Things I learned -

Mr. Williams was the one who first introduced me to Willa Cather. It was eleventh grade American Lit, in the second to last room at the end of the long hall in the humanities building, where we discussed pioneer spirit, the great divide, and innocence lost. And when I am feeling like I am about to buckle beneath the weight of my own prairie struggle, I return to her and the symbolism of a road bordered with sunflowers.

Mr. Ong taught me how to paint; and in this he had never-ending patience. He let my work run the gamut of quality, but gently pushed me to continue on, as if he saw that there was more I could do. And when I was a senior he wrote a letter to my parents and told them I could be a great artist someday if I only took the courage.

A part of me is still trying to find that courage.

Of course, Mr. Crane taught me how to expose film. He taught me about platinum print processing, the movements of a large format camera, and reciprocity failure charts. He also told me something of the great American war, told me stories, like legends, of a President who loved not only his America, but the Americans, all Americans, who were part of her legacy. The Civil War is still a favorite part of history for me, and Lincoln, still a holy man in my mind.

Mr. Bromley taught me the bird calls of every Utah species – a daunting task indeed. And I still remember the morning when I woke up and saw a Western Tanager perched just outside my window – so close I could reach out and touch it, and the thrill, the thrill I felt because I knew what it was just by looking at it.

And a few weeks ago when we watched “The Big Year” I thought of Mr. Bromley driving us in that yellow school bus all afternoon out into the Utah desert just so he could show us a Bald Eagle’s nest.

Mr. Harris, so calm, so collected, taught us about the oceans. He had silt he himself had collected the summer before from the very deep. He let me have some. I had earth that had never before been seen or touched. And when we went to the Monteray Bay Aquarium in California and I sat on the bench and watched the Jellyfish flow in the water like a ballet in blue, I really thought I might cry. I try to recreate that experience every time I visit my aquarium now. Somehow it’s just not the same.

Dr. Heuston expected us to read: a book a week for our American Lit (senior) class. Sometimes it was an easy read – Steinbeck’s “The Red Pony” or Salinger’s “Franny and Zoey” – other times it was heavy, long hours to complete the six hundred pages or so of “Atlas Shrugged” or others. We complained, but he was not swayed. He expected us to be well read, and he expected us to have intelligent thoughts about what we read.

But it wasn’t the books I remember most about Dr. Heuston, it was the physics. At some time during high school I became fascinated with the concept of time dimensions and real eternity. I asked each professor in the science department to explain the various theories, and they all humored me to a point. But I was surprised when they directed me to Dr. Heuston’s office to learn more. And so I sat across from him in his office one day as he answered each question, not talking down to me as a student, but encouraging my curiosity. Finally he turned to his own personal library and began pulling books off the shelf – three, four, five books on the subject of my focus. He loaned me the books from his own library so I could learn more. This single experience led me to love physics, and there was a time in college when I seriously considered declaring it my major.

I never had a class from Mrs. Heuston, the head mistress. Yet each time I passed her in the hall or walked past her office, she would stop me and ask me questions: about myself, my studies, my life outside of school. She was both eloquent and warm, sophisticated and approachable. She encouraged me to take my own mind seriously, she seemed convinced that I had something to offer, even when I had my doubts.

Mr. Watabe, Mr. Dolbin, Mrs. Woller, and Mr. Capener taught me math. Equations and formulas and sin’s and cosin’s – it was never particularly hard for me, but never captured my interest like other subjects. But I remember each class with a fondness as each teacher had patience with me, rehearsing again square roots and inverse solutions for X. And I am surprised how often I have used that knowledge in my everyday non-academic life. I have found that not only do I need the literal application of math in my life, but often the conceptual ideas are applicable as well.

Mr. Rosett who would curse at us in prose so that we didn’t realize the insult until later, and then we would just laugh. He quoted poetry and economic theory, sometimes in the same sentence. I remember a lecture he gave about Shylock and Jessica, and Shakespearean relationships. It’s strange, but that lecture changed my life. Mr. Ralphs taught us something of Greek Mythology, of Socrates, Sophocles and Homer. I quote inside myself the lines of the Odessey when ever I see a rosy-fingered dawn. Mr. Cottle taught us Contra Dancing, which in itself wreaks of geekiness, yet somehow his enthusiasm coupled with the two-to-one guy/girl ratio made that class a total riot!

And Ms. Sorensen, how do you even describe Ms. Sorensen? I did not have a course from her until Writing Colloquium & Bible Lit my senior year. But in her I found I true kindred spirit. She read to us stories of hermit crabs and told us the archetypes of creation and prophets. Yet with every lecture there was a real and tangible promise of hope – not only in the stories of the protagonists, but in our own lives as students and the futures we were on the cusp of facing.

I remember sitting with her at a table in first period, discussing the promises proved by God in the book of Job, and she told us: “Because it’s reading the damn scriptures in the damn bathtub every morning that gets you through it.”

And in that moment my heart soared. I wrote her words down quickly in my notes. And later I repeated the phrase to her. She looked annoyed, with me? with herself? for the starkness of the statement? But in that moment she opened my mind to something I had never considered before: that while we are taught from our births that our actions must be done with purity before God or they profiteth us not, what is often not mentioned is that we are not the ones who purify ourselves. Sometimes it is simply enough to go through the motions. Sometimes that is all that we can place on the altar, and in those times when we feel most unworthy, but most in need, those are the times when God can prove Himself and show His power in our lives.

The spring of fifth grade we decided to ride our bikes to Oklahoma. I don’t remember how this decision came about, but it was as real, and we were as determined, as could be!

Andi had a map of the United States on her wall – one of those Disneyland-esque maps with cartoons of each states’ main attractions. A key of the distances was located in the corner. Using some blue yarn we measured the approximate distance – ahem, as the crow flies, from Salt Lake to Oklahoma city.

We were excellent bike riders, this we already knew. We could ride any hill in the neighborhood without the need to stand to pedal ourselves up. We could both ride no-handed, even down the same mentioned hills. Each morning we rode our bikes to school, leaving an hour early just so we could explore.

So a bike ride to Oklahoma didn’t actually seem that unreasonable. We determined we’d have to convince my mom first – and then she could convince Andi’s mom. I remember going in to her room. She was reading. I told her of our plans – our determination – to ride a third of the way across the county, if we only had permission. She looked up, thoroughly unrattled, and said it was fine with her.

And so we began practicing. We planned to sell home-made rag dolls and salt dough Christmas ornaments to raise funds for the adventure. We would pack water and snacks in our retro-fitted saddle bags. We would ride each day, stopping for meals. We’d have someone drive alongside of course. By our calculations it would take about three weeks to make the journey.

As summer approached we determined we’d better start having practice rides. And so one day we decided to go for it – to ride as far and as long as possible – just to see how it would be.

Up the hill of Cottonwood Lane – up and around to the elementary school. That part was easy. We did that every day. Then on, on, on down Holladay Boulevard. It was a hot day. We didn’t have water with us, and we were long past the familiar homes with the familiar families we could stop and ask for water from. No matter. We pushed on in the heat.

Eventually Holladay Boulevard empties out onto 6400 South, the location of the old, dilapidated (even then) Cotton Bottom – bar. We knocked on the door. I remember the surprise on the waitresses face when we asked “for a drink.”

She gave us a firm “no.” Even as we pleaded for water in the heat, she told us we couldn’t even come inside to the air conditioning. But she did tell us if we followed 6400 South down we would eventually come to a “Wendy’s” – and they surely would give us some water.

So, we continued on our way, parched and sweating, down around to Wendy’s. We parked our bikes outside, too tired to concern ourselves with bike locks. Inside the air conditioning helped, but was far from completely relieving us. I remember standing in line, worried that they would want a quarter for a cup of water. I didn’t have any money on me, and I was so thirsty!

But they gave us each a drink. We sat in that Wendy’s for a good long while as we recovered from the shock of heat and distance.

Eventually we climbed back onto our bikes and rode home – down Highland Drive, and back up into the neighborhood the back way. The entire ride may have been only five miles.

After that a bike ride to Oklahoma was never talked about again.

And now, on busy days when we’re out and about, I often run down to the very same Wendy’s for chicken nuggets and Frosty’s for my posse. They don’t know the history of the place.

I’m going to try and write down memories I have – for my little lovelies who always ask “Tell me a story of when you were a kid . . .”

I’m going to call them “Tales for Tuesdays” – and will try to write one a week . . . unless of course something else happens. In which case I won’t.

You can read all “Tales for Tuesdays” here.

We were walking around the farm and Cal and O got ahead of me, so they stopped to rest under a tree while I caught up. I came around the corner and saw them resting in the most beautiful light.

Sometimes I think to myself that I should title all my posts from lyrics of songs, lines of poetry, or words of great literature. There is always a line to go with what I’m thinking. And I think it would be great trivia to see if anyone (all three of you) could guess where the title comes from. Perhaps I shall start that hither to . . .

In the back yard on Easter.

I made a TON of home made strawberry jam last week! Even though I made so much, I doubt it will last through the summer - I've already been through two big jars! YUMMMMMM!

It makes me giggle with delight when my kids discover the things all kids know - like how to slide down the stairs in their sleeping bags.

Speaking of Names – Jason gave me the most amazing idea ever the other night. I was giddy and laughing, literally, for five minutes, as I thought of the possibilities.

We were talking about names, and how I don’t have a middle one. And Jason said “so you could just make up your own?”

And the light bulb went off. And I started laughing, and laughing, and laughing. Because, you know, I can give myself my own name. I even know how to go down to the Social Security office to make it official. And it’s not like I haven’t seen that episode of Friends before, I have. It’s just – this was the first time I realized it for myself.

Playing on the new playground at the farm.

And so here are the names I’m thinking of. I’m trying to narrow it down to five (plus my first name, plus my last – seven names. Still less than a Latin or a Catholic).

Sofronia
Matilda
Seraphina or Seraphim
Elijah
Charger
Begonia
Alexia
Aria
Atillina
Eve
Rose
Penelope
Charlotte
Tess
Finch
Raven
Pelican

Calvin holding up a letter I sent to Andi today - on a flip flop.

As I am smitten with real hand written letters, I am currently taking bids for pen pals this summer (wink, and giggle). Of course, ee (who is no longer ee) has already accepted my plea and agreed to exchange correspondence. Others may or may not receive actual requests but rather random letters arriving in their mail boxes. If you would like to be one (and are willing to return letter for letter) then do let me know!

Blowing the dandelions.

We returned to Wheeler Farm this week after a long and wintery absence. We spent three long hours playing, visiting the animals, climbing the tree and the tree house, exploring the new playground, and talking to the farmer about our own pending summer garden.

And I felt so good to be out and about with my little herd again. I will admit, baby number four has felt like the one where I can’t go anywhere. Up until this point it hasn’t seemed too hard to pack up my littles and take them on an adventure, but somehow with four I feel so intimidated by the task.

Climbing the old Box Elder Tree at the farm.

But the sunshine was calling my name, so I put forth the effort, great as it was (to buckle them all) (except Olivia, who can buckle herself) and took them to the farm. It was a great, great day. And I look forward to a summer FULL of great days.

Olivia wants me to teach her how to make dandelion chains.

We had Stake Conference today. It was lovely though I only heard about seven minutes of the whole two hours. But my ears did pick up this quote -

Both abundance and lack [of abundance] exist simultaneously in our lives, as parallel realities. It is always our conscious choice which secret garden we will tend … when we choose not to focus on what is missing from our lives but are grateful for the abundance that’s present—love, health, family, friends, work, the joys of nature, and personal pursuits that bring us [happiness]—the wasteland of illusion falls away and we experience heaven on earth.

I liked it. I love the idea of my life being a secret garden that I tend to with tenderness.

Andrew with his lady-killer eyes!

Monthly Brock Family Dinner - April

Every evening we go on a bike ride. Once dinner is over out we go, the littlest strapped into the bike cart, the others with helmets and confidence, strike out to ride around the neighborhood to see who is out and about.

Once we rode about three miles! I was so proud of the little loves. They didn’t complain (until the very end, when I knew it was time to go home). The rode up and down and in and out of each street, down past the church, up by Target, back around, over to the park, up past the Ferg’s, the Flethers and the Engh’s. What good little bike riders I have! It makes me happy!

Summer is coming. We sat down at the calendar the other day to fill out our plans. We haven’t even started, and the summer is JAM-PACKED! Some things on the agenda?

Mamma and Baby Sunshine at the park on a picnic

Orangy Smiles at our picnic

Swiming lessons, every day for two weeks in June
T-Ball twice a week all summer long
Art in the Park once a week (which I’m in charge of this summer)
Camping in Oakley
Camping at Goblin Valley
Weekend trip to Jordanelle with the Christensen’s
The Rodeo (HEART HAPPINESS!)
10 Days at the Beach in southern California, maybe even a trip thru Big Sur on the way home.
Butlerville Days
Ice Cream Social
Backyard treat night
Calvin’s Birthday and all the parties associated therewith
A weekend at the cabin with the Brock’s
Andrew’s Birthday and all the parties associated therewith
A summer garden
Sound of Music at Hale Center Theater
Thomas’ missionary farewell
Squeezing in all barbeques and trips to the pool, farm, and mountains as we can!

Oooh! So excited!

Paint tray at Home Depot

Olivia painting her planter at Home Depot Saturday

I’ve had an itch for art projects lately. I’ve run from one project to another without the sanity or attention to finish any of them. And yet I think about them constantly. My list:

• Art room (oh how I want to decorate and design it to hold all my tools just so).
• Painting
• Summer sewing projects, ones on my mind right now: turning Olivia’s pants into cute shorts and making a really cute skirt for her.
• Gardens. I’ve been dreaming of beautiful gardens, but what’s new?
• Back yard magic – I have it in my mind to string up lights and decor all over my yard.

We finally went to a Home Depot Saturday, and boy are we glad we did! Each kid got to make their own planters, paint them, docorate them, eat a yummy Costco cake (seriously, aren't they the best?) and then take home their own plant! Best of all, the entire activity was free! I think we've found a new activity to add to the list! Home Depot does these once a month.

Andrew was content to sleep in the cart.

Back in March I instituted a new rule in our family – one to help us slow down, and help the kids accept boredom more readily. (Wink).

We now have what’s called “Brother/Sister play dates” where we don’t go anywhere or do anything or play with anyone. The hope is they will learn to play with each other and count each other as their truest friends. Those are relationships they will need the rest of their lives, so I’m trying to remember to keep “us” as the center, and put everyone else’s priorities second.

He just wanted me to relax too.

He went to work in the morning, and then we went to get him in the afternoon to take him on an activity scavenger hunt -

We started out with a picnic in the park.

Then we went to the local ice cream shop for some yummy goodness. Then off to hit a bucket of balls at the driving range.

When we came home we had a yummy steak dinner, and then friends came over to help us eat some ice cream and cake. I think it was a fun day. What did you think, Wyatt?

I think it was a great day, thanks so much. I had a hunch I should have worn my golf cleats that morning, but the flip flops worked okay! I love you Anj and kiddos! – Daddy

Calvin observed: It’s so much easier to relax when you’re eating ice cream.

Wyatt turned to me the other night and said “You know, I understood you so much better after I watched ‘Winnie the Pooh’.”

I'm not sure, but based on Larry's age, I think this is Cooper.

Pampers
Dusty
Cooper
Lady
Sunny
Mitch – 3 legged
Rags
Ralph – 3 legged
Roxy
Hinsa
Sierra
Heidi – 3 legged
*Some Other Dog, Can’t remember it’s name – boston terrier* – 3 legged

Those are the dogs my family had before I graduated high school. I think they’ve had at least as many dogs since.

Wyatt is shocked because his family never had a dog except one that they got after Wyatt left on his mission, and got rid of before he returned.

Oh, and the 3 legs? None of them started that way. We had dogs with a propensity of getting hit by cars (or getting dropped out of tree houses).

Don’t even get me started on the fish/frogs/ducks/chickens/geese/gerbils/hamsters/rabbits/cats/horses.

Today was one of those days – one of those wild-monkey-poo days. As I type this mass hysteria is broadcasting in hi-def stereo quality from the basement, the ear piercing result of children being sent to bed early. Early bed the consequence to the aforementioned wild-monkey-poo day.

It wasn’t all bad – you know, except the part that was. The part where Calvin cried, and cried and cried because Everett did something or other. And then Olivia was upset because so and so said such and such. And then because we had to run errands. And then because I wouldn’t let them wait in the car. And then because I told them to wait in the car, I’d only be a minute. Then it was time to clean rooms. And oh, by golly, but that caused drama. And then the injustice of the wrong tv show, and then having to wait to dye the Easter eggs, and then the Easter eggs falling and cracking, and don’t mention the tantrum Everett threw to get Olivia to give her his egg, or the tantrum Olivia threw when Everett wouldn’t give it back. And when I mentioned “Fort Friday” the angels smiled – for only one brief moment. Then there were tears because I didn’t share a treat just right, and then because dinner wasn’t quite right. And then because I said we couldn’t sleep in the fort. And then because I said we couldn’t even make the fort. And then because I said “Straight to bed!”

Sometimes I wonder at the insanity of my life. I giggle in retrospect at the sheer audacity I have to even try this gig called motherhood. I love them – but some days I feel like a zoo keeper locked in the monkey exhibit when they’re flinging their poo!

Love you, babies!

So I started my work. I didn’t feel like putting up the fight of making the children do it themselves (although I know I should have). Instead, I banished them to the backyard while I worked. Every once in a while they would come in “to get something” and I would bark in my most grumpy-I-mean-it way: Stay outside or you’re going to have to clean! or You better not be making a mess upstairs or else!  or Do not come inside, you have to play outside!

After having barked adequately at each child that they actually believed me and had stayed away awhile, I was just finishing up Olivia’s room (the last of my cleaning for the afternoon) when I picked up her bed canopy (which had fallen down last week). Underneath I found a red kitchen towel, folded neatly. I unfolded that to put away what ever she was hiding.

Inside I found an Easter cake – a precious remnant of last week’s treats. They had been gone for days, so I thought. The first thing that came to my mind was “She’s hiding treats, the little turkey!”

And then, beneath that I found a coloring book. Olivia has been making coloring books for a while now – each one stapled together with little illustrations on each page.

And then I read the cover -

“All about me – Olivia. For Mom, Happy Easter” (Or something to that effect, I’ll requote this on Sunday).

Then I read the coloring book (I probably shouldn’t have, but I was instantly charmed and couldn’t put it down.)

The book told all sorts of interesting things about Olivia, complete with darling illustrations.

And then, beneath the coloring book, a card for me, telling me I was the best mom.

And then – there I sat, on the floor of Olivia’s room, my kids, scolded to trepidation to stay outside, and me, with a home made gift Olivia had concocted on her own, days before the holiday, wrapped and securely hidden away for its grand presentation on Easter morning.

And in that moment I felt at once both two inches tall and like a superhero all at the same time.

And it reminded me (again) – (and again) – that having the house clean is not nearly as important as having lovey happy children.

So I went right upstairs, and packed the lovies up, and off we went to IFA to get the seeds I had promised the kids I would get them so they could plant their own garden this weekend.

I sure can’t wait for Easter!

*I’ll update this post in a few days with pictures of the dear little book.