Sunday Morning

I woke up this morning at 6:08 am, just like every other morning. But today, unlike most mornings, I rolled over and closed my eyes again. I snuggled down into my quilt and drifted back into an unfinished dream. Then I slowly became aware of sounds: a train, the fridge motor, the cat dashing down the stairs, traffic on the highway, a bird, Seth rolling over. I slowly opened my eyes to sunlight filtering through the blinds and no evidence of wind blowing. No need to hurry. It is Sunday morning and the world can wait.

It's nearly seven before I get out of bed. Seth is showing no sign of getting up. Mariah is sleeping, and will be for quite a while. There are no engines running in the parking lot, no motel guests ringing the bell or phone. The house is quiet and still. No early meetings today and church isn't until ten. The yard work is done until tomorrow. The laundry will wait for another few days. Sunday is different, a needed change after six very busy days.

I wake up slowly in a long hot shower. I let the water run over me, enjoying the luxury. Extra time in the bathroom is one of the advantages of the kids growing up and leaving home. I lotion up my legs and dry hands and cracked heels. Then I head to the kitchen for something warm and delicious, my favorite breakfast of hot cereal and fruit.

I empty the dishwasher, put in my bowl and spoon, and clear away Saturday's clutter from the counters. Dinner today will be easy with corn on the cob, salad, and grilled salmon, already marinating in the fridge. Sarah is doing some kind of bread. Seth is up and has already taken out the garbage and watered my hanging baskets. I feel loved. I take a few minutes to catch up on my email and look over the schedule for the week ahead. Mariah emerges from her room, towel in hand and hair rumpled. A brief "hey" and she's in the shower.

On Sunday mornings I tend to look at my life, examine my faith, count my blessings and find ways to strengthen relationships. Today I love my life, am secure in my faith, overwhelmed by my many blessings, and grateful for my many friends and family. I look forward to my morning church meetings with their renewal of covenants and new insights, a loud family dinner with the Weskes, the afternoon to rest and re-energize, perhaps a game or a movie with Mariah and Seth, phone calls and emails to my loved ones, and time to organize my efforts for the week ahead.

Sunday is a gift, a blessing, a day for family and faith and rest. I'm so glad it is Sunday morning.

Seth's Spring Adventure

"Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop off like falling leaves." (John Muir)

Seth recently finished a big block job and decided it was time to get out of "this false life" into the "reality" of the mountains. So last Monday afternoon he packed up his gear and headed to the hills. His plan was to drive as far as he could toward Lake Alice, stopping when the snow and mud made passage impossible, and then hiking up and over whatever it took to reach the lake. He left a kayak by the lake last fall and thought he'd see if it was still tied to the tree there and, perhaps, bring it out. He purchased a bear tag "just in case" and a fishing license "if the ice is off the lake". He filled his water jugs and gathered some easy-prep food and a fry pan (and real butter, of course) "for the fish". He headed out the door, turned back long enough for a quick kiss and "don't worry unless I'm not back by Saturday afternoon", and he was off.

A little more than three days later, Seth came home. He had a bleeding gash on his ear and he was still wearing his fishing waders. He was not carrying his pack into the house, had no fish on a string, and was not showing off any photos. There was no coat or rifle in sight. But, because I was occupied carrying groceries into the house, it was quite a while later before I realized that these clues were telling me more than Seth was!

To get all the details of this adventure you'll have to hear the complete version from Seth himself. However, the short version, from what I've been able to figure, goes something like this:

He drove to a spot where the river crosses the road, left the truck there, waded the river and hiked over the mountain to the lake. He saw lots of deer, elk and even a cinnamon colored black bear. For a couple days he enjoyed the quiet and the solitude, even the strenuous exercise. This was just the change of pace he had hoped for. The lake was still covered with ice. The kayak was still where he left it in the fall.

He decided to bring the kayak out, dragging it over the snow. At one point he left his sleeping bag and gun by the trail, planning to retrieve it in a couple weeks when the road opened up, and decided to ride the kayak out on the river. He loaded his pack and self onto the kayak and headed out. Wild ride. Great adventure. However, it ended in a bit of disaster. The boat flipped on a waterfall, throwing and sinking Seth in the cold, fast moving spring runoff water. He was in a "washing machine" for a time, lost his paddle but grabbed a branch as the boat drifted by. The powerful river pinned him against the tree, but his head was above water and he watched helplessly as the boat drifted down the river. His waders became filled with water, making it difficult to pull himself out. But, luckily, his squirrel-chewed life jacket held his head above water. The kayak became trapped upside down by a natural damn of collected debris, the pack still strapped to it. Thankfully, he was eventually able to get himself out of the water, but could not retrieve the kayak without some help. He hiked to the truck and came home.

Jason went up with Seth the next morning. They hiked until they found the kayak (it had moved several hundred feet down river) and together were able to hook it and pull it to shore. The pack, though, was nowhere to be seen, the straps holding it had ripped away. A thorough search of the area produced nothing. They gave it up.

I won't even tell you what was in the the backpack. It could give you a stomach ache. Suffice it to say, that little blue kayak is now worth a lot more than it used to be! Truth be told, it doesn't really matter. It was just stuff. But if any of you along the Smith's Fork come across a light gray backpack, full of very wet equipment and a once great pair of hiking boots, you'll know it belongs to Seth.

The important thing is that Seth came home, scraped and scratched and cold, but in one piece--alive. He is none the worse for the wear and tear. He is already planning his next adventure......what a guy!

"A little madness in the spring is wholesome even for a king." (Emily Dickenson)

PLANTING

Over the past few weeks I have been planting trees, tiny saplings no taller than three feet. Some are destined to become tall bushy shade trees. Some are evergreens. I've found joy in the process, though it has not been an easy task.

The soil in Wyoming is dry and rock-filled, some clay. The digging is difficult, requiring not only a shovel but a pick. My hands have developed blisters beneath calluses. Watering of the newly planted trees is a long process. Hoses must be carried to close proximity. Often ice still fills the hoses in the early part of the day. Care must be taken to fill the wells without damaging the tender roots just below the surface. The wind is already trying to bend over the frail trunks. I suppose there are reasons for so few trees in my desert home.

Planting requires a certain amount of faith, hope in nature's certainty. Natural laws say that what you plant will grow, if provided with what it needs. The very act of putting a seed in the ground, is an expression of belief in it's ability to flourish. A sunflower seed will produce sunflowers. An acorn will produce an oak tree. A tomato seed will produce a plant full of round, red, edible tomatoes. A zucchini seed will produce enough squash to feed the neighborhood! Our part is to dig and plant and water and fertilize and save the plant from weeds. We look to the sun and earth and the seed itself to do the rest. Each growing thing is its own miracle really.

Planting is worth the effort, even recognizing that as many as 60% of my little trees may not survive the brutal elements of our climate. My careful choice of species and constant vigilance may not be enough to help some of them "fill the measure of their creation". But I have hope that twenty years from now, on any given summer afternoon, you will find me sitting beneath one of my trees sipping lemonade and reading a good book. And so I plant.

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

To all you wonderful women out there--

mothers,
daughters,
sisters,
grandmothers,
aunts,
friends,
neighbors

What would the world be without women?

Have a great day!

WICKED

This week I had the opportunity to attend the theatre to see the musical production "Wicked", thanks to a Christmas gift from Ben and Heidi. The whole experience was wonderful--comfortable seats, good view, great company, fantastic performance. I won't ruin the story for those of you who have not yet had the chance to see the play. Suffice it to say, it is the story of the witches of "The Wizard of Oz". It cleverly links all the familiar characters, revealing their history and more detail into their true character. The music, of course, was the highlight for me and the sound system brought you right down to stage level (even though I was sitting on the mezzanine). The energy of the performers was incredible and the nearly three hour production moved along very quickly, entertaining to the very end. Over all, the evening was fabulous. Even the late night drive home was pleasant as I relived it all in my mind.

I've always loved live stage productions. Since I was small they have been part of my world. Mom was involved in music and theatre as a performer. That's even how she found Dad, who took care of the production and promotion side. As much as I like movies, I will always enjoy attending live productions. (Just a little note about that: during one scene in "Wicked" a prop was thrown into the air and instead of coming down as planned, it landed on top of some scenery causing a brief break in character and lots of laughter from the audience.) You never know what is going to happen. It is real every time.

A few thoughts from the musical:

"Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes and leap..." (Elphaba)

"I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you." (Glinda)

So whenever you get the chance, whether it is a small local show or a Broadway production, attend some live theatre. It's always worth your time and will entertain in a way you will find no where else. The only thing better is to be performing!

WHAT IS IT ABOUT MUSIC?

I was in a church meeting today that included a performance by a small choir. They were few in numbers, a variety of ages, a rag-tag type group, typical of most ward choirs. I wasn't impressed by their appearance and didn't expect much. But when they began to sing, my heart was transformed. They sang a simple arrangement of a familiar hymn with pure, perfect harmony. Suddenly I felt like I was in heaven, safe and comfortable, loved. There was a spirit of peace, a reminder that God is aware of all. I felt a yearning for the music to go on, for life's challenges to remain at bay for just one more moment.

What is it about music that touches our very soul? How can a simple melody flood our hearts and minds with peace and hope and joy?

Earlier in the week, I spent an evening with my grandson, Jaxon. We blew bubbles and shared a sandwich. We played with Legos and action figures. When it was time to go home, we took a few minutes to clean up the toys. He was hesitant to help at first, but then he started singing, "Clean up. Clean up. Everybody do your part..." and off he went to finish the job.

What is it about music that motivates us and makes our work seem easier?

Last night Seth and I watched a movie together. Music set the tone of the movie even before any picture took shape. We had a good idea what type of story would unfold before a word was spoken.

What is it about music that arouses our senses and brings our emotions to the surface?

A few weeks ago I turned on the radio and heard "La Traviata". Memories of days long past flooded my mind: thoughts of Mom and her stage performances, coming home to find Dad sleeping in the middle of the floor with classical tunes blaring, back yard plays and nights at BYU dance productions. I left it turned to classical music all afternoon and reveled in the memories.

What is it about music that opens our minds and awakens our memories?

I love music. I can't imagine life without it. I'm so grateful that it has been such a big part of my life.

"Thank you for the music, the songs I'm singing. Thanks for all the joy their bringing. Who can live without it? I ask in honesty. What would life be? Without a song or a dance what are we?
So I say thank you for the music...for giving it to me...." (ABBA)

ANGER

A few weeks ago, my nephew Jeff filled his blog with thoughts on anger. It's been on my mind ever since. I've noticed anger in social situations, at the gas station, on the road, at the school and the post office, and a few times in myself. I've seen it put up walls between friends, siblings, parents and children, teachers and students, coaches and teammates.

I've remembered times in my life when I let anger take over and the results--sadness, shame, ruined relationships, sometimes even horror at the magnitude of it's power. I have looked inward, searching myself for any remaining justifications or explanations to ever allow anger to determine my actions. Luckily, I don't often deal with anger in my home. We are usually easy-going and calm. I have come to recognize anger sometimes as an expression of other feelings--bitterness, grief, hurt, especially fear. Like most things, I find it easier to forgive anger in others before myself. I don't want anger in my life. As an imperfect human, though, I sometimes allow it in, however unwanted.

Others' thoughts on anger that have struck a chord with me recently:

Anger and resentment can stop you in your tracks. It needs nothing to burn but the air and the life that it swallows and smothers. It's real, though, the fury. Even when it isn't, it can change you, turn you, mold you and shape you into someone you're not. The only upside to anger is the person you become...hopefully someone who wakes up someday and realizes they're not afraid of it's journey. Someone who knows that the truth at it's best is a partially told story. That anger, like growth, comes in spurts and fits and in it's wake leaves a new chance at acceptance and the promise of calm. (The Upside of Anger)

If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow. (Chinese proverb)

Getting angry can sometimes be like leaping into a wonderfully responsive sports car, gunning the motor, taking off at high speed and then discovering the brakes are out of order. (Maggie Scarf)

Anger is a wind which blows out the lamp of the mind. (Robert G. Ingersoll)

Thanks to Jeff for bringing up the subject and leading me to some introspection. Everyone will sometimes feel anger. Learning to control anger is part of becoming our best self. I will continue to work on that.