Stayin' Alive with Stacy

"The Route" to finding one's self is paved with good intentions

2009-09-12T19:38:00.000-07:00

Many years ago, I learned a valuable lesson. I needed to be addicted to something.

And since I don't believe in alcohol, drugs, tobacco or any other vices (okay so a few chocolate items may make me waiver...), I turned to ser-'vice'. Serving others became my "vice". And something magical happened. I became happier, more fulfilled and began to understand myself and my role in this really big world better by simply focusing on others.

But I never quite seem to accomplish enough...

So when my good friend Gale Sears (who is the embodiment of Mother Theresa herself when it comes to service and sharing her talents) asked me to review her new book, The Route, I couldn't have been more thrilled at the opportunity!

Gale and I talked about service and she related how the things she learned through her experiences provided the message of this book. When Gale began her "route" delivering meals to the elderly for Meals on Wheels, she'd been at a time in her life where she needed to find fulfillment after the joys and hardships of raising a family. A call for volunteers on a local message board jumped out at her and thus began her adventures into the homes of some eclectic characters who found their way into her heart while Gale in turn found the best parts of herself.

Based on her own thoughts and feelings towards the people she came to love and serve, The Route, is a fictionalized story of a woman who is unsure of herself and her position in life yet has the desire to find purpose in her mid-fifties. She finds a posting that calls for volunteers to deliver meals to the elderly. Figuring that she couldn't screw it up too bad, Carol decides to try it out.

A run in the first day with a little trailer park tyrant who sends daggers through Carol's heart almost weakens her resolve. Carol, however, is determined not to shy away from the challenge. As time marches on, she not only comes to understand these people's histories, lives and imprint on the world but she comes to understand her own ability to love unconditionally and process her life and relationships as she puts things in perspective and gains peace and purpose.

As I spoke with Gale about the story after reading it, I had to admit that when I initially picked it up, I did not think it would be a story that would make me think too deeply. I judged it to be a feel good light read - something akin to a stroll through a daisy filled field on a pleasantly warm summer day. But for someone who has always thought that the only way to do things was on a grandiose scale (I relate to the guy whose idea of a nice presidential portrait was to create Mount Rushmore), it did make me think about the small things n life.

I have always had the desire to serve - and I do so on a regular basis - but I have always thought that my simple acts of service could never amount to a pile that could even hope to fit into Abe Lincoln's rocky left nostril. So I get down on myself because I don't have the ability to change the world - or a mountainous visage for that matter.

But the thing that Gale's book taught me is that I am changing the world - the world of those whose lives I have touched through the small and simple things. And by touching one life and their world with what I have always considered to be minutia , a ripple effect is created and a little bit more of the world is changed,...one person, one small and simple act of kindness at a time.

So until I can learn how to make monuments by carving people's lives in stone, it's enough to simply and quietly help others along the rocky paths we call life.

And one day, in the grand scheme of things - I hope for a few people out there at least - I will be able to say that when it came to their lives, I made mountains out of molehills

You can order Gale's book The Route through Amazon here or through Deseret Book here. And you can jump on over to read Gale's blog on service here.

I think I can, I think I can....

2009-08-04T00:00:00.000-07:00

My good friend Wendy Elliot asked me to review a project she's been working on. It's called "The Complete Novel Plotting Workbook".

I admittedly thought that there is not much reviewing I could do on something like this. I mean I'm used to reviewing stuff on the basis of literary achievement; plot and character development, interwoven story lines and grammar and syntax. But how does one go about reviewing something that is designed to help one do these things without caustically throwing it back into your face if you miserably fail???

I changed tack. I decided to 'play' with my new little workbook and attack a project that I never, ever thought I could do - a fantastical adventure novel. I mean since I am the furthest thing from a fantasy writer that there is, I figured if Wendy's little workbook could open that realm of my functional no nonsense brain, she'd have a winner.

A month later, I am practically running around my house in spandex somewhere in the future fighting evil and time traveling through my dreams. Using my little workbook, I have garnered an excitement for fantasy and other realms that I never thought possible. My characters have become a part of me (much to the angst of my two middle teenage sons who think mom has finally fallen off her rocker) and the plot twists hit me at the most unexpected times (usually when I'm jousting or playing with light sabers with my youngest who thinks mom is now pretty cool!

Good and evil have taken on personas that have made them into characters themselves. I have thoroughly enjoyed living through them and living the story I've created in my head using Wendy's little workbook which now has a permanent place in my purse in case a thought comes to me while I am living a more respectable life...

Now if I can only put my weaponry down long enough to format it and get back to writing, I might see the benefits of my daydreaming and middle aged identity crisis.

And for those who wonder, my sanity is not the important issue here. The issue is that I once again learned that with the right tools, anything is possible including creating alternative worlds where good does conquer evil after hard fought battles and happy endings do exist - even when paired with laser-eyed monsters and giant sized horny toads.

Check out Wendy's little workbook and have some fun yourself. You can get one HERE or you can get one through her Blogsite HERE

Happy writing everyone and may I see you in a book real soon!!

Taking a break from work long enough....

2009-06-14T19:49:00.000-07:00

Shannon Tanner thinks she has it all until she finds out that all is not as it seems. Her trusted fiancée is a criminal who has stolen from her family and is out to kill her now that she’s found out his secrets.

Enter the FBI and Agent Rick Holden who goes undercover as Shannon’s aging aunt in order to protect her without sacrificing either of their personal beliefs or integrity.

Fear and desperation push Shannon to the limit. The question now is can life, with Agent Holden’s help, return to a semblance of normalcy as her heart begins to hope and heal?

As part of the virtual tour for Tristi Pinkston’s new mystery novel, Agent in Old Lace, I have arranged to meet local operative, Agent Fink, here at Dunkin Donuts so we can get an inside look at undercover missions and what they truly entail.

Now if I only knew what agent Fink looked like. Wait, was that a plant moving??? I get up only to discover that there is a rambunctious two-year-old pulling at the palm fronds from the other side while his mother holds his wrist carrying on a conversation with her acquaintance from her perch at the outdoor bistro set. I sigh and head back to the waiting bench.

“Hey you,…..do you go by the name Anderson?” asks a deep masculine voice which belies the show of femininity that sparked the shocking pink lipstick and electric blue mascara.

“Uh,…..yeah. May I help you?”

“I’m Agent Fink, Ima Fink – that’s my operative name. I thought I’d come undercover so you can get an inside view of the real job. This line of work ain’t for sissies you know…”

“I can appreciate that. I can’t imagine any sissies dressing like that. You’d have to be IMENSLEY secure with yourself and your abilities.” Agent Fink tries to cross his legs and accidentally kicks me in the shin. He mumbles and apology and quickly tries to cover up by pulling his flamingo print skirt down over his ample knee.

“My, what big feet you have….”

“The better to run after scoundrels and stomp all over ‘em with…” he smiles.

“And what hairy knuckles you have….”

“I was going to get a manicure but the business of catching bad guys doesn’t wait for good lookin’ cuticles.” He/she looks at his hands from an arm length and frowns. “They are a mess though aren’t they? Oh well I’ll try to squeeze one in at 10. So what questions do you have about undercover FBI business – non-specific of course - and my fellow ‘gal pal’ Ricky Holden. This is his story you know….”

“Yeah I know.” I look at Agent Fink’s 6’4” 290 pound frame appraisingly growing ever mindful of the curious glances and ask, “Is it commonplace for you guys to uh, ….dress up?”

“Only when the situation warrants it.”

“And does today warrant it?”

“Naw, but it’s fun to dress up every once in a while and I thought it’d be a gas to show you the finer nuances of the job as we talk about Shan and Ricky’s story.” He shifts and belches. The stench of stale glazed donuts wafts past me.

“Speaking of gas….” I say waving my hand and weakly smile. Agent Fink slaps my knee and laughs.

“You’d do well in this job. You’ve got some pretty quick wits about you…”

“So back to the story. In doing my research, I found out this is Mrs. Pinkston’s first foray into mystery/suspense. I think she did a marvelous job of telling the story and it captured me from the very first page! Is detective work always that exciting and full of bouts of adrenaline?”

“Sorry, I was just enjoying today’s law enforcement donut special,…I think they call it Glazed Over – anyways, I think they got a hit here!” He wipes the residual glaze from his mouth without ruining his lipstick. “But in answer to your question – I dunno. I’m more in the PR side of things – you know meeting with you people and splainin’ the finer points of the job. I let the experienced guys like Rick take on the more serious stuff.”

“I see, so how come you have an undercover name and a full blown wardrobe?”

“Cutbacks. This economy is killing everyone! I got myself a side job as a singer at a nightclub down the block. I didn’t want anyone to recognize me and besides, I figure if things keep going downhill, I can help fill in as an operative when needed. It’ll save the agency money since I already have the training AND the er,…ah,….’supplies’.”

“Well, Agent Fink, glad to see you have things well under control and that our safety is in the hands of such fine people as yourself…” I say as I rummage through my purse looking for my antibacterial hand sanitizer. I look up but he has disappeared into thin air. The rambunctious two-year-old points towards a dilapidated phone booth with the remnants of a pink flamingo print skirt being jerked inside by a rather large and homely guy who should be wearing pants.

If you want a story of suspense, intrigue and romance that helps you believe in happy endings even when life hands you its darkest moments, get a copy of Agent in Old Lace. By Tristi Pinkston Order it here:

It will not disappoint!!!

Author’s note: Although I had a good time with this ‘interview’ I want it noted that I have nothing but the utmost respect and admiration for those who unselfishly give of themselves through law enforcement as they strive to keep us safe and better our communities.

It's time to get to work, dang it!!!

2009-05-05T14:40:00.000-07:00

All last month I wrote to my heart’s content (and then some) and surrounded myself with other wonderful writers who inspired me and gave me the bug to get back to work.

I’ve been putting off finishing up my next manuscript because it means change and this last year has already meant a lot of change for me. Sometimes as writers, we come to live with our characters so long, they become a part of us - or at least a part of our ‘virtual’ family. And when major change is on the horizon for them, you take the ride also and live what they live, and feel what they feel.

That can be good and it can be bad.

It’s good because in order to tell a good story filled with emotion, you have to get into the character’s head. You have to see the world through their eyes and live the scenes like they would. It’s bad because of all the before mentioned reasons which means that as a writer, you cry, you hurt and ultimately, you are forced to grow with them – and growth can be very painful.

Most writers understand this and I’m not sure if that makes us an eclectic bunch or a group that simply lives on the verge of insanity. Either way, it’s our reality and our characters and our stories come to define much of who we are.

But now that I’m caught up on the housework, the extra jobs I’ve had to do, writing pursuits and other diversions, I have no more excuses to avoid the inevitable and I need to get crackin’.

So, although I will continue to look for “Life Savers” and share them with you, I’ll only be posting them every four or five days since I seriously need to chain myself to the computer and head into the winds of change because the sooner I get these voices out of my head and onto paper, the sooner I can sleep at night without feeling like the ghosts of stories past and present will haunt me forever!

And that brings me to this week’s “Life Saver”;

“Even a mosquito doesn’t get a slap on the back until he starts to work.”

So wish me luck and offer a toast with creative juices – I’m going to need it since I now have to get to work,…even though a good stiff slap on the back sounds a LOT more appealing at the moment….;-)

The road to others 'hell' is often paved with my good intentions...

2009-04-29T11:33:00.000-07:00

As I looked at today’s ‘Life Saver”, there was only one story that I knew could possibly go with it. Let me give you today’s gem of thought and then I will expound….

“I have faith in fools – my friends call it self confidence!”

Years ago I was the president of a small software company called Careware that wrote and distributed software programs for care giving agencies like childcare facilities, nursing homes and home health care groups so they could fully automate their process and keep track of all government reporting.

In the middle of the venture, I started noticing some major changes going on in my business partner who also happened to be our software programmer. Longer hair, track marks in the crux of his arm and glazed over, doe-in-the-headlight stares naturally lead me to think he was quickly getting caught in the web of narcotics.

Imagine my surprise when he sat the board down and announced that he was going through some rather significant changes – namely he was becoming a she through gender reassignment surgery.

I was aghast! He was barely passable as a nice looking 6’6” male but I knew he’d make an absolutely horrific looking female! I, however, kept my mouth shut and managed to get through the sideways glances when we’d go shopping for office supplies, when people would snicker as she/he/it would use a falsetto voice to communicate and kept from gagging when my opinions (as the only other female in the office) were solicited on necessities from the Victoria’s Secrets catalogue.

My parents always taught me to be gracious under any circumstance and so – even though I did not agree with his choices – I remained a friend and a sounding board.

When the day of his/her final surgery actually arrived,….yes the one that lops off and inverts certain uuhhh,….’parts’, I had compassion and figured that in some sort of way, my friend would need comfort through the transition. I mean it was after all a pretty permanent and drastic surgery which would irrevocably change his life forever. I was sure that there would be some sort of mourning process although I had not the foggiest what that would entail –nor did I really want to know. But nonetheless, I wanted to be compassionate and lend some sort of support.

But what to send????

There are not many cards that do justice for such a surgery. “Get well soon” didn’t seem to fit the bill. “I’m sorry for your loss” wasn’t quite appropriate. Since I didn’t agree with his choices, I had a hard time with “Welcome to your new addition”.

Flowers seemed to ‘girly’, balloons too juvenile - nothing seemed gender neutral enough to make me comfortable without sending mixed messages to him/her.

That’s when I got a flyer in an ad circular for lovely gift baskets done by Mrs. Fields. Perfect! I called the number and had a nice basket sent to my friend’s room in the specialized Seattle hospital.

Two days later I got a call from my new “female” friend.
“Hiya, Stace. Thanks for the basket. It was lovely,” he said in his best falsetto, although slurred from the pain meds, voice.

“I’m glad you liked it. I was trying to find something that was appropriate for the occasion since you will always be my friend but you also know how I feel about the choice.”

“You made that quite clear,” he snickered an octave lower. “Were you aware that the tag on the front of the basket says, and I quote, ‘Mrs. Field’s assorted cookies with chopped nuts??’ It became the talk of the gender reassignment ward the moment it was delivered.”

“Uuuuhhh, gee,…I’m soooo sorry, I’m not sure what too say…..”

“Normally I would take offense, but knowing you, Stace, means that I can know with an absolute certainty that you didn’t have a clue what the tag said and didn’t mean anything but sincere wishes….”

So much for good intentions. All I can say is that is good my friends know the meaning of my heart even if the translation loses a bit at times.

Staying grounded keeps you from having the wind harshly knocked outta ya

2009-04-28T11:32:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was invited to a black tie event at La Caille. This was a problem.

I mean I clean up pretty well but I’m more of a wash and wear sort of gal and settings that have anything more than one fork tend to make me break out in hives. I admittedly use my high heels as an alternative hammer when I can’t find the real one in the garage clutter and I use the Channel #5 I inherited from my mother as gym bag spray for my sons. It’s the only scent strong enough to kill the offensive odors that merrily waft as they take over the rest of the house making it smell like dirty sweat socks and moldy underwear.

My point being, black tie affairs and I go together about as comfortably as thumbtacks on a hemophiliac’s mattress.

But since I was there to support a friend who thinks I am superbly cool since I’ve accomplished her dream of publication (silly girl, didn’t she read my last post???), I felt the obligation to go because I really do admire her and wanted to share in her night.

I sat next to Ron Boone (Jazz commentator) and another guy, Johnny ”The Jet” Rogers, that is apparently extremely well known in the football realm since he was a Heisman Trophy winner and played many years in the NFL. It was a classic moment when I asked him if they all had to have tight ends to fit into uniform and wondered aloud as to the exact purpose of a linebreaker?

After kindly informing me that the term was “linebacker” and explaining the purpose of said large guy, he then smiled and casually told me that “Tight ends are an occupational hazard – especially for the tight ends who work it during game play and practices.

I was ready to sink into the ground when my friend with the most blessed timing walked up and asked if they all had been properly introduced to her friend, the famous humorist and author.

Realization sunk in and their eyes lost that “what a dumb bunny” glaze and were replaced by a look of respect normally reserved for those worthy enough o fall within the realms of their own inner circles.

I was in heaven as I, for the moment, got to field questions about my adventures on TV and radio and was even given kudos as I wowed them with recollections of my interview on the nationally syndicated Lars Larsen show. I mean only the coolest get to be on his show – and on the day of Thanksgiving to boot!!!

It was then that I noticed the pinched, fake smile on my friend’s face as she subtly tried to pull me away from my new admirers with a few inconspicuous nods of her head. I excused myself and followed her to and area hidden by massive ferns and fuchsia bougainvillea.

Before I rounded the corner in a panic, I quickly checked my nose to make sure nothing inappropriate was falling out of it. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized I was safe.

“Stace, I love you my friend, which is why you need to remove that horrible piece of parsley the size of a fly that’s stuck between your incisor and front tooth before you end up blowing it into one of their faces.” She then kind of squeamishly pointed towards my mouth and half grimaced and sympathetically smiled.

It was then that I remembered why black tie and I do not mix and even more importantly why it’s good to keep myself continually grounded. And that brings me to today’s “Life Saver” which is;

“It’s important to be cool – just don’t get your nose nipped off by Jack Frost when your coolness factor enters the sub-zero region.”

And if you forget what it means to stay truly grounded, I’m here to tell you that whether it be boogers or other little green things that appear where they shouldn’t be, something will drag you back to reality in less time than it takes a massive linebacker to knock the wind out of an unprotected quarterback. And to the proud who are yanked harshly back to that truth, the feeling is quite similar too….;-)

Success is fleeting,... unless.....

2009-04-27T09:59:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I had the honor of attending the LDS Storymakers Writing Conference. It was a wonderful experience being surrounded by so many talented people who made me realize the importance of working hard and never being complacent.

There are a few times in life when I amaze myself. Today is one of those days.

Not because I am so wonderful and creative, but because I simply have the most incredible dumb luck at times! Once again I digress as I get off on one of my ADD tangents. I’ll begin at the beginning….

After getting home and mulling over all that I learned and feeling a bit overwhelmed by the gratitude of being able to help, meet and learn from so many wonderful people, I finally remembered that I needed to do my blog posting .Since I had arranged the tour over a month ago, there was no way that I could have foreshadowed my thoughts and feeling on this particular day. I looked at today’s Life Saver and smiled. It read;

“Unless you’re the lead dog, the view is always the same.”

Publishing is an interesting business. As authors we are always trying to step up one more rung on the ladder. If you are unpublished, you want to get a contract. If you are published, you want an agent, a bigger contract and a national audience. If you have a national audience and an agent, you want to be on the best seller lists. And once, you’re there, you want to stay there and do it better and better and better…..

I’ve been lucky and had an amazing amount of success – success that others merely dream of. I’ve hit the national market, done TV, radio and hit the charts high on Amazon. I’ve seen my name in print in prestigious publications such as The Wall Street Journal, Forbes, Financial Content and big papers across the nation. I’ve seen my name go as far as England, Japan, and Saudi Arabia. But I look at J.K. Rowling, Stephenie Meyers and Richard Paul Evans and even some of my closer acquaintances like James Dashner, Josi Kilpack and Janette Rallison and think, “Man, I have a LONG way to go!” I watch other closer friends like Candace Salima, Annette Lyon, Michele Bell and Tristi Pinkston who have more knowledge in their little pinkies than I have in my entire noggin and think, "There is no way I can ever catch up!"

Discouragement sets in and before I know it, success is out the window and I’m a failure. Thankfully, God knows me well and slaps me up the side of the head every once in a while and places opportunities in front of me that get me outside of myself and focused on others in a positive way. It’s when I have the ability to serve and follow in the footsteps of the only lead dog who matters – the Savior.

And when I do that, the level of success suddenly does not matter but the route in which we get there – flowing in His footsteps following His lead – does.

I came out of Storymakers so incredibly grateful that I have been placed in positions where I could help fulfill the dreams of others, learn from others, teach others and spur the hope of others. But mainly, I am grateful for the opportunity to be used as an instrument in His hands for blessing the lives of others.

It’s true; success is fleeting -- unless you look at it as an eternal proposition. And if you do, not only your success, but that of others, becomes an eternal gift that is satisfying where ever you may be on the success spectrum.

The grass is always greener when they use sewage

2009-04-24T06:40:00.000-07:00

Last summer, there was an article in the Deseret News titled 'Utah using technology, law to save water', and I have to admit, I chuckled....a lot!

The article referenced several 'government authorities' denoting concern for the fact that we need to reserve our precious stores before they dry up and yet, some of the biggest waste I see is at parks, facilities and buildings that are run by,…. you guessed it, our concerned government.

I will give them this, they are right. We’ve had many years of drought and despite the bounty of moisture this last little bit, our water index is still not way off the charts. And why? Because Utah is a desert.

People want to live in Utah pretending that it is a veritable oasis of endless lush lakes, reservoirs, streams, ponds and mountain brooks. If this were true, we would actually be in a place called Minnesota, land of ten thousand lakes or on a freeway in Seattle after a rainstorm during monsoon season.

Even though this spring (what spring???) has left us guessing as to what it would’ve been like a few weeks before Noah could’ve sailed off into a snowstorm, it’s not yet enough for the mandatory one year supply we all strive for and we are technically still living in a desert which is NOT in Seattle or Minnesota.

So that gets me to thinking, when I go by an apartment villa that is bigger than the Wasatch mountains themselves and see that the sprinklers are on in a rain storm next to the sign that says Low Utilities, Great Rates, Come on In, I am going to wonder where they got their magic wand. I'm even going to ask to borrow it so I too don't have to pay taxes to the water deity and can hopefully keep my sprinkler, shower and toilet flush bill at its lowest possible rate. That would certainly make my budgetary numbers a heck of a lot more appealing!

It also means that when I see the broken sprinkler at the city's water improvement district shooting 30 feet into the air at a rate of 13,000 gallons per second, I am going to assume that they are watering with sewage or that they subscribe to the same rule my mother taught me to live by; DO as I SAY and NOT as I DO.

Either way, sewage or archaic rules, it kinda stinks if you ask me. Now that I mention stink, that reminds me of today’s “Life Saver” which is what my dad used to tell me whenever I got bit by the green envy bug;

“If the grass on the other side of the fence is greener, then it must be all the ‘fertilizer’ they are using. Because in my humble opinion, it certainly couldn’t be the water….”

Remembering that love is what is most important....

2009-04-23T10:46:00.000-07:00

Admittedly, this is a hard week for me.

Don’t get me wrong, there have been some rather bright spots and I try to keep perspective on life and all that jazz but there are a few times when life kinda kicks you unexpectedly and this happens to be one of those weeks.

So when I looked at my blog schedule to see what Life Saver I got to write about today, I had to smile amid tears. It read:

“He who dies with the most toys is still nonetheless dead.”

Either this is the definition of irony or it’s one of those moments when God is trying desperately to give me comfort by reminding me of what is truly important. Let me start at the beginning……

One year ago today, I spent the last moments I could in my mom’s hospital room. It was one of the last days she was coherent and she was afraid to die. Not because she was unprepared, but because she didn’t want o leave us – especially my youngest brother who was serving a mission in Mexico – as motherless waifs. Dad had passed away nearly four years before and she, even though we were grown (if you can call six kids between the ages of 20-40 grown), didn’t want to leave her family behind without a parent.

“Stacy,” she said, “Do you think I’m going to die?”
“I don’t know, Mom. We’re going to fight this till the very end. And I don’t know if we’ll win or if the cancer will but I do know this, if taking you from us is the Lord’s plan, then we will be here with you holding you as you are ushered from this world into dad’s waiting arms.”
“Just promise me, that you will take care of our family. Promise me that Taylor will always know that he has a mother who loves him..”

That was when I knew she wouldn’t make it – she was passing the torch.

One year later, as I prepare for my brother to come home (his official release date is June 29), I cannot help but remember the promises I made to her. And I have cried bitterly at an economy that hasn’t allowed me to put into play all the dreams I had for his homecoming. I have ached as I realized that he won’t come home to a parent or his house or even his ward on a permanent basis.

I somehow wanted to make up for all of this and give him something similar by giving him the house she would’ve or the car, take him on trips and help him refocus. I had in mind grand Christmas presents and anything his heart desired to take away the pain of losing his mother.

But I can’t do any of this and feel as if I failed miserably in keeping up my end of the bargain because in today’s world, I am just lucky enough to keep a roof over all of their heads. As much as I want to, I can’t lavish everything on him because I still have four others at home to provide for too.

But I can give him love and support and let him know everyday that he has a mother who loves him. She may be in heaven but her arms will always be wrapped around him – and so will mine.

So I think that today’s Life Saver was meant for me and I pray that I can take it to heart and remember that it’s not the material things that are important but the gifts of the heart and the memories we make that mean the most.

The accidental doctor...

2009-04-23T10:31:00.001-07:00

Yesterday’s blog alluded to Josh and his propensity for getting into trouble. It’s not the kind of trouble where he gets sent to the principal’s office all the time (although his record isn’t quite clean there either) but the kind of trouble that festers after taking root in a curious mind - kind of like Curious George who I affectionately refer to as the ‘idiot monkey’.

And yes, on more than one occasion, that has made me wonder if that makes Josh my idiot child or me the idiot mom who can’t stay one step ahead of her son when she knows that he and trouble go together as deliciously as spaghetti and meatballs.

When he was in his terrible two phase, we lived in a rather modest three bedroom tri-level. He made use of every inch of that place and drove me almost to the outer reaches of sanity. We ended up in the ER more times than I care to count – so frequent in fact, that they had a whole box superhero popsicles just for Josh since they calmed him right down and made examination and stitching easier.

After one very grueling summer, I went to my husband and presented him with a theory – if Josh had more room, maybe he’d not wonder off so much seeking out trouble.

We were into a new house by the end of the summer because as my husband says, a happy wife IS a happy life.

Unfortunately, a new house payment necessitated a bigger salary check which meant a change of jobs. Job stability didn’t stress me out nearly as much as a new insurance policy. Under the old regime, I knew I wouldn’t be brought up on child abuse or neglect charges by his medical care professionals because,….well,….they knew Josh. But I had no idea how we’d be received by a new team of doctors.

I found out two weeks later when we made our first trip to the ER.

I nervously entered the Instacare and placed my name on the waiting list. When it was my turn to do the paperwork, the nice lady asked who his primary care physician was. I told her we’d just changed insurances and he didn’t have one yet. My second son, Mitch, (the one who had a better vocabulary at five than I can ever hope to have) quickly informed the lady, “Oh yes he does! His name is Emergency Room and Mom takes us there to see him about every day with Josh!”

I smiled, although the knot in my stomach made me want to puke, and tried to explain about my “curious” son without coming across as a monstrous mother. The doctor then came around the corner laughing and gave me another “Life Saver”,

“So you have one of those do you? You know, I’ve always wondered, if most accidents happen at home, shouldn’t we all just move? It’d make my job a heck of a lot easier….”

Even though my pocketbook couldn’t afford such a transient lifestyle or the lawsuits brought on by not keeping a toddler with a devastation level equal to a category 5 hurricane under lock and key, I do know that God must’ve smiled on me that day because there, at the Instacare amongst stitching kits, gauze, Neosporin and prescription pads, was a doctor I could really bond with!

Life is a tough balancing act...

2009-04-22T15:31:00.001-07:00

Many of you have read or heard about my adventures as I try to keep my son’s stomachs full. Admittedly on more than one occasion, I am more of a failure at this than a success – or so their grumbling guts consistently tell me.

Last night was one of those nights.

I had one son who was off to scouts and then to soccer practice, another who went to his job before hitting the library and running somewhere around 23 errands and the third who had to do a history project before his hockey workout.

Meanwhile I was up to my armpits cleaning the garage that I optimistically thought “would only take a few hours” trying to get all the ABOP (Anti-freeze, batteries, oil and paint) center stuff ready to haul. And of course my husband decided to stay late at the office to chat.

Nine o’clock rolled around and they all stood there looking at me with Meguire’s Diamond Coat Car polish dripping from the end of my nose. The bottle had exploded when I tried to grab it with a broom handle from the top shelf that my step ladder and stubby legs wouldn’t reach. But I digress…..

Josh knowing that the end of the world would be here before I got anything cooked, piped up, “I’ll take care of dinner tonight, Mom”

I didn’t worry too much since all he knows how to do in a kitchen involves pouring and using a spoon.

“Okay, I’ll take you up on that offer but add a banana to the cereal so at least it’s a well balanced meal.” He smiled and headed back into the house.

Fifteen minutes and half a dozen rolls of paper towels later, the smell of the neighbors BBQ had my own stomach quivering at the thoughts of food. I went inside to find each of my sons with a hamburger in each hand.

Apparently in my maternal absence, Josh had learned how to use the grill without burning his eyebrows off – but that’s a story for another time. I grabbed one of the burgers and lifted the bun. No tomatoes, no lettuce - the closest thing to something from the fruit and vegetable group on those burgers was ketchup. There was plenty from the meat group however, since he’d done a double stack for each of them times two.

“Couldn’t you have at least pretended to care about a balanced meal?” I pleaded.

As only Josh can, he grinned that wonderful teenage smile with a mouth full of hamburger and gave me today’s “Life Saver”;

He then held up each hand with grease and ketchup dripping from his fists full of double stack hamburgers and said, “I did, Mom! My idea of a balanced meal is one in each hand!”

And with that he took another bite and reveled in his creation. Who was I to argue? My own life has been a terrible balancing act as of late. At least I could gain comfort in the fact that someone in the family was thinking about some sort of balance,… even if it meant four all beef patties and ketchup on a couple of sesame seed buns

All about the munckins who steal our hearts

2009-04-21T11:14:00.000-07:00

My boys are convinced that there is a hierarchy to our family and it starts at the bottom.

They all want to know why our youngest, the cute little bugger, is the favorite. He’s really not but I can’t convince the older ones of the truth of that statement. He is a charmer though. He’s sweet tempered and looks like a Precious Moments figurine with his big blue eyes and blonde hair.

I try telling them that he’s not the favorite but merely has the golden spot.

He came at a time when I didn’t know if I could ever have more children. And then when my doctor announced twins, my heart did a joyous loopity-loop! Four months into my pregnancy, we found out that one (my one and only little girl) was growing in the wrong place. He kindly sedated me and immediately rolled me into surgery to end the one pregnancy since it was her life or all of ours. It was tenuous at best as to whether Maison would survive or not. Thanks to a merciful God, he did. And once the crisis was over, I was told I could not have any more without putting myself in dire straits.

I appreciate Maison because he’s the end of an age for me. Just like a mother marvels at her firstborn’s life – each toe, finger and hair, a mother appreciates and takes in every minute, every milestone and every momentous occasion as she plows down motherhood’s path with her last knowing that an era is coming to an end.

I was no different. I could not, however, for the life of me convince my three older sons that birth order was the simple truth of the matter – he wasn’t my favorite, he was simply the last.

Through years of patient explanations, I finally convinced them that I sincerely did speak the truth. And then my oldest decided to serve a mission in Argentina.

He wasn’t down there long before the people wanted to see pictures of his family. He proudly flipped out his wallet and showed anyone and everyone his ‘la familia’ until about the 12th time after hearing the same thing again and again.

“Oh look at the little one. He is sooo cute! I bet he’s your mom’s favorite!”

Justin wrote home good naturedly complaining that even when he moves 5,000 miles away, he still can’t get away from living in his younger brother’s adorable shadow.

Being sensitive to his plight, I wrote back and gave him today’s “Life Saver” which is what my father used to tell me after my youngest brother was born;

“A dog who attends a flea circus will most likely steal the whole show. And a kid that cute will always steal the hearts of anyone who has eyes and a soul.”

He then followed up with a discourse on how life wasn’t fair but we have to learn how to deal with it. He’d then laugh and tousle my hair while saying, “Come on, Stace, can you resist a smile that charming?”

I remember looking at my brother and melting before I grabbed him and took him upstairs to get ready for bed.

Those maternal feelings have served me well through the years since I have become a surrogate ‘mom-figure’ to that brother since my parent’s untimely passing. Mom won’t be there to greet him when he comes home from his mission in 60 days. Mom won’t be there to stand proudly by him, physically anyway, on the day of his wedding. And mom won’t be able to hug him when his heart is breaking or smile with him when his heart is full.

But I will and it’s all because of his cute smile, big blue eyes and trusting faith that suckered me long ago and made me fall in love with a sibling who opened a new world for me.

Justin truly understands but prays he won’t have to stand in as a parental figure to his youngest brother because of birth order. He tells me and Brad to get our cancer screenings regularly.

Justin and I came to realize that day that we have more in common than we’d like to admit. By birth, we are the oldest in our families but by choice, we are suckers when it comes to falling for the wiles and cuteness of our youngest siblings – and that isn’t always a bad thing…;-).

Patience is turning me into a mental patient!

2009-04-20T10:04:00.000-07:00

If patience is a virtue, then I am most definitely NOT a virtuous woman!

Patience is a very hard thing for me. I tend to want things and answers now and not a minute later than instantly. But this is not always the way it works. Matter of fact, as I’m coming to find out, it rarely works this way. I guess God keeps giving me those lessons on patience hoping that one day I will learn its virtues.

Apparently I’m a slow learner because they keep coming at regular intervals and with increasing frequency. Like the other day, the sun had finally made an appearance after hiding for the better part of the fall and winter. The temperatures were up and so I thought a nice walk would be in order. I grabbed my walking shoes and a water bottle and headed off.

I forgot one small detail though; one shouldn’t take a blood pressure pill with a diuretic right before heading out where bathrooms are few and far between. I hadn’t been gone long when my fast pace and pumping heart kicked that medication into overdrive and sent me frantically looking for a public restroom along the route.

I whizzed (no pun intended) down the hill to a local gas station where I knew there were clean restrooms. Just as I reached for the door, a sweet older lady smiled at me and then slipped in and locked the door after sweetly telling me, “I’ll only be a minute”.

I stood there with my mouth gaping and my legs crossed. I didn’t dare move for fear that any mild movement would certainly turn me into a leaky faucet. I stood immobilized praying that she would finish up her business and get the heck outta Dodge so the new sheriff could claim her potty in peace and overwhelming relief.

I think she must’ve taken a bath in the bowl.

I must admit however, that old people have a way of really putting things into perspective. When she finally did emerge, she smiled again – a bit broader as she watched me inch into the restroom with crossed legs – and gave me a bit of old- timer’s wisdom. This nugget has become today’s “Life Saver”;

“How long a minute is depends on what side of the bathroom door you are on. Praise be to the Good Lord who allowed me enough agility to beat you to the bathroom door. The old plumbing ain’t what it used to be and they would’ve needed a mop and a ten gallon bucket if I’d been the one waiting out here. ‘

Easy for her to say. Her minute was filled with the relief of dry Depends and a happy bladder. I looked back over my shoulder at her as she headed out to her car with a slightly more jovial step in her jaunt. I smiled.

It was nice to know that even when age does get the best of you, patience still isn’t a virtue but you can somehow manage to deal with the infirmity with a quick wit and a smile that makes others glad they had the ability to wait.

I like being peculiar - it makes me different!!!!

2009-04-17T11:48:00.000-07:00

We are a peculiar people – or so Brigham Young said. But that’s okay. It’s good to be different!

Besides being known as an industrious and hard working people, we are also known as having integrity, generally honest, thrifty, clean cut, sober and we also know how to laugh at ourselves.

Everyone from the FBI, CIA, and ICE to Alaskan Bus Tours loves it when they see a Mormon walk in to apply for a position because they too know, from years of experience, that these things are true about the general Mormon populous. And I for one am proud to be part of such a heritage.

But what makes me even more proud is that most Mormon’s I’ve had the privilege of associating with know that there ARE things to be taken seriously,…..but themselves is not one of them!

And since I am the one usually leading the laughter, I decided to post this Utah Census form so that you too can decide whether or not you are a true Utah-ish Mormon because today’s “Life Saver” just happens to be;

Blessed are those who can laugh at themselves for they will never cease to be amused!

Laugh on, Friends!

Utah Census Form

1._____________________ _____________________

(GIVEN NAME) (SURNAME)

2. Descendant of:
A. Brigham Young _____
B. Heber C. Kimball _____
C. Laman and Lemuel _____
D. Cain _____

3. Tribe of Israel : _____________________

4. Number of occupants residing in home in each category: (List in chronological order)
A. Nursery _____
B. Junior Primary _____
C. Senior Primary _____
D. Young Women's _____
E. Young Men's _____
F. Relief Society _____
G. Elder _____
H. Dearly Departed _____
I. High Priest _____

5. Occupation [Please select all that apply]:
A. Amway dealer _____
B. Shaklee dealer _____
C. Nonie juice dealer _____
D. NuSkin dealer _____
E. Melaleuca dealer _____

6. Automobile:
A. Station Wagon _____
B. Van _____
C. Suburban _____
D. School Bus _____
E. Double Decker _____
F. BMW (Big Mormon Wagon) ________

7. Favorite place to eat the night before Fast Sunday:
A. Chuck-A-Rama _____
B. Hometown Buffet _____
C. Sumo Sam's All You Can Eat Feeding Trough _____

8. Favorite Hero:
A. Nephi _____
B. Abinadi _____
C. Samuel the Lamanite_____
D. Steve Young _____
E. Johnny Lingo _____

9. Which of the following do you bring to church [check all that apply]:
A. Scriptures _____
B. Franklin Planner/ Daytimer _____
C. Pen/Pencil _____
D. Lifesavers/ Cheerios _____
E. Tic Tacs _____
F. Game Boy _____
G. Big Gulp _____
H. Cooler _____
I. Sony Walkman _____
J. TV Watch _____
K. All of the above _____

10. Do you prepare your church lessons:
A. A month in advance _____
B. A week in advance _____
C. While in the bathtub _____
D. While on the toilet _____
E. During Sacrament Meeting _____
F. During the closing prayer of Sacrament Meeting
G. During the opening prayer of the class you're teaching _____
H. Just wing it [according to the promptings of the Spirit] _____

11. Do you think pews should be permanently equipped with Big Gulp holders:
A. yes___
B. no ___

12. How many years has your family sat in the same place for Sacrament Meeting:
A. 10-20 years _____
B. 20-30 years _____
C. 30-40 years _____
D. Over 3 generations ____

13. How much time does it take for you to fall asleep during a high council talk:
A. 1/100,000,000th of a second _____
B. 1/999,999,999th of a second _____
C. 1/999,999,998th of a second _____

14. Which day of the month do you go home/visiting teaching:
A. 31st ______
B. 31st ______
C. 31st ______
D. 31st ______

15. How many church basketball fights were you in last year:
A. 1-10 _____
B. 10-20 _____
C. 20-30 _____
D. You'll have to ask my lawyer _____

16. Which of the following has been your most effective Family Home Evening:
A. Arguing about getting along
B. Having an opening and closing prayer with dinner
C. Gathering around the television to watch, "Everybody Loves Raymond"

17. How many times a year do you make:
A. Green Jell-O salad _____
B. Funeral potatoes _____
C. Cabbage and Top Ramen salad _____
D. Turkey, cashews and grape-stuffed croissants_____

18. How many water-filled two-liter bottles do you own:
A. 1-2 thousand _____
B. 2-3 thousand _____
C. 3-4 thousand _____
D. Enough to fill the Great Salt Lake _____

19. Which of the following do you feel is the most secure facility in the nation:
A. Alcatraz
B. Fort Knox
C. Ward Libraries

20. How many structural engineers do you hire annually to insure you'll win the Pinewood Derby: _________

21. Keeping the Word of Wisdom in mind, how much of the following do you consume:
A. Chocolate: ___pounds daily X 365 days annually= ____
B. Cola: ____gallons daily X 365 days annually = ____

22. If you had to choose between witnessing the Second Coming or attending a BYU/UofU football game, which would you choose?
A. Second Coming _____
B. Football game _____

Lemondade or Bust

2009-04-16T10:27:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, a national headline caught my attention. It was about the plight of a six year old girl and her highly illegal lemonade stand.

Apparently, a cranky neighbor who I am supposing was either jealous of her financial success or worried about the masses of traffic she was attracting, had called the police and reported her for not having a valid business license. Maybe the cause for said crankpot's displeasure was an inability to compete with the rock bottom prices offered by the kindergarten graduate or perhaps he was offended by the bait and switch to yellow when she ran out of pink lemonade.

Either way, the whole situation was so absurd, that even David Letterman had a heck of a time with this one at the expense of the crabby neigh-sayer and to the immense pleasure of many free-enterprise loving Americans.

I hear that this is not completely unusual. Matter of fact, we have a cantankerous 'ole fart' who lives on our street. We chidingly call him the governor of the neighborhood behind his back. It probably is not much of an insult though because I personally think he'd get a kick out of having a title and knowing that he attracts that much attention.

He is the one who patrols the front yard watering the dry spots until they resemble marshlands as he surveys all that goes on, up and down the street, at all hours of the day and evening. I've seen pearly white cherub fountains shooting continuous streams that are more water conservationally minded than him.

No matter. He needs an excuse to hose down anyone who looks at him sideways.

He chews out anyone on a scooter/bike/rollerblades/skateboard or tennis shoes that is going faster than an arthritic snail and points out how shocking it is that they are not wearing a helmet and thirty other pieces of protective equipment.

He issues his own neighborhood warning tickets and keeps track in the little notepad permanently Velcroed to his side and is ready at a moments notice to cite someone on any one of 339 infractions or simply make notes for the police should they need to be called in for reinforcement at a later date or time.

As a villain, his waving index finger and stern grimace is more well known by the kids on our street than the Joker in his classic purple suit and white pasty face with the ridiculous red smirking lips.

As I peered out my front window and watched him casually play with a pair of handcuffs dangling from the belt loop on his military camouflaged shorts and puffing out his chest in his Alcatraz tee shirt while reprimanding a wide eyed speechless eleven year old, I decided that enough was ENOUGH!

I threw open the door, marched right on out to the side walk, across the lawn, leaned over and harshly waved my own finger in my five year-old son's face.

"This neighborhood has had enough of your tyranny! You're going to your room until you can learn to play nice, Mister!" I then grabbed his wrist and caustically spat out today's "Life Saver" while marching him back to the house,

"Anyone who thinks you are too small to make a difference has never been alone in a tent with a hungry mosquito or lived on a street with my son!"

I guess every neighborhood has to have at least one.

When life hands you cow pies, make a splendid garden of opportunity!!!

2009-04-14T15:46:00.000-07:00

Years ago, when I began my career as a journalist, I was given a lead by my editor to go cover a story in West Jordan about a sub-division who was growing monstrous vegetables. None could understand why this one little plot of land was so lucky when it came to the produce patch mother lode.

A little bit of research gave me my answer,….load and loads of crap – literally.

It turns out that this bit of suburbia had been built upon what was once the old Bateman Dairy Farm and the miles and piles of cow manure that once was, became the scoop about poop.

How was I supposed to go to my editor and tell her that my story which she was planning on putting on the front page above the crease was nothing more than a load of cow pucky?

It was then in a torment of frustration and angst that I looked up to the cork board above my desk and saw a little Ziggy comic my father had once kept on his bulletin board above his desk. Although I’d never really paid attention to it before, my father’s wisdom came to me from beyond the grave and gave me today’s “Life Saver”;

Even in a pile of manure, a flower will grow.

With confidence, I wrote my story and later on even won an award for it. The fun tone of it mixed with history was so popular, that my paper got more letters than they knew what to do with. Their readership went up and my stock as a new and upcoming writer soared.

To this day, when introducing myself in that area of the valley, my fame precedes me when I refer to myself as the journalist who cared about a load of crap. Apparently dairy kings and cow pies can create more than just a banana squash bonanza – it can create opportunities that bloom into the lives dreams are made of.

Simply enjoy the journey when you have to lead the sheep

2009-04-13T10:32:00.001-07:00

I hate the spotlight. I hate cameras, being in the public eye and most of all I am really uncomfortable with the pressure of being an example and an inspiration to people who need it.

Don’t get me wrong,…. I love to help people find happiness through finding a better way. And if I can direct them towards their Savior – like a flagman would direct traffic during road construction - I’m more than happy to do it. But I am uncomfortable taking credit for the gifts and inspiration He has given me. I’d rather the spotlight be on Him. But since His work is done through others, I do the best I can through writing, through public speaking and other appearances to help people keep that focus on Him.

Recently, I was on my way to California to start my national TV and radio tour. To gain sanity, I planned a stop in Arizona where I could catch my breath with my Grandma and my Aunt. Since I was alone, I put myself on a strict schedule and was adamant that I adhere to it. I was clipping along a quite a good pace, when I came around a corner about 20 miles outside of Page on a road that descends quickly into the Indian reservation.

With the road improvements that have happened recently along this stretch of highway, I usually can make pretty good time through this area. And so I was naturally quite confused as to way there was back up of cars that equaled the Glen Canyon Dam I’d passed not 30 minutes before.

While sitting there, my mind took over and I started fretting about the tour and being in the public spotlight. My nerves started getting the better of me and I was about to go totally wonky when the reason for the back-up came into view.

It was an old Indian woman herding her goats and sheep down the two lane highway all the way back to her home at the base of the mountain.

She was completely unaware of the following she had or the back-up which she was causing. I had to smile. And in one of those precious moments that Heavenly Father gives to us when we are driving ourselves nuts, I found sanity as I enjoyed the slower pace and envied the old Indian woman who was oblivious to her following while she just enjoyed the walk with the animals.

That brings me to today’s “Life Saver”; If you have to be a leader with a large following, go slow on a two way street.

At the bottom of the hill, was a man with a truck and dogs who was obviously ready to take the herd back to where they were supposed to go. He was waiting patiently for her to do her part and bring the animals safely to him.

Today, whenever the stresses of leadership overwhelm me, I remember that old Indian woman and simply remember to slow it down and enjoy the journey as I lead His sheep back to home and the safety of His care.

Grace and decorum; the 'ant'-ithesis of my life...

2009-04-11T10:53:00.000-07:00

I have always been fanatical about keeping my home in order. That doesn’t mean to say that my home is always in order, it just means that I go crazy when it’s not….

Our last home was a small tri-level with a natural propensity to attract bugs of every kind. Did I also mention that I hate anything that is creepy or crawly? That is probably what led to my obsession with keeping things in order. If the little creatures can’t find anything to hide under, they won’t come a callin’!

But raising three small sons can be a challenge where OCD cleanliness is concerned. On a day where I had decided it was time to go where no mom should ever have to go, I tore apart the couch and thrust my hand into the sides and corners where all the small stuff slips – or disintegrates into unidentifiable masses.

I found what I believed to be a pile of sandwich crumbs but as I tried to grab hold and pull it out,….it shifted. Not one to let a crumb – or a gaggle of them – get the best of me, I kept grabbing at them and trying to pull them out.

Suddenly my arm started tickling horribly and I reached over to scratch it only to discover that I had ants invading where no ant should ever be allowed to go!

With one fall swoop throwing caution and modesty to the wind, I tore off my clothes and danced around naked in a rather hasty and uncouth version of a Polynesian slap dance.

After assuring myself that I’d eradicated every little creepy bugger from my personal being, I looked up through my basement window as I was heading to get the vacuum and noticed that a group of neighbors was watching me from outside at street level.

They had the most interesting looks on their faces – something between what-the-crud-is-she-doing and I’m-glad-I’m-not-that-stupid!

For the first time in my life, I understood why Adam and Eve ran to hide when they realized they were naked and grabbed anything – including a dirty old fig leaf – to shield themselves from peering eyes and years of ridicule.

Later that week after the blush of shame had disappeared from 9/10ths of my body, my good friend from down the street called. She gave me the wise bit of advice that is today’s “Life Saver”;

“Stace,” she said, “A man who lives in a glass house should change in the basement,…..unless the basement has windows, in which case, spare us all and close the drapes first!”

If only the ants would’ve heeded that advice and given me the luxury to do so. So many could’ve been spared the sight of watching me wiggle and jiggle as I tried to get the ants out of my pants and I wouldn’t have had to move to a bigger house that had the foundation sealed by an exterminator and drapes installed before I moved in.

Lighten up, or you'll be over come by the dark force

2009-04-09T11:45:00.000-07:00

My son recently decided that he wanted to run for student body president which is not normally a problem. But when I asked him what the timeline was to accomplish the campaign of all campaigns, the conversation went something like this…

Friday Evening…..
My son - “Hey, Mom, will you sign these release forms for me?”

Me - “What are they for?”

My son - “I’m running for SBO President for next year.”

Me - “Can you handle that with everything you are already involved in?”

My son - “Oooooh, sure! It just takes good time management and refusing to procrastinate. By the way, I need eight posters, twenty handouts, a speech and a twelve foot banner. I figured that since you were so good at stuff like this, it’d be no problem for you to help me out.”

Me - My eyes go wide as I looked at my to do list that I was already ten days behind on. “And when do you need all of these items by?”

My son - “Monday morning at 6am.”

Me - “I was afraid of that….”

And so I got to work designing the campaign of a lifetime. I was so into creating a dynamic crusade, that I forgot one very important element – the assistance of my son.

My buttons were witty! My banner kicked booty! My posters were polished and snazzy and the speech, well let’s just say Obama’s wit and magnetism would’ve suffered in comparison had he been speaking opposite me.

My son – “Uh,….mom?”

Me – “What, I’m in the middle of writing my speech!”

My son – “Don’t you mean my speech???”

Me – “Wha…? Oh yeah. That’s what I mean. But I've got to get it done so I can,…I mean we can practice, practice, practice! I want it to go off without a hitch!”

He then got a little scared at the glint in my eye. The thoughts of ruling the school through one of my offspring was obviously going to my head.

My son – “Are you doing this for me or to make up for the year you didn’t make the drill team?”

Me – “You know about that?”

My son - “Mom, everyone knows about that. You still scream about the injustices of it in your sleep.”

Me – “Oh. But this could be my, I mean our chance! We just need the right opportunity! I know we’re wired for success, honey! Think of what we could do and the records we could break!!!!”

That is when the wisdom of youth put things back into perspective for me and helped me plod on with my vision and a dream.

“Mom,” he said looking deep into my bloodshot eyes and gave me today’s ‘Life Saver’,
“Be careful, all power corrupts.” He then popped my last bit of beef jerky into his mouth, took my last swig of Crystal Light and then slapped me on the back while grinning that most captivating grin, “But we need the electricity. Glad you have the energy. Hopefully I can wave to you from the winner’s stand. I love you 'watts'!”

Isn’t it fun living vicariously through our children?

"I want a divorce!" said the elephant to the ass..,

2009-04-07T21:12:00.000-07:00

I have spent the better part of my years (I won’t lie, ALL of my years) surrounded by conservative people which have helped shape my views on America and the Democratic process.

I have my opinions, and usually am not one to flaunt them. But I just could not resist this little gem that came from my dear Aunt in Arizona since I as of late, feel so overwhelmed by the liberal tone that seems to think spending trillions of dollars in other countries and on pork barrel entitlements will somehow fix what is going on here at home. If we have to spend trillions, then why for heavens sake, can’t that money go to the citizens, who by the sweat of their brow, have heretofore keep our economy alive?

And since I am in the minority but still love the freedoms of this country and the ideals of Democracy, this brings me to today’s “Life Saver”;

Democracy is three wolves and one sheep voting on what to have for dinner.

And now for your reading enjoyment…..;-)

DIVORCE AGREEMENT

Dear American liberals, leftists, social progressives, socialists, Marxists and Obama supporters, et al:

We have stuck together since the late 1950's, but the whole of this latest election process has made me realize that I want a divorce. I know we tolerated each other for many years for the sake of future generations, but sadly, this relationship has run its course. Our two ideological sides of America cannot and will not ever agree on what is right so let's just end it on friendly terms. We can smile and chalk it up to irreconcilable differences and go our own way.

Here is a model separation agreement:

Our two groups can equitably divide up the country by landmass each taking a portion. That will be the difficult part, but I am sure our two sides can come to a friendly agreement. After that, it should be relatively easy! Our respective representatives can effortlessly divide other assets since both sides have such distinct and disparate tastes.

We don't like redistributive taxes so you can keep them. You are welcome to the liberal judges and the ACLU. Since you hate guns and war, we'll take our firearms, the cops, the NRA and the military. You can keep Oprah, Michael Moore and Rosie O'Donnell (You are, however, responsible for finding a bio-diesel vehicle big enough to move all three of them).

We'll keep the capitalism, greedy corporations, pharmaceutical companies, Wal-Mart and Wall Street. You can have your beloved homeless, homeboys, hippies and illegal aliens. We'll keep the hot Alaskan hockey moms, greedy CEO's and rednecks. We'll keep the Bibles and give you NBC and Hollywood .

You can make nice with Iran and Palestine and we'll retain the right to invade and hammer places that threaten us. You can have the peaceniks and war protesters. When our allies or our way of life are under assault, we'll help provide them security.

We'll keep our Judeo-Christian values.. You are welcome to Islam, Scientology, Humanism and Shirley McClain. You can also have the U.N. but we will no longer be paying the bill.

We'll keep the SUVs, pickup trucks and oversized luxury cars. You can take every Subaru station wagon you can find.

You can give everyone healthcare if you can find any practicing doctors. We'll continue to believe healthcare is a luxury and not a right. We'll keep The Battle Hymn of the Republic and the National Anthem. I'm sure you'll be happy to substitute Imagine, I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing, Kum Ba Ya or We Are the World.

We'll practice trickle down economics and you can give trickle up poverty your best shot. Since it often so offends you, we'll keep our history, our name and our flag.

Would you agree to this? If so, please pass it along to other like minded liberal and conservative patriots and if you do not agree, just hit delete. In the spirit of friendly parting, I'll bet you ANWAR which one of us will need whose help in 15 years.

Sincerely,

John J. Wall
Law Student and an American

P.S. Also, please take Barbara Streisand & Jane Fonda with you.

Calling Kujo to strike down the young hearts of foolish old dogs

2009-04-06T22:25:00.000-07:00

Kersten Campbell, author of Confessions of a Completely In-Sane Mother, is a woman after my own heart! Her book of quick witted essays on motherhood had me laughing until my sides hurt because I could relate to so many of them!!! The titles alone (Booby-Trapped, Zen and the Art of Zucchini, Alice in Mormonland, Hope and Schemes Oops, I Lost the Baby and Sew What?) are enough to make you want to laugh

But the one that brought back memories and immediately sent me once again tripping through the past was one called Older but Dimmer. It discusses in such glaring reality the gap between those of our children’s generation and our own.

It didn’t take me long to remember a time when I had wanted to reclaim my youth and show the younger generation that I was till hip. (Is that even still a word – oh,…no my son verified it, if you are cool you are now sic…)

On a dark October night I took a large group of teens (my brother, his friends and a few of my younger cousins) up to the Salt Lake City Cemetery and prepped them for a night full of ghostly fun by telling them one whopper of a story about the first caretaker who’d died mysteriously after burying someone who had been a dead ringer and found a wee bit too late..

For those who do not know the tale behind this old saying, it dates back to the turn of the 18th century when sickness, paralysis or a comatose state could make a person appear as dead. The fear was that they’d be buried alive and so to remedy this, if a mistake happened, they’d string a cord from the coffin to a bell planted in the ground above the supposed corpse. If it rang, the person was said to be a “dead ringer” and was exhumed immediately. If they saw someone who looked just like the person buried, they were also to have been called a dead ringer since the person obviously couldn’t be dead and was still walking around.

Back to my story – So I set this gaggle of adrenaline crazed youth up for the scare of a lifetime enjoying every delicious minute of it. I drove them by a house and told them that on the anniversary of the dead ringer’s death, his ghost could be seen on moonless nights in the attic of the old caretaker’s clapboard house stocking him and still looking to find justice from his troubled state beyond. (It’s amazing how the power of suggestion works at times…)

After “seeing” the shadows of the ghost in someone’s clapboard house that was in serious need of repair, my young friends wanted to see the exact grave of the “dead – ringer”. I had remembered a grave that looked like a door way with bars and an old bowl set deep into it with a bell hung right above it. It was perfect!

After spinning my tale a bit more, Chainsaw (a nickname,… but yes, that is what he went by) mentioned in a tone that was casual yet made higher by nerves, that he was starting to itch. He began twitching and itching at a rather dramatic rate which worried me since he is highly allergic to only one thing – animals.

“But there are no animals around! Unless of course you count Chavez over there – his hair is pretty long…”

Then what’s that coming towards us?”

It was about that time that we heard a rather distinctive snarling as the fiercest-looking Doberman Pincher I’d ever seen barreled towards us. And on his heels were two more.

They looked at me like I was the wise one. Were they daft???? As if I could direct them anywhere - I’d planned this whole night on a youthful and uncharacteristic whim!

“What’re you looking at me for? Run, you idiots!”

They did and I was left alone realizing that my aging body could not quite keep up with their youth, vigor and more nimble knees. And since I was on my own, I ran with all I had hoping for life and limb that I could make it to the fence before that dang dog could tear me apart1

As I barely managed to scale the fence with Kujo nipping at my backside, I limped to the car smiling. I had finally answered one of life’s biggest questions (and today’s “Life Saver”;

I now understand how a cemetery can raise its burial charges and blame it on the cost of living - It’s because people like me need to regain their youth by hassling the dead and the new wave of caretakers needs an army of dogs to keep the idiots out.

If you need a good laugh, read Kersten’s book It’s sure to tickle your funny bone!

When it rains,.... the dishes don't get clean

2009-04-06T10:08:00.000-07:00

I’ve come to learn - and expect - that when it rains it pours.

And so when my cousin called to ask if she, her husband and her family could come stay for a few days, it was a call that invariably meant that something in the house would break. For days before, I gingerly pushed the vacuum, ritualistically performed ‘Hail Marys’ over the washing machine and fed an extra helping of Drano to the kitchen sink.

Meanwhile, I was begging my son, Josh, to empty the dishwasher so I could load it again and keep up on the mound of dishes that seem to multiply like rabbits – or hangers - whichever overpopulates at an exponentially quicker rate at the moment.

He would whine and I’d use a broom to sweep him off his bed and back down to the kitchen. I’d come back a few hours later only to find that the dishwasher STILL hadn’t been emptied. I marched back upstairs with my broom ready to give him a good swift brush in the pants when he said, “I started to empty it but the dishwasher never got turned on so I put them back.”

“Did you turn it on then?”
“Uhhh,….I thought so.”
“Get downstairs and empty it then!!!” I said in my best exasperated mother’s tone before turning my broom on end and poked him with a pretend bayonet before heading off to make sure the toilets were running correctly.

Two hours later, I went back to the kitchen only to find that the dishes still weren’t unloaded. “I’ll show that lazy, good for,….. aaarggh!” I grumbled as I re-rinsed the dishes and turned on the dishwasher before scurrying off to make sure the freezer wasn’t building an insurmountable ice dam.

Two hours later, I hollered up the stairs. “Get your fanny down here and empty the dishwasher! I know I turned it on so you can’t put it off any longer, Mister!!!” As he passed by me, he grumbled something illegible so I ignored him like I usually do when he mumbles about having to do chores. I am after all his mother trying to teach a sense of responsibility – and he is 15.

I watched from behind the wall with a smirk on my face as he emptied the dishwasher. Mom had prevailed yet again – or so I thought. As I was getting the plates out, I noticed dried on gunk where the corndogs ought to go. I immediately marched upstairs to confront my errant son and find the meaning of his willful anarchy.

“But I did as you said and emptied the dishwasher.”
“Didn’t the dishes look clean?”
“No but you were hell bent on having it done, so I did it!”
“Well now, you smart little pup, you get to load it with all those dishes you apparently never rinsed in the first place.”

And then my husband called.

“What’s up?”
“I’m arguing with Josh, over loading the dishwasher again.”
“Oh. About the dishwasher, I forgot to tell you that it’s broken. I think the pump went out and it’s not shooting any water upward.”

My face went a shade paler as I turned towards my son.

“He told you the dishwasher was broken didn’t he? That’s what I tried to tell you hours ago when you told me to unload it again!!!”

Mothers are a smart bunch and we know better than to make ourselves vulnerable to sons who tower over them. It’s all about positional authority once they start to grow and so I looked him in the eye and defiantly said, “Well consider the run around as payback for all the hell you put me through the first four years of your life!” I then swept some crumbs off his dresser onto the floor and marched down the hall.

I wasn’t sure if my confidence came across as genuine or not since I was thinking to myself what has become today’s “Life Saver”;

Never argue with a stupid person because when you do, they will drag you down to their level.

I still haven’t figured out if that more aptly describes him or me – but I’m pretty sure I’ll soon find out the answer if I argue with him long enough.

Spacey Stacy Does it Again

2009-04-03T21:17:00.000-07:00

As of late, frazzled has become a part of my character.

I’ve been swamped with editing, writing, preparing presentations, running school government campaigns, painting my basement and keeping up with soccer and hockey schedules. My husband recently told me that I make Taz look like he’s going in slow motion,....times eight.

Much to my shame over the knowledge of my sons’ grumbling stomachs but lacking the timely resources to cope better, dinner, as of late, has consisted of whatever I could get through the nearest drive through or out of a bag of Wal-Mart trail mix.

The trail mix has become the meal of choice since a double fisted serving consists of enough protein (nuts), natural sugars and starches (fruit, crackers and pretzels) and fiber (raisons or craisons) to marginally meet the daily USDA nutrition guides. And there’s no clean up since the dog will happily scrounge for any leftovers that have fallen between and under the seats.

So you can understandably see why, when the other day, the smell of chocolate brownies wafted down to my office, I immediately raced to the kitchen to see who had done this marvelous thing and actually baked something in the oven – the appliance heretofore being used as a dryer for wet sneakers.

There stood my husband and three sons with a look of confusion which turned into countenances of rapture when I raced up the stairs and yanked the oven open.

“Finally, she remembered how to use it,” caustically remarked Josh.

“Don’t count on it, I watched Maison put his shoes in there less than an hour ago,” whispered Mitch not daring to hope.

Ignoring my permanent peanut gallery, I checked on the shoes and then turned to every hiding spot in the kitchen as I riffled through trying to find the stash of chocolate decadence. I was hungry. I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before.

“Okay, where’d you hide ‘em? Come on, give it up! I know one of you hooligans broke into my recipe file and created a covert batch of chocolate something or another. I’m not backing down so you ‘d better fess up!!!” I said as I looked directly into each and every one of their guilty eyeballs with a finger popping them on the ends of their noses just for good measure.

My husband choked. “What,…..oh you mean,…..what,…we???” He began to laugh as he went for a banana and a cup’o pudding.

After holding them captive and using every interrogation trick in the book while scouring the kitchen looking for a square of chocolate sin, I noticed the burning candle next to the bread box. Earlier that morning, knowing I wouldn’t have time to clean, I’d lit the dang thing in a futile effort to hide the smells and stenches I didn’t have time to unearth and vanquish. I should’ve looked at the label before torching it.

It said, “Essence of Chocolate Bunt Cake”

I turned and smiled ever so sweetly at my lost looking sons. “False alarm, gang. I know I’ve been a bit spacey lately so how ‘bout I make it up to you? Get your sneakers out of the oven. I’ll let you choose the tonight’s drive through and I’ll even buy dessert for you too!!!”

Mitch who has always been too smart for his own good, rushed over to look where my line of vision had been before my demeanor and attitude changed. He too looked at the candle before shaking his head in disgust and putting his arm around my shoulder.

Despite all my flaws, I knew I’d done something right when he looked at me with compassion and gave me today’s “Life Saver”;

“Mom, try to remember - space can be a dangerous place, especially if it’s between your ears!”

He then grabbed his shoes and ducked around the corner to go hide my “Essence of Banana Bread” candle.

I smiled gratefully after him and pondered the moment. If you can’t find your way to a boy’s heart with food, then try to kill him with kindness. And if that doesn’t work, combine the two and you can get away with murder!

Eggs-tra! Eggs-tra! I Eggs-ort you to join me for a couple of Egg-cellant Adventures!!!

2009-04-02T22:03:00.000-07:00

Easter is in a week and so along that vein, I figured I’d hop to it and get a jump start on eggs-ploiting the season.

Those who know me best know I am an egg–strodinary person. I’m not ‘yolkin’ folks! I will go the eggs-tra mile for friend and sometimes,… even foe. But that is only because I have managed by the grace of God and a few lucky stars to surround myself with eggs-ceptional people. That brings me to today’s “Life Saver”;

A friend is someone who thinks you’re a good egg even though you’re slightly cracked.

And so when I had the opportunity to take part in a couple of events this weekend, I jumped at the chance to eggs-pose myself to even more egg-strordinary people and a bounteous egg-cesses of bunnylicious loot! And these eggs-travaganzas are not eggs-clusive to the book worm types alone. No – there will be prizes and activities for the children that will leave them eggs-hausted after eggs-pending so much egg-cess energy thus later allowing mom to go home and eggs-perience the world of take-me-away books!

And if after that paragraph of presumptuous puns, you were eggs-pecting anything other than a couple of book signing events where you can meet your favorite authors, you must be a true basket case!

Here’s more information on the ‘hoppy’ proceedings;

The Pleasant Grove Library is hosting their annual Book Festival Fundraiser! On April 3rd, 2009 from 7:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. at the Pleasant Grove Library, Provident Book and Humdinger Toys, Scholastic books, and fourteen authors are uniting together and selling their books and other merchandise to help raise funds for the Pleasant Grove Library. There will be author readings, door prizes, music, and more!

“We will have plenty to do for the whole family,” said Julie Coulter Bellon, the event’s organizer. “That should eyolk,…oops,…er,…..I mean evoke a hare of non-sugar induced eggs-citment!”

“With economic conditions the way they are, the library needs all the support and help it can get so our community will continue to have the services we've enjoyed in the past. All the proceeds from the Festival will go toward our library and its programs,” she said.

They are eggs-pecting a bevy of children who can eggs-cavate even the best kept deals from authors since apparently, toothless grinning children are eggs-ceptional for melting the hearts of moms-by-day and author-by-night personalities.

Some of the authors appearing are: Rachel Ann Nunes, Julie Coulter Bellon, J. Scott Savage, Tristi Pinkston, Julie Wright, GG Vandagriff, Suzanne V. Reese, H.B. Moore, Christy Hardman, Jewel Adams, Rebecca Shelley, Elodia Strain, Anne Bradshaw, and Stacy Gooch Anderson.

And if mom wants to run away by herself, then Saturday’s Night Out for Ladies at Provident Book, also in Pleasant Grove, is the time to do it! That event will be held from 6pm to 8pm on Saturday night and authors appearing there will be Stacy Gooch Anderson, Michele Ashman Bell, Julie Bellon, Janet Burningham, Terri Ferran, Kristen Landon and Tristi Pinkston.

“I love event’s like these,” said Karlene Brownig, an owner at Provident Book. “It gives me fuzzies to see all of those ladies scrambling with excitement (she really means eggs-citement) as they get to meet some of their favorite authors!”

Ad since they want people to be ‘hoppy’ they came, they will be giving away door prizes every fifteen minutes all through out the night!

Now that you know about them, surely you must agree that these events should eggs-ceed all eggs-pectations and add to the eggs-huberance of those awaiting the fluffy one (And no,…I don’t mean me…;-))

(Some creative license was taken while writing these interviews since technically the author did not interview the interviewees,….but you get the point.)

The Baggage We Carry...

2009-04-01T15:24:00.000-07:00

I’m convinced that for most of my adult life, I’ve been allergic to food. Every time I’d eat it, I’d break out into fat.

I kept trying to lose weight but for some reason unbeknownst to me, it kept finding me! Despite all my efforts to NOT become the prototype for the new BYU Barbie circulating around my high school (you put a ring on her finger and her thighs blow up), marriage, lack of finances and kids took a toll and even diets and exercise (that handle on my recliner does constitute as an exercise device,…right?) couldn’t help after twenty years.

I knew it was bad when even in my dreams, I was hiding behind muumuus and baggy sweats. I went from being the toast at my almamater to eating toast with butter and gobs of jam to drown the depression of lost youth and beauty.

But worse than my outward appearance was the baggage I continued to hang onto internally. Hiding behind a wall of fat was a LOT more comfortable than facing the demons of unwanted attention and the guilt I harbored and had strived to hide my whole life. Besides (or should I say butt-sides), the permanent cushion I packed around on my backside was quite cozy too!

But when I finally had to face those inner issues and resolve them, something interesting happened. I had a desire to exorcise (I still wasn’t sure about exercise) the chains that held my physical body at bay. I turned to surgery and pretty soon, my outer body began to reflect the lightness I was feeling on the inside.

This does have a point.

Recently I had the opportunity to return back to my high school so I could turn in enrollment papers for my son who has chosen to be sophomore there next year. Although I was not quite back to my former svelte self weight wise, I was back to where I needed to be emotionally.

Or so I thought.

I had just returned from the hairdresser who’d given me a sassy, springy, youthful do and was wearing a new outfit I’d had my fashionably literate sister help me pick out. I was feeling quite good about myself as I headed down to the counseling center until a shadow from a rather large Polynesian swooped over me. I started to walk a little faster and he did the same. It was then, as my history clashed with my present (namely thinner thighs which I was still uncomfortable with) that I thought of my first “Life Saver”;

Fat people are harder to kidnap.

When I saw the drinking fountain, I made a beeline for it and hoped that my large friend would pass on by. He didn’t. He stood right behind me and in a smooth voice with post-pubescent seductiveness said, “I haven’t seen you around here lately. What’re ya doing this Friday?”

I choked on my water and then smiled as I slowly turned around. “I’ll be spending it with my two teenage sons and my husband. But thank you for asking.”

He stuttered and said in a rather contrite voice that instantly shot up a few octaves, “Sorry, Mam.”

Feeling much lighter and realizing that a quick set of male footsteps does not have to mean disaster, I genuinely smiled and told him. “Don’t be. You just made my day.”

It’s nice to know that although the baggage of the past will still make me want to run and hide at times, I can face the future with optimism knowing that a sassy haircut, a new outfit and a lot less baggage will take years off (at least a couple of decades!!) one’s life….

LIfe is Tough - I Doubt I'll Make it Out Alive

2009-02-25T20:35:00.000-08:00

My second book, Life is Tough, has come out just in time for the Mother's Day shopping frenzy. It is a compilation of the life's lessons I've learned while still maintaining the ability to laugh - mostly at myself and the situations that family life brings to a mother.

For those of you who do not know the history behind it, it was the first manuscript I ever wrote and I did so while my father was battling cancer in 2003. He was an eternal optimist and the man who had taught us how to laugh through the tough times. But cancer took its toll and got him down. I wanted him to know that no matter the outcome, he'd done it right by teaching us how to live, laugh and love well.

I captured all of our family stories and wrote them in a humorous vein and asked him to edit them while he was laid up in his hospital bed undergoing chemo. My desire was to let him know that his teachings had sunk in and take away a bit of his pain through laughter.

He laughed so hard, his doctor told him to knock it off or he'd bust a few stitches on his recovering backside. He did forget the pain for a bit and I figured I'd done my job. He hadn't done his though....

Before he died, he made me promise that I'd seek publication for this manuscript so I could teach others how to laugh at the everyday foibles in life. Although I never intended this manuscript to be published, true to my word, it now is and available for public consumption. I guess my life is now quite literally and open book…

But now I have to market the blinkin' thing and so, I am going on another virtual campaign to spread laughter and chuckles across America. Let's face it, in a world where laughter is about as plentiful as cellulite on Callista Flockheart's thighs, we need to remember how to laugh.

And so, on my hosts' Blog and FaceBook sites, you can read reviews, comments and favorite gems captured within the pages of Life is Tough. But most importantly, they as well as myself, will have Life Savers - gems of thought (look for the Life Saver Candy picture since life can be sweet if you look at that way) - which will help you to laugh and look at the world in a different way. That Life Saver will be explored more completely on my blog and you can link to it from all of theirs too.

And to kick that off, since this story began with the passing of a great man in my life, my first Life Saver is this:

Strive to make your life long and useful similar to a roll of toilet paper.

My dad could be stubborn and hardheaded but like a water will smooth the rough edges off of a stone, adversity softened him into a man that many came to love and admire. At his funeral, we waited to greet people of various ages who'd come from all over the country to give their condolences. We quit counting at 750.

His passion was people and helping them to find the true joys in life. He taught that there are several things one ought to take seriously in life but ones self is certainly not one of them.

I did not truly understand the depth of his service to those around him until I later had to clean out his files and read the notes of thanks for the many things he'd quietly done for people.

It suddenly made me want to live my life in such a way that I'd bring honor to his name and his life. Like his, I wanted my life to be long and extremely useful like a roll of toilet paper.

Dad wasn't perfect but he gave all that he had to build up those around him and better the quality of their lives.

Yes indeed, for a man who was more hard-headed than one of those presidents on Mount Rushmore, he certainly did make his life long enough to be useful. And in my humble opinion, he accomplished enough to “wipe” away any doubts as to his greatness and life beyond…..

A Future for Tomorrow

2008-10-06T09:46:00.000-07:00

Many do not know this about me but when I was 15, I got mono and lost sooo much weight I got down to 96 pounds. It was the first time anyone told me how thin I looked and it made me feel 'noticed' and accepted - like I'd finally done something outstanding. Even my mom noticed that my jeans bagged on me.

I was determined to not gain it back and thus started a cycle of binging and purging that lasted until I was 21 when I lost my fist baby through miscarriage at four and half months. And even though the pregnancy was doomed from the start (something was wrong and it was apparent that the mass of cells had never developed), I harbored the guilt and blamed my twisted eating habits and fear of gaining weight for the loss of a precious child. The ipecac and laxatives went into a drawer and were never used for purging again.

From there my weight problems went to the other extreme as I ballooned upwards hoping to disappear behind rolls of fat in order to become unnoticed.

After years of trial, family counseling, finally understanding my own self worth and gastric bypass surgery, the weight is coming off and I am using food in a healthy manner as I reclaim who I am.

Since bulimia and anorexia at that time were not commonly talked about (this was before Callista Flockheart and Kate Moss), I thought no one else dealt with issues of self esteem and body dismorphia like I did and treatment certainly wasn't openly discussed either. I thought I was unique in a very sick sort of way. And so when my dear friend Tristi Pinkston asked me to review a book called A Future for Tomorrow about a young woman who struggled with Anorexia Nervosa, I have to admit that I was intrigued.

Haley Hatch Freeman is extremely candid as she opens her mind to readers who witness the struggles of a young woman struggling with anorexia. The thought processes, the self depreciating talk, the distorted views of self, it all becomes clear and evident to the sickness that rages on behind the eyes of one who struggles with an eating disorder.

And for me, it was healing. I cried and I laughed as I cheered Haley on, recognizing the thought processes of self-disgust and guilt and the desire to feel loved and accepted. I understood the battle that goes on in one's mind for control of the number on the scale and as I read her account of that struggle, I battled right along with her remembering my 25 year process and cheered at her triumph.

Up to this point I have hated full length mirrors and cameras (so why I bought a house full of mirrored closet doors is beyond me!!). But after reading the last page of A Future for Tomorrow, I proudly stood before my full length mirror and looked past the dry erase marker to-do list and looked into my own eyes and saw something I'd never seen before.

It was me,.... and despite the fact that I have another 80 pounds to go, I could honestly say that I was happy with myself and that I have a pretty smile and clear blue eyes that sparkle with the knowledge that I am okay.

I haven't been able to do that my whole life. But after reading Haley's book, I had the desire to look at myself through a Heavenly Father's eyes and see the good in His child. And I have Haley to thank for that.....

I had a desire to get to understand this young woman a little bit more and so I had the opportunity to ask her a few questions. Here is that conversation:


Me - Haley, you were very candid about your experiences in A Future for Tomorrow. How hard was it for you and your family to relive that period and were they okay
with the honesty with which you painted yourself and them?

Haley -It was painful for me to relive the experience. There is a quote I read that I think applies to my situation: “Better that one heart be broken a thousand times
in the retelling, if it means that a thousand others hearts need not be broken at all”
(quote by Robert MCAfee Brown)

My parents tell me when they read my book it brings everything back to them vividly, as if they are there again since I was able to describe it as accurately as I did. So
it does bring back some of their pain as well. However, they are amongst my biggest fans and supporters of the book, and of me telling our story.

My parents, other family members, and friends are pleased with their portrayals since they admit it is completely factual and accurate. My dad’s depiction was the hardest
for me, with showing his negative side of his inherited “fat-phobia”. He is one of the greatest men I know with deep spirituality and love for others. He would do anything
for anyone and is truly an amazing man and father.  He does admit he has this problem with judgment over weight issues and he tries to work on it. I hope the
reader is able to see his positive attributes over his weaknesses.


Me - You have a passion to share your experiences to help others avoid or overcome the pitfalls that consumed you. What single factor drives you the most?

Haley -There are two factors that drive my passion to share my experience. First of all, I feel it to be part of my mission, my purpose in this life.  We each have a
sacred duty and reason we are on this journey of life, a purpose only you can accomplish. I know sharing my story is part of mine.

Secondly, I know the heartache of this disease. I can offer something unique to those who are suffering. I don’t know many people who would choose not to help
someone if they knew they had the potential to do so. It sounds cliché but it is sincerely how I feel: “If I can help just one person avoid or get through this
disorder it will be worth it.”

Me - I'm sure it was very difficult to talk about your experience with being overcome by dark influences. How did you come to peace with that in such a way that you
were able to share it with others without causing more trauma to yourself and those around you?

Haley  - This particular incident was without a doubt the hardest for me to write about and edit. It was something I did with great prayer and guidance. I feel it was
suppose to be a part of my book and the Lord guided me through representing what truly did occur in a respectful manner in my book.  I never felt writing about it would
bring trauma to me or others around me, which it didn’t.

Me - What is the best advice you could give to those who struggle with eating disorders and self esteem issues on a whole? How can they overcome them or avoid
them altogether?

Haley - I could write an entire other book answering this question alone. In short, the main thing I would like a person who is suffering with an eating disorder to know
is they CAN NOT get over it alone. They DO need to get professional help. 20% of people with eating disorders and 25% of people with anorexia nervosa die without
treatment. That number goes down to 2-3% with treatment. The key to recovery is to get help, be honest with your counselor and with yourself with the issues that
caused the eating disorder and the eating part will take care of itself. Find a passion and use your energy to focus on that instead of the disorder.

Self-esteem is a difficult one too, if it is low enough that there is destructive behaviors, again treatment is necessary. This is one of my favorite quotes, “All of you need to
drink in deeply the gospel truths about the eternal nature of your individual identity and the uniqueness of your personality. You need, more and more, to feel the perfect
love which our Father in Heaven has for you and to sense the value he places upon you as an individual. Ponder upon these great truths, especially in those moments
when (in the stillness of such anxiety as you may experience as an individual) you might otherwise wonder and be perplexed" (President Spencer W. Kimball) I would
like to share with those mentioned the letter in the back of my book titled “To Those Who Are Suffering.”

Prevention again encompasses so much. Causes of eating disorders can span from their parents raising style, to life situations such as abuse, to being overly influenced
by media and much more. (Usually a person with a serious disorder has multiple triggers, maybe all of the above and more.) A powerful prevention tool is awareness
and education. Something I hope my book can provide more of.

A large responsibility does fall on parents. A child with a mother who diets or who has an eating disorder is 12 times more likely to have one too. A parent should NEVER
put themselves down in front of their child. They not only model this behavior but it leads the child to believe, “If Mom, who is perfect in my eyes, thinks she is fat
and ugly then how much worse am I?”

Me - What is the single most important lesson you learned through your whole experience?

Haley - The importance of self worth, and faith.

Haley’s book is published through Granite Publishing. For more information, you can
go to her website www.afuturefortomorrow.com and to read more of her thoughts and
wisdom, go to her blogsite at www.afuturefortomorrw.blogspot.com

Sometimes the best noise is no noise at all

2008-09-10T14:26:00.000-07:00

With four boys and a husband that acts like one at times, I have to admit that boisterous noise is a part of everyday life.

This morning when I woke up, I was feeling a little bit overwhelmed by life in general and was wondering how I was going to get a bit of peace back into my daily routine. And then I noticed something....

After having gotten the boys off to school and saying good-bye to a husband who had an early morning appointment and confirming that I didn't have to rush to be anywhere, I couldn't help but smile as I realized there was not a sound to be heard,...that is except for the raindrops on the roof if I strained to hear them.

It was soooo quiet, I wasn't quite sure what to do so I sat back down on my bed, pulled my fuzzy blanket up over me,closed my eyes and listened to the silence.

An interesting thing happened. I could envision happy times I'd had, things I wanted to do and hear clearly some voices that I was afraid I'd forget. In listening to the silence, I reconnected with my world and was rejuvenated to make it through the rest of the week.

I'm not sure if the noise of life has gotten to me or if I'm just growing up. Either way, this morning I consider myself blessed to have not heard a thing....

What do you want to leave behind?

2008-08-25T14:25:00.000-07:00

This past month has been an interesting one as we’ve parched through my parents’ possessions.
It’s been a lot of tears as we’ve remembered the good times, and laughter as we relived the adventures, There was stuff to throw away and stuff that we took into our homes cherishing it for the next generations.

But mostly for me, it was a time of learning and understanding.

One neighbor kiddingly came over to ask if we’d found anything shocking or of noted interest as we went through their things.

“No”, we responded, “They were pretty much who we had always believed them to be.”

We found love letters to each other and journals that expressed their thoughts and feelings. We found boxes and boxes of pictures that captured every worthwhile memory and some that we wish hadn’t been captured. We found temple clothes and patriarchal blessings, notes and letters from each of us and pictures we’d drawn – all stuff that would have been boring to the outside world (no novels to write here) but all things that gave us comfort nonetheless knowing that our parents had loved and cherished us and given us a good life based on eternal principles.

It wasn’t until I got home, though, along with all of my mothers papers that I did find something shocking – something that I’d never known about her. As I opened one of her boxes, I found her most cherished collection – one none of us had ever known she’d even had.

We’d known about her Santa collection and about dad’s book collection but this was something that was near and dear to her heart that in the quiet of her room dictated her loves and desires.

For years in her nightstand I’d seen a highlighter and a small pair of scissors and had wondered why she kept them there because I’d never seen her use them. Of no great consequence,….until I had opened this box.

Inside, placed lovingly were hundreds of clippings out of the Church News of a feature called ‘Applying the Scriptures’.

For the better part of 20 years, my mother had carefully cut these little features out, highlighted the things that stood out to her and had then gone to the scripture referenced and used that as a study guide as she studied. More notes had been made in the margins of her scriptures as she gained further insight.

Suddenly this box full of what at first appeared to be nothing more than a collection of recyclable goods, took on whole new meaning and gave me insight into a part of my mother’s life that I had not know before.

She had not made it a public practice of showing that she had done the right things but had simply and quietly just done them. And I, nor any of my siblings, had ever known the deep commitment and faithfulness with which she had lived her everyday life in this one area until after her death when I so fortuitously had stumbled upon her most prized collection.

The whole experience made me really think about what I want to leave behind. What do I want those who come after me to find that will dictate my life, passions and desires? And furthermore, what do I want to collect for my own personal enjoyment rather than for the sake of the world?

I also have to admit though, that I can’t wait to see my mom’s neighbor again so that I can tell him that I did find something shocking that gave me new insight into who my mother really was.
I will also gladly share with him that her heart, passions and desires were more than I ever could’ve dreamed of and that I can only hope to follow in her footsteps one day.

Room for Two

2008-08-13T11:43:00.000-07:00

Think of the most heart-wrenching tragedy a person could suffer and then mix it with a dose of honesty, healing, understanding and a happy ending and that's what you will find in Abel Koegh's book Room for Two.I was admittedly a little bit hesitant to read this one since I am a self avowed sucker for fictional stories that I know are going to end up with a happy ending. Abel's story is anything but happy but I can honestly say it is inspirational and once I picked it up, I could not put it down (much to the dismay of my 14 year old so whose triple I missed at the ballpark since the book was blocking my view)!

It cannot be easy to write about your wife's suicide while she's 7 months pregnant and the resultant death of your daughter but what caught me about Abel's story is the raw emotion and the honesty with which he told his story. As a reader, one cannot help but connect with him on his journey of healing and moving on. I could only marvel at his strength and wish to be more like him as I face my own challenges in life.

Ever being the journalist I am though, there were a few questions that I had to ask. I share those along with his responses with you now;

Me - For many men, it is hard to be brutally honest about their feelings and yet in Room for Two, you are so honest, it makes one stand back in awe and admiration especially about the feelings you had over the guilt in not listening to the promptings before your wife's death. How did you find the courage to be so honest and why did you choose that route?

Abel - I tried to read several books about losing a spouse in the months following Krista’s death. I found them to be preachy, boring, and full of self-pity. They rang less than true with me. When I decided to write a book, I vowed not to make same mistake.

I couldn’t write a lie or leave out certain details or scenes just to make myself look good. I had to be able to live with the final product. If anything came of my honesty, I hoped that if people read about my own mistakes, readers would be less inclined to make the same mistakes in theirs.

Me - Many of us unfortunately have lost children - myself included - and a day does not go by that I do not think about her. Do you ever find yourself looking at other children and wondering what your daughter would be like, what her interests would be and counting milestones as if she were there? What helps you get through those days?

Abel - Sometimes I think about what Hope would be doing, but not nearly as often as I used to. It’s probably down to just a handful of moments each year. It helps is that I have three children – two sons and a daughter – with Julie. I fully concentrate on watching them grow and develop. They are the joy of my life.

Me - In your healing process, anger had a big role to play. How would you advise others to handle the grieving process in such horrific tragedies?

Abel - Find a healthy way to deal with your grief. For me it was getting up at 5:00 a.m. and going for a four mile run. I could force all my anger and issues out during that time so when I was done, I could concentrate on simply making it through another day. I tried not to let my grief, anger, or other issues not spill out into my work, friends, or family.

Me - You had known about Krista's genetic background with mental illness. For others who fight depression or other forms of mental ailments, what is the best advise you could give them?

Abel - Don’t be afraid to ask others for help. Whether it’s a family member, doctor, or other mental health professional, if something is not right, let someone know and try to figure out a solution to the problem.

Me - For quite a while you fought with the demons that overcame Krista. Did you ever have that moment where you came to truly understand what it was that tormented her and the meaning of her cryptic message on the answering machine?

Abel - I have no idea what her answering message was trying to communicate. I simply chalk it up to her frenzied mind and that she saw no point in hanging around this world.

Me - Despite all the heartache, you have been blessed with another good woman who has helped heal your heart and shown you what it is to love fiercely again and shared with you the joys of raising a family. For those who are having a hard time seeing that there may be a brighter day ahead, what advice can you give them?

Abel - Life is about making the most of the hand we’ve been dealt. Each morning we have a choice to be either a victim or a hero. Victims let things beyond their control rule their life. Heroes make the best of their circumstances and try to improve them.

I firmly believe that most of our “living” takes place in the gray matter between our ears. Whether we’re happy or sad, miserable or at peace though most of our life is a direct result of how we choose to view the world and the choices we consciously make.

Me - And do you still run? Who is winning now? ;-)

Abel - We still run but having three young kids have forced us, for the most part, to keep separate exercise schedules. Julie works out in the morning. I do it during my lunch break at work. We still try to make time to run on Saturday mornings. Julie still wins – even when she’s pushing a kid or two in our running stroller. She’s a very gifted athlete.

Me - This last one is for your wife if she doesn't mind,....Abel wrote of a bit of hesitation in getting involved with a man with such a unique past. How did you overcome those trepidations and what advice would you give to other women who want to love a widower but are afraid they might get stuck 'competing' with memories? You are a remarkable woman and I thank you for allowing your story to be shared with us.

Julianna - A lot of it had to do with the way Abel treated me. He always makes me feel like the number one woman in his life. I really don’t have to worry about competing with a ghost because Abel never makes me feel that way. For other women who are dating widowers, my advice would be not to settle for someone who’s having a hard time treating you like number one. If you feel like you’re always being compared to a dead woman, get out of the relationship.

I would highly recommend this book to anyone who wants to find inspiration

For those of you who would like to get your own copy of Abel's book Room for Two click here .

The 'Stuffing' of Life

2008-07-29T19:11:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, my siblings and I had the daunting task of clearing out my mother and father's home since my mother passed away three months ago at age 63 and my father passed away four years ago at age 61 - both from cancer.

Since no who is really living - and my parents were ALIVE - plans on leaving this life at such a young age, unimportant things tended to get put off. The closets had not been cleaned out and the shed was a mess. There was an accumulation of papers and stuff under her bed that would have been a rat's nesting utopia. Her files were outdated and there were even crumbs behind the appliances.

But as we went through the stuff, we also found love letters from my dad to my mom and journal entries written by my mom about how much she had missed and loved him. We found pictures of family gatherings and our prize winning art pieces and papers from school. There were clothes from special occasions and dried flowers that my dad had given her on their first date.

Bottom line, we found a life of memories amongst that stuff in a household that had been a child's haven from the world and a jumping off point for our aspiring dreams and personal growth.

The whole experience made me stop and think about what truly is important and what the definition of stuff actually is.

Webster's first definition defines 'stuff' as the material or substance out of which anything is or can be made. Looking at my mom's 8 drawer collection of ribbons, tissue paper, paper scraps and gift bags, string and yarn, paper punches, glue and pipe cleaners, I decided that this would certainly constitute as stuff. But so would her collection of books that she read to the grandkids and acted out scenes from. Or dad's camping gear that made many a forest site look like the Hilton.

My uncle once said that he's yet to see a hearse followed by a U-Haul filled with stuff on the way to the cemetery but I have to admit, as I went through all of my parents' stuff I learned another one of life's great lessons.It's the 'stuff' that dreams are made of.

Caught in the Headlights

2008-07-22T12:09:00.000-07:00

Two years olds are fascinating.Many years ago when my oldest son was about two, I watched with a mixture of horror and keen interest as he jumped from our split entry landing onto our basement couch, bounced onto my mini-tramp and then flew across the room and hit the wall.

Undeterred, he adjusted the tramp and tried the whole process over again until he was able to cling to our TV hutch, gain a firm hold and then shimmy up the rest of the way to the top shelf where I had previously kept a jar of butter mints that he didn’t much care for. He said they tasted like toothpaste.

Finding them gone, however, he dejectedly slid down the hutch only to find out that he was eye level with my stash of Hershey’s miniature candy bars I’d set between the side of the hutch and the TV. He’d been so focused on getting the butter mints, he completely missed something that he liked much better and that had been easily within his reach the whole time.
I thought about that experience this week as I read Barry K. Phillips book Caught in the Headlights – 10 Lessons Learned the Hard Way. Too bad this book hadn’t been around then. My son could’ve used a lesson or two from it.
Although billed as a self-help book, I would more classify it as a self-evaluation book because it really makes one sit down and take stock of where they are and where they should be going.

He hits tough subjects like the pursuit of everlasting happiness, self-esteem versus self–worth, humility instead of pride, giving up control in order to embrace faith, freedom knowing you obey the rules, tolerance while having opinions, forgiveness for your own sake and peace of mind, obtaining true success, enjoying the day to day journey and the myth of physical ‘perfection’.

He uses humor, cartons, poetry, anecdotes and his own experiences to help his readers understand that the brass ring they’ve previously been chasing is not what brings true happiness.Many of us have been Caught in the Headlights for way too long, and it’s time for a course correction. He then gives the road-map to navigate the ten things we all think we want out of life only to find out that there is something that makes us happier – the butter mint versus chocolate theory.
Being the journalist that I am, I was so intrigued with Phillips insight and thoughtful wisdom, that I could not resist the urge to find out more and ask a few more questions. Here are his responses;

1 - How did you narrow your scope of experience to only 10? Were there other lessons you wanted to write about but chose not to? Why or are we talking sequel?

Well, these 10 were the most common. We all seem to do well the top 10 lists, so it seemed like a good number. There are others, but I thought I'd see how well this book does before I worry about a sequel.

2 - Of all the lessons you wrote about, which one for you was personally the hardest to learn and why?

The lesson about Control took some time, but the one about the Big Event was the hardest. I suppose that's because of my entrepreneurial nature. Big dreams can easily cloud day to day pleasures.

3 - Why the title Caught in the Headlights? Was this the original working title? If not, what was and why was it changed?
The original title of "the book" wasn't real catchy. "Caught in the Headlights" was actually the working title, but I had written a fair amount of the book before I finally came up with it.

4 - You use an almost conversational tone throughout the book - like friend talking to another friend. Is this how you always write or was that just the style of this book? What would you say is your normal style of writing and your normal genre?

I've written everything from marketing hype to training courses to contracts. The conversational style I used for this is probably my favorite style. It's more true to my personality than any other style, but I'm comfortable in writing in nearly any style. By far, my favorite type of writing is humor based, no matter the style.

5 - You do not shy away from your religious beliefs. Is this because those convictions are such an integral part of the lessons you've learned. For someone who does not have the same religious beliefs, how can this book help them?

I don't think you need to share my beliefs to gain perspective from the book. But you do need to come to terms with what your core beliefs are. Too many people try to replace religious belief with other things. It just never works. Faith is key to being fulfilled in your life.

6 - Who are the three people you'd most like to meet here on earth? In heaven?

On earth, I'll pick one from three categories: Religious: Henry B. Eyring a top leader in my Faith. In business, Chip Foose (leading car designer) and in sports, Tiger Woods. No longer on the earth (in different categories), Joseph Smith, George Washington and Leonardo DaVinci.

7 - If there was one trait about yourself that you could market knowing people would buy and that it would help the world, what would it be and why? (And don't tell me your wife - we already would love to have that saint in our lives...;-))

Wow! I've never even thought of this concept before. Probably perspective on priorities. I've struggled with that a lot, but I finally think I'm starting to get it. Relationships are top on that list, my relationship with God, my family, and with many others. If everyone cared more about that, most things would take care of themselves.

Although this book is only 104 pages, it contains a lifetime of wisdom and lessons learned that we all should take to heart.

I would highly recommend it to anyone who is proverbially flinging themselves against a wall for butter mints that taste like toothpaste instead of going after eye-level Hershey’s chocolate! You’ll save yourself scads of pain, a less than sweet taste in your mouth and the mortification of having your mother tell embarrassing stories about you on her blog years later…..

If you’d like your own copy, you can order the book here.

Learning the art of Now and Later...

2008-07-12T12:25:00.000-07:00

I was given a bloggers award by Tristi Pinkston for the last blog I did called "The Most Beautiful Woman in the World". A deep and humble thank you, Tristi....

This past week I had a friend ask me the question, “Why do you sacrifice so much of the good stuff now for the hope of something later?”

I couldn’t help but think of a lesson I’d given a class almost a decade earlier and a discussion I’d had with my sons more recently than that.

Church at that time was 1-4 so, half-way through the block, rumbling stomachs were a frequent part of the auditory backdrop in our classroom.

Using this to my advantage, I brought in a pan of small, dry, unfrosted cupcakes that I’d also ‘forgotten’ to put all of the required sugar in. I set them on a table and noted with interest that many of the members of the class were so drawn to the cupcakes that they did not notice the unobtrusive box sitting on the table behind them. The others, however, were drawn to the box and waited to see what it housed.

I asked those particular students if they were hungry and lured them into accepting a cupcake. When they were done and still left wanting, I then pulled out of my bag plates, cups, forks, glasses, a jug of milk and the most decadent looking chocolate cake I could find. I set the table in front of the chalk board with a portrait of Christ and invited the students who had refrained to come sit at the table and enjoy a big piece of that cake.

The others sat on looking miserable wishing that they too had had the sense to see beyond the first offering of sad cupcakes.

I explained that our Savior has personally invited each and everyone of us to dine with Him and partake of His feast. It means giving up a bit of pleasure here in this world for that hope of something better.

This is true of so many things in our lives whether it be morality, honesty, tithing, service or any other thing that can bring us eternal joy.

After explaining this lesson to my friend and talking more in depth about the subject, she had another question, “What ever happened to the kids in that class?”

I told her proudly, “Every single one of them is on track, made it through high school and is on missions or married in the temple. They have told me that that lesson made an impression on them they will not soon forget and then added with a big smile, "And I can honestly say that to this day, I know for a fact none of them are starving.” ;-)

One of the most beautiful women in the world....

2008-07-10T14:48:00.000-07:00

Take a good long look at this face. She is one of the most beautiful women I have ever had the fortune to come across....
Her name is Yvette Cade and she currently is about 34 years old. She has a small pixie voice with words that are deliberate and a high pitched giggle that perfectly matches her small pixie stature. She has one daughter and an ex-husband who is in jail for setting her on fire in 2005.

When she was 31, Yvette married Roger Hargrave falling in love with his wit and the gentle manners in which he treated his son from a previous marriage. Soon after their wedding, he began drinking a lot and became volatile, demanding, possessive, suspicious and abusive.

Yvette eventually had the courage to walk away wanting safety for her daughter but Hargrave was not willing to let her go. On the day Yvette's life was thrown into chaos, Hargrave had called her about 14 times in order to tell her he loved her. When he finally did get through to her, he told her, "he wanted to fry her like Crisco".

Six hours later, he showed up at her place of employment - a T-mobile store in Clinton, Maryland - and poured gasoline from a two liter bottle all over her and then chased her until she fell down. While she was down, he lit a match, dropped it on her and then walked away while 60% of her body sizzled.

He later told the judge that what he did was insane and he was sorry that he'd behaved that way. To date, he has never apologized or shown any remorse to his wife for the pain and suffering he has caused her .

One month before this happened, she had been to court to plead with a judge to enforce and injunction against Hargrave. After telling the judge that she was afraid for herself and her daughter and wanted an immediate divorce, the judge callously said, "Well I'd like to be 6'5" but I don't get that either. You'll have to go to divorce court for that" and then dismissed Yvette and the injunction with a bang of his gavel.

Later on the judge said that it was a clerical error that caused her injunction to be dismissed. Yeah, right...

Yvette has been through close to 20 surgeries, has had to wear a pressure suit and masks up to 23 hours a day to minimize scar tissue and do excruciating exercises and slather down in creams to keep her skin as supple as she can. She wears bandages on the back of her head where her hair was burnt into her scalp. She works her hands so she can maintain a bit of mobility to take care of her daughter, and hopefully one day, some grandchildren.

Hers is not a beauty regimen - but a life saving one. And yet, the struggle she goes through every day has made her more beautiful than most people I know.

Why? Because as part of that regimen, she also recites all of her blessings and the things that she is grateful for everyday.

And when she finally did have the courage to go out in public, although many were struck by awe at her appearance, that beauty came out at she said that she was there to plead with women in abusive situations to GET OUT and SEEK HELP. She put her own pride aside to encourage others to get help before it was too late.

(Yvette's five signs that you are in an abusive situation and should seek help are;

Jealousy and possessiveness
Controlling behavior
Verbal abuse
Threats to harm you, your family or your pet
Isolation from friends and family)

And on Oprah, when she was asked by the talk show queen what her thoughts were about Roger Hargrave, Yvette pursed her scarred lips, remained silent for a moment and then smiled slightly as she said, "If you can't say something nice about someone, don't say anything at all."

The world may disagree with me thinking that Jennifer Aniston, Catherine Zeta Jones, or Angelina Jolie define beauty but I will proudly stand and hail that it's people like Yvette Cade who are some of the most beautiful people in the world.
I hope I can aspire to be that pretty one day....

A Republic's Legacy and Oath

2008-07-04T15:49:00.000-07:00

This time of year always inspires me as I think about what I am truly grateful for and the liberties which I cherish. But I do also recognize that liberty is not free - it has always had a high price tag.

To that means, I wrote this poem putting into prose the feelings of my heart. I hope you enjoy it...

From the birth of our nation
Til the final show of pride.
I thank Thee, the Almighty
For the sacrifices of those who’ve died.
The brave hearts and courage of those
Who knew not how to fight
But marched to a Nation’s glory
Through cloaking darkness or day’s light.
Praise the young and the old
Who have carried little more
Than the burning faith and desire
To fight their freedom’s war.

A march throughout the centuries
Upon the shoulders of a few,
We owe a reverent gratitude
For the blood that was their due.
For the men with ages of youth
Who carried the dreams of a Nation
And women and children at home
Awaiting any words with patience.
There are but a few names listed
Within our books of learning
But let us not forget the masses
Who gave life for unity burning.

Alas, may they not regret
The benefit of one nation under God
And may we, their benefactors
Remember for which they fought.
There is a picturesque struggle
To raise our banner once more
After a defeat of freedom’s enemy
Upon a beach’s quiet shore.
There are numerous green acres
That bear far as the eye can see
Masses of alabaster white crosses
Of those who gave life for you and me.

We shall preserve this Nation!
This is now our cross to bear!
So that we in truth and glory
May our ensign proudly wear!
To keep our heritage of independence
This land we shall not disgrace
But preserve our freedom, their legacy
Of every soldier’s watchful face.
We shall raise high Liberty’s Title
“In memory”, we hail most sacredly
“For beliefs in God, freedom, family, peace
That built a Nation for their posterity.”

Happy 4th of July everyone!

If only we could be that focused:

2008-06-28T14:51:00.000-07:00

My youngest son has a bit of a competitive nature.

Okay, who am I kidding? That’s like saying the Grand Canyon is a small flaw in the Earth’s crust.

Anyway, last week he was playing at a friend’s so we stopped by after picking up his brother from baseball practice to tell him to scoot on home. He needed to wash up for dinner. He’d had a hard day battling it out with the dirt on the mountain at Cub Scout camp and by looking at him, one could be fairly sure that the mountain had won.

With a blaze of youthful energy (how after two full days at Cub Country?), he sped off on his bike hollering over his shoulder, “I’ll beat you home!”

As he made his way around the corner of Glider onto 17^thand was about to head off on to Cameo, I decided that I’d go straight and then turn onto Richard backing in on Cameo since my son liked to gain an edge by darting out in front of me. It’s good to know that he trusts me and knows I’d never run him over in a battle to the finish line but it still, nonetheless, makes me rather nervous.

When I was almost to the corner of Richard, I looked back and to my horror, my son was a hundred or so yards back in the middle of the road pedaling as fast as he possibly could cars coming straight at him. I watched with a prayer in my heart as they swerved to avoid hitting him.

When he got home, I laid into him verbally for his carelessness as he tried to win the race. His response?

“I didn’t care about winning, Mom. I knew I couldn’t since you were so far ahead but as long as I can see you, I know I’ll be alright. I didn’t even see the other cars – only yours.”

I still had to lecture him on bicycle safety but I also thanked him for keeping his focus on staying with his family.

Later that night, I thought about the lesson my son had taught me; if we could all be so focused that we kept our eye singular to our parents’ heavenly domain, so much so that we didn’t see the danger trying to sideswipe us, how much better would we be and how much brighter would this world seem on a day to day basis?

I’m still trying to figure that one out but I can say this; it’s made me quit thinking about winning the race so much and focus more on my destination.

Something fun and new for me to try

2008-06-25T08:45:00.000-07:00

Okay all, since the stress as of late has just about done me in, I decided to get back to doing some fun things. One of those things is using my journalism background to write features on really cool people who inspire me and uplift me as they live their everyday lives. Some of them you will know and some of them you will not. But I can say this about each and every one of them, they have touched my life in some way.

I'd like to do a couple a week so I'll be looking for volunteers (or maybe I should say guinea pigs) to write features on. All I ask is this, if I come knocking at your virtual door, consider opening it up and letting me pick your brain to find the story in you......

A Woman Without Guile

Websters defines guile as "slyness and cunning in dealing with others - craftiness."

And although the world seems to be full of it at the moment, I can honestly say that I have met at least one woman without guile. She is a mother, a wife and a historical fiction author. And she has a great sense of humor, a radiant smile and is an amazing friend. But most of all, she is so pure in spirit and intent that I'm certain you can see the glow popping out from all around her.

She is Tristi Pinkston.

"The most beautiful thing I've ever read in an obituary is 'she was a woman without guile'," said Pinkston. "That's what I aspire to. I don't want to live a life of pretense. What you see is what you get - I may not be all roses and sunshine but I'm honest with my feelings. Someday, I want someone to be able to truthfully say that I was without guile."

That day has come.

Part of Pinkston's charm is her bipolarity like when she says that she loves my motherhood motto (Motherhood is like being pecked to death by a duck) or another she heard (Good mother's let their children lick the beaters but REALLY good moms turn the mixer off first) but subscribes to the one which states simply, "It's harder than you ever imagined , and yet, more joyful than you ever thought possible."

Or when she freely admits that she's judgmental (but trying to change) and would like to physically change her girth but in the same breath admits that she wound not change places with anyone since she believes with all her heart that Heavenly Father sent us to Earth to be exactly who we are and to face our specific challenges so we can gain th greatest blessings. She knows that if she traded paces , she might miss out on all the blessings in store for her.

She would not be a good candidate for Wife Swap. Although the other guy would be getting a gem for a week, she would never accomplish much since she'd be in her room missing her family too darn much.

The dichotomy that is Tristi Pinkston is clearly defined when she admits that the thing she most wants to keep from the world is how vulnerable she is but yet, when asked to give a synopsis of her life in three sentences or less says, "Charming vivacious girl wows and astonishes all with her wit and intelligence, leaving them jealous of her incredible ability to win friends, influence people, and amass large gifts of jewelry."

Here's the kicker,....she doesn't really mean it - but she does accomplish it.

Humor for Pinkston is a way to connect with others and to hide her truth, that she really does feel vulnerable and yet she will never, ever put her own needs ahead of anyone else's even if it does mean getting ahead.

And this is why I say she truly is a woman without guile. Anyone who knows her well also knows that she doesn't care about the jewelry unless it's treasures in terms of her family (her dear husband and four precious children) and her friends. And for the record, she does influence people as she inspires them to be better.

Even in her writing, she is giving. She made a commitment long ago that all of her books in some way would point to Christ and the hope He offers since she believes that is what art is for - to remind us of the creation and the Creator of all. And literature after all, is art.

She writes historical novels because she learns while she researches and wants to shed light on those things that modern day history books have forgotten. She also wants to give her readers that same experience - to be entertained while learning.

And she has managed her goals beautifully in the two novels that I have read ; Nothing to Regret set during WWII and Season of Sacrifice set in the early pioneer days.

She also masterfully weaves hope and faith into her stories. Even her first foray into novelization Sue the Dog was about overcoming the odds. "In the end, Sue reaches her dreams of becoming a ballerina," Pinkston said. "That's really hard for a dog to do, you know, the toe shoes and all, so there really was quite the dramatic triumph."

Yes, I can honestly say that Tristi Pinkston is a woman without guile. In all the conversations I've had with her, she amuses, and inspires. And guile nor any other negative element has ever been a part of them.

We should all aspire to be as such - but not necessarily become Tristi since, first of all she'd not swap places and let someone else steal her blessings and secondly, the world would be a much sadder place without Tristi to spread her magic and brand of good cheer.

You can get to know Tristi Pinkston better by linking to her blogsite at www.tristipinkston.blogspot.com

The Journey took me on a journey I won't soon forget

2008-06-23T16:39:00.000-07:00

I just got done reading Jewel Adams' book The Journey and all I can say is,....wow!

Talk about making a person think about things from and eternal perspective. Although it is written in the vein of the fantasy genre, she draws concepts and truths from an eternal perspective of not only this life but of that before and makes one think about where they are headed.

We all ask those perpetual questions; where am I from, what am I doing here and where am I going? Adams' with her gifted writers mind takes those questions and puts them into a story form that makes the reader explore them on a deeper level.

She also made me personally think about my own divinity and purpose here amongst mortals. Can I too be of such import that not only do I live up to a regal birthright, but have an integral part in the future as defined before this life?

Kinda makes you stop and say hummmm...........

I would highly recommend it to anyone who wants to explore their own meaning in life or just needs a good story to sit down and read while escaping the heat of summer.

A temporary Etch-a-Sketch gave me a permanent resolve

2008-06-16T12:17:00.000-07:00

Since both of my parents are gone, last weekend we decided to get together at my mom and dad's house before we sell it and celebrate the family's June birthdays and and the fathers in our lives - both living and dead. My sister (who is still living at the house) however, ended up with a nasty case of MRSA (staff infection on steroids) and we couldn't do it there.

Some of the family wanted to just bypass the occasion and look to another weekend while others wanted to hold onto familial togetherness - me included. If we didn't fight to keep our small family circle together, who would?

But where to gather?

Mom and dad's pace had always been the gathering place. The rest of our homes were just a bit too small for the whole crew.

I looked around at mine and was overwhelmed. My mother's funeral and recent surgery had left me so far behind, the dust bunnies under the front entryway table had had enough time to colonize and I was confident that they were on their fourth generation! After thinking about what was really important though, I put my pride aside and told everyone, "It's not perfect but at least we can be together here."

They came, and one of the first things that happened is that the cake of dust on my living room table captured the interest of my young nephews. I was turning purple with embarrassment as they started drawing and writing their names in the dust but my embarrassment quickly dissipated when I saw how their eyes sparkled as they used their little fingers to make their imprints on the world.

My brother came in and chastised his son for his rudeness. Since it was my home, I figured I could overrule him and told the children to draw whatever they pleased. "Ashes to Ashes and dust to dust, Play as you please - sometimes fun is a must!" I said.

My brother laughed and the children continued in their wonder as they decorated my table with their artwork. We laughed and enjoyed being together as a family the rest of the night and I learned another valuable lesson as I woke up the next morning to clean up and looked at their temporary hieroglyphics,......

"Building family bridges is not about perfection. Sometimes it is just about gathering and finding flaws to laugh about."

I haven't dusted that table since.

No Zits! Ah,...to have the life!

2008-06-10T12:23:00.000-07:00

I just got done reading Anne Bradshaw's Please, No Zits! And other stories for young LDS readers and it was delightful!

Her British humor mixed with her uncanny ability to get inside the minds of young people helped me take a sunny road trip as I journeyed through a few pot hole laden roads in life along with her characters.

Tackling subjects like finding purpose in life, dealing with self esteem, connecting with that something higher in each of us and making good decisions, Bradshaw has her readers from America and the US believing that when it comes to navigating certain roads, the world is indeed a very small place after all.

I especially liked her word guide in the back which helps the reader navigate British words for American things i.e lift versus elevator. And this is why....

My seven year old this past year came home especially pleased with himself because he was learning a third language (he'd been learning Spanish also) from his new friend Ian. The conversation went something like this;

Me - "Oh and what language are you now learning?"

Him - "English but not fake American English - real English like the speak in London where Ian is from."

Me - "Hummmm, and what are the differences between American English and real English?"

Him - "Well, instead of saying 'waw-tur', you say 'waw-tah' and instead of saying 'aw-ther' you say 'awe-thor'. And instead of watching a TV you watch a telly. It sounds much better huh, mom?"

Me - "Much, now run along so mommy can get her writing done. There's two cookies - oophs - I mean biscuits on a plate for you downstairs. I love you..."

So thanks to Anne Bradshaw, I now have an official guide I can reference so I can communicate with my child as he becomes trilingual.

But I digress.....

Bradshaw has a wonderful way of capturing the character's voice whether using internal or external dialogue and pulling the reader into the angst of youthful thought processes. And since it is a compilation of short stories, I was not overwhelmed by a taxing schedule that bit into my reading time. I just took it with me and read a story here and a story there as I waited for my teenage sons to run their errands while I leisurely waited in the car nibbling on shortbread and sipping on English Grey herbal tea.

And for me, that was quite enjoyable!

I would recommend this book to anyone of youthful mind or body who especially enjoys things with a British flair or wants to take a step towards becoming multilingual themselves!

Everyone Can Enjoy the Journey - Even Me

2008-06-06T08:16:00.000-07:00

It has been a long month with my mom's passing due to cancer and a scheduled surgery a week past that.

But I am now back to blogging and for my return, it is my great pleasure to tell you about a book I read while recovering from my procedure called Enjoying the Journey - Steps to Finding Joy Now by Jaime Theler with Deborah Talmadge.

When the book was sent to me, I admittedly was hesitant to open it up. With my insides scrambled and my emotions even more so, I did not feel any joy at the moment nor did I think that it was possible for me to find any on the horizons close at hand.

But something happened to my aching heart as I forced myself to read the pages contained therein. I found peace and hope and joy in knowing that my circumstances were only temporary and that my mother whom I missed so terribly had found her eternal joy with my dad and for the first time in close to a month, I was able to smile and understand what I was striving for.

I found purpose again.

The poignant words written "In speaking to his apostles, the Savior reassured them that he would not leave them comfortless when He left them (John 14:18). He promised that he would send them 'the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost' (John 14:26). Not only does the spirit enlighten our minds, but it also fills our souls with joy and comfort. As Sheri L. Dew stated, 'No mortal comforter can duplicate that of the Comforter'. In times of great hardship and pain, we know that we can turn to the Holy Ghost for comfort....We are much stronger in this life when we are walking with God than when we are walking alone. Together, there will be nothing you cannot endure, be it cancer, the loss of a loved one, depression, a wayward family or financial hardship," helped me to remember where I needed to turn for solace.

I had forgotten to apply His spiritual salve to my heart. It was then that I "cast my burdens upon the Lord", and true to the promises made, He did sustain me! (Psalms 55:22).

The next day seemed a little brighter, the physical pains seemed more bearable and most of all, I was able to look at my parents picture and rejoice in the the life they'd given me and the life for which I was striving instead of feeling the immense amount of responsibility they'd left upon my shoulders taking care of a brother on a mission and keeping my family together.

Later on in the book, the author reminds the reader through the analogies of the Battle of Little Round Top at Gettysburg (which changed the tide of the war) and the battles of Captain Moroni and his Title of Liberty (which inspired and fortified his people) that great things can be accomplished by small numbers giving me hope that maybe I could make a difference in keeping my family together.

Since reading this book, I have slept a bit better, had clarity of thought and been able to find the small things in life to smile about. And even thought I cannot yet quite say that my joy is full, I do have hope that I can make lemonade out of the lemons life has handed me.

I highly recommend it to anyone who is dealing with overwhelming stress, loss, or simply feeling down and not knowing where to turn so that you too can find a path to eternal joy and happiness.

For more information on Jaime Theler and Deborah Talmadge, you can go to Jaime's website and blogspot at www.jaimetheler.com and www.jaimetheler.blogspot.com.

Laurel,,....Mother, Teacher and Friend

2008-05-12T15:39:00.000-07:00

My mom,... mother, teacher and friend

Almost two weeks ago, I sent out a call in desperation.

My mother had just asked me to do her life's tribute and for the first time in my life,...I was at a loss for words despite having written many public, some even award winning, tributes. Although as a journalist I always carried the heavy burden of doing a person justice, for this tribute I looked in the mirror and asked, "How do I do her justice and let everyone know exactly what she meant to me and so many others?"

Many good, talented and wonderful people came to my aid though and if nothing more, helped me pull it together so that I could get through it and paint her life in a way her friends and family wanted to remember her.

And for that I thank you all and hope that I did justice to all of you as well.......

Tribute For Laurel Stapley Gooch

Almost exactly a year ago I stood in my mom’s upstairs office and cried after she’d gotten the grim news about the state of her cancer. I told her that she had to stick around – I wasn’t prepared to be the matriarch of this family and take on the responsibilities that entailed.

“Mom, that is a mantle I am so under qualified and so thoroughly unprepared for – you have to beat this.”

I was expecting comfort and words of wisdom but in her classic way, she put her arms around me, smiled and said, “Oh Sis, that title is more of a yoke rather than a mantle,….have you looked at this bunch lately?”

Despite what she personally thought of her abilities, she always knew how to be strong when we found ourselves crumbling and she did it with grace, dignity, and when the situations warranted it – a dose of humor.

I had always been so independent and self assured that my mom and dad used to kid me that God gave me to them so I could raise her. And then Becky had been given to them so they felt like they had had a hand in raising a daughter. But that night when faced with the possibilities of losing my mom, she saw a new side of me – one that needed her in the worst way and felt completely inadequate at the prospects of following in her footsteps.

I remember one night about five years ago when dad was sick and looking back through his hospital room door as she gently cradled his hand. I looked at my mom and saw something I’d been remiss to see before. Or more accurately, maybe I just hadn’t needed to see it before.

She’d been the woman I watched as a ten year old trying to corral the dog into the back yard before he could have an accident. When the dog ended up on the couch trying to escape the loony woman waving her arms in arcs and whooping at him, she hadn’t skipped a beat. She fetched the vacuum, put it on the couch and turned it on. The dog, who was more scared of the vacuum than the crazy lady, jumped off the couch onto her new carpet and urinated in fear.

I got a scrub brush and helped her until there wasn’t a dribble left.

At twelve, I watched as she cried because a mother bird who’d built a nest in the air conditioning vent that spring had pushed her babies into taking their first shaky steps and watched as they had failed. She cried even harder when the mother bird pushed them to keep trying until they finally succeeded and flew away that fall.

That moment, for her, had defined the true nature of motherhood – putting ones biggest fears aside for the betterment and ultimate joy of knowing that you’ve done your job and your children are succeeding on their own. Every fall as the kids returned back to school, she would remember the birds and the role of a mother and she would cry mixed tears of joy and sadness.

Back then I had put my arm around her and tried to give her comfort by telling her that I’d never be far away.

At thirteen, I had watched her secretly act out a scene from ‘Beach Blanket Bingo’ in her old blue polka dot bikini in front of her dresser mirror. I sat down on the edge of her bed and told her that she looked great for an older lady.

I watched as sadness mixed with a hint of wistfulness churned in her eyes when she recognized the disappearance of her youth.

At seventeen I watched her with a bit of disdain as she sat at the table one Sunday afternoon looking at five of us and said with the shock and utter amazement of someone who’d just won the ten million dollar lotto, “I’m a mother!”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Duuhhh…” I figured she had become a bird brain.

At nineteen, I’d fought with her because she’d tried to force her dreams for my wedding upon me. She’d put her foot down when I’d asked for a miniature waterfall under the cake with rose colored water matching the decorated fondant tiers. She said it made it look trashy. I ordered the fountain anyway yelling at her to get out of my life. I was sure I completely understood why the baby birds had flown away never to return home again.

I did not see her cry that time but hoped that she had.

Throughout my twenties as I had my children, I watched her wring her hands and fret over my brothers and their choices in mates hoping that these young women would support them through their educations. She had wanted my brothers and their families to be able to live out their dreams. Education afforded better jobs and better jobs afforded dreams. Only when those diplomas were obtained could she rest peacefully knowing that they’d be okay. And she fretted over Becky hoping that Josh could give her the life my mother felt she deserved. She later told me that she had never needed to worry. Jen, Syd, Josh and Shiloh were the best things that could’ve ever happened to my brothers and to Becky.

I finally understood why, when looking at my siblings through a mother’s eyes, she had cried over the baby birds.

I was thirty-seven, that night at the hospital when I watched her at my father’s bedside having patience, adding strength and holding onto faith believing that all would be well. She was fighting for him with a determination that only someone in that situation could understand. I also remembered smiling as I headed around the corner. I knew I didn’t need to be there to catch her if she fell. She was bravely moving forward into unchartered territory and handling it with the grace I wish I had.

But when I got home I cried because somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew she had taught me to be the mother bird. And I could not have had a more qualified and magnificent teacher.

She lost her dad when she was 29 to cancer, and on the day of his funeral, she had cried but told me that she had thanked God for giving her such a wonderful man as a father.

She lost her father-in-law to cancer when she was 37, and I watched as she took on the house, five children, the yard and scrimp on a budget so dad could fly back and forth between Denver and Phoenix spending what precious time there was left with his father. At grandpa’s funeral she shed tears and thanked God that she’d been blessed with another good man who’d raised a fine son – the one she had grown to love more than life its self.

And when dad developed a limp that would not go away, at 57 she chauffeured him from doctor to doctor in a fervent quest hoping to find the cause. She once again faced cancer and bravely took my dad’s hand saying, “We’ll fight this together.”

He was 61 when mom wept as she rested her head upon his knee knowing he was steadily growing closer to taking his last breath. And although most of her married life she had been afraid to give voice to her darkest trepidations, we children knew that her biggest fear had always been to be left alone. Yet, she lifted her head and whispered so those in the room could barely hear, “I love you, Bill, but I can do this. I don’t want to see you hurt anymore. Go, my love, go….”

Moments later, dad took his last breath. Mom kissed him gently on the forehead and left the room to make the arrangements.

On the day of his funeral when every cell in my body wanted to scream at the injustice of it all, my mom put her hand on my shaking arm and said, “I thank God for having such a wonderful man to share my life with,” and she sadly but tenderly watched as the love of her life was being put to rest.

Her doctors told us that mom’s case was a complex one and quite frankly, that was fitting since she was a complex woman. Although her emotions were clearly defined, her words often were not. She loved fiercely and fought to keep her family close but sometimes we as children just heard the fight part and not the love behind them.

But on the evening of her death, there was no mistake as to her feelings. We wondered why she did not just give up and go. Her body was racked with pain and as much as it was excruciating to let her go, she held on with a fierce determination proving once and for all that she was indeed more stubborn than my brother David.

Although she had not been responsive for more than 24 hours, right before her passing her breathing calmed, hers eyes barely opened and she looked at her children. As testimony to our mother’s love and complex ways, tears of joy and anguish ran down her face before we had the opportunity to usher her into my dad’s waiting arms.

She loved the scripture in Proverbs which reads, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thy own understanding “ but she also lived by the creed question everything.

She said she was never good with words but she gave amazing talks and loved to learn new and unusual words in the dictionary and engage in word play.

She could cry and laugh at the same time.

She was every bit a lady but was also a tomboy as a little girl who ran through fields, played in mud and with snakes and even once wore her boy cousin’s underwear.

She always praised others and marveled at their talents but had a hard time recognizing her own as true gifts and as marvelous works.

She said she couldn’t die – she had not found her purpose in life and yet she gave everything to her family and friends.

She sometimes questioned her own faith and yet she had the uncanny ability to teach faith, perseverance, strength and forgiveness by example through the things she did on a daily basis.

Over the course of the last year as we drove to and from appointments, I had many opportunities to talk with her and understand the true nature of her heart and the tenderness she had for her children, her grandchildren, her other family members and her friends. And if there was a word that could define those conversations besides love, it was gratitude.

She was grateful for the blessings in her life. She would have given her life for anyone of her children or grandchildren, and gone to the ends of the Earth for any one of her friends. She could not live without her siblings or her mother. And of them all, she was fiercely protective and passionate.

I’ve also watched many times over the last four years as she’s forlornly gazed at daddy’s picture and harbored insecurities that she couldn’t do it as well as he had – couldn’t laugh as much, couldn’t live as well or love as perfectly as he did. But everyday, she faced the day and did it as best she could hoping to make proud those who meant most to her in this life as she found moments to laugh and love perfectly – just like she had taught daddy to do.

And she did make us proud.

And then I remember the night when she talked one last time of the birds. It was the night she asked me to be the mother bird. She told me that although my brothers held the priesthood keys to the family, she was counting on me to be the heart of it. She told me to be there for Becky and do all those things she’d need another woman’s touch for like shopping and advice on raising two active little boys and to help her keep her panic under control. She told me to make sure the boys played nice; don’t let Rex take himself too seriously, give Tim free reign on his emotions and to remind David to take care of himself as well as others. She also wanted them all to know that she knew their hearts and that they had made her extremely proud. She then gave me the charge to make sure I all feathers were kept unruffled and when they were, to make sure they did not stay that way.

As far as she was concerned, she had done seven great things in her life – married my father and raised six children that any parent could be proud of.

And then she spoke of Taylor – her one last great success - and told me that I’d been a surrogate mother to him since the day he was born. She was counting on me to make sure that he felt a mother’s love every day for the rest of his life. And Taylor, you will because we have a mother who taught us all the importance of bonding together as a family. No one can take her place but we as a collaborative whole can lead, guide and direct you,….and each other, as our parents would have done. And that is my promise to you - my family, including mom – that I will be here for you whenever you need me and live my life in such a way that our parents will live on and can rejoice in our accomplishments.

It is now time for a new generation to pick up her baton of hope and strength. I do not know what the future holds but I am assured – thanks to the example of our mother – that we will have the courage to face whatever is asked of us. And I am grateful that God has given us a mother to teach us how to face our fears with faith and with dignity. We love you, mom.

Laurel

“Hey there, Goochie, I’ve waited a while….”

He welcomed her warmly with his lopsided smile.

“I know it’s hard but you too, will see,

How strongly and united is our family.”

“But the kids, Bill…” and she shed a tear.

“They need my love, they need a parent near.”

“Have you forgotten the mercy of our Father here?

We WILL be close,…there’s no need to fear.”

“I am so conflicted between here and Earth

Because God gave us stewardship the day of their births.

I have loved them as only a mother could

And fought for them, and beside them stood.”

Ah, Goochie,” he nodded as he took her hand,

“That’s exactly why you can know how strong they’ll stand

Together united as we taught them to be

And we’ll still be watching over them - you and me.”

She then looked back at her mortal form

And at all of their children as they lovingly mourned,

And she knew he was right as she drew close to death.

Their family would be fine, they had already been lead.

But she would still miss them if for only a short time.

And a tear from her mortal eye was their final sign

That their mother knew joy but also felt pain

Over missing her children until they were untied again.

“They are a good bunch, those kids of ours,

And I do know God won’t keep us far.”

She smiled up at him with her big blue eyes

And then looked back one last time to whisper goodbye.

He then twirled her round and did a dippy-doo

“It seems like forever since I could dance with you.”

She couldn’t help laugh as she did a two-step with her love

While watching over their family from God’s kingdom above.

Written by Stacy Gooch Anderson

April 30, 2008

The most important interview I've ever done

2008-04-28T10:14:00.000-07:00

As a journalist, you pray for good interviews, important interviews that will lend themselves into great stories.

This weekend however, I had the most important interview I've ever had to do. It was the one where I had to capture my mom's life and wishes and loves onto a few pages of note paper as she prepares to leave this world. And since my dad died four years ago at age 61 of cancer, (mom is 63 and is dying of cancer), it is up to me as her oldest child and as the one who she trusts to write these things, to capture her marvelous life for the rest of my siblings including a brother who is currently serving a mission in Guadalajara, Mexico.

We planned her funeral, and we spoke of the things she wanted to still be able to do. But most of all we spoke of love; her love for her family, her husband, her fiends and her life. And God. Although she feels a bit cheated, she loves him and begged us to make sure my brother - if he comes home - gets his tail right back out to serve the Lord diligently and faithfully for the rest of his two years.

We refused to speak of regrets or sadness,..... other than that wrenching angst that was ripping at our hearts because we loved each other so fiercely. What she doesn't know and she would chastise me if she did know is that I do have regrets.

I promised my dad that I would take care of her and I promised my brother that I'd do everything I could to make sure she was around when he got home. So the only regret I have - and I know it is an irrational one - is that her stage four stomach cancer was stronger than I was.

And quite simply,....it sucks.

I have maybe 48 hours left to do my interviews - the most important interviews I will ever do - but I have to admit,...even though hers is a great one about love, faith and laughter, this is not a story I wanted to have to write so soon.

I love you mom and dad.......

FLDS versus LDS - A tale of two religions

2008-04-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

For those of you who have been watching the news and may have wondered what the difference between the FLDS and LDS religions are, (thanks to my cousin in Georgia - love you Rita!) here is a simplified visual comparison....

Some Mormon women sing...

Some Mormon women dance...

Some Mormon women write scary stories....

And some Mormon women have lots of money and really great hair...

I know hundreds of Mormon women. They do all kinds of different things and live all different kinds of lives.

This woman served as a leader in the Mormon church. She recently spoke to teenage girls worldwide. She encouraged them to stand up to peer pressure, strengthen their families and serve others.

None of the Mormon women I know look like this...

None of them are marrying off their teenage daughters and -- although some may joke about wanting a sister-wife (preferably one who is really fat & ugly, does bathrooms and changes diapers) -- none of them really want to share their husband with anyone.

Furthermore...

Some Mormon guys can throw a ball...

Some Mormon guys yell at the ball...

Some Mormon guys make scary movies...

Some Mormon guys have a lot of money and really great hair...

I know hundreds of Mormon guys. They do all kinds of different things and live all kinds of different lives.

This is one of the leaders of the Mormon church. Last Sunday he spoke about honoring women, especially mothers, and gave advice to husbands and children about how to treat the women in their lives.

None of the Mormon men I know look like this...

The Mormon men I know are honest and hard-working. They don't cheat, smoke, drink or gamble. And TRUST ME....the last thing any of them want is another wife.

The Wide World of Email

2008-04-23T16:36:00.000-07:00

I talked to my grandma the other day and had to chuckle just a bit.

She is the one for whom I have so much admiration because she tells anyone and everyone that she is going to keep on living as long as the Good Lord allows her to keep on living. There is too much good in life to miss out with something as pesky as death. She intends to see the Second Coming and expects the rest of us to enjoy the show right along with her - packing her sunglasses, popcorn and lawn chair in tow.

Pretty impressive attitude for a woman who is a spry 94 years of age.

Anyways, since she'd sent so many flowers to my mother in the hospital, she wanted to do something novel,.... something that would wow her in her hospital bed at Huntsman. That's right, she decided to send an email.

Now for those of you who are thinking to yourselves "huh?", let me share with you that a couple of years ago she fairly beat the answering machine I'd given her for Christmas to death when it "talked back and mimicked everything she'd said in a rather cheeky tone".

I had forgotten to tell her about the self recording memo feature.

So she sent my mother an email and this is the conversation that ensued over their speaker phone when she and my Aunt Jo called me later that night.....

Grandma - "Oh and, Stacy, I sent your mom an email. Will you make sure she gets it?"

Aunt Jo - "Don't you mean, Mother, that you wrote it and gave it to Ann to type out and send?

Grandma - "Why would I write it when I could send an email?"

Aunt Jo - "You wouldn't,... but in your case, you did write it so Ann could type it into her computer at work and send it to Stacy and Becky through email."

Grandma - "But I thought Ann sent my email....."

Aunt Jo - "She did send your letter, what you wrote to Laurel, via email."

Grandma - "So if I wrote a letter, where did my email go?"

Aunt - "Mother,...your letter was sent via email. Ann sent it from work to Stacy and Becky so they could print it out and take it to Laurel at the hospital."

Grandma - "Next time I'll just use the postal service. They are far less complicated and take less time."

That's my Grandma. She'll keep on living as long as she is allowed to live,....or until the postal service converts to electronic mail only.

Wasn't bought with VISA but is still priceless

2008-04-21T08:12:00.001-07:00

I have a ring that is priceless.

I wore it last night to a concert and wearing it again reminded me of just how valuable it is.
It turns my finger green every time I wear it. It has to be resized by pinching it and is slowly losing it's ruby luster because the paint is wearing off after only four uses. It is admittedly the gawdiest thing one could ever put eyes on but it is the story on how it came to be in my possession that gives it its value.

This last Christmas, I found my seven year old rummaging through couch cushions, doing odd jobs for pay and hunting the streets and parking lots for coinage. I didn't think much of it since his older brothers had been earning money and keeping track as part of a good natured sibling rivalry. He has always wanted to be one of the 'big boys'.

But on the last day of school before Christmas vacation, he came to me and begged for a loan explaining that he needed to get something special at the Christmas Market being held at his school. I smiled and pulled out a couple of dollar bills wondering what his latest urgency might come home in the form of. A pack of sports cards? Another toy car? One could only wonder.

But that night under the tree appeared a small brown sack meticulously decorated with childish scrawl amongst some other rather hastily wrapped presents. I thought nothing more of it until Christmas morning when he proudly set the brown bag on my lap and waited with anticipation for me to open his gift. I noted with interest that his small face seemed to hold a mixture of angst and excitement as I picked up the bag.

Inside was a black velvet box housing the monstrosity I mentioned before. I looked at my son and seeing his need for acceptance for his offering, I wrapped my arms around him and told him how much I loved his gift.

He then pulled his little body away relaxing a bit and gushed, "I am soooo glad. I saved my money all year for the Christmas Store but when Anthony moved here and didn't have any money for his family, I gave him mine. I couldn't buy the big presents I wanted to buy you and Dad."

Antonio (Anthony) was a Latin boy who had just emigrated to the states. His family had very little money and what they did have, they'd spent on entering the country legally. My son had wanted to make sure that Anthony and his family had a good Christmas and so had sacrificed the fruits of his labors to ensure that end. He'd then worked overtime and scrambled to have enough to buy something for me and his dad.

After realizing the sacrifice of my small child and the angst he'd been through trying to provide a nice gift for me, my ring suddenly had more luster than the Hope Diamond. It represents the love of a son, a child's simple faith, the pureness of charity toward those less fortunate and all that is right in the world.

And to me, his mother, that makes my ring priceless.

Tag,...It's your blog

2008-04-18T20:21:00.000-07:00

I got "tagged" by Tristi Pinkston.

Maybe it was because I am new to blogland. Maybe it was because I am one of the newer ones to the LDS Storymakers Group. Maybe it is because I am still starry eyed towards all of them and she wants to humble me even more.

I personally think it is because I have nagged her constantly ever since she so graciously offered to help me get this site up and going and as I am still dabbling through it at the rate of a hibernating sloth,... putting in all the links and posting all the comments will keep me out of her hair.

Although the woman is a saint, I have to admit that if I keep bugging her, thoughts of canonization will fly out the window and her inner Lizzie Borden will take over.

So as an olive branch I have linked Tristi's blog 7 times (for luck and good wishes) and do as the rules require......

Here’s the rules:

1. Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
2. Share 7 facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
3. Tag 7 people at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
4. Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

The weird, the wacky and the weal, oops,...I mean the real facts about me:

1 - I moved fourteen times in the first 17 years of my life living in California, Missouri, Colorado, Arizona, Illinois and Utah. My favorite? Hum,.....the beach in California, the Arch and 4th of July fireworks display over the Mississippi in St. Louis, the lightening bugs and downtown in Chicago, going to school with my cousins and Casa Bonita in Denver, the desert in bloom and my family in Phoenix and the mountains and living out my dreams with the love of my life in Salt Lake. How's that for cheating?

2 - I love the color green - any shade - except chartreuse which makes my thighs look fatter than they already are.

3 - I love icy cold glasses of milk - so icy there is ice crystals in it, strawberries and m&ms because I can eat a handful and get my chocolate fix without going into a diabetic comma.

4 - I have an apostle in my heritage, my grandfather's cousin. His name is Delbert l. Stapley. I also have General Robert E. lee and Pochahontas hanging somewhere in those family tree branches too. The Indian heritage is easy to spot,...it's right there behind the blue eyes, blond hair and a quickly wielded tomahawk when one of my sons or my husband practices the fine art of idiocy.

5 -I am the oldest of six children; 4 boys two girls. My youngest brother is 20 and 1/2 years younger than me which makes him almost exactly four months older than my oldest son. I lived Father of the Bride part II and I'm pretty sure the joke "How do you know it's a Mormon wedding? The bride isn't pregnant but the mother is" was written about us.

6 - I began my career as a public speaker at age 18 when I was invited to guest speak with Bruce Lindsey, a local newscaster, and some well-known national author whose name I can't for the life of me remember. My mom was paralyzed with fear that I would embarrass the family name but I quelled her angst when I sat down to write my speech the night before and ultimately ended up signing more programs than the author had. Even Bruce shook my hand telling me how impressed he was with my writing skills. It wasn't until twenty years later that I finally realized what a big deal it had been and then got nervous.

7 - I got approved for gastric bypass surgery today and will go under the knife in two to three weeks which means that one day I will be able to wear those chartreuse pants and not look so horrible after all,...then again,... maybe not.

Now here is who I tag....mainly because I'm selfish and wanted to get to know them better.

1 - Janet Jensen
2 - Cindy Bezas
3 - Josi Kilpack
4 - Matthew Buckley
5 - Rebecca Talley
6 - Marcia Mickelson
7 - Jeff Savage

Tag,.....you're it!

Lest I whine

2008-04-17T10:55:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, my mom has been battling cancer and spends quite a bit of time at the Huntsman Cancer Institute. She was recently checked back in due to some complications stemming from radiology. While she was getting settled in her room, I was at the pharmacy lamenting my life.

You see, I have psoriatic arthritis which causes me quite a bit of swelling and pain in my knees when storms abound - and as of late here in Salt Lake, its easier to count the days of sunshine than days without precipitation. As I was looking out over the valley at more stormy clouds, a gentleman with the biggest smile I'd ever seen illuminated even further by a backdrop of ebony skin, came and sat down next to me.

He said,"Isn't it a beautiful day?"
I looked at him like he was daft.

He proceeded to ask why I was there and listened patiently to my woes about taking care of a mother when my legs hurt so badly. And then not wanting to appear too shallow, I asked why he was there.

"I have cancer in both of my legs," he said, "and the good doctors up here are trying to save them so I can continue with my passion and coaching".

I truly felt like an idiot.

He told me that he'd been orphaned in Africa but had been blessed with a talent and a love for soccer. That had lead him to playing professionally for his country. But when his legs started aching and becoming weaker, he accepted a position here in the states to coach.

He then found out he had cancer and was facing amputation.

He was the sole provider for himself. He was not married and he did not have any other skills other than what he'd learned as a soccer player. He had taken the bus - a ride with transfers that had taken him over an hour - to get to the pharmacy at Huntsman to get his medications.

"But who will take care of you on those days when chemo has taken all you have or when this disease has won the battle for the day?"

He graciously smiled and pointed one long dark finger towards heaven. "The man upstairs. He has always taken care of me and He will continue to take care of me."

With that he picked up his prescription, blessed everyone with his big smile, offered his glad tidings and limped off to the bus stop.

Now as another storm rolls in, I don't think about the pain in my own legs. I think about this man with simple faith and a smile that shines brighter than any celestial star ever could.

And that image somehow manages to make the skies a little less gray.

Welcome, welcome everyone!!

2008-04-16T09:53:00.000-07:00

I am forty.

I know that doesn't seem old but it does mean that I am part of a generation that is somewhat new to this stuff unlike my sons who can text and untangle javascript in their sleep. So now that you know I am forty, I want to pat myself on the back for having navigated the cyber world and found my way back home. For me, the self-proclaimed technophobe, that in its self was an accomplishment.

My son, Mitch, said it best when he likened me to the bumblebee who is "so big he can't fly but does so anyway because he's too stupid to know any better." I wasn't sure if that was a compliment or a grim reality but since I am a optimist, I took it as the former with the knowledge that reality at times ain't so bad either.

But since I am back, I want to formally welcome all of you, my friends, to my site and tell you about my plans. Other than general ramblings and slice of life snippets, I intend to put my journalism skills to good use and do features on some of my favorite author friends. There will be talk of writing, and life and religion and views. But most importantly, I want to put things on this site that are intended to uplift, inspire and hopefully to help you smile.

It is truly my pleasure to welcome you. So come on in, sit down and read awhile.....
And if you happen to have any, a bowl of strawberries (Costco has really beautiful ones - the California Giant variety this time of year) does help to make time all that more pleasant!

Unless you're allergic to them and blow up like a self inflating raft like my sister-in-law. In that case go for the diet Coke and chocolate. ;-) It's a much safer bet.......

What about this Bloggin' thing?

2008-04-10T11:18:00.000-07:00

Technology.

To me, it fits somewhere in between the family car and my husband - love them when they work and causes panic attacks and fits of hair-pulling when they don't.

So I have to admit that when my publisher, all of my writer friends and instructors of the classes at the LDS Storymakers conference are telling me that I have to make peace with with my PC and embrace all the nifty promotional things it can do for me, I got stressed and ate a bowl of frozen strawberries.

This was life changing stuff.

I had naively thought that when my first two books, "The Santa Letters" and "Life is Tough - I Doubt I'll Make it Out Alive", hit the presses that my stress was over and I could put the strawberries back in the freezer. Not so.

That is when the real work apparently begins and so I had to make a choice Do I wave the white flag and look at my keyboard as the friend it is intended to be or as the foe who screwed up my first manuscript because I forgot to put page breaks in and massive quantities of text would mysteriously disappear making me think I'd gone crazy?

I now have a blogsite and so I'm sure you have correctly surmised that I was seductively lured into the twenty-first century. I think my computer has even lifted that temporary restraining order it filed last year when I threw my shoe at it.

That being said, I must also confess that as I write this, a bowl of frozen strawberries is also by my side to lend support and encouragement.

You will know if I have gotten the hang of this or not when you check back next week. If there is no new entries, it means simply that I could not figure out how to get back into my own blogsite. In which case, you can find me as a guest blogger on The Ink Ladies

Guest blogging I can handle since all I have to do is write an email to Marcia Mickelson and she will do all the work! Yeah for people like her......