Phenomenal Return on Familial Investments

I'm beginning my entry tonight with my

favorite photograph of Gloria and me.

She is tiny and new--and the look in her eyes

mirrors the love and wonder that Heavenly 

Father's eyes must have shown as He bid her

spirit "good bye" so that she could come to 

live her earthly life as a member of Meg's 

family.

In this last year two new people have been added to my immediate family.  This, considering the dearth of the previous three years, is a phenomenal return on my familial investments.  

There is Lauren with her Caleb.  If you follow La on Facebook, you are wildly aware of his captivating charms.  He is 10 months old, 27 pounds--and half my height.  He is as big as most 2 year olds--and bigger than the majority I have seen lately.

Meg, on the other hand, is determinedly  NOT on Facebook.  She also doesn't text--or have a phone on which the two of us can FaceTime. 

During my December sojourn in Maryland, Brent FaceTimed me three or four times a day.  Of course, now that I am back in Florida, he calls me a few times a day--I guess he gets enough of my face when he is home.

December is a busy birthday time for Meg's family.  Gloria was born on the 12th; Jon was also born in December (Yes, I'm very embarrassed that I can't remember the day--but it IS in December.) and (a little after December but in the same vicinity) Anton's birthday is January 3rd.   Kate is the 18th of May and dear Megan was born on October 8th.  

Just for the record:  there are probably places in our family records that list Meg's birthday as October 2nd because that was her due date.  Then Lauren came along with her birthday on May 2nd and so my Swiss cheese memory had Meg's birthday 6 days earlier than it really was for way too many years.

Enough of birthdays.  Meg's family on the day I arrived:  Kate, Jon, Meg and Anton.  

Kate, 4 and 1/2 years old, draws a portrait of her sock monkey.  Megan is impressed by the detail that she includes.  She is quiet and studious here--very focused on her work.

Jon, almost 7 years old, shows me two of the Lego mini figs he created.  He describes their faces, their hats, and their weapons.  Each element has its own story--and Jon earnestly tells me everything.  Everything. 

Megan pushes Jon on the swing.  I am still not flavor of the day and only mom's pushes are requested.

Kate eventually allows me to push her on the baby swings--because Meg can't lift her up and into the seat any longer.  Here:  a triumphant first ride down the big slide.

Kate starts from the bottom to
climb up the leaf step.
Jon comes from the top down
before going from the
ground up.

Megan and Anton in a rare, quiet moment together in Megan's office/studio.  In a few days the family of 4 will become a family of 5.

Anton and Meg just as they are on their way out of the house to go to the birthing center.  It is about 9 pm.  Megan wanted to get there in plenty of time because she wanted to be able to use the hot tub before the baby came.  I guess last time Kate came too quickly. 

The morning after Gloria is born.  She came home from the hospital wearing this outfit and stocking hat.  From the very first, she spends more and more time just looking around--studying the images she can make out. Brent saw the photos I took of Meg and the baby and warned me to look out for signs of post-partum depression.  I reminded him that she had just given birth a few hours earlier and that she was very tired--happy, but tired. 

Born at 11:37 pm on December 12, I took this picture the next morning.  Anton decided to use it in his announcement email to friends and family.
She is named Gloria Louisa Jane.

The first official family portrait.  Jon is all smiles, Kate has to be persuaded to join the group.  Only the fact that she wouldn't be in the photograph if she didn't sit on the couch got her to overcome her ambivalence at Gloria's arrival and sit next to Meg.

Kate holds her sister next.

Jon holds Gloria for the first time. 

I'm afraid that Gloria is handed to Anton by default at this point.  She has been home for a few days, everyone else is cooking supper, setting the table--getting ready for dinner to be served.
Gloria has her eyes wide--Meg calls it her "looking around time."

Christmas morning.  Everyone is sorting through their stockings--Santa did a good job.

Jon got a new camera to do stop motion movies of his Legos and to take pictures of the things he considers interesting.  Megan told him that it was a new tool for him to use in recording his work--for his Legos and for school.

Kate's big gift from Santa was a whole set of clothes just the right size for dressing up her "plushies"--Meg made them out of some of Kate's favorite clothes that she'd outgrown.  The outfit that I saw her use the most had been made from a pair of black and white striped leggings.  

When Kate's bear had the hat (with eyes and two small ears) that worked as a mask, a shirt and a pair of pants . . . he was transformed into a zebra.  She, herself, has a black and white striped shirt and pants.  Thus, when all the laundry was cleaned and put away, both Kate and her bear could be zebras together!

I didn't get a picture of it, but one of Kate's favorite games was to spread a small, knitted blue and white blanket (made by Aunt Lauren at Meg's request) on the floor--carefully straightening out the corners.  Then she took a clothes basket, lined with a small quilt, and placed it in the center of the "water where people can swim or splash or just walk on the beach."  She usually had her "zebra" bear with her on these voyages.

Another Christmas day treat.

Two things here:  Santa (me) brought Kate some spiffy new panda headphones.  For some reason, Kate has become very sensitive to the sound of other people chewing their food.  Meg had gotten an adult sized pair of headphones to dampen the noise--but I found these on-line.  Specifically designed for children with sensory issues--they made them kid-sized with spiffy bear or panda faces.

The other:  Kate and Jon wanted to build a gingerbread house for Christmas--and then eat it.  Meg found a kit at Trader Joes . . . hoping that it would be edible.  It was fun to make, but tasted, ah, terrible.  She had me pick up graham crackers, sprinkles and small candies at the store.  I found some incredibly cute sprinkles in the shapes of green evergreen trees and red Christmas stockings. They were smaller than the candies, but big enough that they could be picked up one by one and placed individually to decorate cookies or a gingerbread house. From melted dark chocolate chips and cream, Meg made a ganache to hold the sides together and the roof on top--and as mortar to hold the decorations onto the graham cracker surface.  Quick, Kate and Jon both to make their own, and delicious--Kate and Jon both devoured their creations a few minutes after finishing them.
Jon wouldn't let me take a picture of his creation--his grand plans did not turn out as he wanted.  He didn't like how it looked, but he definitely liked how it tasted.

LESSON:  Failure can still be delicious.

Kate and I as we set out for our afternoon together.

This is one of my favorite portraits of Jon.  He has so much inside of him that he often doesn't know how to let it out ... except where Legos are concerned.  His Lego creations are as unscripted as the rest of his life is exact.  His favorite way to interact with me (and most other people I saw) was to bring his latest model, show it to me, take it apart and lay the pieces carefully and beautifully out on the floor, and then narrate as he reconstructed the model before your eyes.  I was very much an audience for him ... as I suppose I also was for Kate.

The official family portrait that Anton sent out with the family Christmas cards.  I love being able to capture such images.

One of the last two pictures I took just before I left to return home to Florida.

The other photo.

Three generations.

The final image for tonight.  

Legos with Jon; Charlie Brown and Care Bears Presentations by Nancy Kathleen Burton Wagstaff 1991

Right now I am at Meg's home, helping out while the third child is due to be born.  At night, her older two children have a choice of what they would like to do just before bed:  read a story, sing songs, just go to bed--and Jon decided that he wanted to play Legos with me as his before-bed-treat.  I am honoured that he values my company so highly . . . and it is wicked fun to put random Lego pieces together.  This was my second night's result.  More inventions to come later.  Promise.

As far back as I can remember, mom was always writing plays and skits for Stake Relief Society meetings.  She did not just organize a meeting, she produced an event.

For one meeting, she was trying to instruct the sisters on more effective teaching methods:  a class of 6 sisters sat on the stage in profile, the "teacher" was to the left of them.  The teacher started to talk and thought bubbles on wooden handles were raised by the students above their heads so the audience could "see" what they were thinking.

The teacher lectures.  Every moment or so she asks a "yes" or "no" question.  After a brief moment of silence, the teacher answers her own question . . . and then continues to talk.

The women hold up thoughts that read:  

Then the teacher asked a question starting with "Who?" "How?" "When?" "Where?"

The thought bubbles then change to:

Then--and this was the point of mom's lesson:  the teacher waits for an answer.

"She really wants to know what I think!"  "She's waiting for me to come up with an answer!"  "I know a story I could share!"  etc.

ENGAGE YOUR AUDIENCE BY USING QUESTIONS THAT ALLOW YOUR STUDENTS TO THINK . . . AND THEN GIVE THEM TIME TO COME UP WITH A GENUINE RESPONSE.

For another, she made up Charlie Brown character cut-out cardboard costumes for the sisters to wear.  Lucy was sitting at her "The Doctor is IN" sidewalk stand.  Charlie Brown walks over and sits down.

I don't remember the dialogue, but she constructed the stand and the characters walked all about the front of the chapel during the presentation and spoke the lines mom wrote for them.

This is a sketch of the two Care Bears that my daughters played with when they were little.  They pretty much got "loved to death," but are alive and well in my memory.

The following is a Relief Society Visiting Teacher skit that mom wrote in 1991.

THIS IS A FRACTURED FAIRY TALE AND ANY RESEMBLANCE TO THE ORIGINAL IS SCARILY RECOGNIZABLE . . . . . . . THIS IS THE STORY OF GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE CARE-BEAR SISTERS

ONCE UPON A TIME IN A HOME NEAR YOURS, WAS A LOVELY LADY NAMED GOLDILOCKS.  NOW GOLDILOCKS WAS ONE BUSY LADY, CLEANING THE HOUSE, RUNING ERRANDS, RUNING CHILDREN, SERVING ON THE PTA, SERVING THE THE CHURCH, ALL THE THINGS A LADY USUALLY DOES.  BUT TODAY WAS HER BIRTHDAY.  ONE SPECIAL DAY, JUST FOR HER!

AFTER HER BUSY DAY WAS SPENT, SHE FELT HUNGRY AND WENT TO THE KITCHEN TO GET SOMETHING TO EAT.  BUT INSTEAD OF FINDING 3 BOWLS OF PORRIDGE, SHE FOUND A TABLE FULL OF HALF EATEN FOOD AND A SINK FULL OF DIRTY DISHES.

SHE DECIDED SHE WASN'T HUNGRY AFTER ALL BUT SHE WAS TIRED . . . SO SHE WENT INTO THE LIVING ROOM TO SIT IN HER FAVORITE CHAIR.  BUT TO HER SURPRISE, IT WAS FULL OF SCHOOL BOOKS AND COATS THE CHILDREN HAD DROPPED WHEN THEY CAME HOME FROM SCHOOL.

I WILL JUST TAKE A SHORT NAP SHE SAID TO HESELF.  SO SHE WENT UP STAIRS--BUT THE BEDS WERE NOT MADE AND THE CLOTHES WERE STRUNG ALL OVER THE ROOM.  THIS JUST CAN'T BE MY BIRTHDAY, SHE THOUGHT.  NO ONE HAS REMEMBERED . . . EVERYONE IS TOO BUSY!  SHE FELT VERY, VERY SAD.

MEANWHILE UP IN CARE BEAR LAND THE HAPPY METER WAS RINGING LOUDLY . . . OH, DEAR, SAID ONE OF THE BEARS, SOMEONE IS VERY UNHAPPY.  WE'D BETTER GO DOWN AND SEE WHAT WE CAN DO.   SO FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY PUT ON THEIR MAGIC APRONS AND FEERED THROUGH THEIR MAGIC WINDOW TO SEE WHERE THEY SHOULD GO.  THEN THEY RECOGNIZED GOLDILOCKS--WHO HAD VISITED THEIR HOME MANY YEARS AGO.

FAITH:  IT'S GOLDILOCKS!  SHE'S ALL GROWN UP AND HAS HER OWN HOME AND FAMILY NOW.  LET'S GO VISIT HER!

THREE CARE BEARS:  HI! GOLDILOCKS--REMEMBER US?

GOLDILOCKS:  YOU MUST BE FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY.  I'D FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOU THREE BEARS.  IT'S BEEN SUCH A LONG TIME.  AS YOU CAN SEE, I'VE A HOME OF MY OWN.

GOLDILOCKS SINGS:   (TO THE MELODY OF JUNGLE BOOK'S MY OWN HOME)

     MY OWN HOME, MY OWN HOME.

     MY OWN HOME, MY OWN HOME.

     I NOW HAVE A HANDSOME HUSBAND,

     AND SOME DAUGHTERS OF MY OWN.

     NOW THEY'RE BUSY WITH THEIR GIRL FRIENDS,

     NO ONE STRAIGHTENS UP MY HOME.

     MY OWN HOME, MY OWN HOME.

     NOW THEY'RE BUSY WITH THEIR GIRL FRIENDS,

     NO ONE STRAIGHTENS UP MY HOME.

HOPE:  YOU DO HAVE A LOVELY HOME, BUT THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS THAN CLEANING UP YOUR HOME.

CHARITY:  HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ALL THE THINGS WE TAUGHT YOU LONG AGO?

REMEMBER, NO ONE CAN MAKE YOU HAPPY.   YOU MUST BE HAPPY WITH YOURSELF.

FAITH:  FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY, WE WILL GIVE YOU THE GIFTS OF LOVE SO YOU WILL ALWAYS BE HAPPY.  SO LISTEN CLOSELY.

BEARS TOGETHER:    (TO THE MELODY OF JUNGLE BOOK'S MY OWN HOME)

     FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY

     FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY

     FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY

     GIFTS OF LOVE FOR YOU AND ME.

FAITH:

     FAITH IN THE THE LORD, JESUS CHRIST.

     FAITH IN DOING WHAT IS RIGHT.

     FAITH IN YOURSELV TO OBEY IS THE KEY.

     GIFTS OF LOVE FOR YOU AND ME.

HOPE:

     HOPE IN EACH NEW DAWING DAY.

     HOPE IN THE GOSPEL TO SHOW YOU THE WAY.

     HOPE IN THE LOVE ALL AROUND THAT YOU SEE.

     GIFTS OF LOVE FOR YOU AND ME.

CHARITY:

     CHARITY FOR THOSE AROUND YOUR HOME.

     CHARITY FOR ALL ON EARTH WHO ROAM.

     CHARITY AS PURE AS CHRIST'S LOVE FOR ME.

     GIFTS OF LOVE FOR YOU AND ME.

GOLDILOCKS:  THAT WAS GOOD ADVICE, BUT HOW CAN I ALWAYS REMEMBER IT?

BEARS:  WE'LL SHARE OUR HEART WITH YOU AND EVERY TIME YOU SEE IT WE WANT YOU TO SING THIS SONG.

BEARS SING:       (TO THE TUNE OF JUNGLE BOOK'S BARE NECESSITIES)

     IT'S ALWAYS FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY,

     YES, FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY,

     FORGET ABOUT YOUR WORRIES AND YOUR STRIFE.

     REMEMBER, FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY ARE

     MOTHER NATURE'S RECIPIES THAT BRING THE

     GIFTS OF LOVE INTO YOUR LIFE.

     THAT BRING THE GIFTS OF LOVE INTO YOUR LIFE.

GOLDILOCKS:  WOW!!!  WHAT A HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIFT.  COME ON . . . LETS ALL SING IT AGAIN AND GIVE EVERYONE A HEART SO THEY CAN BE HAPPY TOO.

EVERYONE:      (TO THE TUNE OF JUNGLE BOOK'S BARE NECESSITIES)

     IT'S ALWAYS FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY,

     YES, FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY,

     FORGET ABOUT YOUR WORRIES AND YOUR STRIFE.

     REMEMBER, FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY ARE

     MOTHER NATURE'S RECIPIES THAT BRING THE

     GIFTS OF LOVE INTO YOUR LIFE.

     THAT BRING THE GIFTS OF LOVE INTO YOUR LIFE.

BY NANCY WAGSTAFF.   2/17/91


I love the bits that I have been able to find from mom--they are few, but each one is a remarkable indication of the incredible person she was--and the inventive ways she found to teach and share her love of the Lord and His ways.

Current State of Our Union

Nathan and Brent:  The Two Men in My Life
The Center of My Life Now

For the longest time my life was filled with Meg, La, Nate and Brent--and that was about it.  There were so many things going on--just keep up with the laundry, providing meals, cleaning up after meals, changing sheets (I never did require that anyone--including myself--actually MAKE their beds.), getting little and big people where they needed to go, picking little and big people up on time.  Play dates, Church, being a home room mother, volunteering as a tutor at my children's elementary school, making time to play and talk and swing and laugh and listen:  all these things made for rich writing fodder.  

Now I have physical therapy--first to strengthen my core to reduce lower back pain from bulging discs, last September to recuperate from my 4th right shoulder operation, in February I added recuperation and therapy for two torn hamstring muscles in my right leg.  The fact that I am not holding up very well as time goes by isn't really anything that I want to happen to me--much less write about.

Before I realized that I was pregnant with Megan, I was enroll in a gymnastics class at BYU.  As soon as I found out, and then told the instructor, I was banned from the trampoline.  Since I had not been actively bouncing on it for a long time before I got pregnant, I was prohibited from using it at all . . . too much of a chance that I might bring on a miscarriage.  

I was grounded.

Brent carries me on his shoulders again.

From the first months of our marriage, we walked just about everywhere.  On BYU campus, walking to class, Brent would--at unexpected moments--pick me up and swing me up and onto his shoulders.  He would continue walking with me perched securely above the crowd around us--as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have your wife on top your shoulders.  I loved it.   I remember writing about that--and about the fact that my increasing girth made it impossible for Brent to carry me on his shoulders.  

I was grounded.

Having been the eldest, yet the shortest member of my family growing up, I had to endure, every summer, my brothers and sisters the short jokes during the long hours we drove across the country.  Since summer vacation consisted of sleeping on floors in the homes of aunts, uncles and grandparents, I wasn't all that happy to be in the car in the first place.  On Brent's shoulders I was so high that I could see from one end of campus to the other.  I was no longer short--atop my eternal husband, I was taller than I could possibly be alone.  But by my third trimester, Brent could still swing me onto his shoulders--but my stomach was so large that I would fall backwards.

I was grounded.

Something to complain about, which I did, until Meg was actually born.  The magic of her sweet being pushed all of my previous objections completely out of the way.  

Instead of being bound to the earth, I was able to carry about with me a bit of eternal heaven.  This new stage in Brent's life and in mine gave me incredible new things to think and to write about.  

I found this snapshot of me taken about 4 years ago.  Obviously I am at the end of a day spent digging about in the soil of our Palm Beach home.  Again, grounded--but this time quite in love with the process of growing cuttings, sprouting seeds, dividing and then re-planting plants that had overgrown their space.  I loved the fact that an incredible number of the bushes and flowers that covered our gardens were of my own nurture.  I took classes and learned how to fertilize, reproduce, and plant growing things that I had had a hand in reproducing.

These are the blossoms on the star fruit tree that grows in our yard.  The fruit is so tender and sweet--nothing like the waxy, tasteless things the supermarket produce departments are able to supply.

This, too, gave me great numbers of new ideas to latch together and write about.

*******

Today I went to two hours of physical therapy and then came home and washed some dishes, pulled the sheets from our bed and started a load of laundry.

The days are a mix of the things I love doing--like putting together puzzles, walking barefoot in the grass, laying in bed at night next to Brent and hearing him breath, hearing his heart beat--and the things that I don't care much for.  Cleaning out closets, sorting through drawers, culling photographs, scanning others into my computer, washing the floor, making sure that everyone has enough of their kind of milk and their kind of bread:  these tasks I think of as common place, onerous jobs--necessary but tiresome.  And there isn't much I find inspiring--inspiring enough to write about, anyway. 

Perhaps, I need to find the ability to discover wonder and curiosity in the common place and the routine . . . appreciate and write about the ground I work on every day.

Maybe.

One of the roses from the wild rose bushes I planted.  I got the bushes from Palm Beach State College.  The horticultural program there grows plants for the campus and provides a classroom for the students taking classes there.

What I Remember of Summers at Grandma Burton's House

Grandma Burton's house.  You can see the raspberry bushes on the right side of the photo--by the side of the garage.

Mom standing by her front door.

Mom, again, in front of her home.  This time dad, Susan, Martha, Rob, Nathan and I --her own family.

When I was a little girl, our family would spend every summer visiting extended family. My mother's favorite place was her own home in Afton, Star Valley, Wyoming.  

Mom again, this time posing on the steps of the side porch.  

Susan, me and Martha feeding the lamb (Lamby) that Grandma bought one summer.  She intended to have it slaughtered at the end of the summer to provide meat for the family.  After having all the grandchildren feed and love it--the lamb turned into a pet that she could not kill . . . so she traded hers with the lamb a neighbor had raised . . . and had that one slaughtered.  They could not bear to eat their own Lamby.
We are sitting on the steps of the side porch.

To get to Grandma Burton's, we first drove south into Iowa from where we lived Edina, Minnesota, and west across Nebraska and all the way across Wyoming to the western edge of the state.  We drove up into the Rocky Mountain range, twisting up and down and around the individual mountains.  There were no lights along the two lane road--but during the day, you could look across the valley to the face of the opposite mountain and the light tan line zig zagging back and forth.  

Switchback road leading down into Star Valley, Wyoming.  My sketch.

Mom drove slowly--there were semi-trucks sharing the road.  Every once and a while, the road would be extended straight up the side of the mountain as the road continued on a level path.  Mom told me that those were for the semi-trucks if their brakes failed.  Instead of running wildly down the mountain, the truck driver could steer his out-of-control vehicle straight up these narrow roads . . . allowing the trucks slow down safely.  

The thought of that happening always sent a thrill of terror down my spine: so much weight and speed let loose on a road where families like ours were on their way to visit their grandmas and grandpas for summer vacation. 

Arthur Dixon Burton and Kathleen Powell:  Grandma and Grandpa Burton

Mom drove carefully up and down the mountain sides, slowly cutting along the narrow roads--until we began our descent into Star Valley itself.  At that point, we could have been a run away semi-truck.  As we hit the floor of the valley, mom would name of each little towns as we flashed through the short lengths of their main streets. Most didn't even have a stop light--but they all had a city hall and a post office, a grocery store and a general store.  

Some even had a one-pump gas station.  None of these could compare to the gas station in Afton:  Burton Gas.  My Grandpa Burton owned the first gas station in the Valley--opened before the Depression and still in business as we arrived in the summer months of the 1960s and '70s.  If we arrived during the middle of the day, our first stop would be to see mom's father.  He always gave us free candy bars--a "poison" Grandma preached against.  (She also forbid face cards in her home--they were used for gambling and she wanted to avoid "even the appearance of evil.")

I still have a window scraper from Grandpa's gas station.  It is white with a clip on the back of the handle.  That clip secures it out of the way, on the back of the sun visor, until it is needed to clear ice from the windshield during winter months.  

When we got to Afton, we fit ourselves into the flow of activities of Grandma Burton's household.  We were each assigned a towel that we used for a week before it was washed.  (At our home, towels got used once and then were thrown into the chute that went from the upstairs bathroom downstairs to be washed.)  And when Grandma washed the clothes, there was a huge metal tub that sat next to the machine and the same water was reused for all of the cycles--it got grayer and grayer as it was spewed out and sucked back in. (I tried not to think of that water when I dried myself off after my bath.)

Grandma Burton made bread from wheat that she ground in her home.  She had a professional sized mixer that allowed her to mix up six loaves of bread at once.  The bread was wonderful.  It wasn't like any bread I had tasted before--or have tasted since.  It was light brown, heavy and moist.  She covered the bottom of the bread pan and the top crust of each loaf with butter and then sesame seeds.  After the bread came out of the over and cooled, Grandma would loosen the bread and then tip it out onto a wood cutting board that slipped under the kitchen counter like a drawer.  When the loaf came out, half a handful of seeds would be left behind.  She would scoop them up into her hand and return them to the container she kept the seeds in, so that they could be used on the next batch of bread she made.  

The bread's flavor was nutty and just the right company for her special blend of butter.  She mixed real butter, softened to room temperature, with sunflower and other light oils.  This meant that the butter was always smooth and easy to spread--even when it was just out of the refrigerator.  The combination of the heavy, moist, lightly-sweet bread and the clean, barely-salted butter eaten together remain one of my most cherished, vibrant childhood memories.

If we stayed until early August, there were raspberries!  Grandma would tie a quart glass canning jar around our stomachs and we would be assigned a place along the stretch of bushes.  When we filled our jar, we would bring it in to the kitchen to be emptied.  I do not remember filling many jars--although I do remember being full of raspberries most of the time we were there.  

Grandma went to get milk right from the dairy.  She had huge glass jars holding two gallons (at least) of milk each.  There was a small wooden room between the place where the cows were milked (we never did see the cows) and the milk was pasteurized.  The cement floor was always damp and clean.  We would hold the jars under the large spigot and fill them to the top with cool, foamy milk.  Grandma would screw on a lid, mark in a book how much milk she had taken, and we would carefully carry the jars home with us. 

The jars stayed in the refrigerator over night so that the cream could separate and be skimmed off.  Sometimes she just stirred the cream back in--but when she didn't I loved looking down at the top surface of the jar's contents and seeing the cream's yellow, swirled strings on the blue-white background of the skimmed milk.

Once we brought home three jars and I poured myself a big glass as soon as we got to the kitchen.  It tasted AWFUL.  It tasted like the milk room smelled . . . kind of like milk and kind of like cleaner and water.  I made myself drink it, though, thinking that it was just my imagination.  About half an hour later, Grandma got a call--we had gotten our milk from the spigot during a system clean out.  What we got looked like something it wasn't.  I didn't throw up, but the taste in my mouth and the feeling in my stomach is as awful in my memory as Grandma's bread and butter is delicious.  

The evenings were cool enough that we wore sweaters.  The sun came up later and went down sooner than it did in Minnesota.  In Minnesota I slept in the basement; in Wyoming everyone was relegated to the second floor.  Minnesota had squirrels in the back yard with a sand box and a swing set.  

Winter image of the Minnesota sandbox and tree where the squirrels lived.  I think it Susan here, making something out of snow.

Wyoming had a fenced field with two horses in it next door; a ring of bushes around the house where I could hide and pretend I was invisible; 

Susan, Rob and Martha in Grandma's back yard.

an old hand-turned cement mixer that had long ago been "frozen" by rust and which filled with water when it rained;

How I remember the cement mixer.  We would fill it with handfuls of grass and berries from the bushes around Grandma's house, pretending that we were mixing something wonderful to eat. My sketch.

a platform and revolving clothes line that screaked when you hung laundry on one section then pushed it around to hang more. 

I loved hanging the laundry out.  I could only reach the inner lines, but I filled them as full as I could.  My sketch.

Years later, I saw the horse walking machines that stables use to cool down two or three horses at a time after a long ride.  They are the same size and shape as Grandma's clothes line.  Seeing one of those reminded me of hanging out wet clothes in Wyoming and then pulling them off--stiff as boards because of Grandma's washing machine use and re-use of wash water--when they were dry.

In Minnesota, Mom taught us how to feed squirrels (there was an albino squirrel that lived in our back yard for a few years) so that they would take food from your hand--if you were quiet and patient enough.  In Wyoming, Grandma taught me how to scrub a kitchen floor--using a knife to scrape off stubborn bits of food rather then my fingernail so that my nails would always look nice.  In Minnesota, I cut the grass with a gas-powered lawnmower that mom or dad would first start by pulling the starter: a long, thin rope with a small, T-shaped, black plastic bar at the end to hold on to.  In Wyoming, I sat upstairs, alone and quiet for hours on end, and read years worth of old Reader's Digests. In Minnesota, I would hold a book in my teeth and climb the oak tree across the street--from there I could be away from my brothers and sisters and all the neighbor kids and pretend I was invisible--settle myself in a comfortable crook and read until the sun went down.  In Wyoming, we would hike high up into the mountains behind the house and take off our shoes and put our feet into the freezing water to cool off--the fast running stream was fed all year by snow high up in the mountain peak and would give you an "ice cream headache" if you drank it too fast.  

Another photo of Grandma's home--you can see the bushes that surrounded the front and left side of the building.

  

Virginia Beach Beach and Petting Farm--Grandma, Aunt Jenny, Kate and Jon

In May, I got to meet up with Megan, Anton, Kate, Jon and Anton's sister, Jenny in Maryland.  We then drove down to Virginia Beach, VA.  Jen and I took care of the kids while Meg and Anton attended a three day seminar focused on home schooling.  It was a wonderful opportunity to get to know Jenny a little bit and to spend time with the children.  After the kids were asleep in their room, Meg and Anton took turns coming to spend time with Jenny and me in ours.  

The water was cold and harsh.  There was a stiff, cold wind, too.  Even though the photos look like a beach--compared to Florida's balmy shoreline--it was just a wide, sandy pathway with occasional, loud, cold splashes of water when we got too close to the ocean.  Kate preferred to stay as far away from the water as possible--Jon found great satisfaction in running back and forth with the waves as they washed over the sand.  I think, though, that he likes anything that moves about a lot.  

Megan had a list of things that she wanted to experience--most of them had to do with eating various kinds of frozen sweet stuff.  

One of my best memories of this trip will be of Kate.  At one of the frozen yogurt/custard places we stopped (I think it was a Sweet Frog shoppe) we got our bowls and filled them with whatever yogurt and toppings we wanted.  Anton told Kate that she had to wait until they had paid for the food before she could begin eating.  During this time, the group was also waiting for me (spending some quality time with my body in the bathroom--that was a sly reference to the fact that I often spend over an hour on the toilet--and those I am with have to wait for me).  Kate patiently sat, holding her bowl.  When everyone had finished, we got ready to go and Kate began to cry.  

She was still waiting for Anton to tell her that it was OK to eat her dessert!  All that time and she was content to put off consuming her choice of melting yogurt and toppings--

At three years of age, she has an amazingly mature sense of propriety.  She is also smart and very beautiful.

My favorite memory of Jon will be his decision to get Kate a peacock feather from the Petting Farm.  She didn't want to go with us--so she stayed with Jenny and played (and sang to herself) quietly.  The idea was for her to fall asleep and get some rest . . . didn't work.  But the day turned magic when Jon presented her with the 3 1/2 foot long plume.  

She decided that it was a magic feather and brought it with her everywhere we went from then on.  Jon was charmed by the fact that his gift was so well received.  

And so was I.

Another highlight was a Bounce House indoor play place.  It was a store that had been converted into a huge selection of bounce houses.  There was a place for the very young, the next-to-very young--all the way up to the adult.  I had a great time.  We went twice--one price got you unlimited visits for a week.  Jon laughed and jumped and ran and climbed--and had a wonderful time.  Kate played quietly in the area reserved for the very young.  She didn't like the bounce places--but did enjoy riding in the Playschool cars and waundering about the other areas where nothing moved or made noise.

Sometimes just being in a new place is excitement enough.  I hope that next time, though, Kate will decide to be brave enough to join us at the Petting Farm.  I think the llamas and the miniature goats would really enjoy being near her.

Kate takes over the blanket.

Aunt Jenny acts as consumer for Kate's home-made sand ice cream cones.

Jon gives me a real face--the next few faces were poses after
having eaten sand . . . yeah, I didn't get it either.

Jon points out the jello-mold-topped mound of sand we called our "Sand Castle." 

The ocean claims our prize.  Kate is an unwilling spectator.  She prefers the quieter,
"small ocean" kid pool at the hotel.

Kate works with the water and the tools Megan found at Ikea.

Jon squishes a ball before throwing it.

Kate from behind.

Jon asked me to take a picture of him and Megan.

Jon faces a very determined tortoise.

Jon in the laying house at the Petting Farm.

Jon didn't like being up so high at first, but by the time the ride was almost over,
he was quite comfortable.  It helped that there was a school class there on a
field trip and as they watched him ride by, they began to chant "Pony! Pony! Pony!"

Jon discovered that one of the llamas liked being fed stray bits of hay that Jon collected from off of the ground.
It was cool to watch Jon so at home around such big animals.

Just as we were getting ready to leave, one of the miniature goats gave birth to triplets.
We missed the big event--thankfully--but we got to see them here, 24 minutes old.

Nathan and Me and the New Temple

Nathan and me, posing like tourists in front of the new Florida, Fort Lauderdale Temple. The public Open House is in full swing.  I take the Friday night shift as a tour guide, sleep at a hotel nearby, and then get up early for the first Saturday shift--again, as a tour guide.  

Brent and Nathan went for three days last week and volunteered as ushers.  They both worked outside and came home sun burnt from 5 hours in the hot sun without shade or sunscreen.  Actually, Nate did put on sunscreen, but it probably came off during the first half hour as he got hot and sweaty.  Brent's poor face didn't have a chance . . . he is peeling and it makes me hurt to think of him shaving every morning.  

He is braver about it, though.  The second and third days both Nate and Brent used sunscreen and wore hats.  

I feel a little guilty that I get to stay in where it is cool--leading groups of people through the temple--while they took up posts outside, directing traffic and helping with handicap parking.   

Nate and me and the Fort Lauderdale Temple before the open house began.
February 2014.

I do love the temple, though.  It is an exquisite building.  You must come and see it for yourself.

Seriously.  You can stay with us and we'll drive down together.  !!!