching. I was scared; I didn’t feel ready to face it yet. My mother agreed to stay the night in case it happened in the middle of the night she would be there with us and Annie.

In the early morning hours on Sunday, January 10th, 1999 I awoke to a noise on the baby monitor and directly headed to Annie’s room. There in the early morning light I was privileged to watch as Annie took her last breath.

There was nothing cold, unwelcome, or violent about it. The emptiness I expected was filled with peaceful, warmth.

Two weeks later to the day of Annie’s exit from this world into the next, 11 years ago today; I was also privileged to watch Ashton Ted Parke take his first breath as he made his entrance through the revolving door from that world into ours.

The pain and uncertainty were lost in an indescribable and exhausted joy.

I did it.

Somehow I found the courage (probably with the soothing encouragement of a wise and loving Father) and pushed my way through the fear and the claustrophobia of my own naiveté’ and found that I was strong enough; despite what my childlike mind when ruled by fear told me- I was ready.

As for the timing…that incredibly impeccable timing…all credit there rests with the Doorman.

Inspiration

I love being able to go to church. I love sitting in a class or meeting and being struck with inspiration; those little "a-ha" moments when I recognize some tid bit that I can use in my life to make it easier, overcome challenges, become a better person, or to just simply- make me happier. Yesterday, I had one of those moments.

If you have read my blog for awhile you may have noticed that this month it has been different. I'm not talking about the sparse content contributed so far, that happens more often than not, but I am talking about the look. There has been no cutesy background or clever header photo to fit the month of January; just plain, boring, blah. Which is about how I feel about January...blah.

January is hard. How can it not be after following all the hoopla of December? There is the post holiday letdown followed by the fatigue of lots of family togetherness, acting like a covert spy to accomplish gift requests, the decorating and worst of all, the undecorating. There is the scrutinizing of the current state of our lives with New Year resolutions, topped off with the realization of just how many facets of our lives we are falling short in and need to improve on. And in our family's case, heap on top of all that, the 3 different home reno projects we completed at our parent's homes, including one paint job turned nightmare by the discovery of black mold, which added an extra day and a half and new drywall to the schedule. Coupled with my need to complete 25 hours of dreaded, so therefore procrastinated, continuing education hours before the end of the year and you have how I feel... the complete and utter need to be and do nothing. In a word- blah.

Oh, and did I mention the weather? I am in the opinion that unless I am able to hit the slopes, the snow, cold, and grey skies aren't needed anymore and we should go directly from New Year's to spring. White Christmas? Mission accomplished. Now snow, snow, go away.

I'm sorry to be a downer, so this is where my inspiration comes in. At church yesterday, a friend of mine was dressed in this cute, cheerful, red, Hawaiian inspired dress, it was the complete opposite of blah and so it hit me... I need something cheerful and reminiscent of warmth and sun to make it through the rest of the month! So here you have it- my new blog background.

So even though I am partial to the beaches of the Pacific Northwest, I'm finding the looks of Hawaii or sunny So Cal. very enticing, not to mention inspirational.  But of course, their inspiration is not to be out done by Sunday School...

Feedback

In August, during the training for my 10K I hit a wall.  I didn't know what was wrong with me. Normally, I wake up at the same time every day, whether I want to or not, and I don't have a difficult time getting the bed off my back. But I found myself sleeping in and pulling myself from under the covers terribly difficult. I was tired and felt like I dragged most of the day accomplishing very little.

My runs were even worse.  I was supposed to be building up my mileage to make it through the upcoming race, but found myself barely making it through 2 & 3 mile long runs. My legs acted like they had no clue what I was trying to make them do and my stamina had decided to take a vacation.

I was frustrated.

I decided the time had come for me to do something I had been putting off all summer. I went on e-Bay and ordered a Garmin running watch with GPS. I had been wanting one, but figured by running the trail with markers and using a stopwatch I could get away without spending the money and still time myself just fine.

I was wrong.

My new toy arrived and on my first run using it I couldn't believe how I ever got along without it. Running would never be the same. With just a glance at my wrist I could instantly see my pace,  know exactly just how much further I had to go to reach my desired distance, and see exactly how long I had been running. It made all the difference. Why?

Because it was feedback.

I knew exactly how my performance was. It helped me realize I was doing better than I thought I had been and it gave me that boost to make it through those hard weeks when all I wanted to do was quit.

A few weeks ago, I experienced a change that caused me to question my performance in a different aspect of my life. Change is not always bad; sometimes it is very good and sometimes it just is. This change was a mixture of the three.

I had been serving in our Primary Presidency for what would be 3 years in March.  I was privileged to have served with some wonderful women I greatly admired and had learned a great deal from.  We had a great time serving together and had become good friends as a result. Now we were being split up and sent in all different directions with new callings.

As well as being fun, those years had been trying too. We all endured pregnancy and had babies in that time which presented a little more juggling, stress, and chaos. We had husbands who frequently traveled for work or needed to be away for other reasons leaving complete responsibility of our homes and children on our shoulders along with the various other duties we had to fulfill. There were times I'm sure we wondered if it was really worth it, if we were making any difference to the children we taught and yes, there were days we just wanted to quit.

Needless to say, we started feeling a little burnt out.

Then the news came that soon we would all be released. The dam of emotion broke; sadness & relief worry & wonder. At first, I was more relieved than sad. Life was crazy; I was struggling and felt like a change was the prescribed remedy. But as the day got closer to our release the worry and wonder took over. 

A small part of me wondered; was it just a time thing that we were being released now? Why not wait until the first of the year or when our 3 years were up? A bigger part of me worried; was I being released because I had become so burnt out that my performance wasn't what the Lord needed it to be or was it simply  because a wise and omnipotent Father saw a child's need for a rest? 

The next Sunday in church I received part of my answer.  The new presidency invited us to join them and the Primary chidren for the last 10 minutes of closing exercises where they presented us with 'Thank You' cards signed by all the children. As I stood in the front of that Primary Room receiving my card  in front of all my little friends, I felt completely out of place and like I no longer belonged there. 

You would think this experience would make me sad, but it didn't. It was feedback.

I realized it was time. I had my turn and now it was time for someone else to share their testimonies with my friends and to grow from the experience of serving them. My stewardship no longer belonged there; it was time for me to progress elsewhere.

The rest of my answer came a few days later when one of those sweet Primary girls showed up on my doorstep with her mother holding a plate of cookies she and her Primary teacher had baked (3 different kinds- Wow!) and a homemade 'Thank You' card. The cookies were delicious (esp. for breakfast) and the individual gesture was greatly appreciated. In fact, it made all the difference to me.

It was that boost to help me through the tough days where I still struggle. 

It was feedback. 
 
It made me glad I hadn't quit and gave me hope that maybe my performance had been enough after all.

Connections

A few days ago, a favorite blog of mine posted this video and wrote about how we seem to be able to forge connections with complete strangers and yet not know our neighbor next door.



Obviously, I loved it or I wouldn't be sharing it with you here.

As the music's tempo increased and locales started going by faster, I was excited to see where he would dance next and I even got misty eyed from a couple of different locations that I have an emotional connection to myself. It made me smile, laugh, cry, and think. I identified with the question posed and thought about it off and on for the rest of the week- until Friday.

That's when I saw something that made me appreciate the connections we make a little differently.

First, I have to explain something so you will understand my appreciation.

My eldest child is sensitive. You know the characteristic you hope you won't pass on to any off your offspring, well he got the double whammy. My tendency to worry and Richard's relationship with anxiety fell squarely on his shoulder's.

We realized the depth of his sensitvity a couple of years ago when he started 3rd grade. It was his second year in this school since we had moved back to the states from Canada. He had done really well getting settled and making friends his first year, so we didn't anticipate any problems the following year. The first week went fine.

Then the dam broke.

He couldn't sleep. He couldn't eat. Panic attacks started and so did the inconsolable crying. Going to school was out of the question. He would beg me not to go, but after some coaxing I would get him there only to end up leaving with him in tears. We finally got that the heart of the problem was that there was nobody he knew in his class.

No connections.

He was the only boy from his previous class that had been placed in his current one and of course, the girls he knew still had cooties. His problem all boiled down to this; it was hard enough to be the new kid and have to make friends one year, let alone two in a row.

The only way to solve the problem though was to go to school. And he did. And eventually he made friends. Things were better, he wanted me to walk him to class each day and would give me the "please, don't leave me here look", but at least he went.

There was a difference in him though. He was more particular about what he did, what he wore, and he became really concerned about what people thought about him. He didn't want to do or wear anything that might cause him to lose the friends and connections he had made. It intensified last year after a bully stopped a soccer game he was playing in to make fun of him.

The boy who used to love to dance in the kitchen with me to Elton John's "Crocodile Rock" won't even dance with me anymore.

That is why I was so surprised and delighted to be able to film my own little 'Dance' video on Friday morning following the Fun Run at the school.

I was only able to get 15 seconds of it- I wish I could have gotten more, but I will take what I could get. Just look at my boy "shaking his thang" with all of his friends (I like to think he gets his moves from me), but better yet... think of the connections he has made to make him feel comfortable enough to do it in public!

The good it did this mother's heart, who has the propensity to worry, was great. And perhaps, it is time I give "Crocodile Rock" a rest... it looks like I have a new dance to learn.

Silver Linings

In the storms of life there are clouds; dark, foreboding, unwelcome, and depressing. On days like today when the weather seems to be a reflection of my inner self, those clouds seem to hover ever closer above my head. And I'm tired of them.

I am so completely and utterly sick to death of clouds!!!!

But sometimes clouds don't dispel as easy as they form. So with clouds looming, I tried to distract myself from watching the hands on the clock ticking ever so slowly toward Richard's ETA from Cincinnati, by reading his blog. And that's where I found it.

That little shimmering sliver of good amongst the thick, grey crown churning atop my head. The bit of hope to keep me from being swallowed in their endless fog. The silver lining.

His last 3 posts reminded me that even though sometimes I may struggle here at home, Richard has been afforded some amazing opportunities in his travels lately. With his love of history and the cause of liberty how could I begrudge the trips that have taken him to places in the forefront of some of the greatest events in history; places where he has longed to go and now has gotten to? I couldn't, so I won't. It would simply be selfish and that's not the person I want to be.

So as the clouds dispel somewhat, the sun making its way through the cracks, I look forward to our reunion tonight for another reason than just being together again. When I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him hello, I will be happy to have in my arms a husband who has gotten to experience the silver lining and is a better person for it.

We both are.

Watch it! That's my friend you're talking about.

As I checked down my list of blogs to see what new little goodies had been posted this morning, I saw a new one on this  friend's blog. I clicked the icon and was whisked away into her blog world.
I have enjoyed this friend's blog for a little over a year now.  I started reading after the plane crash happened, so I got to know her through  her fans/friends reposts of their favorites of her pre-accident blog posts. When she came back I was excited to hear about how life was now; post crash.

I worried that things had changed; that she had changed. She could have easily- she had every right to, but she didn't. If she did, it was for the better.

While reading her blog post today, I was still kicking myself for missing her appearance on Oprah yesterday. I ran off to Costco and forgot to set the DVR. I think it had something to do with subconsciously not wanting to watch Oprah. (Yes, I hear you gasping.  But everybody loves Oprah! Not this body. I don't necessarily dislike her...but that is a controverisal tangent for another day.) So friends, if anyone recorded it and wouldn't mind sharing or knows where I can view it online I would be most grateful- even if it means I will be watching Oprah.

Anyway, while reading her latest post, which included what I thought was absolutely beautiful picture of this friend of mine, Dallin, wanting the computer, looked over my shoulder and made a derogatory remark.

I felt anger rise in me.

 I snapped back and launched into that she had been in plane crash where she was badly burned and that it was not her fault.  His grin faded and I could tell he felt bad; either from the story or my harsh tone, I'm not sure which. I remembered that this was a child I was talking to, so I apologized for snapping and softened; realizing, what I hoped to be a teaching moment.

Before I knew it, my mouth was spewing forth the oratory about beauty. You know the one we all recieved from our own mothers at one time or another growing up.

It went something like this:
"...True beauty comes from the inside. It does not matter what people look like on the outside, it is what they do and say- who they really are that matters. You shouldn't judge a book by it's cover, meaning we shouldn't judge a person by what they look like; we should get to know them first..."
I even said, "Pretty is as pretty does."

When the oratory was done; all canned phrases repeated, and every word that I swore I would never say to my children spoken, I realized that probably for the first time in my life, not only did I know those phrases- I knew them.  I believed them.

Over the course of a year, through nienie's words, attitude, and simply who she is, I have been taught many things. But probably, the biggest accomplishment for me...was that she turned me into a believer.

Sanity Secrets

For the last 2 ½ months a lot of Richard and my conversations have gone somewhat like this...

Richard- “I have a business trip next week in England.”

Me- “Really?” “I want to go.”

Richard- “Then the next week I have to go to Tucson.”

Me- “Okay.”

Richard- “Then the week after that I’m going to Pennsylvania.”

Me- No comment. I look for a chair in order to sit down.

Richard- “Then at the end of the month I’m going to have to go the Philippines or India, I’m not sure which yet.”

Me- (Sigh) Where is that chair?

Richard-“Then to New York and Phoenix and then I should be able to stay home a while.”

Me- Forget the chair, I collapse on the floor.

Throw New Jersey and another New York & Pennsylvania in there, and you will have the last few months of our lives.

Really, I am not complaining. I have been very lucky this year with just a few trips here and there until now. It has been and could be worse. He counted up how many weeks he traveled last year and came up with the number 25. If you figure there are 52 weeks in a year, he was gone almost half of it….so I count myself very lucky. I think that single parents should be awarded something spectacular because I have had a taste of what they experience. I'm sure they will get their just reward in heaven- where it matters most.

I have friends and family who ask me how I do it and express that they would be insane if their spouse was out of town so much. This makes me feel good. They think I am still sane!!! I thought I bought a ticket on the 'crazy train' years ago. So barring that they are just being nice, I have decided to share my top 3 ‘Sanity Secrets’ with you.

#1- Prayer. And lots of it. There is no other power by which all of my children are still alive (especially #’s 1 & 3). They are a walking testament to the power there and that miracles do still happen.

#2- Caffiene. Yes, I am one of those “bad Mormons” that may have a slight dependency on stimulant laced substances such as Wild Cherry Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, and Mountain Dew; all of the diet variety of course. That one, maybe two- okay, three on a really bad day, ice cold pick me ups is a Godsend when my tank is empty. Plus, I am hoping all my prayer will get me an allowance in this department.

#3- Adult interactions. I love my children dearly, but at the end of the day I need to have a little more stimulation than hearing all about various Pokemon and the damages they do.

There is nothing like getting together with adult friends and talking about interesting subjects and current events happening in the world. Okay…. so that rarely happens to me. When Richard is gone face to face interactions are few and far between- almost nonexistent. (You realize how pathetic you are when you really look forward to a PTA meeting because there will be real live adults there.)

This is where you, my dear blogger friends, come in.

I love to read blogs. I love people and I love to know what makes them tick. Each time I interact with you by reading a post, I get a little glimpse into who you are and what makes you tick. And even if I can’t have face to face interaction with you, I start to feel like I know you. You become my friend, whether you like it or not.

I was chatting with a friend the other day and the subject of blogs came up. She said, “I don’t get up to read the news; I get up to read blogs.” I thought… That IS news!!! The very best kind of news! Because it is about someone you might actually know. And if it isn’t someone you really know, at least, it is someone that you care about enough, even if it is just because you enjoy their writing style or humor, that you give them a portion of your day by reading about their world.

This is the interaction I am talking about and love.

Your trials and triumphs, adventures and mishaps, trips and photos, are the news I crave. I laugh along with you or, if fitting, I laugh at you. I cry when you are hurting. I contemplate your views. Often, I do all three together. Sometimes, I sit quietly letting your words penetrate; absorbing the lessons you teach me. I most often comment, except when I hold back because I feel like a comment pest or have never really met the blogger who I am reading.

Recently though, I accepted a challenge to come out of my “blurking or blog stalking” shell. It has made all the difference in fulfilling my adult interaction quest. It feels good to let people how much I enjoy what they do, what they post...the little bit of their world they share. Sometimes they respond back and I love that- more interaction with an adult mind, acknowledging that I am there. Sometimes that is all that matters.

So you see, dear blogger friends, what you do is important. Keep up the good charity work you are doing. Keep on posting!

My sanity depends on it.

Never Say Never

Cedar Canyon 2009 

When Richard and I were dating and newly married we loved to go to the theater. Musicals, plays, and the occasional concert were a favorite past time of ours. With our fondness for plays and the fact that we lived in Utah, it was no surprise we found ourselves headed to The Utah Shakespearean Festival located in Cedar City one summer. To make a long story short, we loved the festival, but for some reason we HATED Cedar City. I vowed that I could NEVER live there.

Fast forward a couple of years, Richard was asked by his supervisor to interview for a specific job. She felt he had the needed leadership skills and knew he would benefit from the promotion. The promotion and coveted job were located in….Cedar City.

No way! Remember, we hated that place.

Plus, we just had our first baby and I was a week away from starting my 2nd year of nursing school at Weber State. This was not a good time to be quitting school, packing up, and moving four hours away from any of our family.

But in all actuality, it was the best time to be doing all of those things.

No, wasn’t the right answer- and we knew it. We felt it. So off to Cedar City we went. And do you know what? We LOVED it. For 3 ½ years we proudly called it our home.

Then Richard phoned me one afternoon to tell me he had been talking to his boss again. There were some sites that were struggling that could really benefit from Richard’s experience and once again, it would be a worthwhile promotion. Our choices were Killeen, Texas or British Columbia, Canada.

The choice seemed easy. Texas. The alternative was not even a choice. Canada? I could NEVER live there.

And so the magic words were said. Our fate sealed. Kamloops, British Columbia, became our home for the next 3 years and 3 months… to the day. And do you know what? We LOVED it and still do. I ache to see those tall lodge pole pines, to be asked if I want my milk in a beg (bag), and not to have people smile or laugh when I say “eh”. But all to soon our time there was over, life was to move on- as much as we hated it- we knew it. Again, we felt it.

And so the magic incantation brought us here.

The answer is…yes. I said it. “I will NEVER live in Happy Valley.” And, “I definitely, would NEVER want to live in Provo.” You would think that I would’ve learned my lesson by now, but who knows… maybe the third time really is the charm. Three and a half years later, I’m thinking…I might be right.

Thanks to the help of my parents watching our kids, Richard and I were able to run away last Thursday and Friday to Cedar City. We visited old friends, ate at our favorite restaurants, took in a play, walked the campus where I finished nursing school, and after years of not being back to visit, we toured our once beloved town.

It was an incredible feeling. I was struck with how much you leave of yourself behind in a place that you love. It was like we never left as we took in the brilliant blue sky set against the red rock landscape. We drove familiar streets and relived our life there.

Emotion swelled in my chest and tears blurred my vision.

I was grateful there is someone who would not accept NEVER as my answer. Who has eternal eyesight to see beyond the here and now to view the entire plan for me; who knows beyond my mortal comprehension the lessons that needed learning and the growing that needed to take place so that wonderful experiences could happen.

And dare I say it…. Provo is one of them.

Me with one of my best friends, LaRae.

The best fast food place to eat at in Cedar, Hermies. I highly recommend the grilled turkey & onion rings washed down with a Vanilla Coke. 

On the beautiful SUU Campus.

At the play "The Complete Works of William Shakespear- Abridged".  It was hilarious.  If you can get the chance to go see it, you won't regret it.

Fall in Cedar is breathtaking.  Right Hand Canyon and Cedar Mountain certainly didn't disappoint with their fall colors on display.  

Last stop before heading home, Cedar Breaks.

Hands off..that's my job!

BOING!

My eyelids open. I steal a peek at the clock- too early. Problem is…I can't go back to sleep. I am wide awake at least an hour earlier than I need to be.

Why? I petition my ceiling and those beings that live beyond. WHY?
Then WHACK! I take a hit from a little hand; flung in fitful slumber and suddenly my blanket is gone- stolen by the other little body I am sandwiched between.

Okay, answer noted.

I grab another blanket and was just about to lie down across the bottom of my bed, far from the kicking feet of toddlers, when the chill in the air catches my attention by attaching itself to my arms in the form of goose bumps.

What the...? The furnace should have come on by now...it shouldn't be THIS cold. I stumble out into the hallway where the thermostat hangs on the wall. I was greeted with nothing. Absolutely, nothing! It was blank. I flick it... hoping that will make it work...still nothing. I notice a battery panel... did you know thermostats use batteries? I didn't until now.

Down to the laundry room, pull out the battery box...no AA batteries. I find a walkie talkie on the dryer, steal the batteries from it, feed the thermostat, and hear the furnace roar back to life.

Back in my room I find a space amongst the little bodies in the jig saw puzzle I call my bed and lay there mentally tallying my list of things to do today against my stamina of 4 1/2 hours sleep.
Totally lopsided.

 Again, I petition my ceiling and those who live beyond, "Do I HAVE to be the Mom today? Can't it be someone else’s turn?"

I feel weepy. When I'm tired I get that way; and I am tired. The lack of sleep that accompanies the nights when Richard is out of town, coupled with children who need comforting in the night and storms that blow open doors, setting off alarms that scare me senseless, were all adding up.

As the pre-dawn light changed into brighter day, I push myself onto my knees knowing I would need every ounce of help I could get today. I finish and head for the shower, knowing if it didn't happen now, it wouldn't happen at all.

It helped. I threw back that shower curtain ready to take on the day.... no towel. I tip toed to the linen closet, careful not to wake any slumbering children who I might scare into a stupor that years of therapy most likely would not undo...empty.

The ceiling is petitioned once again, "Come on...really?!?"

I streak down the stairs- praying all the blinds got closed last night, so my neighbors won't be treated to an unwanted early morning peep show. Towel found and safely back in the shelter of my bathroom I proceed to get ready for the day. Deodorant- check, lotion the arms, now the legs....hold on...they don't feel the same...one is still prickly. I shaved only one leg.

That was it. I was done. The ceiling wasn't petitioned, it was told, "I think it would be better if I took a day off and went back to bed."

But we know that moms don't get days off. There were places to go, things to do, and I was the one in charge. So pity party left behind, I started the usual routine of waking kids.

As I tousled bed head hair and kissed sleepy cheeks good morning, it struck me. I wouldn't want anyone else to do this. This was my job. Tired or not, I was the one I wanted those sleepy eyes to see first thing in the morning and it was my voice telling them "I love you" I wanted them to hear as they left for school.

And as for the craziness... it is my craziness. I do it very well might I add. And as I stare into the refrigerator and realize that I'm really looking for my checkbook, I wouldn't have it any other way.

The file

It has felt so good to blog again. With the kids back in school I've felt like I've finally had some time and the brain cells to put a coherent sentence together. It has been therapeutic to put the ever present dialogue in my head down on virtual paper once again.

But of course, there must always be opposition. Opposition isn't always bad. There are always those good things we are asked to do that oppose the things we would like to do. You know the good, better, best scenario.

Well, I've found myself in that place again this last week. Much like I found myself there a majority of the spring and summer. You may notice that my blog reflects that July did not even exist. But this week was also a time of reminiscing and reflection for me. And with reflection comes learning. I have been reminded that my memory is quick to forget. Events and experiences not written down find their way falling through the cracks of my memory. Lost and forgotten, sometimes irretrievable. Other times,  they are just filed away waiting to be retrieved at another time.

As I was reminded of forgotten events and times over the last week I mourned not remembering them, not having them written down. Sure, now I can record them, but now they are just a date and time; the thoughts and feelings are gone. Saddened, I was determined to not let it happen again

So as I looked at my blog and thought about all the things that occurred over the summer that I wanted to have written down I felt overwhelmed as how to record them all. Not wanting to miss one, I opened up my Word file marked "blog posts" and sure enough, there they were- filed away waiting for retrieval. Some are just titles, some are paragraphs, and some are nearly finished. All are awaiting the details that make them more than just a date and time. All are awaiting the details that make it a memory.

I am going to do my best to make it through that file before the details fall through the cracks and don't seem worth recording anymore. I promise you, July will be added back to my calendar and a memory filled month it will be.

Happy Place

It was one of those mornings.

The kind where your gears are all mixed up and somehow you’ve managed to get yourself stuck in reverse accomplishing very little. Nothing goes right. Everything is wrong. And no matter how hard you try to fix it you still end up like a mechanic trying to get a bolt off with a screwdriver.

Not the type of morning you want people showing up at your door. Especially, not your 10 year olds new fifth grade teacher. We were excited and felt very fortunate to have Ashton placed in Mr. Zimmerman’s Fifth Grade Class for the coming school year. He was spoken of very highly and the kids in my ward who had experienced him as a teacher loved him as well.

And there he was on my front porch.

I surveyed the scene.

Ashton’s hair hadn’t been combed. The neighbor kids had showed up early, thus preventing my kids from wanting to complete their jobs including the front room which now had either cereal or crackers crushed on the carpet. Some of the furniture had been moved to make forts and I can’t remember if I was still in my running clothes or just yesterday’s makeup. All I knew was that I was embarrassed.

The purpose of Mr. Z’s visit was to introduce himself, meet Ashton, and give us an envelope containing various forms to be filled out and an assignment to be completed before the first day of school.

Not wanting to do homework when it was still summer, Ashton eventually got around to working on the assignment which happened to be a scavenger hunt around Mr. Z’s class website. What a great way to learn. With each new quest on the scavenger hunt he was playing games and watching videos, all of an educational nature, and gaining more and more excitement for what Mr. Z’s actual class would be like.

One of the quests asked you to follow a link to a site named “Backroads Photography.“ This piqued my interest, so I took a seat next to Ashton at the computer. A grid of squares appeared on the screen and one by one the computer popped in photographs to fill the blanks.

They were AMAZING.

Incredible images gave life to simple objects and restored beauty to architecture of yesteryear.

The scavenger hunt simply asked for us to visit the site, view the photos, find a favorite, and tell why. Simple.
We scrolled down the page pointing out ones we liked or thought were “cool”, just enjoying the art before us. We came upon a particular print named “Farm Morning.”

I stopped.

Something inside me clicked and I declared, “That’s it. That’s my favorite.”


We finished scrolling through the rest of the images, many of which I really enjoyed looking at, but I always returned to “Farm Morning” as my favorite. My mother told me not to influence Ashton’s decision, so I left him to finish the hunt on his own.


In the weeks since then, I still visit the site, view the images there, and take in one in particular. It has become my new “happy place”. A place to go, even if it’s only visually, when I have one of those days where I am the mechanic with all the wrong tools.


But I haven’t finished the assignment. The hunt for me is incomplete. Why was “Farm Morning” my favorite was still unanswered?

That was a difficult question for me to answer.

I could give you a hundred reasons why I liked the other photographs. But that photograph, that one, single image….

It spoke to me.

And perhaps, that is why it is so hard to express why I like it the way I do.

It appeals to something more than just the eye.

Something deeper.

More private.

That was it. That was the reason for liking it.

Somehow the artist and his camera had captured an image that represents the people, places, experiences, and dreams that make up a patch in the fabric of who I am. A patch that mends the holes and rips that the wear and tear of everyday life leaves in the body of my fabric.

A patch for those days like the one when Mr. Z appeared on our porch.

A patch made with beauty, serenity, and contentment.

Happiness.

You may have noticed there are no pictures in this post, but I hope by now you are anxious to see some. So, I invite you to visit http://www.alongthebackroads.com/webpages/printsarchitecture.html
to view “Farm Morning” and accept the quest to find your own favorite by viewing the galleries and prints offered there. And then please, leave me a comment telling me why.

Happy Hunting!