I'M THANKFUL TO BE ALIVE THIS THANKSGIVING DAY

Tuesday night my desire to be a good mother won over common sense.

For two days the weather forecasters had been warning us about a blizzard that was coming on Tuesday evening. I even got notice via email that one of the local craft stores were closing early so their employees could get home before the storm hit.

Then I talked to Hillary. She was sick and the baby--not even two weeks old, threw up all over her. If Max had been there I knew she would be fine but he was working out of town. I threw a nightgown, robe, clean underwear and cosmetics in the car and took off. Point one for motherhood.

"If I hurry," I said to Phil, who was wide eyed and disbelieving, "I can beat the storm."

I ran into the storm right out of Provo. There would be no hurrying. I didn't consider turning around. Point one for stupidity.

The storm grew worse. I have sight in only one eye and that makes driving more difficult, especially at night, but I preserved--my daughter needed me. Point two for stupidity. Point two for motherhood, too.

Soon all signs of lines on the road were gone. I followed a car that seemed to know where he was going. He slowed from 40 miles an hour to 20.

When he took an exit to Spanish Fork I waited for someone else to pass me and then I followed his tracks.

Santaguin--where my daughter and grandbaby and other two grandchildren live--is a thirty-five minute drive from my house to hers. It had been thirty-five minutes already. I wasn't even to Payson.

I slogged on and finally I saw the exit I wanted. A car was following MY tracks, the stupid fool. Who would follow me? But, because he was following me I couldn't just stop in the middle of the road and try to figure things out.

There was NO STREETLIGHT at that exit. What is the matter with the powers that be in charge of roads? Is there some road-ology rule that says there should be inconsistency in road signs and street lights? I had no idea where the exit road was and was afraid if I just turned toward the right I'd go right off the embankment. Besides there was that fool following. And visibility was about ten feet. I should have slowed to a stop and waved him around, got out and found the road but, stupidity earned another point and I kept going.

I saw a car coming up from that exit onto the freeway. I thought about turning around and going down the exit ramp, WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN A GOOD IDEA as there were no other cars for miles and miles around but stupidly earned point four. I pulled over to the side of the road, the car following me hurried to catch up to the car that just came from Santaguin and then I called Hillary.

"I've missed my exit."

"Oh, Mom. The next exit is ten miles down the road, at Mona."

Motherhood earned another point as I said, "I just wanted you to know I am fine"--liar, liar, pants on fire--"and I'll go to Mona and turn around. Call Dad and tell him I'm fine." Make her a liar, too. The two cars were out of sight by now so I took a deep breath and started again.

When I got to Mona there WERE THREE STREET LIGHTS AT THE EXIT. Three! Talk about conspicuous consumption, especially when the Santaguin exit had none.

Off I went, and because there were plenty of streetlights I could actaully see the on ramp and I got back on the freeway. I should have gone to a random house and asked for asylum.

Have I mentioned that this section of I-15 is under construction? So, there were odd barriers all over the place? Barriers in the blizzard that I couldn't see anyway, until they were ten feet away.

Last week Phil installed brand new windshield wipers on my car. From Costco. The Costco he loves. The Costco that can do no wrong. Except the wipers collected ice and soon I had exactly a three inch swath of clear windshield that I could see out of if I sat up tall. When that bit of clean windshield disappeared I stopped the car, got out and banged the ice off. Of course I didn't have any gloves because I was speeding to my daughter's rescue and finding gloves would have taken sixty seconds. Phil would have tried to talk me out of going all of those sixty seconds and I was not going to be talked out of going.

I started saying, "Have faith. Have faith." about every three seconds. And, "Heavenly Father, just keep my windshield clear and I will do the rest."

Thank goodness for those annoying groves the road-making people put at the edge of the road to wake up sleepy drivers when they drift off the road. I was a drifter and how was I to tell? I couldn't see anything, but my hearing was good. When my tires hit the groves I veered back to the left. I prayed, "Heavenly Father, just let me have enough clear windshield to see out of. I promise I will not speed"--most of the time my speed didn't even register--"and I will be kind to people and not kick dogs." I tell you, when you are in a real blizzardy pickle you think of odd things.

The windshield wipers now had 1/2 inch of clean window and when that closed I stopped, stepped out of the car, took my other foot off the brake and the car went on without me! I had left it in gear. I hobbled, one leg partly still in the car, I got in, and put the car in park. I put my head in my hands and said things like, "Thou fool," and then I got out, banged the ice off the wiper and got back in the car.

Somewhere along there I uttered another simple prayer. "Dear Heavenly Father, please don't let me die tonight or Hillary will never forgive herself, even though she didn't actually ask me to come down. And she has always said she won't speak at my funeral because she won't be able to talk and I've always said, 'well, you can write it out. Trent will read it for you.' And so, Heavenly Father, don't let me die tonight, because then she'd feel guilty for two things."

In five minutes the whole windshield wiper scenario played out again, even the part about leaving the car in gear, AGAIN.

One good thing about this whole horrible bad night, I thought, my hobbling skills have improved greatly. I probably have hobbling muscles that I didn't even know I had and they are now exercised and will be big and strong in case I ever have the need to hobble in the future.

I banged the ice off the windshield wiper and saw that there was one lone semi coming--oh wait, he had three cars behind him, if I hurried I could follow the pack. But, he was almost to me.

Do I stay in front of the car and if he hits the car it will run over me? Or do I stand behind the car and if he hits me he will smash me into the car?

I did neither, I decided to get IN the car but of course there wasn't time because he was really speeding, probably twenty miles an hour and so I flattened myself to the driver's door and he passed within four feet of me. He blared his horn. Was that a greeting? I decided it was his message, "Courage. Have courage and keep going." The three cars following soon were out of sight as I was so shaken I couldn't get behind the wheel in time to follow. When I did, I found out that I had TURNED THE LIGHTS OFF when I got out of the car. Old habits--turn off the lights when you get out of the car. No WONDER he blared his horn at me, it wasn't a "courage" message at all. It was a "You are a stupid fool" message. A car with no lights and a wild woman standing there in a blizzard? He probably thought I was an escaped mental patient PLUS a stupid fool, and by then it was a possibility--I would be glad to be in some nice warm mental hospital, in a nice, safe, padded room.

The blizzard blizzarded on and I did too. But the windshield wiper now had a mission--to collect ice--and it was doing a fine job, Costco would have been proud. So I had to get out and bang the windshield wiper. And like magic, here came another semi. I'm sure they were twins but probably not identical because this driver only tooted his horn five times as he passed because--and I swear, this is true--I had flattened my self AGAIN to the car because there wasn't time to get inside, and when I did get in I found that AGAIN I had turned off the lights. I put my heard in my hands and muttered a prayer, "Never mind, Heavenly Father. Anyone this stupid doesn't deserve to live." I thought I heard a chuckle but that was probably my imagination.

But, whether I deserved life or not, I was on a mission, to take care of my daughter and granddaughter, so I put the car in gear, turned on the lights and went on my way, ten miles an hour. The tracks of the semi and his entourage were already covered with blizzardy snow and so I was relying on the inadequate poles at the edge of the road that have too-small florescent circles on top. Florescent circles that have pretty much lost their florescent-ness.

What is the matter with the people in charge of the Utah road budget? I thought. It's not being spent on what really matters. There should be taller poles, closer together, and with bigger, brighter, more florescent circles for one, and streetlights at ALL exits, but the groves in the road were a pretty good idea so they get some points.

I had been watching my odometer and it was not anywhere near the ten mile mark when I PASSED my exit. I PASSED MY EXIT. AGAIN! I don't know what the stupidity ranking is by now but it has left the motherhood one in the dust. If there were any dust. There was only blinding snow and a stupid woman, who stooped on the bridge, that was over the road, that went to my daughter's house. My windshield was un-look-out-able anyway so I got out of the car--I put it in park and left the lights on--and banged the ice off my windshield wiper. It came off in my hand.

I just looked at it. And then I did what every woman in the world would do. I threw a tantrum. My hair was wet, I looked like Medusa--and she was surely a mad woman--and so I did a mad Medusa fit. And then I got in the car and called Phil with my frozen fingers. What he was going to do I had no idea, but he is the voice of reason in our relationship and I wanted to hear some reason.

"Okay," he said, "It's really easy to put back on. You just blah, blah, and then the blah blah, a little black hook, blah blah, and then it snaps into place and it's fixed."

"What about the little hole?"

"What little hole?"

"On the windshield wiper?"

"Listen," the voice of reason said, knowing full well that instructions go right over my head. He proceeded to tell it all to me again and so I got out of the car and found the little hook but there was that darned hole and didn't it have something to do with anything?

"I can't fix it," I said when I called him back.

"Okay, call 911 and have the Highway Patrol come and help you."

So, on this deserted road, where only about one semi and three cars came by every half hour I sat and thought of my options. It looked like I was on the pioneer prairie, in a snow storm, pushing a handcart to Martin's Cove. No signs of life except the service station lights that I could kind of see through the blizzard, that was on the other side of the freeway, on the road I wanted to be on, that would take me to Hillary. I had no other options, I had to call for help.

Luckily my phone charger was in the car because that was another thing I left without, checking my phone's battery, which was pretty much dead.

So I plugged my phone in and called "911" and talked to the nice gentleman, who was probably sitting in a warm office, with a cushy chair that rolled around where ever he wanted to go, maybe he had tasty snacks like Cheetos and a diet Pepsi at hand. He said, "Calm down." No, he really didn't say that but he probably wanted to and he probably rolled his eyes at the cute girl who was maybe next to him, talking to someone else who was stupid and in trouble in a blizzard. He had a "calm down" sort of voice.

He called the Highway Patrol and I sobbed my story out to them and said, "Yes, I was off the side of the road," and then they said they would send someone right out.

Did "right out" mean two minutes or ten? It didn't matter. I had a full bladder because I had ignored my own rule: Go to the bathroom before you leave the house. It is even known as "Grandma's rule." I didn't want to take the time to go to the bathroom because I was afraid Phil would try and stop me and because I didn't want to take the one minute it would take when my daughter was sick and needed me, and because I would be at her house in 45 minutes for sure because there might be just a little snow and the roads might be a little wet and so I would probably only drive 50 miles and hour instead of 75.

Ha!

So, I did what any full-bladdered woman, on a bridge, in a blizzard would do. Yes I did. And I'm sure when the Highway Patrolman got to me, he could follow my tracks in the snow and see the only spot for two hundred miles that was free of snow. It might even have been still steaming.

So help came and the first thing the nice Highway Patrolman said was, "You are in the middle of the freeway. Follow me and we'll go to a safe spot."

No wonder the semi's honked at me. I was in their driving spot, with no lights on. In a blizzard. With a full bladder. (Oh, wait, that wasn't relevant to the semi-drivers. Unless they had full bladders too, but if they were men, and had a soda cup handy--darn men, built so conveniently.)

So, I followed the nice Highway Patrolman, only because I could see his lights faintly through my snow covered window. When he stopped I thanked God for men--and they can be conveniently built as long as they saved insane woman, with wild, wet hair, who are too stupid to know how to put the little windshield wiper hook in the right place and ignore the little hole.

I gave him my windshield wiper and immediately he said, "You've lost a part of it. This one won't work."

And I said to myself, See Phil, I'm not stupid, part of it is missing and if it had been there I would have figured it out. Which I knew was a lie but I said it to myself anyway to make myself feel better.

He took the other wiper off. How he did it, I don't know. The only way I could ever get one of those things off is to bang it on the windshield in a blizzard. He put the windshield wiper on the driver's side. I don't know if he noticed the little hole.

By then there was another Highway Patrolman there and they conversed and then the first man asked, "You missed this exit? This one, right here? Twice?" And then they probably snickered to themselves but they were nice and didn't let the snicker reach their faces but they both had smiling eyes. Maybe they were born that way and always looked happy, I hope so.

They decided I should go down the up ramp and the second man would lead the way. I started to follow him and I yelled out my window to the first, windshield-wiper-fixer, "What's your name?" He told me and then I yelled, "Thank you, Sergeant..." and then I bumbled his name so bad I'm sure he not only snickered inside but also had a good long laugh. And I don't even know if they are Sergeants or if I've watched one to many CSI type shows. So I followed the second man's car but I could couldn't even see as well as I had before, in fact it was almost impossible to see and I thought, How on earth am I going to be able to make it to Hillary's? My eyesight is failing! I'm going blind in my other eye! Please Heavenly Father, not yet. I really wanted to say, not at all, but I didn't want to appear bossy. He knows how I feel and what I fear.


When we got to the bottom of the hill I realized I had my interior light on. And so I turned it off and I could see much better. I waved to the nice smiling eyed Highway Patrolman and I s-l-o-w-l-y made my way--in the middle of the road--in the middle of the night--to Hillary's house--who is our middle child.

I stopped when I was almost there and called Phil. "How do I put this car in four wheel drive?"

"It's always in four wheel drive," he said.

Bah! That's why I get such fantastic gas mileage! Four wheel drive, 24/7, in case a driver is out in a blizzard for several hours once every fifty years.

He told me to go into Hillary's driveway very slow, and in the lowest gear, because Hillary's driveway is on a slope--just like the ones on mountain passes where you see signs that say, "Trucks use lower gear on this grade." This is because the people who were building their house got tired of digging one bucket of dirt with every five buckets of boulders and they gave up and her driveway and garage should be four or five feet lower--but there were all those pesky boulders--and so to get to her garage you have to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. In low gear. Slowly.

I called Hillary and said, "Open your garage door," and she did and I put the car in 1st and drove very slowly up the mountain slope, into Hillary's garage and then I slumped over the steering wheel and wept. After the shudders stopped I composed myself and when I got inside I asked how she and Daisy were.

"We're fine. I feel fine and Daisy hasn't thrown up any more," she said.

And then my eyes crossed and my whole life flashed before my eyes and, let me tell you, the last two hours and twenty minutes counted for almost half of it and then I said, "Thank goodness," instead of saying, "You have a fool for a mother, who goes out in the blizzard of the century, with inadequate information, and I hope this gene was not passed on to you, but watch out, it may have been. You won't find out until your children are grown and need you and you should stay home because they are really probably fine."

I washed my hands and said a little thankful prayer to Heavenly Father who obviously looks out for fools, and I took that baby and I didn't let her go until Hillary got up at 4:00 am and said, "Give her back. She needs to eat."

And then I had a delightful morning with the girls--my girl, Hillary and her two charming older daughters, Maddy and Ruby and the captivating baby, Daisy. I told chapter one of a new story and Maddy and I ate "toad-in-the-holes" for breakfast--which is ironic. I won't let anyone in my family call Acini de Pepe salad "Frog Eye Salad" because I think it's plebeian and not respectful to the frogs of the world but I will eat a Toad-in-the-hole.

I have only been this frightened one other time in my life and that was when I was seventeen years old, riding on a bus, in Switzerland, driven by a bus driver who spoke not one word of English but had a full vocabulary of Danish, driving on high mountain hairpin roads, in the lane closest to the edge--which--I swear--was crumbling into the abyss--in a horrible, thick fog, at night! That was the only time I have been as frightened as I was on Tuesday night.

Today, on Thanksgiving, I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful for the voice of reason, who I married and who deserves better than he's getting. And grateful for every person, who is in any way, mine. Especially my children, who are really amazing, but maybe don't know it yet.

I hope you all had a nice Thanksgiving--I know some of you didn't have Thanksgiving today, but I hope you had a nice day and are having a nice life, and that you don't have to be a stupid fool, like I was, to know how precious life is and how very important relationships are. We should nourish them in the most careful way.

And now I must make my life count for something. I guess I better get to bed so I can get up in the morning and start.

PS Why do you suppose there is a little hole on the windshield wiper apparatus if it's not used for something? It makes no sense to me. If it makes sense to you please leave me a comment and tell me why.

TRIALS

We hate them--trials--and yet they are necessary. We can't appreciate the good without the bad. I wanted to say "without the evil" but evil is such a...well, evil word.

I remember the night I was going to pray for every single family in our neighborhood. It was daunting. I got to exactly six houses when I realized that if I prayed for everyone I would be on my knees--or leaning on the bed, because of my bad knees--all night--perhaps even for days. Everyone had problems that seemed heartbreaking to me.

But there was one family that I couldn't find the trial for. I have often said to Phil, "They don't have a trial," and he would tell me "you just didn't know about it." Sadly, he was right. This week I found out and I was devastated. I love that family. Well, actually I love all of my neighbors and am devastated about their trials but this one kind of involved me too. It kind of involved everyone in our neighborhood. We are all hurting. Hurting and praying for this family but hurting for ourselves too.

And then, just tonight, I realized that every one of my neighbor's/friend's trials involve me because I know them. Because I love them. Because I recognize who they really are.

Now I ask a question...can my sharing the hurt, the humiliation, the fear--insert any number of hurtful words here--make a difference? Can my worrying, prayers, and well wishes, make a difference or not?

I remember in the beginning of one of my trials I wanted to run home to Momma, although she had died the year before. I wanted to mentally run home and thought of physically running home too, to Daddy. He wouldn't have known what to do with me but I was seriously thinking about it. And then I confessed this to one of my friends. Perhaps I was feeling her out, thinking she would give me words of confirmation. Instead she drew herself up to her full height, and in a "mind me!" sort of voice said, "Oh no you won't. You will stay right here where your support system is."

How can you deny that force? I stayed. And, indeed, my friends rallied around and made my life easier. And since we have been through that time together nothing will ever, EVER break that bond of friendship.

I don't know if my friends with the new, raw trial, will run home to "Momma"-wherever that might be--or if they will stay here where their support group is. I hope they will stay so we can heal together. I pray for it. I hope they are brave and have the common sense like I did--well, I didn't have the common sense but my friend did. Do you think if I said, "Oh no you won't!" that will sway their decision?

In the mean time, I will pray for them and for my hurting and everyone else's. Together we can heal, and in the healing we will be stronger. We will be one.

QUOTE FOR THE DAY--PRAYER

"Finally, having exhausted all his human resources, Dantes turned to God. He remembered the prayers his mother had taught him and found meaning in them of which he had formerly been unaware.

"For the happy man, prayer is only a jumble of words, until the day when sorrow comes to explain to him the sublime language--by means of which--he speaks to God."

(The Count of Monte Cristo--Alexandre Dumas, pg. 41)

SIX WORDS FOR TODAY'S PRAYER LIST

Help me remember joy and peace.

TODAY'S PRAYER-WISH-LIST

This morning I didn't pray beside my bed. I usually do that first thing after I've showered and dressed because that's when I make my bed. If my bed it unmade it means I haven't had my morning prayer. But, today I was going to change the sheets--note "was going to", as in, it didn't happen--and put the down comforter on for the winter. But, it didn't get done so as I was standing in the hall bathroom, un-ugly-ing my face and un-witching my hair I remembered I hadn't prayed. I folded my arms and had prayer, right there in the bathroom.

This is what I asked for: To remember the joy and the peace I felt when I lived with Heavenly Father before this life on earth. I would really like to remember it all but I know that wish can't be granted so I asked just to remember the joy and the peace. And then I asked that I could have that joy and peace with me.

Today was an ordinary day. I felt peace all day. I had a fair amount of joy too, far more than usual. I know there is no way I could have the joy of that I experienced in my pre-earth-life but what I had today was pretty nice.

So, today's plea was a success. Maybe that's all we have to do. Ask. Ask and have faith.

PS Pika, the prayer cat showed up for my prayer this morning. I don't know how she does it. And she had something to say, too.

PPS We just had family prayer as Phil has gone to bed and yes, Pika attended. She meowed, too. it's the only time we ever hear her voice.

SIX WORDS FOR THE PRAYER CAT

Fluffy and reverent, attending family prayer.

THE PRAYER CAT

Pika has an uncanny ability to know exactly when I will open the bedroom door in the morning. I have never opened it yet and not found here sitting there, waiting for me.

She also knows when I am coming home. I open the door and there she is. Curling around my feet, waiting to be told she is pretty and hoping for a scratch on the back.

She also knows when the garage--or any--door is open. She has an open-door-policy and it demands that she check out every open door and try to escape.

And, oddest of all, she shows up for family prayer. Phil usually goes to bed first--I am almost always working on a post for this blog. He comes to me and says, "It's your turn," or "It's time for prayer," or simply, "I'm going to bed." Then I look at the calender to see whose turn it really is and somehow, no matter where Pika is, she comes.

Sometimes she meows while we are praying as if to say, "And I have something to say to Heavenly Father, too." This is from a cat who almost NEVER meows.

She even bows her head!

There aren't a whole lot of things that are a sure thing in life. Pika makes it her business to be a "for sure" girl. I'm sure she'll show up to greet me every day, to try to escape and to be present for family prayer.

Amen.

THE MIRACLE OF THE SLEEP-OVER SISTER

Let me tell you about a miracle that my sister, Julie, participated in. Actually she was the star, she was the rescuer, she prevented tragedy.

This happened years ago. Her daughter was in college here at BYU. My kids were young; Her Excellency of Mousehole wasn’t even born yet. I was an overwhelmed young mother. I wasn’t one of those women who run a perfectly organized home with gourmet meals. Oh, wait. I did pretty well in the meal department. You could set the clock when I called the family for dinner and they were delicious--the meals were delicious, not the family. But, then again, who can resist a baby or a toddler or even a child, and on occasion, a husband? So maybe the family was delicious, too.

I was overwhelmed one week and I had prayed for help. I remember actually saying the words, “Heavenly Father, please send me some help!” I had no idea where it was going to come from.

My sister showed up on my doorstep the next day. She lived forty miles away and this was a rare occurrence for her to just show up.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

It was the middle of the winter, driving from Salt Lake to Provo is sometimes a challenge in the winter and that particular day was overcast and snow was predicted.

“I don’t know. I just felt like it,” she said.

I think the Holy Ghost whispered to her and she listened.

“I want you and Lezlie to go to a movie,” she said. “I’ll go home late this afternoon.”

“I can’t do that," I said. "You and Lezlie go to a movie.”

“Nope,” she said. “I’m staying here. I’ll watch the kids and tidy up a little.” She was insistent and forceful. She’s an older sister and so “insistent and forceful” come naturally to her.

So, Lezlie was called and she and I went to the movie. I don’t remember what we saw. I do remember we laughed and laughed. I have always had a loving relationship with Lezlie. She’s funny, and whatever she does I think it great. (Go here and see her books.)

When we got back, Julie had cleaned my house and taken care of the kids and then said, “It looks like snow. I think I’ll just stay the night. I’ll just sleep right here on the couch.”

Julie still had kids at home. I don't know who took care of them while she was at my house or who was going to get them off to school the next morning. This is one of the details that make this miracle--well, miraculous, that things were being taken care of at home. Maybe Gordon was a willing participant in the miracle.

And no one in her right mind wants to sleep on a couch but she was insistent and forceful and I was the younger sister. I was used to her deciding things. We had a whole lifetime-history of her deciding things, so I agreed. We stayed up and talked for a while. It was so nice to have her to myself, that didn't happen often. We finally made a bed with sheets and blankets on the couch and she said, “I’ll be fine.”

The next morning, when I got up, Taylor was sleeping with her. “Why is Taylor sleeping here? The couch wasn’t uncomfortable enough, you had to add a child?”

“Well, it was a funny thing,” she said. “It was the middle of the night and I heard something. I looked up and Taylor was on his way to the front door. I think he was going to go outside.”

Taylor had been sick and sometimes he sleepwalked when he was sick.

“So, I said to him,” she said, “‘Where are you going, Taylor-bug?’ but he didn’t answer, he just continued toward the door so I grabbed him and snuggled him down and he went right to sleep.”

It had snowed earlier that evening and was bitter cold. The possibility that she saved Taylor’s life was a real possibility. I don’t think either one of us realized it at the time but as all the miracles in my life, the realization that the hand of the Lord was watching over my family, came later.

How grateful I am to my sister, Julie, for preventing a tragedy in our family’s life. She didn’t know why she came. She gave me a break and sent me to the movie with Lezlie. She helped with housework that was overwhelming. She saved Taylor's life.

Three miracles. I had prayed for some help and help came, and for something I didn’t even know I was going to need help with. But someone did and sent Julie.

AND THE RAINS CAME DOWN

Today, as I was driving all over the place, I looked at the cloudless sky and thought, "I really should have been actively praying for rain." This has been a very dry summer. We know we have had rain a lot of nights--about this much. Oh, sorry, you can't see my fingers--they are glued together. It has only rained enough to make a the windshield spotty like a speckled pup.

So, I stopped all my internal dialogue and just said a quick, silent prayer to our Heavenly Father for some rain. This was about 5:00 o'clock, it was 101 degrees.

I was driving home at about 8:00 o'clock. There was a forest fire on the mountain and the air was thick with a the smell of nature burning to ash. The back mountain was hazy with smoke.

I stopped at a friend's house--she and her hubby have been gone for about two weeks and I have been about a week overdue from lonesomeness for her. (She is the one who made the hysterical phone calls about the caramel-thievery and provided the best laughs I've had all summer.) I crashed their dinner and they graciously let me sit and drink in their friendship.

And then the rain came. Not a soft rain, a deluge. I would have waited it out but in the past if we got rain like that for more than five minutes we got flooded. Our storm drain has not been big enough and the water used to come over the sidewalk, up the lawn and, "Hello, Snyder's! I've brought a lake to your basement. You can wade and go fishing. Have a nice day." The city has since tried to fix things but still, we've had some close calls since then.

So I dashed to the car, which was locked, of course, and by the time I got home and dashed again I was soaked but not as bad as Phil, who was on a ladder, of all things, by the front porch. He had the front lawn hose turned on full force, clearing the rain gutter of who knows what, which he cleaned out thoroughly two weeks ago. The water was pouring over the rain gutter and merrily making its way, singing and burbling all the while, toward the basement window.

If he hadn't been home, but gallivanting with me, we would have had a lake in the basement...again. I bless his non-gallivanting soul.

So, today the rain came, the forest fire is out, the lawn and garden are soaked to a depth of probably a foot, and the car is washed clean. So there is a three-fer if ever there was one.

I should pray for rain more often. And I will. And for sure tonight's prayer will be one of thankfulness for many blessings, including the lack of wading and fishing opportunities in the basement, and the mountain being saved.

And now the earth is clean and fresh, just like a mouthwash commercial.

Oh, happy day.

WHAT WOULD TIME-TITHING LOOK LIKE?

Today in Sunday School our teacher talked about tithing. I grew up knowing all about tithing. I learned to pay my tithing before anything else. If my tithing wasn't paid first I had an uneasy feeling--still do--so it gets paid first.

Later, sitting in Relief Society I had the thought that maybe I should be "paying" tithing on my "days." Sort of a time-tithing. Would I pay 10% of my waking hours or the full 24?

What would constitute a tithing of a day?

Scripture reading for sure. Studying for Sunday School and Relief Society lessons. Visiting the sick would count. Maybe just visiting anyone would count. Fixing meals for someone who has a new baby or for someone who is sick--that would count, I think.

I used to write letters all the time. I still have people say things like, "I was cleaning out my dresser and found a note from you." I think that would count.

I think writing my personal history would count. I need to spend more time on it anyway.

Certainly genealogy would count.

Temple attendance would count.

Prayer would count.

I think journal writing would count. That is my one big regret--not keeping a journal when the kids were little and not keeping a journal when the kids were older or right this very minute, when I STILL DON'T KEEP A JOURNAL.

So, I'm thinking about this and wondering how I would keep track of time-tithing.

THE WILD JEEP DRIVER AND THE GOOD SHEEPHERDER

It was the summer of 1958. We were going on the mountain with my older sister, Pat, the breezy, confident, army-jeep-driving-schoolteacher. She was taking our group of six--we were twelve and thirteen years old—Holly, my cousin, AnnAlee, LaRee, Julie, Pam—my best friend and me on the mountain so we could have a camping experience and adventures. With Pat, there were always adventures—she could make building a sandwich an adventure.

That summer morning we climbed in her jeep and hung on--it was important when driving with Pat that you hung on. She had the top of the jeep off—she always had the top off—and the windshield down. She used to drive from Las Vegas for long week-ends and would drive the whole way, summer and part of the winter with the top down. Every truck driver along the way knew of her. She honked at waved at each one. She had a whole fleet of truck-driving men watching out for her.

That summer morning we drove away in a roar of exhaust fumes, I imagine our mothers held their breath and hoped for the best.

Once we were on top of the mountain my wacky sister showed us one of the advantages of owning an army jeep and drove us right into trouble.

“The great thing about driving a jeep,” she yelled, over the roar of the engine, “is that you don’t have to stick to the roads. Ta doot, ta doot,” she called in her musical, magic way as she deliberately drove off the road through a large valley, dotted with sagebrush. She weaved in and around the sagebrush. Looking over her shoulder she called to us hanger-on’ers, “Isn’t this fun?” And then she drove on top of a rock. The jeep had enough momentum to get halfway. It was like a green teeter-totter with one laughing driver and six terrified girls, teetering. We scrambled off before it tottered.

“Oops! Look what we did.” She turned the motor off.

We stood around the jeep with our hands in our pockets.

“What do we do now?” someone asked in a quivering little voice.

“Well,” Pat said, ignoring her. “Isn’t that something?” She didn’t seem to be concerned in any way. She actually laughed. Again. Or maybe it was just a continuing laugh. She laughed her whole life.

I didn’t laugh. I was frightened. I knew we were doomed, all alone on the mountain and it was my breezy, irresponsible, laughing sister’s fault.

We hadn’t seen anyone else all day. How long before someone would send help, I wondered. Would we be nothing but bleached bones by then? I had seen my share of Westerns and bleached bones played a big part in the lives of people who were stranded.

Pat walked around the jeep, pushing on it a bit here and there, saying things like, “Well, we’re really stuck, that’s for sure.”

She smiled. When she smiled she could charm ornery mountain lions and she charmed me. She put her arm around me and I forgave her for her recklessness. I forgave her for the breeziness and for the laughter. If I had to die on the mountain at least I would be with someone who was fun and interesting. How awful it would be to become bleached bones with a grumpy person.

“There’s just one thing to do,” she said. “We’ll pray, shall we? Then everything will be all right.”

So we gathered around and folded our arms and prayed. I don’t remember who offered the prayer. It was probably Pat but whoever it was had barely said, “Amen,” when we looked up to see a miracle coming up the draw, a sheepherder, leading a horse. A Border Collie was trotting by his side.

“Got yourself in a bit of a spot, have ya’?” he said when he got closer. He was laughing a little bit too. What was the matter with all these grownups and the laughter?

He seemed about as worried as Pat, which was not at all. The two of them talked for a couple of minutes about stuff that didn't matter one little bit in the world, like the weather, nothing important like how we were going to get rescued.

I thought he should get on his horse and gallop away to bring help. He should have yelled encouraging words like, “It won’t be long now,” over his shoulder as he disappeared in a cloud of sagebrush pollen. He should have waved his Stetson and maybe even a lariat. "I'll leave my trusty dog, Lassie here to keep you safe," he should have called. Instead he ambled, in a bowlegged way around the jeep, pushing it here and there.

“Yup. Ya did a really fine job of it.”

They both laughed. One of the girls gave a vague little laugh. I thought of her as a traitor, this was serious business. There should be no laughter.

He uncoiled a rope from his saddle and tied it to the jeep. He wound it around his saddle horn and in a quiet voice said something to his horse. The horse slowly backed up pulling the rope tight. The sheepherder made a little clicking noise out of the side of his mouth and the horse walked backwards again. The jeep made a horrible screeching noise and bounced off the rock.

The sheepherder knelt down, looked under the jeep and pronounced it fit. He and Pat shook hands, he patted her on the back.

“Well, have yerself a good time with those here girls. Maybe I’ll see you around later. Gotta check on my sheep, so I’ll be a goin’.” He led his horse up the draw and out of sight. We never saw him again and we never saw as much as one sheep on the mountain either. I watched. I watched for a sheepherder wagon. I watched for even one glimpse of white woolliness. There wasn't any. Being the fanciful person I was I wondered if he were an angel or maybe one of the "ancient ones" that come from some kind of a time warp to help stranded fools. Maybe he was John, from the Bible or one of the three Nephites, from the Book of Mormon. He was probably just a sheepherder but to me he was magical.

As soon as he was out of sight we piled back into the jeep and away we went, at speeds the same as before, if not worse, and with the same amount of carefree attitude. Pat sang at the top of her lungs, waved her arms in the air, pointing out things of interest to us. We laughed and pretended indifference at the excessive speed. I glanced at each girl. We all had had white knuckles and clenched teeth with forced smiles so I wasn't alone with my fear.

Pat didn't notice. Life was good for Pat. It was to be enjoyed, full throttle. Life was always good, wherever she was, whatever the circumstance.

An important thing happened to me that day on the mountain, besides being terrified. I learned to believe in the power of prayer. But there was a difference between my belief and Pat’s. She believed too but she knew that help was coming. She asked. Help would come. It was as simple as that. From that day on, I have believed too but she lived her whole life knowing.

My sister has been gone about fifteen years now. She died of sepsis, about seven or eight weeks after receiving a kidney transplant. She was/is the most fascinating person I have ever known and I miss her so much it hurts. She never felt sorry for herself. She never complained that she was the one to have kidney failure. She took what life gave her and squeezed every drop of fun out of it. She is my hero.

A BIT OF THIS AND THAT AND SOME HAPPY NEWS

Before I take the decorations down--not that they will get taken down for a long time but there's always the thought that I'll get motivated--I thought maybe I'd post a couple. This is the reason for the whole Christmas celebration and I never do a good job of focusing on the birth of our Savior. By the time Christmas comes I'm worn down to a simmering frazzle. Next year I will start earlier. Famous last words.


I am so grateful to our Savior and so tender about him that it makes tears come to my eyes to even type this. He loves us so much he was willing to pay for our sins. He took not only our sins but our hurts, our fears, our loneliness and depression. He knows how we feel because he felt it. He wants us to give our sins, our hurts, our everything sad in our lives to him so he can heal us. It all started with his birth in the most humble of circumstances.

This is--what Phil calls my "Dolly Parton" or "Liberace" display. I try to restrain myself when he says things like that. Anyway, I love it and only burned part of the garland. (Don't tell Phil, he said I would and I said I wouldn't.) It was the starry, metal garland that wound through the candles--I don't think it shows up in this photo--so there was no danger of fire but still...he was right and I was wrong.

Pika, the pretty one, just wants to be admired, scratched a bit around the ears and maybe on the back and then wants to sleep under the Christmas tree. Minkey does not want to see a cat being lazy--even though he is lazy three-fourths of the time--so he saunters up to her with mischief on his mind. She is suspicious but he is nice and licks her face a bit. Just when you see her starting to believe he's a changed cat he reaches out and swats her and then the chase is on. Poor trusting Pika.

Last night Minkey decided to yowl in the middle of the night. When the dogs were here I heard nothing from him in the middle of the night. But the dogs are gone now and he knows his yowling won't bring frantic barking and scrambling to the chase so he yowls at 2:00 AM. I couldn't find the squirt bottle so I opened the door and squirted Fabreze into the hall. It did the trick. Maybe he just wanted to be freshened up.

Now the happy news. Some time ago I told you that my daughter's sister-in-law was carrying twins and might loose one. (This was in a post called A Vacant Mind.) I asked you to send a prayer in her behalf. Phil and I have been fasting for her and the babies every Sunday and praying for them every day. Her whole family has been doing the same, hoping that a miracle would happen and she would be able to carry those twins. The doctor told her to come to Utah and not worry and check with him when she got home. She went in yesterday and the problem has resolved itself. A miracle. Truly a miracle. Thank you for your help. We will continue to pray and fast on Sundays and I'll let you know when these little girls are born.

The doctor asked her if her family had been praying for her. Doctors know that some miracles cannot be explained and when they dig deeper they find out prayer and faith were involved.

I realize not all problems are resolved. Sometimes babies are lost--we lost three, one a five month pregnancy, one a four month and one a three. I didn't think I would ever carry a child to term again. I grieved, without a doubt one of the worst times of my life. I feel we will see those children again. I really do. I think God does not allow a child to be formed for no reason. I believe I will have them again. They belong to me, to Phil, to our family.

So with that I will close. I wish you all a good night or a good day or a good whenever-you-read-this part of the day. May you have peace and joy. May we all have peace and joy.

A VACANT MIND

My mind is a blank. Nothing to say. Tired. Worried. A touch of sadness. Overwhelmed by the preparation that still is undone.

But...the living room is finally decorated, clean, beautiful. And you know why? Because our home teachers were coming today so we worked like mad to finish. They were impressed. If they had looked in the kitchen they would have seen all the huge Rubbermaid containers filled with tissue paper that wrapped the ornaments, etc. If they had looked downstairs they would have seen the stacks of magazines and books that I don't know what to do with. Why am I a packrat?

Tonight's dishes are still in the sink, if they had looked they would have seen them.

The spare room is filled with gifts still in bags. The goodies are mostly made but I have more caramels and another batch of fudge and those pesky Russian Teacakes to make more of so I guess the goodies are NOT almost made. All these goodies are not mailed to Aunt Dorothy yet. I better hurry.

We have 42 bags of caramels to deliver. I don't have all of the caramels made yet. I better hurry. I am going to tell people to put them in the freezer until March when there will be a caramel shortage.

A man in our ward is sick and in the hospital. I am worried about him.

My friend is in a care center and it looks like it's just not her physical health that is in trouble. She said some odd things to me while I was there the other day. I'm worried about her.

My daughter's sister-in-law, who is pregnant with twins may loose one. Or both. We fasted an prayed for her today. Please take just a moment and say a prayer for her. Heavenly Father knows who she is, you won't need her name. I am praying for a miracle. I am NOT worrying, I am holding positive, healthy thoughts for those babies that she and her husband want so very much. I want to see them born, healthy and normal. I want to hold them and coo over them and tell her they are the most beautiful babies I have ever seen. I am holding that picture in my mind.

Oh, my. So many heavy things on my mind tonight. I need to let them go, give them to the Savior. He said he will take them. The worries. The sadness. The hurts. The anxiety. He will take them all. I just need to let them go.

PS FOR YESTERDAY'S FLEETING HAPPINESS POST

Don't feel sorry for me. I'm not sad or depressed. The "happy" I was talking about was/is pure joy. I have felt it a few times in my life. I think this is how we felt when we lived with our Heavenly parents before coming here, to earth life. I think this was the state we lived in, pure joy.

I have felt that joy a few times in my life. The most memorable one was after I lost a baby. I was five month pregnant and the baby died. He was perfect. The doctor couldn't find anything wrong. I could not heal. I grieved. There is nothing more powerful to say than to say I grieved. If you have ever lost a child you will understand.

In prayer I finally asked Heavenly Father if I could just see my child. That night, in a dream, my oldest child, Trent, brought the baby, Stephen, to me. The baby was dressed in a blue, footed sleeper. He had dark hair, like my other children had had--this was before my blond haired, blue eyed Bentley was born. Trent gave Stephen to me and my whole being was flooded with joy. It is my most precious memory.

That's the joy I'm talking about. That's the joy that comes so rarely. That's the joy we lived with, I think, when we lived with our Heavenly parents. That's the joy I miss. Maybe you miss it too.

NOW THIS IS ROMANCE.

Phil always goes to bed before I do and we have family prayer just before he does. By that time of night he's a walking zombie and sometimes he's almost too tired to stand up straight. Tonight was one of those nights. It was his turn to pray. (He was born on an even numbered day—24—reminiscent of the TV show he LOVES and that is not going to start on time in January--and I was born on an odd day—lucky 7--and so that's how we keep track.) Sometimes we pretend it's the other person's night as we are too tired to say meaningful things and want to just say "Mumble, mumble, blah, blah, blah." Poor Heavenly Father. He must hold his head in his hands. I'm sure we need a dose of repentance--or we could pray earlier.

Anyway, tonight it was Phil's turn to pray but he's falling down tired and he said, "It's your turn."

I looked at the calendar. "It's the fourteenth. Your turn.”

"The fourteenth," he said. "Valentine's Day?"

"You forgot to buy me a present." (I try not to miss an opportunity to get presents.)

"I took out the garbage," he said.

And that, my friends, is romance at our house. Even hot romance.