Ice Hockey and a Christmas Play

Saturday turned out to be the perfect day for visiting my younger brother and his family. First we watched Jantzen (child #4) play ice hockey and Wow! What coordination, balance and strength to skate like he did, and with a hockey stick to boot. That was my first time ever at a hockey game. I kept expecting fists to fly the way the players ran into and tried blocking each other, but that didn't happen. Jantzen told me later that a fist fight in Utah will cost the offending players bench warming for three games.

We also went to the church/school of which Theresa is the new principal. She has a degree in education and a background in high school drama. She directed a play written by a local person from Vernal called, "The Here-to-fore Never Told Story of the Second Christmas". I apologize for not remembering his name. I will post it later. I met him and suggested that he write the play as a children's story and submit it for publication. If I were a publisher, I'd snap it up in a minute. The play was told through the eyes of the manger animals right as Jesus is turning a year old. Queston (19, child #1) played "Uncle Gordon" who acted as the narrator by reading a story to his family. Kolsen (14, child #5) played "Bull" and Garrett (17, #3) played "Donk" the lead role. The play is funny, clever and warm and it answers the question, "If Jesus was a King, why was he born in a stable, and why did he make his entrance into Jerusalem by riding a donkey and not something larger and more fitting of royalty?"


Hard to see but "Uncle Gordon" is wearing the Santa hat and has a child on his back.Donk has identity issues. He wants Jesus to turn him into a stallion.

Donk and Bull having a conversation.

"Uncle Gordon" talking with his relative.

"Bull" talking to the sheep about "Donk"

"Donk" and "Bull" together.

"Donk"learns the truth.

Curtain call.Full cast curtain call.

Interlude

Rocksprings, Wyoming. Quality Inn. I remember living in this town for three weeks in a small trailer on a construction site in the dead of winter. Brandon was 3 and 1/2 and Chantel was about 1. It was a motherhood adventure, trying to cook when the pipes were frozen, entertain children, keep them clean and warm, all the while using water from the neighbor's garden hose for cooking and bathing. I have sweet memories of those days. Brandon played with a little foster child named "Chewey" from the house next door; Chantel was the happiest baby. She learned to stand alone and she was so proud of herself! She took her first steps shortly after we went home to Burley.

Larry returned to Rock Springs and worked for another month, glad that we hadn't stayed with him because the temperatures dropped even more and the weather was brutal. Terry, I think his name was, offered Larry a partnership and we talked about it, but we would have had to move to Wyoming among other things. Larry enjoyed working with his father, too. Staying in Burley was a good decision and one we never regretted.

Road Trip, Days 5 and 6

All Quiet on the Western Front. I took Mom to two doctor appointments two days in a row. I like driving and it was nice to be out. Other than errands though, Mom has done a lot of cooking, (I really should write a cookbook of her recipes!) and I have been TV shopping for Christmas, and working on a "project" which I can't reveal yet because, again, blogs have ears and eyes.

Today I'm going to Vernal to hang out with my favorite younger brother John, (the one who calls me Polly Pureheart) and watch my nephew Jantzen play ice hockey. Then in the afternoon, we're all going to a matinee Christmas play directed by my oh-so-talented sister-in-law. Three of her five children have roles in the play and I believe this is an annual community event. I'm looking forward to it. Photos to follow.

Now for the latest news:

My mom is not going with me to Baltimore and just as well for various reasons. Her health won't allow it for one. I would have enjoyed the company, but I am just as happy rocking out to my music in the car, singing, or listening to conference talks. Tomorrow, Sunday, I'm leaving early in the morning. I have to back track a hundred miles in order to get to I-80 safely. I"ve been watching the weather channel and Chantel has been checking the internet. It looks like I'll be about a day behind the next storm. Hope to drive about 600 miles per day. At that rate, I'll be at Chantel's by Tuesday evening. My furniture is arriving there today, all 4,980 pounds of it. It's all their fault, those books that won't let me go...

Road Trip, Day 4

I drove almost 1000 miles before my tires hit even a patch of snow. The roads were clear through Salt Lake City, past the turn-off to Park City, through Heber, Duschene, Roosevelt, and Neola. It wasn’t until I turned off to White Rocks that the roads were more snow and ice than pavement.

Poor little White Rocks. I always feel sad whenever I pass the tiny cemetery that is really just a patch of gravely dirt, decorated with plastic flowers and personal memorabilia out in the middle of brush and fields of grazing cattle. This is high desert, not the lush green one thinks of when picturing farm land. This land is more harsh and more remote. It's also Ute Indian reservation land. The government didn't know, over a hundred years ago when this became Ute land, that it is a land rich in natural gas, and minerals. You wouldn't know it though, to see how these people live. Turning at the humble little intersection that parades as a town, White Rocks cannot hide its poverty.

Several miles later I made the final turn to Mom’s. I could see the small house and its soft blue color sitting beneath the giant elm trees, snow-covered and void of leaves this time of year. Fantastic ice icicles hung from the eaves. Snow crunched beneath my fur-lined boots as I walked up the ramp to the back porch door. I haven’t been in this much snow since the year I went to Germany and Austria for Christmas. This felt colder. The temperature was 18 degrees. I’ve been complaining for awhile now that I miss the four seasons. Well, welcome home. I’ll have to get used to this, but I look forward to the challenge.

The house front. The longest icicle is longer than Mom is tall.

This is the back of the house. It's hard to see in this picture but there's an even longer icicle here, first seen through the kitchen window. Fantastic.

Road Trip, Day 3

Tuesday morning I awoke late in the Adam’s guest room after sleeping like a princess on soft sheets under a down comforter with a silk duvet. All was quiet, but it wasn’t the quiet of loneliness or the sweet solitude I have come to treasure as I grow older, but a gentle feeling of peace that permeated their beautiful home. Evidence of Clytie’s touch was everywhere, from portraits of her daughters’ weddings on the walls, to an antique velvet settee, to eucalyptus bows and plush white towels in the guest bathroom. Outside, beneath the clear blue morning sky, deep white snow covered a sloping hill full of scrub oaks. I could just make out a terraced path that leads down to a creek.

During breakfast at the heavy wooden table, Clytie and Spence and I reminisced about the Pittsburg ward they had left behind when their mission ended almost two years ago. It was the same ward that welcomed my return to activity, literally with open arms, the people who loved and counseled Brandon during what I consider the darkest days of his life, the place where I met Gloria and Julie, lifelong friends, and the ward where I learned to really lead music, not just wave my arms around.

I had been somewhat nervous when the invitation came from the bishop to lead the singing of hymns on Sundays. I love music both singing it and listening to it, but leading it is something different. Sister Adams made me forget my anxiety when she said, “You know, you could get up there (in front of the congregation) and wave a dead chicken around and no one would notice; they don’t pay attention to the chorister!) I had to laugh. It is true; many people sing with their noses in their hymnbooks, but by the time I left the ward, I had developed a relationship between chorister and organist, and chorister and ward.

The Adams and I continued to talk together in that easy way so natural among friends. It seems that we had simply taken up where we left off. Suddenly, I saw through the sliding doors, movement in the back yard. Three mule deer had come to feed. Clytie said they’ve seen as many as seven at one time in their back yard. I ran for my camera. One doe in particular was more curious than the other two. As my camera flashed, she walked closer and closer until she was a mere 12 or 14 feet from the door. When the deer moved toward the hill, we went downstairs to the guest room and watched them through the window.

I left the Adams house shortly after that. They hugged me and invited me to return any time. And like others who love and care for me, they cautioned me to be careful as I drive. Clytie and Spence, I love you and will always treasure our friendship. P.S. Remember to document those fabulous photos hanging on the office wall. xo

Road Trip, Days 1 and 2

Yesterday amidst hugs and tears and laughter, I had a great send-off from the chocolate shop...boy, do I have treats!! Rachel is kind of like our Mom in that she loves to send us off with food...(if you have Thanksgiving at her house, you can be certain you'll go home with turkey and dressing). I was saying my goodbyes when she pointed me in the direction of the store front and handed me a large shopping bag with instructions to fill it up. I had fun doing that and I felt a bit of nostalgia. Christmas in Rachel's store has a bit of a magic feel to it. I'm going to miss that, but I'm looking forward to delivering goodies to my mother and others. I can't be too specific about who is getting what because this blog has ears, or at least eyes...

Rachel and I decided that if I get stranded or buried in a snowdrift on this trip, I have enough food in my car to last a month. Seriously...a box of Clementines--I love those things and they're easy to peel and sweet, ummm, a banana, (well, 1/2 a banana as of tonight), two large and two small chocolate and caramel covered fuji apples, pecan pralines, almond bark, english toffee, caramels, chocolate santas and tin soldiers, and if that weren't enough, sweet Jazzy sent me off with two large containers of homemade granola and a container of lemon cookies. Did I forget anything? Probably.

In addition, (for all you die-hard worriers) I have a gallon of water, snow chains, gloves, pliers and various sized sockets, jumper cables, emergency light sticks (the florescent kind you snap and they glow for awhile), and a flashlight. My phone is with me, my gas tank is never less than 1/2 full, my tires were recently rotated and balanced, the car received an alignment, my brakes were checked and my oil changed. I have some windsheild fluid that has antifreeze in it, and my
windsheild wipers are in good shape. I also have a map of the United States and a trip tik booklet from AAA with my route mapped out exactly (unless I decide to take a detour into the wilderness back roads (not really, just kidding))

By the time I said my goodbyes, stopped at the atm for cash and was actually on the road, it was 4 pm. I drove across the new span of the Martinez-Benicia bridge for the first time and then on through Vacaville and Fairfield. (Did you know that Vacaville is really a strange combination? Vaca means cow in Spanish, and ville is, I believe, French for a small town, go figure), anyway, the drive was uneventful and as I drove up into the mountains and over Donner, I had the strangest feeling that I'd done that before---like---a week ago?? I also thought about a geography teacher who explained how the weather gets colder so many degrees for every thousand feet in elevation. I couldn't remember the details, but that knowledge, and the fact that I left so late in the day, made me watch the temperature drop as I drove higher into the hills. Dirty snow rimmed the highway, but otherwise, the roads were clear.

I drove as far as Lovelock, Nevada last night. Stayed at the Royal Inn which has an autographed picture of Merle Haggard from 2006 sitting on the check-in counter. According to the gentleman behind the desk, Merle stayed there last year, as did Shania Twain and someone else "country" and famous, but being a mostly non-fiction writer I hate to guess and be wrong, so I'll just admit that I can't remember the third person, but the older gentleman was very proud of his claim to fame and I pretended to be indubitably impressed.

This morning I found out an important piece of information for travelers: Lovelock, Nevada does not have a bakery, a donut man, or a restaurant that sells homemade cinnamon rolls. Not even Safeway has anything close. I did, however, find out that the local Chevron sells Krispy Kremes. Too late; I had already gassed up at Two Stiffs Market, which is right across the street from the Whiskey Creek bar and grill and down a ways from the Cowpoke Cafe which I would have gone to had they been open...

From Lovelock I drove on...and on...and on...(I wonder how many sagebrush bushes grow in Nevada, or are they called Sage brushes?) I used the cruise control most of the way, stopping in Wells to gas up. When I arrived in Salt Lake City, it was dark and trying to snow. Traffic was slow but the drivers were friendly. They let me in whenever I had to change lanes. As I drove north on I-15 to Kaysville, I listened to music from The Nutcracker. I thought about Owen, who went to see that recently with his mother. I wondered if he can identify the instruments by the different sounds they make...when I arrived I was welcomed, literally, with open arms by Clytie and Spence, a couple who served a mission in Bay Point two years ago. They are lovely people and I'll tell you more about them later. Right now, I'm going to turn in for bed. Since tomorrow my destination is White Rocks, Utah, and that leg of this journey will take only three hours, I'm going to sleep in so, goodnight John-boy, goodnight Meemaw, goodnight Poppa, ...zzzzzzzzz

Don't Hold Your Breath!

Originally I had planned to leave California today, but I had trouble with the moving company (sent 'em packing, no pun intended) and I had to find another one. The new moving company driver should be here within a hour or so. I will probably leave California on Saturday as long as it's clear going over Donner. Woo! Hoo!!!

Soren meets Rolan 11.24.07

Two little dolls.Who is this kid hugging me?

I'll trust my cousin Soren 'cuz my dad's here watchin' out for me.

(I'd know Clayton's hands anywhere)

Owen meets Rolan 11.24.07

I think Owen is fascinated with his little cousin.Look at these faces! I love their different expressions. This is one of my favorites of the photos that Chantel took.

The Most Beautiful Boys

Chantel took these and the photos above of her boys, Owen and Soren, meeting their new cousin, Rolan. These were taken at Beverly's house in Idaho when we all met there for Mother's funeral. I wish I could have seen this exchange in person, but Larry and Brandon and I were still driving from California. We arrived in Burley later that day. Look at the gentle sweetness on Soren's and Owen's faces.

Whirlwind or My Life the Last 10 Days

waiting, crying, driving, snowing, stopping, sleeping, missing, kissing, eating, greeting, weeping, reading, watching, walking, washing, praying, packing, bending, writing, speaking, sitting, lifting, laughing, hoping, closing, taping, talking, stretching, thinking, thanking, hugging, snapping, singing, rocking, shopping, fasting, climbing, playing, yelling, loving, living.

Too Cute for Words

I am moving

to Baltimore very soon. I had planned to wait until the end of summer and go before grad school starts, but the plan now is to drive across country, arriving in Baltimore around the 15th of December. I feel great about this and I've received nothing but support for my decision, even though it will be difficult to say goodbye. A whole lot is happening now also, and the time before me feels as though it will shrink and disappear like a dark highway seen from a moving car. I'm working on Christmas presents so I can leave them here rather than ship them from the east coast. I'm doing the cooking for Thanksgiving this year--when have I not?? Then I'm going to Idaho with family right after Thanksgiving to attend and speak at a funeral for one of the dearest women in the world--my mother-in-law--a bittersweet experience. When I get home I have to pack--books, china and crystal, clothing; get the car tuned up and ready; decide on which things to take with me and which things to leave for the moving company; and there are a few people that I must see in person before I leave. Have I forgotten anything? Oh yeah, I really, really want to weed my garden one more time and leave it looking satisfied and happy. My niece Jasmine is planning to take it over after I go. Thanks, sweetheart! I can't think of anything that would make me happier.

In case anyone is wondering, I'm also seeing my oncologist right before I leave. My Kaiser will transfer to the Baltimore/D.C. Kaiser area. Woo-hoo! I'll continue with health care but as far as I'm concerned, the cancer is gone and it's not coming back.

My 76 year-old mother has decided to be my traveling companion from Utah--about 1/3 of the way there. It's been many years since I've had Christmas with my Mom. Her presence in Baltimore will make four generations under one roof. With the passing of my mother-in-law, I realize how precious the time with my own mother is. Mom can be a hoot but I've learned that when it comes to her, expect anything. Time stops. Expectations drop. It's a different world and I just go with the flow. At any rate, Mom and I will be making memories. (Just last night she told me about a staged food fight she and my dad had while they were entertaining guests! Forty-nine years old I had never heard that story until now.) I'm going to let AAA map our route for us, but maybe we'll meander a bit and stop in the old neighborhoods in Kansas City and/or St. Jo. I'm also hoping to blog during our trip, at least a time or two.

Bottom line is that I really do feel led to Baltimore by the hand of the Lord. This is not a move that I'm taking lightly. Many unknowns await me and sometimes I have these mini anxiety attacks where I stop what I'm doing and concentrate on breathing...inhale...exhale...Most of the time though, I have the feeling that I'll enjoy many new and wonderful experiences. Please don't be sad. I'll be back often for visits. After all, my little Rolan is here as are my sons and many others I hold dear. Speaking of Rolan, I copied this photo from Michele's and Clayton's blog so you can see how fabulously cute my newest grandson is...

A True Story

One evening in the small rural town of Burley, Idaho, Mother and Dad were at home and Dad was listening to BYU sports on the radio. It was after supper and their five children had long since married and moved away. Mother didn't want to interrupt the game and besides, she wasn't even sure what was happening, so she waited awhile before telling her husband about the pain in her arm and chest. Needless to say, they made a mad dash to the local hospital where the doctors determined that Mother was having a heart attack. She was life-flighted to Salt Lake City, Utah.

While Dad and their daughter, Beverly, drove south in the car toward Salt Lake, Mother felt her spirit leaving her body. She was in a white mist and moving. She knew she was going and she prayed. She didn't try to bargain. She simply told Heavenly Father that she wasn't ready to go yet. She told him that she wanted to spend more time with her family and she trusted that he heard her and would answer. She was 72 years old then and God answered her prayers. He gave her another twenty years together with us.

I've been trying to think of how my life would have been different if Mother had died then instead of now.

I wouldn't have had the pleasure of introducing mother to the women in my ward as "my good friend, and my mother-in-law."

We wouldn't have had the joy of having Mother and Dad living right over the back fence every winter during tree farm season, letting the children play and take turns eating dinner with them.

We wouldn't have enjoyed going to ward parties together, having family home evening, or just visiting in the living room in the evenings after the sun went down.

We wouldn't have pictures from the year we made old-fashioned tree garland from popcorn and cranberries.

I wouldn't have heard Dad bear his testimony of the Book of Mormon, sitting on a stool in the out building where he read the Book of Mormon cover to cover in between customers shopping for the perfect tree. It was the first and only time he ever said anything about it and I'll never forget the feeling I had, hearing his words.

If mother had died twenty years ago, she wouldn't have felt the influence of the holy ghost which prompted her to call us and beg us to tell Brandon not to drive across Nevada at night--a premonition that went unheeded. Such is the power of agency--but that's a different story.

They wouldn't have watched their grandchildren grow into responsible, kind, and loving adults with children of their own.

Mother wouldn't have heard Alyssa and Serena sing to her during a visit when they were students at BYU, something she enjoyed immensely and spoke of often.

If Mother had died twenty years ago, we wouldn't have her life story which she wrote and added to occasionally until it was pushing thirty pages and which we now can draw on as a source of strength.

Mostly, if mother had died twenty years ago, we wouldn't have enjoyed the blessings of a woman whose entire life revolved around loving her family and keeping her covenants with God. Her faith that God would answer her prayer became a great blessing to all of us. Mother, we love you and we'll miss you so much.

Mother, Oh Mother

I'm feeling a combination of sadness, anticipation and wonder right now. Mother's time is drawing to a close and I weep as I write this, even as I rejoice that she and Dad will finally be together again. Mother has said repeatedly that she doesn't know why the Lord has kept her here so long. I don't have an answer for her, but for our sakes, I'm glad she has lived these many years and I feel blessed every time I think about her influence in my life.

I was one day of 16 when I got married. I had met Mother only a few times and we really didn't know each other at all. I know that she and Dad were heartbroken when they got into Larry's room one night and found the note he'd left telling them of our whereabouts and our plans. They went to see the bishop who told them there were a lot of things worse than getting married. Mother and Dad decided right then that they would support our decision. Surely they must have worried and wept and wondered, especially since our decision eliminated the hopes they had for their son to serve a mission and marry a nice Mormon girl. It wasn't long before I became that girl, but in the meantime and forever after we never felt anything from them but support.

The evening of our wedding (we were in Salt Lake City after a fruitless but mad dash to Las Vegas) Larry called his parents. They both got on the phone. Mother said to me, "You are our daughter now and we love you." I felt something touch my heart and I think that right then I began to love her in return. Now that I have grown children of my own, I marvel at Mother's and Dad's commitment to stand by us no matter what. They spent the rest of their lives teaching by example and showing us all what real love is all about.

Hanging Out

I just spent the last several days at Marty's and Sheila's in Burlingame. Every night Marty lit a fire for us, either in the living room or the outside barbeque. Dinner was sheer pleasure sitting down together in the dining room with big band or jazz playing in the back ground. I love that family. They have been through hell the past year but seem to be coming back to a new normal now that Andrew has finished chemo and he's finally eating and putting on weight again. He is both precious and precocious.The other night he said, "Mom, I think I'm coming back!" He loves nothing more than to "prep" for dinner by washing and cutting vegetables, setting the table, and helping to serve the food. Family mealtime is really important to that little guy. When he's in charge, we sit where he directs. Samantha is an amazing young woman also. She works, attends jr. college, saves money, and has good relationships with everyone in her family. She is fun to talk with and has a strong element of common sense about her.

Andrew is a fabulous artist. The family room wall is covered in art that Andrew created. Most of it looks like it came from a gallery, honestly. Some pieces are painted while others are collaged and still others are 3-dimensional. Yesterday we shopped at Michael's together, picking up scrapbooking paper, stickers, clay, clear glass ornaments and other supplies. I'm on an art kick myself, I guess because of the holidays, but also because I discovered through an art class recently at the Wellness Center (cancer related) that art can be very therapeutic.

This space of time

My main problem right now is neuropathy, a debilitating condition that's a result of the toxicity of chemo. I clump around like a little old lady and wait and wait for the day when this is all behind me. My feet burn and hurt constantly. My balance sucks. Night time is the worst. But during the day I'm not unaware of how much healing has yet to take place. It's frustrating. One of the chemo nurses told me it would take "at least a year" before my feet are healed. I'm hoping it's much sooner than that. In the meantime, I read a lot, sleep, surf the internet, watch tv, go for the occasional errand in the car...I can do a little shopping but any weight on my feet makes the pain worse. I have an appointment next week to see an acupuncturist in the city. And every day, and night too, I'm alone with my thoughts, my prayers, and my faith and patience, which are both being tested...thank goodness for my Telly who calls every single day. Only when I'm talking with her do I remember that this condition is temporary, even though it will probably not be over anytime soon. In the meantime, I'm making plans to move to Baltimore and resume my life as soon as my feet and the weather will let me make the drive.

Rebounding

OK. So I'm back on track. I have some work to do emotionally, still, but I'm beginning to see this experience with cancer as a spiritual halt, a time to reflect, to regroup, to decide what I want, to examine my relationships with my family and friends, with the Savior, with my Heavenly Father...Are they where they should be? Do I have any messes to clean up? Words left unsaid? Behaviors that need correcting? Am I taking care of myself the way I should? Is it part of the plan that we live our lives at such a pace? That we're so busy 'producing' that we miss the basics? Sometimes I think all we produce is chaos or more drama. Yes, of course, I have dreams yet unfulfilled, but I have decided that my relationships with others, both here and beyond the veil, are the only things that really matter. All the other 'things' we stress about--bills, insurance, accumulation of wealth, retirement, tomorrow, and what ifs and whys and on and on--most of those take care of themselves, or they're not worth the energy we spend fretting. I've missed a lot of todays by worrying about tomorrows instead.

I will need to come back to this post occasionally, as it's much easier to talk about zen and making changes than to actually do it. But I have had a second chance at life and I hope to make the very best of it. So until next time.................PS...my hair is growing back in! Now doesn't that sound weird? How does hair grow back in? Baby head fuzz...it's growing out!

The real me

is hurting physically and emotionally. A wise relative sent a sweet email this week; she had noticed that I haven't blogged lately and was concerned about me. I appreciate the care. The truth is, that when I'm not blogging, I'm usually down. And when I'm down, I tend to pull away, at least from most of the world. I will make an effort to blog even when I don't feel my best. At least you'll know you're getting the real me!

Lately I feel as though life is happening around me, and to me, and I don't have much say about how it goes one way or the other. (I can hear Madelyn arguing with me now.) I'm not saying she isn't right. I'm saying that these are the feelings I'm dealing with lately. My oncologist gave me a clean bill of health recently. If my feet were in better shape I'd have to ask myself if I really had cancer at all. The effects of the chemo have been harsh and somewhat debilitating. But what doesn't show on the outside is what it's done to my heart. I think I need to explore that now. I was so busy overcoming surgery and going to chemo and overcoming the effects of chemo, I didn't have the time to figure out what it all means. I know that for some people it wouldn't matter. They pick up with their lives and go on. I'm not like that. The artist in me needs to examine the minutiae. I'm no stranger to depression and I can usually ward it off pretty well, but I began to despair last week when my thoughts began to linger on Sylvia Plath. Her poetry. Her three children. Her suicide by putting her head in an oven. All the trials I used to worry about having to face, I was never asked to. But the ones I've had to face felt hand picked just for me as far as pushing my faith to its limit. Each time I faced a big trial I thought I might die of grief, but I didn't. I suppose looking back now at what it means to have cancer maybe I'll learn something new to add to what I learned from the other trials. I certainly don't want to say, like my friend, that I'm the same, even after all this. Truly, that would be a waste.

One of my friends told me that

throughout her battle with breast cancer, people would often ask her if she had changed or she had learned something new or significant that changed her perspective on life. She told me that the only thing she learned is that, "I am the same bitch I always have been." Of course, she said it under circumstances that made us both laugh, but I think there was some reality to that for her. On the other hand, Rachel has told me that I'm not going through my own trials just so I can come out on the other side as the same person. Now that's a scary thought--staying the same. If I'm compelled to go through the hard stuff, and asking why doesn't get me anywhere, at least give me the reassurance that at some point down the road this is going to make sense to me, and if it doesn't, I will have grown enough as a person to be able be grateful for the growth.

Jacob came over the other night.

and said he didn't have any trouble getting back in to the US. He finished his work at DVC last semester and has just started his studies at UC Berkeley. I didn't primp or put on my wig for him. He wouldn't expect me to and he's the last person I should have to try to impress. We had a nice time catching up.

Insight:

unintelligent and inefficient people make me want to lean over the rx counter at kaiser and start smacking them with my walking stick. ask me about my day. or maybe. not.

Florida

was fabulous. Not because we stayed in condos right on the beach, the water was refreshing, and the meals were delicious. It's because I was surrounded by people who love me. And I met family members who I felt instant love for, just because they are mine! It was awesome to stand arm in arm with all my siblings, but it was even more wonderful to stand with them and realize that everyone else was ours, too. The Bruch's have a strong penchant for dark eyes and I have to say, beautiful women as well. We missed those who couldn't be there but rejoiced in the ones who were. I think Madelyn and Jeff came the farthest distance--the San Juan Islands. Uncle Don came the farthest distance by car. And we took generational photos. Unfortunately, I don't have pictures to post. I started to take them, but I felt overwhelmed, and I realized that I would miss all the visiting if I spent all my time trying to take photos and not miss anyone. This doesn't mean that pictures weren't being taken. I think there were at least four cameras going all the time. Those photos will be posted to a site such as snapfish or photobasket and we can see them there. All in all, the reunion was a great success thanks to Diannah's hard work and to families willing to join us. Mark your calenders. The next one is in two years, and that's just around the corner.

Rolan Andrew Dayley, 4 days old

Clayton and Michele's little one

was born on Thursday, Oct 4, 2007. I cried when Clayton first put Rolan Andrew in my arms. He is so beautiful, with lots of thick dark hair and full round cheeks. Something happened to me, physically, when I met him. I won't try to explain it because I don't think I can do the experience justice and to try and fail would serve no purpose. What I can say for sure is that tiny perfect humans are gifts from heaven, and being a direct line recipient of that is a gift as well, a gift that I realize, not every woman gets to experience. I'm very grateful to be Grammy. I can't imagine me without her.

Michele had a long labor but she did well. I am so proud of both her and Clayton. They are tired but reveling in parenthood. After meeting Rolan, Larry exclaimed: "He's so gorgeous it makes you want to drink him in with your eyes--forever!" What a poetic Papa! I will post pictures as soon as I can get them emailed to me.