All My Children

Aleesha Elaine, 3 Years Old

“Babies are always more trouble than you thought, 
and more wonderful!” ~ Charles Osgood

This past week, on February 24th, my daughter, Aleesha had a birthday. She was born in 1976, which is amazing to me, as it seems like yesterday. Has it really been 34 years? Aleesha’s name was a favorite of mine, derived partly from an actresses' name on a soap opera I watched back then called, “All My Children.” Aleesha’s middle name, Elaine, belonged to Dale’s mom, altogether a beautiful combination of names.

I can’t believe it’s been over 34 years since I first held my new baby daughter in my arms. She arrived a few days early, having been expected on the 29th, doomed to be a leap year baby with a fluctuating birth date. Good planning on her part to come ahead of schedule.

Aleesha was the first of five little girls who would become their older brother’s best friend, sometimes tormentor, and ultimately care about and babysit his own children. I knew she would be a girl because of a dream I had before her brother, Cordale, was born. We had called him "Aleesha" for almost the whole nine months of pregnancy.  Somehow I could never picture myself being a good mother to a boy!  I didn't understand boys!  I'd grown up with only one brother.  However, right before Cord was born, in the days before Ultrasound, I dreamt I had two little children. One was a boy and the other a girl, and the little boy was just a little taller than the girl. It was then I realized my first baby would be a boy, preparing the way for his baby sister, still to come.

Aleesha was always mature for her age, as she rushed to grow up and keep up with her older brother. She was the earliest to walk of all our children (10 months), even with a broken leg at seven months that slowed her progress by a month. She served a mission in Brazil for the LDS Church at age 21, and with her fair inherited Scandinavian skin and light blond hair, she truly stood out among men! She is a loving mother to many, teaching third grade now for 10 years now. Her creatively and numerous talents make her a popular teacher and an asset to the teaching profession. She is a wonderful sister, aunt, and daughter to our family. I am proud to be the one she calls mother.

As a young girl I loved the books, followed by their movies titled, “Cheaper By the Dozen,” and “Bells on Their Toes,” all about a big noisy family with twelve children! I told everyone I wanted to have a dozen children, but I didn’t want to get married! I guess I was too young and naive to understand why this was a little disturbing to my parents, friends, and other family members. Fortunately, things turned out differently.

An anonymous quote I recently discovered says, “We shape our lives not by what we carry with us, but what we leave behind.” What I will leave behind after this life is the posterity I have been blessed with, and like the black, cursive carved letters on my bookshelf that say, “Blessed,” I am reminded daily of the gratitude I feel for the family I have been blessed with. I am blessed with unconditional love from my self-sacrificing husband, six talented service oriented children, their amazing spouses and my adoring grandchildren.

Having children was my greatest desire growing up and I expected it to be nothing less than ruffle bottomed panties, pink hair bows, shiny clean new penny faces, and organized wonderment. If I had been foretold about sleepless nights, worry over a sick child, and all the pressure, demands and chaos that go along with motherhood, perhaps I would have reconsidered. However, I would have missed out on an incredible experience and grown children who are now cherished friends. There is nothing like the smell of a newborn baby, fresh from heaven, with that soft little head lying on your shoulder. And there is nothing that equals sharing the joys and sorrows of each passing year of their lives.

If not for children, I would not have discovered who I am, or my potential in life. Instead I would have remained my "grubby old self," self absorbed, not knowing the joy of loving someone more than yourself. It has been more than wonderful!

My feelings about motherhood are reflected in this simple verse by Anne Campbell, written on behalf of her child.

You are the trip I did not take;


You are the pearls I cannot buy;


You are my blue Italian lake;


You are my piece of foreign sky.


(“To My Child,” Quoted in 'The Treasure Chest,' 1965, 54)

How Do I Love Thee?

Our Engagement (April 24, 1972)

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach . . .” These famous romantic words, penned by poet, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, are considered to be some of the most unconditional words of love, transcending all love throughout history.

Recently I had an opportunity to ponder this author’s life when I saw on old black and white 1930’s movie on television called, “The Barretts of Wimpole Street.” Elizabeth Barrett was born in England in 1806, the oldest of twelve children. She was well educated and read Shakespearean plays, among other great works, before the age of ten. By her twelfth year she had written her first “epic” poem, which consisted of four books of rhyming couplets. However, by the age of fourteen, Elizabeth developed a lung ailment that plagued her for the rest of her life. Doctors began treating her with morphine, which she would take until her death. In addition, at age fifteen, while saddling a pony, Elizabeth suffered a spinal injury. Despite her ailments, her education continued to flourish. She had a passionate enthusiasm for her Christian faith and taught herself Hebrew so that she could read the Old Testament.

In 1828, when Elizabeth was 22 years old, her beloved mother died, leaving her in the hands of her tyrannical father. Following this tragedy Elizabeth’s much-loved brother, Edward, also died, drowning in a sailing accident. Distraught and overcome with sadness, Elizabeth became an invalid and a recluse, spending the next five years in her bedroom at her father's home. She continued writing, however, and in 1844 produced a collection entitled simply “Poems.” This volume gained the attention of the famous poet, Robert Browning, whose work Elizabeth had praised in one of her poems, and he wrote her a letter.

Elizabeth and Robert exchanged 574 letters over the next twenty months! Unfortunately, their romance was bitterly opposed by Elizabeth’s father, who did not want any of his children to marry. So in 1846, the couple eloped and settled in Florence, Italy, where Elizabeth's health improved with Robert’s loving care and devotion. Elizabeth bore a son, her only child, three years later at the age of 43. Her father never spoke to her again.

Her poem “How Do I Love Thee?” was part of a collection of Sonnets written in secret before her marriage. The poem expressed her secret thoughts of her unconditional love for Robert, long before their mutual feelings were known. It was published in 1850, eleven years before Elizabeth Barrett Browning died in Florence on June 29, 1861.

Once my sister, Vicki, told me I was more fortunate than most, to have known, pure, unconditional love. I was taken by surprise by her comment, having never really thought about it before. I suppose it is easy to take for granted those rarest of gifts, having always possessed them. However, my husband, Dale, has always loved me unconditionally, even before we united and became as one.

Unconditional love—real love—is caring about the happiness of another person without any thought for what we might get for ourselves. It is a concept comparable to “true love” and said to be the greatest power known to man. Mystics, singers and poets have all expressed ballads of love—love that can fill us up, make us whole, and give us the happiness we all want.

Dale and I began seriously dating in the early 70s, still unsure about one another’s true feelings, while trying to discover our own little love story. The 1970’s quintessential romantic movie, “Love Story,” was popular in the movie theaters. I remember spending an afternoon watching it with my college roommates in a darkened, downtown Provo movie theater, sobbing uncontrollably, as it was representative of what every girl wanted. We didn’t want a sorrowful, tragic ending of course, but it gave us hope for romantic love, the kind that lasts forever.

I was afraid of marriage and in denial of my newfound feelings, continuing to write several missionaries and date other boys. Trying to postpone the inevitable a little longer, I was a talkative, humorous date, with no romantic intentions. During this time Dale was going to school and working in Salt Lake, while putting a lot of miles on his little green Mustang, coming to see me. The more I liked him, the more I tried to find excuses for not being available. At Christmas time I bought Dale a colored shirt and a tie, gently helping him depart from his tried and true returned missionary “white shirt” attire. I also made him a giant red stocking to hold the gifts, complete with three large lumps of black coal I’d picked out at a construction site. I intended for my gift to be more on the humorous side instead of sentimental, securing our relationship as “just friends.”

Dale on the other hand arrived on Christmas Eve with two little packages, small and suspiciously ring sized, or at least my family thought so. As I began to open the gifts, my family descended on us with the movie camera, quite an ordeal in the days of silent home movies with additional hand held lighting. Everyone, but Dale and I, breathlessly waited the “big moment,” when all would be revealed. We were blissfully unaware of their expectations, having no idea why they were all so interested in our gift exchange. Inside the first package I discovered a pair of beautiful, long dangly earrings. Inside the second package, carefully arranged and displayed, lay a perfect “real” hot pink, miniature rose with an intricate, miniature crystal vase. It might have been a let down to my anxious family, but to me it was the perfect gift, romantically from the heart. We became officially engaged the following April, resulting in a June wedding.

Dale has always had a green thumb. Not literally of course, but he has always loved working with plants, especially miniature ones. He helped his dad with the yard work growing up and especially enjoyed caring for the outdoor baby rose bushes. In high school he would often tie baby roses to the front doorknob of my house while I was at work. After his mission, Dale began growing his own miniature roses in a little greenhouse he set up in his bedroom. Dale pruned, watered, and pampered his little plants, waiting for the first rose blossom to bud. Finally after a few successful blooms, the perfect rose blossomed just in time to be his Christmas gift to me! The perfect rose for an imperfect girl, who didn’t know the best thing that ever happened to her, until he quietly slipped into her life and deep inside her heart. A very small rosebud, insignificant to most, but significant of the unconditional love that he has always given me.

 “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dale!” 
~ Love, Linda

“I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life! 
 And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.” 
~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning

“The Miniature Rose”—Given with Love, to Me!

“Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo, 
But what you want is someone who will
 take the bus with you . . . 
When the limo breaks down!” ~ Oprah Winfrey

What’s In a Name?

In Memory of Devro 
(Feb. 8, 1956 - July 2, 2007)

In his Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare said, “What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Names . . . we all have one, and most people have a vague idea what their own name means. However few give it much thought unless it has a special significance. Sometimes our birth names warp into shortened versions of the original, spanning nicknames meant to be terms of endearment. Growing up in my family was no different. My brother Dev and I loved inventing nicknames for our entire family (alliterations of course), and that was before I even knew what an alliteration was!

I loved playing with words and the names we created were just plain fun to make up. Our sister, Vicki, was “Vicki Vampire,” which made us laugh, as she was our older sister and sometimes a little bit bossy. Judy was “Judy Jellybean,” or “Judy Jumping Jack,” which suited her lively energy and her love of candy. I was “Linda Lamb.” I don’t remember choosing my name, but everyone called me that, I suppose referring to my “don’t rock the boat,” non confronting, usually gentle nature. I didn’t particularly like my nickname, feeling like I was considered fragile. I wanted to be a “tough” girl, like Judy.

I’m not sure how my brother, Devro, got his nickname of “Devy Duck,” but it suited him, as he was forever charming and loved to talk - a real funny “quacker!” When our baby sister, Loni, came along we’d apparently run out of clever nicknames, as her beautiful name somehow got shortened simply to “Lomp” or “Lumpy,” as our cousins referred to her. The nickname “Lomp” was pronounced upon her head by our brother-in-law, Richard, who also referred to his own daughter, Monette, as “Mo.” Yes, Lomp and Mo were the best of friends. To this day, even though Loni is well over 40, Richard still calls her Lomp!

Devro and I also enjoyed making up nicknames for our parents. We settled on “Shirley Squirrel” for mom, due to a lack of a more creative animal beginning with the letter S. Later, after I was married, I discovered my mother’s nickname growing had been "Shirley Salad," as she loved to eat salad. But we didn’t know anything about that as children. Humorously I grew up calling my mother’s sister, "Aunt Fruity." It never occured to me that it was an odd name or that it wasn’t her real name! I just accepted it. In reality, her name was Ruth, nicknamed “Fruity” because she loved eating bottled fruit for her after school snacks.

I don’t think we ever came up with a good nickname for dad, as nothing in our young vocabulary of “M” words seemed appropriate for Milt. Ironically last year my sister, Loni, told me our dad had created his own nickname, calling himself “Clay!” I had never heard that story before and curiously asked how it had come about. Apparently after dad began working for Won Door Corporation, installing folding doors, he would sell the left over metal parts from his installations to the recyclers.  They wanted a name for their records, and not wanting to give them his real name, he used his favorite name, Clay! It was the name he’d regularly suggested to us as a possible name for one of his grandsons. When it was rejected, he took it for himself!

My sisters and I were all given middle names that were reflective of our patriarchal grandfather’s southern heritage. Southerners seem to like to combine two names as one, and we had names that followed suit . . . Vicki Ann, Judy Lyn, Linda Rae, and Loni Mae. We were all very Billy Bob, Samantha Jo, in a Billy Ray sort of interesting southern style way. The exception to the rule was in the naming of my brother, Devro, my parents pride and joy and only namesake.  My mother wanted to give him the unusual name of Devereux, derived from the beautiful French name usually reserved as a last name. However, Mom was worried about the complicated spelling and imposing such a big name on her young child.  The only spelling she knew of was “Devereux” and that seemed a lot to put on one baby boy.  Then a friend sent a gift for our baby brother. Having heard his intended name, but unsure of the correct spelling, she spelled it simply, “Devro.”  The rest was history. Mom, lover of all that is clean and modern, loved the new spelling! To this day we have never heard of, or seen another, with that American spelling of a French name!

I have always loved alliterations, naming my pets appropriately with names like, “Barnaby Bunny” and “Parakeet Pete.” However I also adore names with an added sense of humor, like “Jack Rabbit” and “Gregory Peck.” Following in their mother’s footsteps, our children named their pets and stuffed animals too, also giving nicknames to each other, their own little terms of endearment towards one another. Of course our sixth and final child got the brunt of the nickname game, as each of her older siblings bestowed their favorite upon her. “Mckenzie” became “KiKi” (pronounced Kee Kee), which was the name she called herself when learning to talk. Then there was “Mouse” or “Mickey,” after the famous Disney character coincidentally sharing her birthday, and also “Jo,” “Joey,” or “Josephine,” with no rhyme or reason other than they “could” do it, finally wearing her down into acceptance. The name torture continued with an imaginary friend named, “Fred,” that her sisters invented and convinced her really existed. It was mom torture as well when I’d hear her in her room airing her childhood complaints and the unfairness about her world to her only understanding friend, dear Fred. Sisters! Gotta’ love ‘em!

I have had many unfortunate nicknames of my own over the years. My mother’s youngest brother, Uncle Kay, called me “Linda Lou,” and occasionally “Linda Spinda.” I remember a big family Thanksgiving celebration in our basement one year, where his nicknames became an annoyance to my budding young teenager style. The relatives on that side of the family all lived fairly close in proximity, and they were coming to our house to eat. It was a special holiday celebration, so my sister, Judy, decided to give me a glamorous hairdo for the occasion. She enjoyed trying new hairstyles out on my long hair. I spent the morning in her little downstairs bathroom as she curled, ratted and sprayed my hair, creating a half up-do with long curls hanging beneath it. When perfection was finally achieved, I gracefully walked up the basement stairs to show off my magnificent new look. At that precise moment, Uncle Kay came bounding down the steps carrying food for our feast.

“Hello, Linda Lou,” he said, lovingly patting my new hairdo flat on my head, unaware of my horror and the painstaking hours I’d spent getting my glamourous hairdo. “How’s my Linda Spinda?”

Although, nicknames can often be a form of ridicule, mine were always considered desirable, symbolising a form of acceptance. In junior high I nicknamed myself “Lindy,” after a brand of pen I used, thinking it would be great to have a pen with my name on it. However no one else knew about it so the name never caught on. In high school the boys in the ward nicknamed me “Nelda,” for reasons I can’t recall. Unfortunately they took great delight in teasing me with it long after I was married. In college I acquired the nickname of “Cinda,” after a boyfriend read a story I’d been given in one of my classes titled, “Cinda I love You!” Somehow it stuck and everybody began calling me by the new name. Boyfriend even had license plates made for his car with the name Cinda on them. My claim to fame!

Nicknames are still very much a part of my life, having somehow transcended into my present day environment. Thanks to my son-in-law, Casey, some of my favorite things now have family nicknames that have become permanent sayings. Our tranquil living room with white couches, off-white carpet and glass end tables, meant to greet guests and provide peaceful harmony . . . has been renamed the “Air Lock,” referring to the sanitary feel of a room so white and clean that it takes your breath away . . . apparently not in a good way. After our daughter, Ashley, married, her empty bedroom became the “Secret Garden,” a place where Casey could hide away during family parties, reading a book to his hearts content. A treasured piece of modern white sculpture, a design meant to be elegant, simple and symbolic of life’s circle of love from the “Circle of Love” collection by Kim Lawrence, has become the “Whip Cream Statue.” And Finally, the purple bedroom, formerly occupied by our youngest child before she decided to abandon us and move downstairs to the Secret Garden, has become the “Guessing Room,” like “guess who lives there now?” Thank you Casey’s daughter, my grandchild, Acacia. Like father, like daughter!

Today is my brother’s birthday. He would have been 54 years old. Happy Birthday Devy Duck! I miss you now that you’ve joined Judy in our heavenly home. Has it really been over two and a half years since you left? You were always the life of the party and it’s not quite the same here without you. I can still see your mischievous smile in my minds eye, your hand waving “hello,” your famous wide mouth grin, the “Barney the Purple Dinosaur” voice you’d mimic perfectly, and the barking dog voice that scared us half to death when you’d jump out from behind closed doors. You have always been just as unique as your name! “ . . . By any other name would smell as sweet.”

"My Brother and I"

“What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.” ~ Helen Keller 

Tears For Fears

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.” 
~ Franklin D. Roosevelt

Remember the English pop rock duo in the early 1980s called, “Tears for Fears?” My sister once went into a record store to buy their album for her teenage daughters. Forgetting the group’s name, she requested a copy of “Rain and Pain,” much to her chagrin and the confusion of the sales clerk. To add further humiliation, she requested a copy of “Oxygen Mask,” her name for the group, “Air Supply.” Tears . . . Fears . . . Rain . . . Pain . . . Oxygen Mask . . . whatever gets the job accomplished. Right?

However, the name, “Tears for Fears,” has forever become a symbol in my mind of fear and sadness, tears shed for those humiliating experiences or fears we all have stored inside. The group, Tears for Fears, actually based their name on a technique called, “Primal Therapy,” developed by American psychologist, Arthur Janov, who became famous after becoming John Lennon’s (of Beetle fame) therapist. Primal Therapy is a trauma-based psychotherapy that believes that neurosis is caused by repressed pain of childhood trauma.

My sister, Vicki, is afraid of cats! That’s right . . . the soft, cuddly furry ones of the kitty cat nature! But as unreasonable as it sounds, the fear is deep seeded for whatever tramatic reason that caused it. And it was no laughing matter! As a little girl, I shared a bedroom with my teenaged sister, Vicki. My bedtime was long before Vicki’s, so I would carefully arrange my collection of stuffed animals around me before I went to sleep. My yellow, fluffy kitten was a particular favorite. Knowing anything furry brought shrill screams from Vicki, I was careful to hide it neatly beneath my pillow or some other undetected place, where I assumed it would be safe. I understood my mother’s fear of snakes and my own fear of twitchy-nosed mice and creepy spiders. After all, they were what I considered to be normal, sensible fears. But really? A furry yellow kitten, that wasn’t even real? Please!

I’d carefully hide my treasured kitty in a new place every night, hoping Vicki would not discover it when she came to bed. Much to my dismay and without fail, every morning I’d discover my stuffed animals scattered about the bed, victims of her crazed search for fuzzy kitty. Poor beloved, yellow fuzzy kitten, would be coldheartedly thrown on the floor! However, I was relentless and stubborn in my quest. Each night I persisted to hide my kitty in a spot I hoped would be undetected. But alas, it was a “no win” situation!

To this day my whole family has a cat prejudice. I myself have come to view them as disease carrying, mouse eating, winey little creaters . . . probably due to their disgusting mouse breath association and my own unrelistic fear of mice . . . rather than their actual cattness.

Experts say that the most common phobias are the fear of snakes, spiders, mice, heights, and water. Fear of public speaking, closed spaced, and flying in airplanes are also common phobias. There have also been reports of people having persistent, irrational, intense fear of a specific object, like clowns, pickles, grapes, or birds. Movies play into our fears too. Remember the old Alfred Hitchcock thrillers, “The Birds (1963),” and “Psycho (1960)?” Who could view massive amounts of birds flocking together and feel safe after that? Who could shower alone in the house without heart pounding tension and locking the bathroom door after witnessing poor Janet Leigh’s violin screeching demise? 



Yes, I have an irrational fear of mice. I am not particularly thrilled about spiders either, especially the big, hairy ones. However, these fears seem perfectly rational to me. Spiders, after all, are creepy and crawly, possibly poisonous. Who wouldn't be afraid? And don’t get me started on mice. Mice have twitchy noses, they squeeze into small spaces undetected, and they die in unpredictable places, leaving their disease-ridden feces behind them! 



The word “phobia” by definition, is a persistent, irrational, intense fear of a specific object, activity, or situation (the phobic stimulus), fear that is recognized as being excessive or unreasonable by the individual himself. Fear is defined as an emotional response to a perceived threat. It is a basic survival mechanism occurring in response to a specific stimulus, such as pain or the threat of danger. It has been said: “Honesty, love, compassion, loyalty, dreams and ideals will all be tested by our fears and that the courage portrayed in the face of our deepest fears is the strength beneath all other virtues. The depth of our courage will be the roots that determine how high we can grow.” ~ Author Unknown



In a 2005 USA Gallup poll took a national sample of adolescents between the ages of 13 and 15, asking what they feared the most. The question was open ended and participants were able to say whatever they wanted. The most frequently cited fear (mentioned by 8% of the teens) was terrorism. The top ten fears were, in order of the most feared: terrorist attacks, spiders, death, being a failure, war, heights, criminal or gang violence, being alone, the future, and nuclear war.



Instead of ignoring our fears, we should treat them with tenderness and patience. They are an invaluable window into our inner life and the development of our soul. So face your fears, shed your tears, and be patient with those around that you that don’t understand.



"You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.' You must do the thing you think you cannot do."  
~ Eleanor Roosevelt

“Love is what we were born with. Fear is what we learned here.” 

~ Marianne Williamson

Give Us Faith, So We’ll Be Safe

“Faith can give us courage to face the uncertainties of the future.”

~ Martin Luther King Jr.

There’s a beautiful song that singers, Andrea Bocelli, and Josh Groban, have both sung called, “The Prayer.” I have both vocal versions on my iPod. The lyrics are spiritually uplifting and can immediately calm me when I am stressed. “Lead us to a place, guide us with your grace; Give us faith, so we'll be safe.”

A week ago I decided to stay up and watch a late night movie. It was a thriller! My usual genre is romantic comedy or thought provoking drama with an inspirational message. I have to be in the “mood” for action adventure and I rarely watch anything really scary, especially at night before going to sleep. I hadn’t planned to watch the whole movie, as it was taped on my DVR, so I knew I could finish it later. I thought I’d heard good reviews about it and the actors captivated my interest, so I not only started the movie, but continued to watch into the late night hours. My husband gave up half way through the movie and was soon fast asleep beside me. Wide a wake, I continued to stare at the drama displayed before me on my television screen.

The movie began with a successful, happily married, romantic couple, buying their first home. However it soon became evident that all was not well in perfect “happy valley.” Don’t you just hate those movies where the heroine cautiously enters a dark room, just as the music alerts you to possible danger lurking ahead, only to have her say, “Is anybody there?”

“Of course somebody is there!” I want to scream. “Can’t you hear the scary music?”

Well, it soon became apparent that my late night movie was THAT kind of movie! Anyway, the movie eventually progressed to a frightening climax. My heart was pounding as the imminent danger lurked closer and closer. Then suddenly . . . the attacker! I let out a shrill, unsolicited scream! Beside me my husband continued to sleep peacefully, unaware of my outburst, evidence of his over tired condition. The movie concluded. All was well. I shut off the television, still thinking about the movie, now alone with my thoughts in our darkened bedroom.

I couldn’t sleep. All around the outer walls of our bedroom were dark shadows, misty and black, like dense, suffocating fog. I closed my eyes, telling myself it was only my eyes playing tricks on me after staring at the television screen too long. I opened my eyes again, but the shadows persisted, as if there was an evil presence around me. My heart began to pound and I began to feel an unnatural fear within.

I blinked my eyes numerous times, trying to clear the shadowy, dark thick images from my brain. They remained around the perimeters of my room. I closed my eyes and began to pray. I prayed for His Spirit to be with me and for administering angels to calm my fear. I prayed for His light to enter my heart and room, casting out the darkness of evil that had entered. Soon I felt His calming influence and knew His angels had responded to my plea. I felt safe in His arms of love and soon feel fast asleep. “Lead us to a place, guide us with your grace; Give us faith, so we'll be safe.” He is always there, if only we ask.

“Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be . . . a prudent insurance policy.” ~ Elizabeth Gilbert, “Eat, Pray, Love!”

Top 12 Ways To Recognize a New Year!

“Whatever with the past has gone, . . .

The best is always yet to come!” ~ Lucy Larcom

Throughout the years of celebrating each new year with our growing family, we have come to recognize the dawn of each pristine beginning in numerous ways. So here for your enjoyment and thoughtful pondering of your own traditions, are my . . .

“Top 12 Ways To Recognize It’s a Brand New Year (past and present):

1. You watched Dick Clark's “New Year's Rockin' Eve” countdown to the sparkling “ball drop” in Times Square, New York City, while sitting at home in the comfort of your living room. Presently, following Dick’s unfortunate stroke and subsequent long recovery, you now watch Ryan Seacrest preform the annual ritual in Dick’s name, with Dick looking on doing studio comments.

2. Having promised your little ones they could stay up to toast in the New Year with Martinelli’s sparkling nonalcoholic cider, finally tucking them into bed, your daughter says sleepily, “But we didn’t have our toast!” Only then do you realize they thought you meant actual toast, with butter and honey.

3. You wake up in the middle of the night with the television blaring loudly, realizing everybody fell asleep in front of the television. Your poor husband is snoring uncomfortably on the floor.

4. Your kitchen pots and pans and large serving spoons are outside in the snow, after your children rang in the New Year at midnight, annoying the neighbors.

5. Hallmark, Lifetime, and the Family television channels have discontinued their “24 Days” of tear-jerking, heartfelt Christmas shows, that in reality began two months ago.



6. You have a piece of paper on your desk with the title, “New Year’s Resolutions,” which you intend to begin writing eventually . . . however the only thing listed so far is, “Stop procrastinating.”



7. You resolve to finally lose the “weight,” . . . after you’ve consumed the last piece of Christmas chocolate goodness.

8. You resolve to begin each day by being grateful, giving service to someone. You begin by being grateful you have one more piece of chocolate in the house before you begin your new diet. You give service by serving it to yourself.

9. You resolve to go through the Christmas trash bag of wrapping paper, still in the living room, to find the new television remote control and Barbie’s missing shoe, before the garbage truck comes on Friday.



10. The evening news presents their annual “Year in Review” and you wonder where you were when all that was happening, as the majority of it is “news” to you.

11. You hang up a cute new wall calendar, realizing you no longer need to write last year’s birthdays on it because you now use an electronic calendar. Never again will you miss that January 1st birthday and have to send belated greetings. Sadly, you usually forget to check your technology on January 1st and send belated greetings anyway.

12. You begin the New Year by: Making a new “To Do” list on your computer, adding in things you’ve already done today so you can have the satisfaction of crossing them off and feeling accomplished as well as giving purpose to the “strikethrough” font you’ve never used; Creating a January computer screen saver; Deleting 200 old emails that were still sitting in your inbox; Creating a new signature quote and writing “Happy New Year” on every outgoing email!

Happy 2010 Everybody!

“Learn from the past, prepare for the future, live in the present!”

~ Thomas S. Monson

A New Kind of Nativity!

Nine Grandchildren, Dec. 2009

“And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger . . . And there were in the same country shepherds [and Luke Skywalker, along with three wise guys] abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock [and their doggies] by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid [some were wild and crazy, others stunned in silence].”