Day 31

I wish I had something profound and momentous to write about today.  The climactic ending.

I don't.

Writing a post every single day for 31 days wasn't easy.  (I'm a little grateful to be done.)

I'm also grateful for the opportunity.  I'm glad I did it.  Before October began, I wrote a list of possible ideas that I could write about (two of my favorite things:  lists + planning ahead).  I tried to pick things that were universal, things other people could relate to.  (I could have written every day about being grateful for Adam--but what good would that do anyone else?)

As October progressed, I had a longer and longer list of post ideas.  So maybe here's the lesson, maybe we could think all day about ways we're grateful and still not cover everything.  Considering everything wonderful in life (despite everything awful in life) leaves me feeling loved and supported and taken care of by Heavenly Father because who else could be responsible for all of this goodness I enjoy every day?

Part of gratitude is knowing who to thank.



On an unrelated note, Happy Nevada Day.



It happens to be the same day as Halloween but there's nothing to like about Halloween (except pilfering candy from my children).  So Happy Nevada Day.

there is the land that I love the best...fairer than all I can see

the land of the setting sun

Variety

The variety of all things forms a pleasure.

Euripides

You know how dogs have dog food, cats have cat food, fish have fish food?

We could have people food.  I am sure that nutritionists could come up with some blend of something or other that was perfectly healthy.  We could eat a plateful three times a day.  It could be the same color, temperature and consistency day in and day out.  We would survive.  (And not have to figure out what's for dinner.)

But can you imagine what we'd be missing out on?

Apizza in New Haven, CT...when can I go back?  When?  When?

The scope of flavors and textures is astounding.  Sweet, sour, savory, salty.  Crunchy carrots and pretzels, smooth puddings and mashed potatoes, crusty bread, chewy caramels, fluffy scrambled eggs, crumbly muffins, crisp apples, juicy peaches.  Consider the colors, the blends that result in different ethnic flavors, the chocolate!

I am grateful to live in a world with such variety.  How could anyone ever be bored in a world such as ours?

Choices

Every man builds his world in his own image. He has the power to choose, but no power to escape the necessity of choice. 

 Ayn Rand

I appreciate choices.  I recognize not everyone is given the vast choices that I am as an American woman, so I feel humbled and grateful.

Often I wish I had more time. Really though, how can you wish for more time?  It's like wishing for more earth.  It is what it is.  No one can be afforded more.  It's about choices.  How do I choose to spend my time?  I notice when I am feeling angst about not enough time, it is often because I'm not spending my time in the right ways.  I feel unbalanced.

What a wonderful blessing to be able to identify the best ways to use my time (haven't mastered that skill but I'm working on it).  What a blessing to not be victim to time, but instead mindful and choosy with my commitments.

If I'm busy it's because I choose to home school Sir Mark, I choose to do laundry, I choose to load the dishwasher and sweep the floor, I choose to volunteer for this or that,  I choose to exercise and socialize and listen to how Emma's day progressed, period by period.

I am grateful to be able to make choices all day long. 

source

Golden Ticket

The happiest people I know are not those who find their golden ticket; they are those who, while in pursuit of worthy goals, discover and treasure the beauty and sweetness of the everyday moments. They are the ones who, thread by daily thread, weave a tapestry of gratitude and wonder throughout their lives. These are they who are truly happy.
Dieter F. Uchtdorf

In the recent Relief Society broadcast, President Dieter Uchtdorf spoke.  It was a fabulous talk and I have been thinking about it ever since.  One part pertains to this blog series I'm working on in particular:

In the beloved children’s story Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the mysterious candy maker Willy Wonka hides a golden ticket in five of his candy bars and announces that whoever finds one of the tickets wins a tour of his factory and a lifetime supply of chocolate.

Written on each golden ticket is this message: “Greetings to you, the lucky finder of this Golden Ticket … ! Tremendous things are in store for you! Many wonderful surprises await you! … Mystic and marvelous surprises … will … delight, … astonish, and perplex you.”

In this classic children’s story, people all over the world desperately yearn to find a golden ticket. Some feel that their entire future happiness depends on whether or not a golden ticket falls into their hands. In their anxiousness, people begin to forget the simple joy they used to find in a candy bar. The candy bar itself becomes an utter disappointment if it does not contain a golden ticket.

So many people today are waiting for their own golden ticket—the ticket that they believe holds the key to the happiness they have always dreamed about. For some, the golden ticket may be a perfect marriage; for others, a magazine-cover home or perhaps freedom from stress or worry.

 There is nothing wrong with righteous yearnings—we hope and seek after things that are “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy.” The problem comes when we put our happiness on hold as we wait for some future event—our golden ticket—to appear.

Today I'm grateful for the chocolate bar.  Things that aren't perfect, aren't sublime, aren't exactly what I've always dreamed about but are like chocolate.  Sweet and satisfying.

The Kindness of Strangers

 I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

Tennessee Williams

It was my turn to drive the kids to seminary yesterday morning.  As we were going, I noticed an indicator light that was indicating something (although I didn't know what).  I still don't know all the ins and outs of our van (but in all fairness, I didn't know the ins and outs of our old van and I drove it for seven years...ins and outs of vehicles aren't really my thing).  Hans told me it indicated tire pressure.  Hmmm.  I checked to see if I had a flat tire and I did not.  Hmmm.  I called Adam who is on a business trip in North Dakota.  He told me to go to Les Schwab and get the tires checked.

So I did.  I had low tire pressure which apparently happens after time and especially in cold weather.

The guy at Les Schwab filled my tires and sent me on my way and I felt relieved.  I feel anxiety when it comes to my vehicle not working (particularly when Adam is living it up in North Dakota).

There were a lot of things that defined my childhood.  My mom cooked everything from scratch, my dad's hat could always be spotted above a crowd, there were Wranglers everywhere you looked, and we drove unreliable cars.

My dad kept them running quite well considering the various ages and mileage counts of our cars, but they invariably had troubles.  When we were in college, Olivia and I were driving to Utah from Nevada and our car started to cough and sputter.  I was filled with a familiar dread.  This was before we had cell phones and we were in the middle of the desert.  Then the car started to belch smoke from under the hood.  We happened to be at the Dell exit which is an exit in the middle of nowhere with no services (or mechanics).  I pulled off the exit (on account of, you know, the belching smoke).  A car pulled directly behind me and a man emerged from it that appeared a little frightening to me.  I groaned inwardly.  Our car problems were soon to be compounded by a mass murderer.

He tapped on the window and indicated that he'd look under our hood.  I seriously doubted he could be of any help but because I truly had no options, I opened the hood.  He told me what the trouble was and went back to his car to fetch something and fixed our car!

He handed me this piece of hose that had blown.

I have kept it all these years as a reminder.

I want to remember that the world is a pretty good place.  There are kind people everywhere that are happy to help.

Also, I want to remember that I shouldn't judge the scary looking guy in the car behind me.  He may just be an angel in disguise.

The Most Fun I've Ever Had With My Yearbooks

All the yearbooks from my years at Wells High School--7th grade through 12th--are about as thick as Adam's yearbook from his senior year.  My little yearbooks may be scanty and they may have low production quality, but they are highly entertaining.

One Sunday afternoon, we pulled them out and perused their offerings.  Adam grabbed the nearby camera and started taking pictures of us.
 

This may have been when they saw a picture of Enoch in his seventh grade basketball picture.  "He's all limbs!"  In the dictionary, under gangly, there's a picture of Enoch's seventh grade basketball picture.  (I'll wait here while you go check.)

We confirmed that it's not a recent thing, I've never been photogenic.  Also, they couldn't believe how many cousins I went to school with.  "Was everyone related to you?" ( just the fabulous ones.)

Let me tell you though, Wells High School in the late 80s and early 90s was one hilarious place.  Especially when Braeden's commentary is applied.

I am grateful for memories.  I'm grateful for my little school in a little town.  I'm grateful that my roots are planted in rocky Nevada ground.  But perhaps I value the memory of laughing with my children more than anything that happened in high school.

Some memories make me cringe (How could I be so stupid?), some memories bring back sadness, but most of my memories, I am thankful to say, are happy memories.

It is lovely to be able to retrieve and savor my grandparents' red brick house, my loving father-in-law who was a spectacular grandpa, summer moonlit nights driving home with my sisters from our waitressing jobs.  Gone now, but steadfast in my memory.

Good Influences

picture of Austin, Trevor, Dillon, David and Hans...shamelessly stolen from Facebook

 Today I'm grateful for people in my children's lives who influence them in wonderful ways.

Saturday night we attended the Eagle Court of Honor for David, Hans, Dillon, Trevor and Austin.  Five boys Braeden and Mark look up to.  David and Dillon are four years older than Braeden and he has esteemed them, along with Hans, as heroes I think since he met them.

picture of Dillon...shamelessly stolen from Facebook

Dillon lives close to us and he and Braeden went on bike rides, destroyed old electronic equipment, and played video games together. (Dillon would provide Mark with a broken video game controller so he could "play" too.  Mark was young enough that he couldn't tell the difference.  I was old enough to know Dillon was a genius.)

Braeden and Dillon nearly seven years ago...I did not steal this picture from Facebook.

I felt a little worried sometimes when Braeden was nine and Dillon was thirteen that the day would come that Braeden would be way too young and a menace to Dillon.  I was afraid Braeden would end up with a bruised heart.  It never happened.

I remember seeing Braeden when he was twelve at his first youth church activity.  He was of course glued to Dillon's sixteen year old side.  He hit Dillon at about his elbow.

It was about that time that they gradually hung out together less.  But Dillon never, ever was unkind to Braeden, never blew him off, never stopped being his friend.

How can a mother not love the boy whose heroism never dimmed in her son's eyes?

picture of David and Hans...shamelessly stolen from Facebook

Since our families are close, we've spent various holidays and evenings together with David and Hans.  They treat younger Braeden with the kindness of an equal.  They laugh at his jokes and hear his ideas.  I know enough to know how rare this is; how good these boys are.

It meant a lot to me to see these five boys, who Braeden has grown up with and watched and tried to emulate, achieve their Eagle awards.  It made me grateful for good examples.  Grateful for kind boys.

Glad for heroes.

(And speaking of heroes, I'm going to keep following Susie and Janet and Stephanie around so I can learn how to raise such good boys.)

A picture of happy mothers...shamelessly stolen from Facebook.  What is with me stealing pictures.  Is nothing sacred?