Time, "Don't Let Them Quit" and the Plan of Salvation Nov 2019

 

Journal 11/2019 Time Change

Letter to Meg. 2020. Jon is Born

 

It was wonderful to get your letter yesterday – actually on Saturday, but no one checked mail on Saturday, so we all got to enjoy your creations together.Your dad asked me about your example in your lesson – him giving up snack cakes and you following his example. He told me that he didn’t remember – but I am so glad that you did. It will be exciting to see, when we review our lives before the Lord, what happened in our lives. I think your dad will be pleased and surprised by all of the things that occurred but did not hold in his memory in this lifeI have been reminded again and again of an event that I am not sure how to describe. You and Lauren had missed two dental appointments and and we were sitting on my bed – the blankets and sheets piled up around us. The phone rang and when I answered, it was the dentist office – asking if I was going to bring you two in for the scheduled appointments. I was so broken at that moment that I couldn’t make myself get out of bed, out of the house, into the car, and drive you two to the dentist. This person who had called, told me that if I didn’t bring you in at that time, we would have to find another dentist. I am ashamed to say that I gave up and told her we would find another dentist.Those several occasions when I was too crumpled to take care of you, La and Nate pop into my head at odd moments and shake me to the core.When John was born, we got to be with you. You and Anton had asked for us to stay away for the first week so that the three of you could bond as a family. I got tickets for us to arrive 24 hours after Jon came. When we met you at the door, you and Anton were so desperate for sleep that you immediately handed over Jon – who had been crying nonstop We discovered that he needed to sleep on an incline, keeping his head above his stomach so that he could be comfortable while he digested his milk. Later, after you and Anton had begun to recover from sleep deprivation, I asked if you had taken a Sitz bath to soak your stitches and ease the swelling. You looked at me and told me that it had been days since you last showered! I have a photo of you holding John and Anton peeking over your shoulder. I am sure that he felt left out of all the attention given to a new baby and mom. While we were there, I went and got a juice machine and got oranges to make you fresh orange juice. I mixed that with bananas and strawberries to make a thick, calorie laden shake for you to drink. Both you and Anton kept forgetting to eat.After it was done, I brought a tall glass to you. As I was cleaning up and putting the remaining shake in the fridge, Anton asked quietly if he could try some. I am still upset with myself for leaving him out. You and Jon were my focus. There are countless times when I know I focused my preparations so narrowly that others were pushed out of my sight. I also remember that one of Anton’s family sent you two a box of See’s candy that I ate at least a third of (probably more) all by myself. I can’t remember that I’d made good on my promise to send a new box to replace it. The majority of my life memories are intertwined with those around me…parents, sisters, brothers, Brent, his family – especially you, La and Nate. Every time I recall something, the memory changes because now the memory also contains where and what I am doing at the momentStephanie Meyers, author of the Twilight series, wrote a book called “Host” before she got famous.In it, there are alien “presences” that are colonizing Earth by entering the minds of humans and taking over. The main character is able to keep her own personality spirit from being destroyed. The two spirits get to know each other through the events of the narrative. They learn to share the body and mind where they are. At the end of the novel, the humans find a way to pull the alien spirits out of the human minds—which kills them. When the main character comes to have her mind returned to her alone – she works with the scientist to provide a new place, a new mind where the alien consciousness can continue to dwell. Obviously I am hazy on the specifics but the important point the novel makes is that new experiences, new people, who do come to live—do change us. We can choose to shut the opposition our minds encounters or we can welcome them and learn from them. Long letter. You are one of those voices in my head. Thank you. Love mom

 

 

Blooming Buds

 

Megan Hendry

 

19 September 2001

 

 

         It was a fine day for sports, with a clear blue sky and barely a ripple of a breeze to disturb the treetops.

         More specifically, it was a terrific day for Tree Bagging.

         Buckla Skivvyot sat on the highest, ancient limb of a kana boa tree.  That tree had, through time, planning, and the skillful ingenuity involving the ancient art of the tree molding (or bending and shaping of tree branches to form shapes of designs) had formed what looked like a series of slides, loops, and ramps.

         Buckla sighed with happiness.  He was an odd looking creature—black furred, tall, lean and lithe.  He had a wide fuzzy face with stripes over each eye and a large wrinkle fold underneath that reached from the top of his short muzzle to his lower eyelid.  It made him look quite jolly.  His ears were short and round, with white tips.  He had masses of fur on his head and neck, which he tied back into a ponytail at the nape except for a large tuft at the front that was his bangs.   There was also a long lock of fur behind his left cheek that had been wrapped in red and orange twine—at the end of this dangled a small gold medallion.

         His foot paws, like his fore paws, had large, curved claws to help him climb.  But what he didn’t have on his fore paws was a large retractable claw at the inside of each ankle.  This claw could be stored at the top of his heel for easy walking, or pulled down so that the curved point faced towards the ground to aid his claws in scaling trees.  His species were called Siriri.

         Buckla smiled again as a fresh zephyr rushed past him.

         Tree Bagging is a sport played on very tall, sturdy, ancient trees.  It’s a lot like skate boarding or snowboarding except that there’s no board and no snow.  What you do have are the baggs, which are like leather shoes that have holes for your toes, and heel dewclaw to stick out.  There laces you tighten around your ankle and the bagg.  Last, but most importantly, is the sewn on pocket at the bottom. 

         Inside the pocket is tallow mixed with sand, for those who are advanced Tree Baggers.  For intermediates, there is tallow mixed with cork shavings—and for those who are just beginning to learn the sport, there is bees wax with shredded wood fibers.  There are small punctures in the bottom the pocket to let small amounts of the tallow or bees wax through to keep the bottoms of the bags slick.  Also, the bags are oiled to keep them supple and stretchy.

         Once you have the bags on, you get up on a tree that has been tree molded and Tree Bagg (or skate) to a chosen finishing point!  In a tournament, you get extra points for doing tricks.  It is a fast, dangerous, exciting sport.

         Buckla thought vaguely at the back of his mind that his face might break if it were possible for him to grin any harder.  Today was the day that the tournament was scheduled to take place and the whole Siriri tribe was giddy.  Tree Bagging had been invented and continued to be played vigorously by the Siriris.  The game had been invented generations ago and had been a tremendous success ever since.  Between his chores and training, Buckla spent every available moment practicing his form (or chosen combination of twists, turns, tricks and grand finish).

         He’d been practicing for months.  He’d oiled and refilled his baggs with tallow and sand.  Now at the day of the tournament, he was a ready as he could possibly be.

         Buckla smiled as he saw the younger kits, which didn’t have baggs, tie leaves to the bottoms of their footpads and practice on some of the lower limbs of the tree he was sitting on.  They were safe enough.  They had nets secured under the branches to catch the young ones in case they fell. 

         All of the little kits reminded him of little buds, waiting to open and show the brilliant beauty of the flower that was inside.  Some creatures, he realized, never opened at all.  Some had opened to their fullest extent already.  Still others, he pondered, had opened just half way, but continued to progress. 

         “But where am I?”  Buckla thought,  “Am I at the opening stage?”

         THWOCK!  THWOCK!  THWOCK!

         The sound of a Siriri banging on a hollow long brought Buckla back to present.

         With a shake of his furred head, he pushed all thoughts of flowers, buds, and leaf skating kits to the back of his mind as he concentrated on the tournament.  Every new season the Siriris had a tournament, and the creature that had the best mix of balance, tricks and jumps won a small medallion about the size of the iris in your eye.  This was worn at the end of a fur-wrap, which was what Buckla was wearing on the end of his red and orange twine fur-wrap.  The medallion had the image of a paw print with a hind foot dewclaw superimposed over it.  The winner got silver and a blue twine fur wrap; second got gold and a red and orange twine fur wrap; third got bronze and a green, yellow, and turquoise twine fur wrap.

         Last year he won a second place medallion, which hung behind his left cheek.  This year . . . he was going to win first place.

         Buckla spied his friends at the starting point, warming up.  Smiling inwardly this time, he got up and from his lofty perch, he half jumped, half climbed down to the lower branch where the other contestants stood.

         “We were almost going to start without you!”  joked Tacc, a Siriri like Buckla, except that Tacc had let the fur on his head and neck fly every which way.  Tacc had three bronze medallions and two silver ones that hung down his back.  But even though Tacc was twenty-two to Buckla’s eighteen years, he considered Buckla to be his equal.

         “I think the tournament is about to begin,” Rikowe stated.  Rikowe was a quiet fellow who had gotten a long scar from his cheek to his ear from a whippy branch that had caught him while in the Tree Bagging tournament a year ago.

         “All creatures who wish to enter the Tree Bagging Tournament, come forward to the three roped off branch areas!”  the announcer’s voice boomed out loud.  “Only three contestants at a time, one to a roped judging area!  You’ll be judged by the tricks you do, the way you do them, and how fast you finish up!”

         Buckla was pleased to see that he, Tacc, and Rikowe were first together.  Slipping on his baggs and tying them, he ground down on the pockets at the bottom a little to squeeze out a little tallow for a fast start.

         “ON YOUR MARKS.  .  .  . GET SET.  .  .  . GO!!!”

         With a dip of a crimson flag as the signal, the three competitors shot off their starting points like arrows.  All at once though, as soon as Rikowe started, he suddenly doubled up and ended up tumbling down the wide tree ramp to come to rest in a dip at the bottom.

         Tacc shot on, oblivious to any problems but his own.  Buckla, however, did see and slowed down a little, undecided.  Was Rikowe faking injury?  No.  He wasn’t the kind of creature to pull a lie or a practical joke.  Rikowe must be in trouble, Buckla decided.

         Stopping completely, he bounded over to where Rikowe lay.  Buckla realized with great alarm that Rikowe was in great pain, for he was only half conscious and was softly groaning.  His eyes were dilated.  Buckla looked around with alarm.  They were so far down and off to the side  that  no one could see them.  Should he bring Rikowe up to where there was a doctor?  No.  If Rikowe was damaged internally, that would probably only make things worse.  But what if Rikowe rolled off the edge in his pain? 

         Buckla suddenly had an idea.  Ripping off his prized baggs, he tore the laces off.  Then, Buckla tied his laces to the bagg laces that were still on Rikowe’s paws.  Tying the lot off to the branch to keep Rikowe secure, Buckla bounded up and shouted for a doctor.  Pointing out where Rikowe lay, he went back down with the rescue crew to retrieve the wounded Siriri.

         Almost immediately after that, the jovial festivities ground to a halt.  The doctors took hours inside the emergency tent, and when they came out again, looking tired and sore, but happy, everyone breathed a little easier.  They explained what happened.   

         “Rikowe had appendicitis,”  the doctors said, “we almost didn’t get it out in time, and we have you to thank, young Buckla, for your speedy rescue.”

         “Ummm, may I go in and see him?” ask Buckla, slightly unused to so much attention at once.

         “Sure.  He owes you his life.  But don’t stay in too long—he needs his rest,” one of the doctors replied.

         Rikowe looked at Buckla through hazy eyes.  “Thanks, Buck.  Thought I was a goner out there.”

         “Hey, what are friends for?  You OK?”   Buckla asked.

         “Yeah, had stomach pains yesterday.   Didn’t think much of it though . . .”   Rikowe said as he drifted back off to sleep.

         “Maybe my bud is opening a little,”  thought Buckla, as he smiled to himself.

Minnesota, Nate and the Bunnies, Quilts and Early Morning Seminary

 

 

Tuesday,  27 July 2009 1:00 am

The TV is repeating a cooking show that has already aired twice today.  I have it on because I am the only one awake in Susan’s apartment.  I didn’t pack enough underwear and so I am waiting for the washer to finish so that I can put the load in the dryer.  It has been such a wonderful day.  

Martha arrived this afternoon and she is so fun to be with.  She looks great—confident and certain of herself.  She says that they’ll be in Saudi Arabia for 13 more years.  She is teaching Seminary—early morning—for the fourth time this year.  This next year is Church History . . . her first year was with the D & C.  I hadn’t known that Susan also taught early morning Seminary.  “The best thing about it is that you really have to study the scriptures every day,” she said.  She really enjoyed it, and agreed with Martha that it was one of the most challenging, overwhelming callings she had ever fulfilled.  I feel left out—muddling through Seminary with Nathan during the years that he was home isn’t quite the same thing.  I never thought about having to study for an hour everyday so that I could be ready to work with Nate the next day.  He often couldn’t handle much more than 5 or 10 minutes worth—but even if he could have focused for a longer time, I didn’t really have much to offer him.  

I went to ride with Susan and Nancy this evening.  The temperature was cooler than yesterday and the wind was calm.  Susan and Nancy laughed and talked and teased each other and then laughed some more.  It made me lonely for Meg and La.  As we were beginning to ride, I got a phone call from Brent.  He told me about the supplies he had gotten to finish Nate’s bathroom and the glue and roller we’ll need to put up the stylized rabbit border around the room just below the ceiling.  After being with Susan and coming to know more of the challenges that fill her days, I am so glad that I am me and have the problems that I have.  Mine isn’t the life I would have wished for even a decade before—but I wouldn’t even dream of trading what I was facing for the difficulties that Susan has gone through.  Nor would I consider exchanging lives with Martha.  Exotic travels and insular living would push me into panicked anxiety about what I could not understand and what I could not control.  

I met Susan’s grandson Evan today.  He is 3 years old and an adroit manager of his domain.  Susan confides that Evan is expert at “pushing his parents’ buttons.”  I think that she sees what she has known before in her life.  She became an expert at pushing mom and dad’s buttons herself when she was younger . . . as well as mine and M’s.  The magic of the whole process is that it allows her an especially clear view of the situation now.  “Inter-Family Dynamics” should have been required to graduate  from high school, to get married, or to interact with any family member at anytime in the future.

Tuesday, 27 July 2009 noon

Nathan called me yesterday afternoon.  He was at the pet store to buy shavings for the bunnies.  “What kind of shavings do I get?  Aspen, pine, the vacuum packed kind?  One of the sacks looks like one of the bags at home, but it feels like there are just little pellets inside.  Am I at the right store?  And the bunnies have started to pee on the floor of their cage—what am I suppose to do about that?”  There was no panic in his voice, but I could tell that he took the responsibility to care for our three buns very seriously.  He is determinedly precise about anything that he undertakes.  He attributes this characteristic to his Asperger’s Syndrome.  I think that that may be a part of it—but he is also dedicated to making the environment around him better.  Either way, I am grateful that he is as he is.    

I miss Brent horribly.  I have been away from him before, but I keep thinking that he would really enjoy hiking through the woods here.  It is mostly flat land he could easily walk beside me as I rode one of Susan’s horses through the woods and meadows.  Connections via cell phone are tenuous at best and we are often cut off in the middle of conversations, necessitating a quick re-dial so that we can finish our dialogue.   It is OK though because we now say the most important things at the beginning of the call instead of waiting for the last moments before we hang up.  To quote Martha Stewart:  It’s a good thing.

Martha brought us both quilts.  In Saudi she is the president of the quilting group that meets to make amazingly, quilts.  They are painstaking works of art:  a sweet reminder that she loves both Susan and me and thinks about us when all of us are apart.  I like that.

Lauren. The Zoo at our House by Lauren

 Lauren Nichole Hendry

9-23-01

Menagerie

A menagerie, by dictionary terms, is a collection of wild animals put on exhibition.  I think that I can say that my family has one without too much exaggeration.

            In our house there lives 13 animals, not including the humans.  I won’t bore you with lists, but I’ll introduce them as I go along. 

            The smallest of these animals are our two hamsters.  One of our friend’s hamsters had babies, but they were promised to other people.  My mom allowed us to get some from the pet store, instead.  My sister’s hamster, named Sam, is a cute, brown, dwarf hamster.  He’s so tiny he’d fit in a spoon!  My hamster I named Featherfoot, because of the fluffy fuzz surrounding each foot.  He’s a Siberian hamster, and all black and white splotched, like a cow.  While Sam is nervous and cautious, Featherfoot is completely oblivious to everything.  The only time I’ve ever really seen him react to something is when we cut his nails or give him a bath!  He doesn’t even flinch if he falls off something.

            Close in size to the hamsters are the mice we have.  However, they aren’t really counted as pets because they don’t stay long.  Our rosy boa, Robert, eats them.  Robert is only about a foot and a half long, and he’s fully grown.  He consumes two small, white mice a week.  However, we’ve had a problem this past week.  He’s refused to eat a mouse when, usually, he’d be hungry.  Maybe it’s because he’s shedding (he’s always really cranky when he sheds).  We’ve put him in his feeding box with the mouse several times, and Robert hasn’t eaten him.  The poor mouse must have had 4 heart attacks already, being in with a snake so many times!  Now he’s grown too big for Robert to eat, so my mom has to trade him in at the pet store for a smaller one.

            Some of the more exotic pets we have are the sugar gliders.  For those of you who don’t know what sugar gliders are, they’re like little, soft flying squirrels.  The flaps of skin between their arms and legs allow them to glide, but they’re too lazy to do it often.  They have long, fluffy tails, and when they’re mad, they make a noise like a rusty pencil sharpener!  I’m serious.  Their sudden outbursts of noise, which are surprisingly loud, have frightened many a curious guest.  They both belong to my sister, and their names are Mariel and Burrito.  Mariel is smaller and better tempered than Burrito, who growls at every opportunity. 

            My favorite of the flock is Ecko, my rat.  She’s tan, with a white spot on her belly.  She loves food and sleep, though she likes me well enough if I have a treat!  She abhors exercise, so she’s rather fat.  Her favorite foods include mashed potatoes, corn, and ice cream, but she’ll eat most anything that I do.  Her favorite way of travel is on my shoulder, so she can see everything, and hide if she has to!  I accidentally leave her cage (it’s a really big, old birdcage, but it works!) open all the time.  Of course she gets out and hides in my room somewhere.  Her favorite place is under my bed, though she’s popped up in several other places.  Usually I can call her and she’ll come, but only because she expects a treat!  I got her for my last birthday.  My dad had a rat for a little while when he was young, but it got out and drowned in the toilet.

            Our iguana is one of our less exciting creatures.  He’s still young and small, though he doesn’t like people very much.  When he gets scared, he whips you with his tail (since it’s all bone and muscle, it hurts a lot!).  He eats salad greens, though he doesn’t appreciate fruit very much.  His absolute favorite thing is his heat lamp.  He sleeps under that all day. 

            We’ve had several hedgehogs before, but they’ve all managed to run away.   Now we have Tilly.  She sleeps a lot and eats kitten food and mealworms.   Tilly loves her piece of bathroom rug, which she sleeps under.   When she’s scared or angry she sounds like a car gunning it’s motor.  She also sheds her prickles, like hair, and they’re very sharp.  I remember many a time when my toes have found hedgehog prickles in the carpet!  A few days ago Tilly got out of her cage and hid somewhere.  It’s happened before, so we didn’t get too worried until she’d been gone almost three days.  Of course we looked for her, but had no luck finding her.  Yesterday, however, I was looking in the guest room’s closet, and I heard her familiar car sound.  It took me a minute to discover her hiding place (behind a trunk).  I stuck myself several times on her prickles picking her up (she curls up when she’s scared).

            Our groundhogs are definitely entertainment itself.  At first we only had Timmon.  She loves to have her cheeks rubbed, and is constantly sticking her nose out of the cage to get our attention.  We nicknamed her Sqeaken, because she always throws back her head and squeals when we pet her.  She’s rubbed all the fur off her nose because she always rubs it against the bars of her cage.  We got Timothy, our second groundhog, as company for Timmon.  He’s cute, but he sleeps a lot.  My dad sometimes doesn’t know about animals until after we get them.  This was the case with Timothy.  Probably the night that we got him, I brought up the subject in front of dad, and mom glared at me.  I guess she’ll break the news to dad from now on…

            Bob is the most energetic of our household (not just referring to the pets!).  Bob is a miniature daschund, and he’s only about a foot long!  We’ve had big dogs before, but Bob (his full name is Bob Chocolate) is tiny.  When my mom takes him to stores, he rides in her purse, his little head sticking out!  The funniest thing Bob does is hide his treats.  When we give him a bone or a chewy, he carries it off.  We find his treats “buried”  all over the house- behind trash cans, in corners, under chairs.  Sometimes he buries it, finds it again, reburies it in a different location, finds it, ect.  Over and over.  Tedious, I think, but he seems to find it amusing!  He also loves to sit in my mom’s lap as she drives, staring out the window.  He’s a great lap dog when he’s not hyper!

            The last animals, I promise!  We have two cats.  Actually, the cats were the first to arrive at our house.  My parents said that the cats were to be the only pets, but you see how that works out!  My brother’s cat is an orange-striped and white marmalade, named Pikachu.  Mine is Leprechaun, or Chaunie- a dark tortoiseshell.  We got them both from Petsmart.  We used to turn the faucets on for them to drink, but that became a problem.  For one thing, we’d forget to turn the faucets off, which wasted a lot of water.  Plus, after their “queenly” treatment, they refused to drink out of their water bowls.  They’d rather drink the leftover shower water in the bottom of the tub, or from the toilet, than from their bowl, no matter how fresh it was.  My mom finally solved the problem by getting them a special water bowl that’s kind of like a fountain.  They like it, but still expect us to turn on the sink faucets for them.  They’re also funny because they’re both cowards.  They run from the dog, which is half their size, and the groundhogs, which are a fourth of their size!  They seem to enjoy teasing the dog, however, when he’s in his kennel or when they’re up on a table, where he can’t get them!

            We definitely have a menagerie in our house, though I think that the word menagerie has a different meaning for me now.  It’s more than a collection of animals- it’s the things that we learn from them.  Such as- how to take care of different kinds of animals, learning how different species can adapt (or not adapt) to having strange creatures living next to them (that wouldn’t be there in the wild), and the fun it can be to be taking care of such a diversity of animals.