A NEW YEAR'S WISH FOR YOU

What are you so interested in/longing for, like this little boy? Is it your family? Wealth? Your lost  youth? Your skinniness? (Oh how I wish I were as thin, as when I was a teenager, and though I was fat.) What do you long for, wish for, hope and pray for? 

I hope you can find peace and fulfillment for whatever it is. 

One of the things I long for--almost every day--is my mom. To have that wish fulfilled I'd have to die. I'm putting that wish on hold for a while. 

Can you achieve your longings-for-wish by something you can do? 

So do it. 

I will too. 

My New Year's resolutions this year are: Live so I have no regrets and learn to really listen to the still small voice (the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.)

PS This little boy (our Grandson, William) was watching for his dad, who was packing the car to go home--they had been here for 4 days over the Christmas holiday. William would not leave his post. (He even had a water bottle in case the wait was long.) I don't know if he thought his dad would disappear if he left the door or not, but he was faithful to the end. 

Then they loaded everyone in the car--Mom, Dad, William, Emmett and two dogs--and left. 

I cried. 

THIS MAY HAVE BEEN SACRILEGIOUS AND I MAY BE IN TROUBLE

I shouldn't admit things to you like I do. Today a woman at church said, "You just tell it all in your blog, don't you?" And I admitted I did. And then I walked right into the chapel and did something that I shouldn't have done. And while I was doing it I knew I'd tell you all about it on my blog.

So, here's the deal. Yesterday I was on my feet several hours, helping with a funeral luncheon. When I got home and took off my shoes my toes screamed bad words. I examined them and realized my toenails needed to be cut as they had been jammed against my shoes. I need new toenail polish too--maybe something cute like, Gilmore Girl's--but that's another subject.

Our church doesn't start until 1:00 and so I had oodles of time to cut the toenails. I even had time to polish them. Did I? No. I puttered around the house doing everything else until I realized my friend was picking me up pretty soon. I flew to the shower and then barely finished making my face less "small-children-run-away-in-horror-ugly" and making my hair less witchy when she drove up. I grabbed my church bag and threw in something I shouldn't have.

The reason she takes me to church is because Phil is serving at a BYU ward and is gone before I'm even awake on Sunday morning. He usually picks me up after church but today was going to be late and so I knew I would probably be walking home with the jammed-against-the-shoes-long-toenails. My friend would drive me home, too but it was such a lovely day that I wanted to walk.

So...when I got into the chapel I was the only one there besides the organist. I slunk into my favorite pew and scooted all the way to the wall and took out the offending tool, the one that will keep me out of Heaven. And then I used it. Here is how the dialogue will go when I die:

Saint Peter: "Well, Lynne, you were a pretty good person."

Me: "Thank you, Saint Peter, I tried."

Saint Peter: "humm. I see by the record here that on a black day in November you cut your toenails RIGHT IN THE CHAPEL!"

Me: Clearing my throat and swallowing a few times. "Well, to be honest. I was very discrete. I was the only person in the chapel. I ducked out of sight. I picked up all the toenail clippings and took them out into the hall and dumped them in the garbage can." I will probably pause in my dialogue here and then I will say "I washed my hands."

Saint Peter: "Washed your hands?"

Me: "Well, okay, I forgot to wash my hands but I thought about it later, when I was blogging, and thought it would have been a really good idea."

Saint Peter: "I'll say. You shook people's hands, didn't you?"

Me: "I forget."

Saint Peter: "Right." He says in a sarcastic way. Who knew Saint Peter could be sarcastic? "Lying about washing the hands, and lying about being the only one in the chapel, and lying about forgetting if she shook people's hands, WHICH SHE DID," he says to himself as he marks something down in a his Big Official Book.

Me: "I'm really sorry. Does deathbed repentance count?"

Saint Peter: "It's too late, your deathbed was a few minutes ago."

Me: "Well, I knew it was probably not a good idea at the time."

Saint Peter: "But you did it anyway."

Me: "Well, yes, because I didn't want to walk home with painful toes."

Saint Peter: "You could have avoided that by cutting your toenails at home LIKE A SENSIBLE PERSON. And by polishing them too. Jeez!" Maybe Saint Peter doesn't say, "Jeez."

Me: "But the Alzheimer's!"

Saint Peter: "You never had Alzheimer's." He marks something else down in his big book which I am starting to think is called, The Big Book of Bad Ideas. "Lied about having Alzheimer's," he says to himself.

Me: "What are my chances of getting into Heaven?"

Saint Peter: "Well, not only did you cut your toenails IN THE CHAPEL and lied about washing your hands and lied about having Alzheimer's but you didn't wear pantyhose to church."

Me: "It was a warm day. My last days of pantyhose freedom. For crying out loud! What are you, the fashion police?"

Saint Peter: "Tisk, tisk, tisk," he says, shaking his head. "Disrespectful to the man who is in charge of the gates of Heaven." He writes in that Dang Big Book.

And then I'm sure I will disgrace myself by talking when I should be humble and I will end up in a not-so-wonderful spot for eternity.

So, don't try this at church. Try it at home, where normal people have the good sense to do it. And wear pantyhose. Unless you're a man and then I'm sorry for talking about pantyhose and toenails and embarrassing you.

Well, I'm not really sorry.

DO YOU HEAR THAT, SAINT PETER? I told the truth. I'm not really sorry so get out your BIG FAT ERASER and erase "Lied about being sorry," in your BIG FAT BOOK OF BAD BEHAVIOR.

Good grief. This pretty much clinches it, doesn't it? I'm not getting into Heaven.

TOE JAM

I don't have anything ready for my personal history group on Tuesday and I thought Maybe I could write a blog and use it for both? I'm lazy that way. So, here it is, unedited, just like everything is on this blog.

Danny was sleeping over for several days. We were in the twin-bed bedroom. I loved that room because there was a little lamp over each bed. You could read in bed and when you heard an enforcer on the steps you could just reach up and turn off the light and almost never get caught.

Danny and I got along okay but because he was a boy we weren't the greatest of pals. Besides that he was a year older than I was. That made him pretty much the boss.

Every night, as we knelt by our beds to say our prayers our feet would touch. We would say things like, "Get your toe-jam out of my way!" or "Keep your to-jam to yourself." We were such clever four and five-year-olds.

Danny's Mom and Dad eventually moved to Salt Lake City and I didn't have to worry about his toe jam or his teasing or bossiness until Uncle Clyn died in his 50's and several years later Aunt Dee remarried. Danny came to stay while they honeymooned in Hawaii. This time we were teenagers and slept in separate rooms. He pretty much still thought he was the boss and added to that he was furious with his Mom for remarrying; he made my life miserable. The only time he showed any pleasure was the times he as eating or when he was annoying me. Mom asked me to "be understanding." This was my house. He should be the understanding one and be decent. He was not in an understanding mood. Or a decent one.

I had finally had enough. My first sign of rebellion came one day when he did something to annoy me and then he took off, down the upstairs hall. He was faster than I was an was almost to the steps. I knew I didn't have a chance catching him so I launched myself at him. Now I am not a great physical person. The only time I attempted to leap a hedge I fell on my face. When I sneaked into a neighbor's yard in the middle of the night with friends I was the one who caught my foot on barbed wire and left a guilty trial of blood. But, this one time, I was a champion. He fell with a thud. Of course I fell too but it didn't matter. I was victorious. He, of course, was furious.

My second and last sign of rebellion came when I bought a slide-bolt door-lock in Richfield. I didn't tell anyone I had it. When I got home I realized the door and the wall had to be on the same level so I simply chipped part of the door frame away and installed my lock. The next day I annoyed Danny. It didn't take much. I took off like the streak of fear that I was. He was a few steps behind me. I flew up the seventeen steps and barely made it to my door before he did. I slid the bolt shut and then listened as he tried to get in. The words "Raging Bull" come to mind as I listened to him through the door. He was furious. I thought he would tear the door down and I finally yelled that if he did he would be in BIG trouble with Aunt Jo--my mom. That got him. No one wanted to be in trouble with Aunt Jo and he stomped away.

We grew up. Danny served in Viet Nam, got married and had a couple of kids. His marriage disintegrated. His life did too. Then, one day, out of the blue, he died; almost exactly the same age his dad was when he died. I spoke at his funeral.

Now, six or seven years later I am remembering Danny, remembering all his childish pranks, his hopes for the future, the desire to serve a mission that he never quite had the courage to do. I am remembering how Aunt Dee and Uncle Con followed the Viet Nam war on a map; always afraid Danny would be in the news. Danny was never the same after that war.

Tonight I am thinking of a little boy, whose biggest problem was his cousin's toe-jam. I am grieving that we weren't better friends later, when he needed a friend so badly. One thing I don't regret is the lock on my bedroom door. It was a job not very well done but satisfying, never the less. I think Danny was a little bit proud of me too.