Thoughts about General Conference

Tonight I read the article in the March Ensign about preparing your children for General Conference. It had some fabulous ideas for families of young children. It made me think of the significance of General Conference in our individual lives and in the Church. I was reminded of memories I have of general conference as I was growing up and especially as we were raising you kids. It was always a special time, and the memories of sewing projects as we sat in the basement in Logan, sitting with the family on the lawn at Temple Square for a session in the sunshine; hiking in Logan Canyon and sitting on top of the mountain to listen to a session, going to the stake center in England for a long day, are all sweet memories. We didn’t establish traditions of always doing the same thing, but we did establish the fact that Conference is special and worth planning for. This year will be another special Conference memory as Dad and I attend in the Netherlands.

The most consistent family tradition established around conference was for all the boys and their Father to attend the Priesthood session together and then have ice cream after. When your Dad ran out of boys it was a sad time for him. He still thinks of it twice a year before the priesthood session and hopes all his sons will be in attendance.

There is a feeling of love and unity, brotherhood/sisterhood that comes from being together all over the world watching or listening to conference at the same time. It is a feeling of belonging, of safety, of gratitude.

My testimony has grown and my life has been changed because of the tradition of uniting twice a year in General Conference.

Memory

Lately I feel like I’m a walking, talking Mad Lib book. Remember those? It would leave key words out of a sentence and ask you to fill in the verb, noun, adverb, etc. Filling those blanks with random words, well, to a 10-year-old it was hilarious. I could easily do one of those Mad Libs with any of my daily conversations. It’s not so hilarious now. Some people call it “Mom Brain” and some would just call it absent minded. It makes me crazy because I never used to be the one searching (often to no avail) for that word that it just…right…there, right on the tip of my tongue. Instead of being able to recall it, my mind jumps to whether or not I packed Lucy’s snack. And if I did (please let that be a yes?) did I remember to put that snack in her backpack? If I was able look at what my mind does in those awkward silences that fill the middle of my sentences sometimes I think, if I could see the action going on, it would look like a jack rabbit hopped up on speed. No pattern, no discernable destination, but it’s getting somewhere awfully fast.
Yesterday I called my Mom for a very specific reason. When I heard the phone ringing, I tipped my head to the side to hold the phone between my ear and my shoulder so I could finish the dishes. As soon as I heard the “Hello?” my mind went blank. I can only assume that the thought drained out of my head when I tilted it to the side. So I chatted with her about her day and hung up.
And that’s not the worst it’s been. Oh no, not even close. I’ve called Jon at work and actually had sentences come out of my mouth that sounded a lot like this. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about that…thing…you know, the thing that sits on the….thingy… by the front door? I think it needs to be fixed.” And he actually knew what I was talking about! Yeah, it’s exactly what you’re thinking: Jon and I have moved to a higher plane of communication. Either that or we have both lost to ability to remember the names of the same things. Which sounds way more likely.
I think some of it comes from laughing so hard at my parents for all those years when they’d get our names mixed up, or (yep, it happened to them too) they’d forget what they were going to say. My sisters call me the Chosen One. They say that I never got in any trouble from my Dad. The truth is a lot less flattering: by the time he got the right name to travel from his mind and out of his mouth, I was long gone. After all, it takes a while to yell “Karen! No! Kjersti! No! Michelle! Crap! Nancy! No! Megan!!” Like I said, I was out of there. Maybe by then he had forgotten why he was yelling his kids’ names and went back to reading his paper, blissfully unaware (probably until drifting off to sleep that night) which one of us was really in trouble.
Luckily, I am not the only one who is affected by my grey matter taking a sabbatical. I can commiserate with friends and my sisters who have all been in this strange land of Having Kids. I am able to recall precisely what time of day each of my kids was born. How much they weighed, how long they were, and even what percentage their head circumference was at their last check-up. But ask me what I just drove twenty minutes to Target to buy, and I’ll look at you like you’re speaking Hindu. Because I forgot to bring my list with me, so I’d probably smile politely and say, “Well, you know….I’m here for that um, thingy?”

Music

Music has always had a profound effect on me. There are some songs that instantly calm me down while others make me edgy and antsy. Songs that I have loved, listened to over and over, memorized every word, those songs have the ability to bring back memories with the finest details. I love those songs, the ones that are intertwined with moments in my life that help me to remember the feelings, the seasons, the people, and yes, the outfits I was wearing at the time. I hold these close, probably won’t ever get tired of listening to them because they have the ability to transport me back in time to some great (and not so great) times. I guess you’d call them the soundtrack of my life. They should, and do, play in the background when I picture those times. Here are a few of them.
Piano Man by Billy Joel. I spent a summer at my Grandma Brown’s house in Ammon, Idaho with my sister Nancy. She and I packed up our Memorex tapes and our stereo and would listen to that over and over that summer. I love it now; not only is it a great song, but it has enabled me to remember the smell of my Grandma’s house. I treasure that. Of course, it also jars the memory of me with permed hair, hiking in Yellow Stone in my White Mountain shoes. Who does that?! I don’t listen to that song often. I’m worried that I could somehow wear out the context of that memory, maybe overshadow it with more current events and I would forget the smell and the feelings of that summer. I don’t want to risk it, so Piano Man is a rare treat for me nowadays.
U2, any of their songs, but especially Rattle and Hum album follows me through Junior High and High School. I listened to some of those songs while my life flashed before my eyes while driving with my friends Lindsay and Jules. Let me tell you, there were some white-knuckled moments in that giant Ford truck and Julie’s Bronco. That sucker had no seat belts in the back seat; it was a double-edged sword fighting over the lone seat belt in the front seat. One the one hand, you had a seat belt. On the other hand, you had a front row seat to what was going on. Sometimes it was a toss-up for what was the most harrowing. Having Bono cranked in the background was somehow soothing in those moments of being tossed around. I still find Bono comforting…
Pear Jam’s Black. Well, I love this song. I can’t really say more about it than that.
One spring at Utah State my roommate Michele and I obsessed over The Wall Flowers. Whenever I hear any of their songs, I’m back in that hole of an apartment with some of the craziest roommates I’ve ever had. I loved that year. I love being able to smell spring in Logan again. We would put on shorts in ridiculously cold weather, thinking it was so warm. When your fingers turn blue when you’re lying out, trying to tan your legs, well…that’s spring in Logan.
Clarinet Concerto in A major, Adagio by Mozart. Ah, this one is both a saving grace and great sorrow wrapped in one. I listened to this every night while I slept for a couple of months during the hardest time in my life. It comforted me when I didn’t think anything could. I hold this near to my heart and am overwhelmed at the peace that comes with this music. I love this piece and listen to it as often as I can.
The soundtrack to the movies “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes” and “White Christmas”. They will forever remind me of my sisters and I both miss them terribly when I hear them, and am comforted in their absence by these songs. It is not an unusual occurrence in my house to have people burst into song. The Sisters song was a particular favorite for obvious reasons, as was Diamonds are a Girls Best Friend. I learned how to shimmy to that song.
These days, the music we listen to in our house has more…breadth. Everything from Sesame Street Disco (thanks a ton for that one Dan) to Collective Soul to classical. I have a great appreciation for the different music we have to enjoy. Each year on New Year’s Eve we have put together a CD of pictures of that year. For the music, Jon and I try to put the songs that have defined that year for us: the year Anabel learned the words to “What Do You Do in the Summer Time?” played for the summer pictures. It made us smile to think back on her tiny voice singing along. Hopefully my kids will have the memories to go along with some of the songs we play.
I have a deep and abiding respect and appreciation for what music can do. The songs that play through my mind in the quiet times are often the piano pieces I struggled to learn, the songs that we sang as a family, and even some of the songs that I can still find on the radio. It’s always a good day when you find a song you have to sing along to with the volume cranked up. It’s a happy and inspiring moment that will hopefully stay locked in our memories for the rest of our lives.

The Dark Ages

Recently I have been reading a biography of Martin Luther called Here I Stand. Prior to that I read the story of Joan of Arc. It has been interesting to learn more about the Middle Ages, and some about why they are often called the Dark Ages.

Joan of Arc lived in the 1400s. She lived in France, and lived for her first sixteen years as a shepherd girl in a small village. For the last year of her life, she was God’s messenger and leader of the French armies. Think of that. At seventeen she was the commander in chief of all of France’s armies. That’s as impressive as Moroni leading the Nephite armies at 16. If not more so, due to her being a girl. She ended her life at the stake. Burned for wearing men’s clothes. (Not to mention the political reasons people wanted her out of the way)

Martin Luther lived in the 1500s. He started life as the son of an upper/ middle class family, who entered a monastery as a young man (early 20s, I think) and went on to be called a “son of iniquity” by the Pope.

You might wonder what these two people had in common. Well, I’ll tell you. Both of their lives were dictated by the church.

The catholic church held such a sway over everything, that when Joan of Arc said she was sent to lead the French armies, there was an inquiry to look into whether her visions were from God or from the devil. No questions about her ability to lead an army, no questions about military knowledge or strategy. Just questions about whether she should wear men’s clothes, and what the angels in her visions were wearing, and what language they spoke in.

Martin Luther, as a monk, of course, kept the rules and precepts set forth by the church. In fact, he kept them more strictly than most, neglecting his physical body in search of spiritual enlightenment. However, he always felt inadequate. He found that even keeping all the rules and laws to the best of his ability, he never felt sure that it really did any good. Apparently, this thought bothered him so much that he actually turned to the scriptures to find out what he was missing.

I have always been curious about the evolution of the doctrines of the Catholic Church in the middle ages. For example, the doctrine of indulgences (that’s paying the church money to reduce your time in purgatory) has always baffled me. But I think I can actually understand how it came about. According to the biography of Martin Luther, the doctrine of indulgences started as part of the crusades. Those knights that went and fought in the crusades were rewarded by the Pope with a reduction of the time to be spent in purgatory, or something. Anyway, there were knights or other nobles who were sickly or just unwilling to go fight in the crusades. So the Pope decided that if they would pay to help finance the war, then that counts as much as actually fighting, right? From there it was only a matter of time before they decided that the money didn’t need to be for the crusades, but could be for anything that would support the church: building cathedrals, etc.

This is what set Martin off, and apparently he wasn’t the only one that felt that it had gone too far. You know something is wrong when they put together a jingle to entice people to pay for indulgences:
“As soon as the coin in the coffer rings
A soul from purgatory springs”

I think what set Martin Luther apart from the other people of the time that opposed the excess use of indulgences, was that he carried it farther to say that the Pope didn’t have authority to spring people from purgatory. He even went so far as to say that indulgences discourage actual repentance, and that the institution of the Pope was the Antichrist. Needless to say, the Pope didn’t like that.

This is a very good example of the importance of reading the scriptures instead of relying on other people’s interpretation. Apparently, at the time Martin Luther was alive, the study of the Bible was not a common thing among the monks. Instead they studied the commentaries, etc., of other people, who had studied other commentaries. This really distorted the truth to the point that indulgences, etc. were considered doctrine.

The other aspect of religion in the dark ages that I have a hard time understanding, is that even though everyone knew that many of the Popes and other church leaders were corrupt, they still thought that God would listen to these people concerning the salvation of the common person. If a member of clergy took a dislike to you, and they got you excommunicated, that was it, there was no hope for you. On the other hand, they could bestow church leadership positions on anyone that paid enough money or that had political power they needed. The whole concept of having authority from God was warped to the point that it was unrecognizable.

It makes you glad for ongoing revelation, doesn’t it?

Poems

I enjoy writing what I call 30-second poems. They have to be completed in just 30 seconds. I generally have someone give me a random word, and that is the title of the poem. Occasionally it is just the topic. I have tried to do this with friends in the past but generally they go on for a few minutes. For me, the less thought the better. I like to finish them in 20 seconds, if I can. Part of that is because I tend to write for a younger audience, the more I think the less silly they get. Many don’t rhyme. I throw most of them away. I’ve come across a few and find it rather entertaining that I would write something so dumb. But nonetheless it doesn’t matter, cuz I was having fun. I have started several short stories for elementary age children and once thought of studying up and trying to get published.
I’m quite sure I will wish I never sent this, but this is a small fraction of who I am. Without any further rambling here is a sample of my 30-second scratchings.

Morning
I love the morning when it’s clear
When the birds are chirping near
I love the morning, so peaceful and calm
I simply love it, but only ‘til noon.


Fridge
It’s cold in there,
very, very cold.
I had to work in there till my fingers turned blue.
I’m not fond of the cold,
so with a marker on my fingers I drew

Type
I hear the click cluck clack of the old type-writer
Click, clack, zoom, zoom, ding
Click clack clack zoom zoom zing
It’s like a poem without a ring


Paper
I’m out of paper as you see.
This writing is scrunched up upon this tree
I’m out of paper as you see.
Good thing your leaves will work for me.


Have You
Have you ever climbed the highest mountain,
Or gone deep down in the sea?
Have you ever made a candy cane,
Or swallowed a bumble bee?
Have you ever jumped in a great big pie?
Well, fancy that, neither have I.

Sarah Ann Lazenby

23 March 2009

Sarah Ann Lazenby, 1875-1954
Born: 28 Mar 1875 in Minersville, Beaver, Utah
Married: 26 Jun 1907 in Manti, Sanpete, Utah
Died 1 Sep 1954 in Fillmore, Millard, Utah

Our stake presidency challenged us (among other things) to index one batch of names every week from the family search website. I’d never heard about this program, but was fascinated from the start. It puts things in perspective for me, to spend 30 minutes every Sunday afternoon, looking at families, the parents, the kids, the ages and occupations, of people who lived over a hundred years ago, all in the original script.

After indexing Massachusetts marriage records from the turn of the century, and the 1880 Minnesota census, and a few batches from the New Jersey census, I decided to look up some of our own ancestors, and see the original records marking their lives.

I didn’t get much further than Sarah Ann Lazenby, who was Grandpa Miller’s mother. Here’s the story that I could gather from two U.S. censuses and the information in “Our Pioneer Ancestors” compiled by Mom and Dad.

Sarah’s parents were both from England. They had met before leaving England, when Sarah’s dad was preparing to emigrate and needed a fellow Saint to watch his son, Walter, so that the boy’s anti-Mormon grandmother wouldn’t kidnap him. He left Walter with a young woman, a recent convert, who later became his wife and Sarah’s mother.

Sarah’s mother (Walter’s babysitter) was also leaving England at this time. Her father and siblings were all dead, and her mother was very much against the church.

Sarah’s mother and father were married once they arrived in Salt Lake City in 1868.

The next official record I could find, the 1880 Federal Census, shows Sarah’s family in the Fremont Precinct of Piute County, Utah in 1880. Sarah’s English parents have now been married for 12 years. The father is 46 years old, the mother, 34. Walter is now 15 years old. Besides Walter, there are 6 living children who have been born in Utah: Henry (10 years), Moroni (8), Annettia (7), Sarah Ann (5), John T. (3), and Annie (1).

The Fremont Precinct census recorded 60 white families and 8 Indian families (42 Indian individuals divided into those 8 families). Three plural wives. Approximately half of all adults were born in Europe. It’s incredible to picture a bunch of European emigrants from England, Sweden, Norway, Denmark and Switzerland, along with the Indians, all raising their families out in the Utah desert. They had emigrated 30 years after the last wild bear had been killed in Europe – to come to a land full of wild bears and more.

Men were mostly farmers, but with a fair number of ranchers and herders, and a few teamsters and miners. All women’s occupations were recorded as “keeping house” except for one elderly women, whose occupation was listed as “knitter.”

Indian women’s occupations were recorded as “keeping wigwam.” Indian men were farmers, laborers, tanners, hunters, and fishermen. None of them had last names or could read or write. Some of their names – indulge me, I think this is fascinating – Jewick, Susan, Pogneal, Bob, Dutch, Wolf, Poor, Emma, Willie, Jim, Lunconuk, Awahtz, Sallie, Wooden Whiskers, and the 25yo Mustache married to the 22yo Maggie. (Mustache had no occupation – beside his name was written and then crossed out, “loafer and beggar.”)

The next official record is the 1900 Census. Twenty years have gone by. Sarah’s four older siblings and her younger sister are out of the home, but Sarah (25) has been left behind. Moroni (28) is married and living close by with his wife and their 10-month old son. But the father (66) and mother (54) still have four children at home: Sarah (25), Phebe (17), Edith (15), and Bertha (13). (The census reports that the mother had given birth to 9 children, only 2 of whom were living. I think the recorder made a mistake, and meant that 2 of them had died.)

Both Moroni and his father were farmers. Sarah and her mother were keeping house, and the teenage girls were in school.

There were 80 families in Loa at the time, and it seems that a third of them were Blackburns – and probably an additional third of the population were related to the Blackburns. Unlike twenty years earlier in the 1880 census, most of the adults in Loa at the time of the 1900 census were born in Utah. Less than 20 adults were born in Europe (about 10% of adults). Three plural wives – two of which were Blackburns. No Indians on the record. Men were all farmers, with a couple of merchants thrown in.

Sarah was married in 1907, which was 7 years after this census was recorded. She would have been 32 at the time. She had 6 children, Clarence, Arthella, LaRue (Grandpa Miller), Lola, Wendell, and Morris.

She died in 1954 at the age of 79.

On my first grandson receiving the Aaronic Priesthood

D&C 13: Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission on sins; and this shall never be taken again from the earth, until the sons of Levi do offer again an offering unto the Lord in righteousness.
These are the words recorded by Joseph Smith of the ordination of himself and Oliver Cowdery. Now you have this same priesthood. What does it mean? Membership in a quorum of friends? Recognition that you are now a young adult? Escape from Primary? Overnight camping trips and hikes? All of these – but so much more. What was John telling Joseph and Oliver and all of us who have received this priesthood?
Fellow servants: You now serve with John. Together. Neither better nor worse, neither more nor less important in the Kingdom. The two of you are “fellow servants.” In the Aaronic Priesthood there is a progression of responsibility, but that is just because of the need for training. In the Brotherhood of the Priesthood, all can contribute and every contribution builds the Kingdom.
In the name of Messiah: When you were baptized you took upon yourself the “name of Christ” or the “name of Messiah.” Now you are a part of the sacred ordinance in which the rest of us can renew our covenants to take upon us the name of Christ. All you do in your priesthood assignments and responsibilities, whether done well or not, will be done in the name of Messiah.
I confer the Priesthood of Aaron: Aaron was Moses’ advance man, event scheduler and facilitator, spokesman, facilities coordinator, backup, and most active supporter. His job was to make sure that Moses succeeded. What a model for the modern Aaronic Priestood. They run the most important part of the Sunday service. Their activities in many ways set the tone for the rest of the ward. The responsibility is “conferred.” In other words, you don’t join; you are called and ordained by someone with priesthood authority.
The Keys of the Ministering of Angels: Does this mean that without the Aaronic Priestood, angels don’t minister? This can’t be so because an angel named Moroni visited Joseph Smith before this time. I think that John gave us a clue in addressing Joseph and Oliver as “fellow servants.” Ministering of angels to me is the care of God’s children by other of God’s children on both sides of the veil – or fellow servants as John called them. Restoration of these keys is like the restoration of keys by other angels after the Kirtland Temple dedication. It caused a paradigm change to begin to grow among mankind, while at the same time gave the priesthood the responsibility to make sure that it happened. You now have share this responsibility.
The Keys of the Gospel of Repentance: What can you do about this when you are twelve? Lots! You now have seven years until you will be leaving for you mission. Will you be ready?
The Keys of Baptism by Immersion for the Remission of Sins: You don’t have this authority yet – it is like in Aaron’s time the difference between the authority held by the Levites and the authority held by descendents of Aaron. When you are 16 you will receive this authority. You may be called on to use it. I performed my first baptism when I was 16. When Russell Cowley, now a man in his mid-50’s, came to Grandpa Miller’s funeral he reminded me of the day when I baptized him and thanked me for it.
This shall never again be taken from the earth: This is a unique time in history. You will be taught by the World that history will go on like it is for years and years. It won’t. There will be an end. But you can be sure that the Fellowship of the Priesthood that you are now a part of will be here through it all.
I don’t think that any of us has any inkling of the importance of the step that you have just taken. We get used to things. We don’t see the “end from the beginning.” This may seem to be a small step now, but it will define your life. It has defined mine. I want you to know, Noah, that I know from experience and from the Holy Ghost that the Priesthood that was conferred upon me by my father is real and is the power and authority of the one true God.
With love, from Grandpa Miller

Where Have all the Flowers Gone?

Hugh Jorganson shuffled out of his front door and leaned heavily on his cane as he picked up his morning paper. He glanced around for his neighbors briefly, out of habit, and was struck again by the change around him. He should have been used to the towering structures that had replaced the quiet neighborhood in the last few years, but he tried not to look outside much anymore.

Hugh turned and shuffled back inside, where he pored a cup of coffee from the old coffee maker on the counter. His back was to the fridge unit as always, but he imagined he could still feel its disdain at his insistence in using such a simple machine. He glanced at the fridge and huffed at it. He had never wanted the new fangled machine anyway. The deliverers had just shown up one day, barely pausing to knock before removing his trusty, simple old refrigerator and replacing it with this new one. They had even taken away his old stove. Not that the new fridge would have allowed him to get uncooked food, but it was the principle of the thing.

He had never gotten the hang of all the new gizmos the Artificial Intelligences kept coming up with. Ever since they had been created, and given charge of everything, anything that involved manual labor was replaced with a machine or new update. No simple human had worked for anything for years. Maybe that’s why the obituaries were full of suicides these days.

Hugh sat and reminisced for a few minutes while his coffee cooled. The first AI’s were heralded as a breakthrough. They were expected to be the quick fix for all humanity’s woes. After all, they were just machines, right. That was before the ACLU declared that AI’s were people, too. Once they got the same rights as everyone else, they took over all the jobs, because they were more efficient and harder working that any human could be, but they didn’t need as much money to live off of, so the extra went to support those that lost their jobs. After twenty years, the world was basically a welfare state. Although people had plenty of money, and what ever they wanted, they were not content.

First there were riots, efficiently put down by the AI’s in charge. Then there was an upsurge in creative efforts, but there was only so much time that most people could spend writing poems. Meanwhile, the human population decreased every year, with more and more of the deaths due to suicide than to old age. People couldn’t take the boredom, or the lack of purpose once everything was done for them.

Lately the obituaries had been getting smaller, though, Hugh thought as he turned back to his coffee and paper. What he saw on the front page stopped him mid-thought.

Half of the front page was taken up with a picture of himself as he stood on his porch that morning. The caption said “Hugh Jorganson, age 98, was the last human alive. Record show that he was still in good health on Wednesday, when he died by doctor assisted suicide. When asked, his doctor said, ‘he was just tired of being alone.’”

Hugh stared, perplexed, until he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Hugh,” he heard the voice of the AI doctor. “It’s time for your annual checkup.”

Stargazing

As I drove home from Activity Days, I couldn’t help but notice how bright and clear the stars were. When I got home, I picked Owen up and took him outside with me where I did my best to point out the Big and Little Dipper and some of the other constellations that I tried my hardest to remember. Jon is the astronomer in our family, so I invited him out with us so he could help me out. Owen is a big fan of stars as well as being outside, so the quiet night was punctuated with his “Stars! Stars!” exclamation every couple seconds. When I stargaze, my mind slides from topic to topic, a movie projector in fast forward, sliding past all the to-do lists and daily requirements, stopping on random memories and thoughts, highlighting and focusing on them until they form into something I want to explore more. It’s a peaceful and fun process. For some reason my brain has hung onto these (sometimes trivial) experiences and thoughts, so that I can take them out at a later date and perhaps appreciate them for the lessons I have learned. In the quiet moments like this, I get the chance to examine them closer, to buff and polish them until they shine, or to just enjoy their simplicity. Here are some of those thoughts, un-buffed, un-shined, but still very much appreciated. They have potential to become more than just tidbits, but I thought I would enjoy them in the form and order they flipped through in my head.

I was reminded of a road sign I saw while visiting Boston a few years ago. “Squeeze Left” it said. I was alarmed at its ambiguity. Was this a friendly “pardon me” kind of squeeze? Or was this an NFL lineman kind of squeeze? And how much can you possibly “squeeze” when you’re all in cars?

Jon constructed a cake for my birthday in the shape of a flower. “Baked” doesn’t do it justice. I think if we stood it on its end it would tower over Owen. The girls loved it, and not just because it was pink on the inside, but because who wouldn’t love the thought of eating something as tall as you are? Anabel seemed most enthralled with it: touching, poking and yes, even licking it. I was impressed that she could manage to get close enough that licking was a possibility. By the end of the day the flower petals were spotted and pitted with the pokes and swipes of sneaky little fingers. I covered it as best I could, but it was a dilemma I hadn’t encountered before, so a random petal and stem sprawled from under the Saran Wrap. Anabel saw the weakness and moved in without even hesitating. Cake first thing in the morning? Sounds fabulous! I turned as she made her move. “Anabel!” I warned, “You have to eat your breakfast first.” She froze, tongue still out, so close to touching the cake. I had to work hard at not laughing. It seems my daughter has the same survival skills as a possum: freeze and they’ll never know you’re there. I turned away so she wouldn’t see me smiling, but she knows me well. As soon as I turned back she was serenely sitting on her seat, waiting for her breakfast. I couldn’t help but notice the new track through the frosting that just happened to be the same shape as her tongue. It’s hard to discipline anyone over a birthday cake, so I didn’t. Instead I took the opportunity to give her a squeeze. After all, it’s not every day we have a mammoth cake on our counter, so what’s the harm? Later that night we made a big production out of throwing the rest of the cake away. Six months until Birthday Season starts in our family…just enough time to get the cake blue prints completed and approved.


I sneeze just like my mom. It’s a strange thing to recognize, it’s true, but I do. And I have Nancy’s arms, my grandma’s eye color, Michelle’s (well, really, all of my sisters’) tendency toward giggling, and all my sister’s cheeks. I talk like Kjersti, but I sound just like Karen. And there was the time I made the mistake of going to my sisters’ (yep, they all go to the same one) hairdresser and I wound up with their hair cut. It’s a strange thing, these similarities that twist themselves around you and bind you forever to these people. It gives new meaning to “the ties that bind”. I love those things; the little things, that remind me of someone I love. The distance and time apart doesn’t seem so big when I’m able to think of them often, when I’m reminded of them every time I look in the mirror and see more than just the sum of the parts that add up to what makes me who I am.

And I return to where I started. “Squeeze Left” that sign stated. On that star-filled night, I figured there was a lesson in there that was pretty obvious. So I leaned to my left and squeezed my husband and son and enjoyed that moment of complete peace.

MBA Statement of Intent

I intend to complete an MBA within three years and graduate in 2012. I will combine the MBA work with that of the mechanical engineering department in following the product development path and finally receive an MBA and a MS in Mechanical Engineering.
Completing an MBA was a task I never considered as I worked through my engineering undergraduate studies. Fortunately I have had experiences that have prepared me for this career path. My preparation has come from two sources: my education and my employment. Both sections have prepared me in different ways to be successful in the MBA program.
My undergraduate studies at BYU have been an influential experience in my life. The Mechanical Engineering program has taught me to work hard even when my classes are difficult, learning to prioritize what was necessary in order to handle the rigorous schedule. My time management, organizational, and study skills have greatly improved through my efforts in this major.
The preparation that came from my engineering jobs has proven to be invaluable. Working at AeroAstro and then later at RMC/Spectrum Aeronautical I found that the things I learn at school actually apply to my expected career. I gained a greater desire to further learn the things I was being taught. I appreciated my undergraduate degree, but I learned that I needed to extend that knowledge if I was to be happy in my career. At RMC/Spectrum I began to look around at the people working with me. I realized that the position of Designer/Drafter was a respectable one, no doubt, but that I was not stretching myself. I was in a position of comfort, not challenge. I began to realize I wanted to contribute more with my life.
This realization led me to consider what I did want out of my career. This is when I discovered the Product Development program here at BYU. It seemed to lend itself directly to me. I have always liked finding myself in management roles in my social life and in group projects at school. In my capstone group, for example, I find myself taking command any time the team lets me whether it is in a conference call, a meeting with the sponsor, or a presentation. I feel responsible in group situations to find a way we can work more efficiently as a team while still enjoying the labor. These experiences have prepared me for this degree in management.
My plans for my career path include working as a project manager, using skills that would be used to direct and instruct employees in accomplishing engineering projects. I will be able to understand my projects thoroughly enough so I can direct my designers to meet specific design objectives. I have a unique skill set in that I am an engineer and can be a manager of engineers without losing credibility to them. I plan to be able to work with them through design problems and direct the project in the most profitable way. The unique combination of technical and managerial education will provide me with the skills I will need to be successful in the positions I plan to be in throughout my career.
As a masters graduate I will have the skills necessary to guide a team of engineers in completing these tasks. BYU is the only school that has teachers focusing on what I want to study along with a phenomenal business program. This makes BYU my first choice for post-graduate studies.
Through the MBA program I will be able to learn the skills I need to be successful in the business world. I will learn to see entrepreneurial opportunities and recognize their potential. I hope to be able to market and sell products that I have designed and produced. Most importantly, my goal is to be able to manage and lead a team of engineers effectively through an engineering project, in every aspect necessary.
I want to learn the skills I will need to successfully start a profitable business. In order to get to that position I will need to have the skills to be effective within a larger company where I hope to be in a position of management working with an engineering department to control the production of a mechanical system.

Photographs

After two years in our house, Jon and I finally got some pictures of our family up on the wall. It was a day to celebrate! I’m really good with the big things of decorating: painting, moving furniture, picking out curtains and furniture, etc. I’m good at the overall image of just how I want a room to look. But I’m not so good with figuring out the little things that will make that room more…us. Pictures, I decided, are the perfect thing. Easy, cheap and they make a big statement. And I don’t just like the way it turned out. Uh-uh. I Love, with a capital L, the whole thing. The pictures themselves make me smile every time I glance at them and it doesn’t hurt that the kids are just so dang cute.
I’ve always such a love of pictures. Paintings, photos, black and white or color, it just doesn’t matter to me. You get a little glimpse in time of actual events. No matter what the picture is of, there sits, like bookends, on either side of that picture, a story that was unfolding. And that fascinates me. What led up to that moment and what happened right after? I look closely at all the people in photos and wonder if they were really, truly happy in that moment or if they were obediently saying “cheese” through clenched teeth that merely resembles their true smile. A photograph is a fraction of what happened that day, and I always love to find out more. Even professional photographers seem to realize that a picture might be worth a thousand words, but there are a million more to be said about that single moment. Look at a coffee table book of a photographer’s work and they will add more than just the F-stop and technical information about a photo. They’ll tell the whole story of where it was, what it took to get that instant of perfection and how it made them feel.
More than the perfect photograph, even the most beautiful one, I love the imperfect pictures the very most. I love the ones that show a baby asleep on a mom’s shoulder, a toddler slightly out of focus as they start their dash out of the frame and the true laughter that shines on faces after a good joke. I’m not a huge fan of the “one…two …three, Say Cheese!” moments. I want to glance at a picture and then have to look again because I just have to try to figure out what story that picture is telling. The group shots are valuable for records; who was where when and with whom. But the photos I truly treasure are those that jog a memory, startle a laugh out of me and those that make me happy to look at. The pictures that show a person’s personality are the ones that I choose to enlarge to epic proportions (really, how big are some people’s walls?) and just love to look at. They are the photographs that tell the story of our family, our adventures and achievements. By no means is the picture of Lucy, her cheeks rosy and her hair snarled, a museum-worthy photo. But it was a hot day in August when she took her first ride on her big-kid bike by herself, and her smile is radiant and her eyes are sparkling with pride and excitement. It isn’t every day that a kid learns what it feels like to fly.
The pictures Jon and I hung in our family room show about an hour of one of our days last June while we were in Utah. It was a great, fun day that we were happy to capture some of. But the stories, the bookends of these moments, are the real treasure. Those are the story books I love to “read” to my kids the very most; the photo albums. We can make stories up, if the picture is the beginning or the end of the story, or if, just outside the shot, someone is standing there with them. The stories that go with the pictures are the things that I treasure and am always happy to share. Who knows? Next time I’m looking at someone else’s pictures, humor me, when I ask you to tell me about this particular photo. There’s a story swimming around in my mind that I would just love to know how close I came to the real thing.

Stress

Let’s see. From what I can tell, these essays have some rules that I should follow. In order for me to write a good essay, I need to know the rules. Write for one hour. Have a specific topic in mind. Don’t think too hard about what you write before you write it. The other essays I’ve read from you all, not very many of you have been following the rules. On the other hand, for this essay, following the rules won’t really make my essay better than any other, will it?

I want to title my essay Stress. I’m sure all of you can relate. As I am writing this, it is 7:30am, and I am sitting outside my bishop’s office with nothing to do. That is one reason why I like my calling. I get to sit around with nothing to do. I’m sure being the actual Executive Secretary is a lot more stressful, but my being assistant is working out quite well for me. I only have to do stuff when I am told to do it. Maybe that’s why I don’t find it very stressful.

I had one of the most stressful weeks this past week. I had three major tests to take, a part for my group’s pipsqueak engine to begin, lots of homework to make up, my car fell apart (almost literally broke in half), I wouldn’t get to see the girl I like all week, and I lost my house key—again. Wow. And the week ended on Friday the 13. Fate? I dunno. But, needless to say, there was a lot to think about. There was some light at the end of the tunnel, though. I had told this girl that I would be having a very stressful week, and so she decided she wanted to make dinner for me on Friday. (Why she didn’t want to make dinner for me earlier during the week when I didn’t have time to make it myself, I don’t know.) The week still wasn’t over by then, though.

I don’t know how I had time to think about this during the week, but the thought came to mind that this is what college life is supposed to be like. I mean, …[half hour later]…a really cute girl just came in for her interview and distracted me for a while. I had to take the time to talk, so I hope you all will forgive me for probably going over my hour time limit.

I mean, this is what college life is all about, isn’t it? Choosing what to be stressed out about. I guess that’s the best way to put it. Honestly, out of the three tests I had this week, I decided that one of them wasn’t worth stressing out about, and I decided that my car could wait, because I didn’t want to think that hard about it. Now that the week is over, my tests are over and done with, (I probably didn’t do all that well on two of them) and I got to spend yesterday outside in the wonderful weather fixing my car. It worked out great. Everything has worked out well so far (except that the lost and found offices don’t open until Monday, and I’ve already been locked out of my apartment once this weekend), and I made my motto of the week according to the lyrics of a good song—“I won’t worry my life away” (by Jason Mraz—if you want to look it up).

Well, my hour is up, and I didn’t find a way to get to my point. Maybe I’ll get to it quick. Bear with me.

So there are good stresses and bad stresses. Like this right now. I’m trying to get this typed within the hour allotted, but questions come up from the people that are here for interviews, and I like to give people answers to try and magnify my calling. Sure, my calling is stressful, but it’s a good kind of stressful. As opposed to worrying for tests or deadlines. My roommate has a good philosophy for tests—if you haven’t learned it already from class and homework, you won’t learn it from cramming. That’s why I never see him worry too much about his tests. And he does quite well on them, too.

Another thing that can be very stressful is trying to be a good friend. Having friends is a lot of work. Especially if there is a lot of other stressful things to worry about. But having friends is definitely a worthy stress to be worried about. It even says so in the scriptures—read Luke 16:1-12. I guess this leads to the moral of the story that I was working so hard to get at. Next time you think about being stressed out, think “you can pick your friends and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose.” Which is worse to worry about?

I don’t know if any of that made any sense at all, but that was one of the rules, right? I just wrote what came to mind. I hope you can get something out of it!

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

I just finished reading the story of Jekyll and Hyde. Before I get started, I want to warn you that I am going to give away the plot, so if you have been living under a rock somewhere and don’t know the story, and don’t want it ruined, you can stop reading until you have read the book. It is a pretty short book, so it shouldn’t take too long.

Okay, so you’re back already? Well, on to my review. I already knew the story, so I wasn’t expecting much out of the experience of actually reading the book, but I was pleasantly surprised. Before now, I had no idea why Dr. Jekyll would keep taking that potion that basically separated all of his good traits and got rid of them, leaving him without a conscience or remorse until it wore off. However, I think I can relate, a little bit, to his dilemma.

How many of us have heard, “The loto jackpot is $20 million!” and have wished, just for an instant, that we could by a ticket, but knew that it was wrong? I can kind of see the draw of not knowing that something is wrong to do. On the surface, it seems like it would be liberating to just be able to do whatever you want with no guilt. Fortunately, we know better, and know even without reading this book, that there are consequences even if you don’t feel guilty.

Another lesson we can take from this story is how Dr. Jekyll became so used to being Mr. Hyde, that he found himself becoming Mr. Hyde without the potion. That evil part of him became so strong that he could not keep himself from changing whenever he slept, and later, at random times during the day. This illustrates the effect that giving in to these worldly urges has on us. Like any bad habit, it is easy to fall into but very difficult to stop.

So that’s my insight for the day. “Don’t make bad choices.” If you didn’t know that already, I would suggest you go get some help. Or maybe chase some ducks.

Ducks

Ok. For those of you who have provided “subtle” pressure for me to write an essay, here it is, a 5 minute essay (but let it be known I would rather spend an extra 5 minutes in the shower). So it is duck season again. Everyone wants to feed the ducks at the park even though the signs say “Please keep our wild life wild and don’t feed the ducks.” Every year I recall an experience I had a few years back of an encounter with a duck conversationalist (at least she thought she was one). I was enjoying the sun with my 1 and 3 year old at the park. We had forgotten to bring bread for the ducks but we decided to visit them anyway. It was early in the season and I wanted my boys to get some exercise before their nap so I challenged them that if they could catch a duck I would cook it for dinner. They ran as hard as they could with their little legs but neither of them could even come close the ducks who were easily avoiding them while still staying close enough to me to beg for a handout. I wasn’t worried about the safety of the ducks. But someone else was. A lady with her two children was close (actually standing not 5 feet from the “do not feed duck” sign) shelling out more bread than the ducks could eat. When she heard me challenge my boys she hurried over to me in a huff and proceeded to ridicule me for teaching my boys at an early age not to respect animals. Thanks to my decent upbringing I apologized and took my boys to the park, but my husband heard the other half of the story when he got home that night. Let’s just say that in my opinion there would be a lot less hungry people in the world if we could put our local fowl to good use. A duck dinner is actually a specialty in the uptown restaurants. You wouldn’t have to catch and eat all of them, just a few to keep the population under control. And what happened to a nice goose dinner? I don’t think anyone should complain if they caught all of the geese. Then we could finally use the grass area at the park for what it was meant for, to play on. And by the way, at least I was teaching my boys to eat what they caught and not just end its life for the sake of sport. So there is my essay. If you report me to the town of Newington ’s Park and Rec department I’ll deny I said any of it. I love the ducks. They are cute.

P.S. I spent an extra 5 minutes in the shower anyway.

My Pen

My favorite writing utensil would definitely be a pen. Not just any pen but a heavy one, and one that writes in nice dark ink.
I don’t want a pencil. They make a scratchy noise. The perfect sharpness is rarely there, and they feel weak. You could break it in a snap. It has no confidence, that’s why it comes with an eraser. Not to mention the fact that the wood saps the moisture right out of your hands. It is the utensil for error makers, confidence lackers and dry people.
He crayon has its purposes. It is for novices. They are for paper wasters and the dawdlers. The paintbrush lacks practicality when it comes to writing, and chalk, what a mess!
Needless to say, I choose the pen. Thank you, and yes, I just used the computer.

One-hour Essay #1

March 1, 2009

We ate the inaugural lunch last night.
We were going to have some friends over for dinner. Usually the host provides the meat and the rest is brought by the others. I could tell that this was going to be one of those terribly hard decisions that are so hard because it doesn’t matter. We were brainstorming about what to have and Joyce said, “Let’s see what they had for dinner for the inauguration.” I could see that we were going to waste a lot of time on this, so I made a command decision: Let’s do it.
We were hit by opposition right from the start. There is no tradition among this group of friends for the host to actually dictate which recipe to use. One friend called to say how she didn’t have time and, besides, the recipes looked too hard and too expensive – and then chose the hardest one. No one wanted to do the “winter vegetables” even though they were only good old carrots, asparagus, and Brussels sprouts. In the end, everyone came through and we had a delicious dinner.
So, now that I know how to make cherry chutney, how to roast duck, and how to stuff pheasant (we substituted chicken), I ask myself why the Inaugural Committee chose what they did. Maybe this is why:
According to the Joint Congressional Committee on Inaugural Ceremonies, “The menu … draws on historic ties to the presidency of Abraham Lincoln.” They claim that “Lincoln’s youth in the frontier regions of Kentucky and Indiana gave him a taste for root vegetables and wild game that matured into a love of stewed sea foods as he got older.” That sounds way too un-political for today’s Washington. After all, the menu was decided by a committee. I think this is the more likely reasoning:
First Course: Seafood Stew that includes Maine lobster, sea scallops, large shrimp, black cod and veggies. The stew is to symbolize what the country is in. “The worst since the Great Depression.” Seafood because more than half of the citizens of the US – and the financial centers that got us into this mess – are on the two coasts. Maine lobster in honor of the solidly liberal Democrat New England states. Large shrimp (an oxymoron?) in honor of political double-speak in which one expression can have diametrically opposite meanings, depending on who is listening. Black cod is a reference to the historic inauguration of the first Black president. And veggies to signify how the government is going to tell us all how to be healthy.
Next, duck breast with cherry chutney and molasses whipped sweet potato: I am not sure if the duck is to symbolize the former president (lame duck) or the new president in the eyes of Republicans (sitting duck), or Congress in the eyes of the Democrats (rubber ducky). Cherry chutney comes from India where most of our jobs are. Molasses whipped sweet potato is one of those expressions common to politicians that includes everyone: molasses (Southern roots of the civil rights movement), whipped (again a reference to civil rights), sweet (government exists to make everything good) and potato (a reference to illegal immigrants from Latin America)
Then herb roasted pheasant with wild rice stuffing: This course is meant to promote the sometimes opposing interests of the NRA (pheasant) and the Native Americans (wild rice).
Accompanied by winter vegetables, including asparagus, carrots, baby brussles sprouts and wax beans. This is obviously pandering to the big-electoral-collage states of California and Florida. Where else can you raise “winter vegetables?” All also have double meanings: asparagus for the wealthy – sautéed in honor of the tax hike; carrots in honor of the poor – soaked in orange “zest” in honor of the tax credits; Brussels sprouts in honor of our new unity with (and similarity to) “Old Europe;” and wax beans (as opposed to un-waxed rough beans?) to remind us what most politicians are full of.
Finally, a third course of cinnamon apple sponge cake with a sweet cream glace. This was really good, by the way. I suppose the sponge cake was in honor of the way politicians sponge off the rest of us, and the sweet cream is what is skimmed off the top before it sent out of Washington.
There you have it – my one-hour essay. Holly said write it fast – under an hour – and don’t think too hard about it. I didn’t. In fact, I don’t believe half of what I wrote. I will leave it as an exercise to the reader to decide which half.

Wishing Beetle

This morning while the girls were eating their breakfast, Anabel made the disturbing discovery of a brown beetle crawling across the floor. Neither Lucy nor Anabel are big fans of things that crawl or creep, a gene I am afraid I passed on to my girls. Jon has been dutifully trying to instill in them a calmness and curiosity about insects so he made up a game. He told them that this brown beetle was no ordinary, scary beetle; rather a wishing beetle. “Last night” he told them, “I wished on this wishing beetle for snow. And look what we got!” The girls were intrigued, but Lucy is a little more practical than Jon gave her credit for. She walked toward the beetle and very clearly stated her wish. “I wish for this wishing beetle to go away!”

“Wish” is such a fun word to say; it whispers out so softly and easily that I often forget its rich and lasting history. There are stories that are based on wishes, folk lore that use wishes to teach us humility, gratitude and caring. We wish on our birthday candles, shooting stars and before we throw a penny in a well. Not just any well, but a wishing well. I wonder at the difference? We wish for those we love and of course for ourselves; from the mundane, to the serious and heart-wrenching wishes of our souls.

I was reminded of a journal entry that my English teacher in high school had us write about. The difference between Hope, Wish, Dream. As a 17 year-old I’m sure my ideas on this subject were far different than they are now. At least I hope they are. Perhaps the fundamentals are the same, but I hope that I have learned to appreciate the subtle differences and blessings of each. They are worlds apart in application, yet they stay so closely knit that we often use them interchangeably without noticing the difference. We wish often, sometimes fervently, and sometimes without a second thought. But when I sit down and think of the differences in the words themselves, I go back to the way wish sounds as I say it. It’s a quiet, soft and powerful word. So fun to say, yet it instantly conjures magical and mystical images in my mind. The wishing well isn’t just an ordinary well anyone could get water from. No, this is no well Jack and Jill would be hanging out at. A wishing well is clean, shiny and secret; it’s one that has a powerful and specific purpose and is never crowded. I don’t ever picture a line at my wishing well. So how does a word that conjures such great images get tossed around so much? Get mixed up and interchanged with other great, but far different words, like dream? Hope?

My very favorite line of any scripture has wish in it and when I think of it, again I’m brought back to words that I can only say I think are synonymous with WISH: quiet, soft, powerful, heart-wrenching dream of our heart, clean, secret.

So when I hear my sweet 5 year-old utter the word wish with such sincerity and fervor, how could I deny her anything? So I got rid of the brown wishing beetle, without her seeing. And honestly, I only squealed a little when it wriggled in my hand.

Parent Interview

Introduction
Teach people correct principles and then let them govern themselves. This quote from the prophet Joseph Smith concerning his ability to raise such a righteous group of people in Nauvoo became a motto for my parents as they raised their righteous generation. I was fortunate enough to interview my father on his feelings on teaching and parenting. The interview was only occasionally interrupted by my mother chiming in with a story or a reference, but always with good advice. The main theme throughout the interview was consistency with decisions whether in consequences, traditions, or their living example.
Analysis of the interview
I interviewed my father. He is the father of six children each of who have proven themselves to be good upstanding citizens and church members. He is an authoritative parent, but thinks of himself as passive. The interview took place over the phone. I kept a record of the interview on a notepad, and an audio record has also been kept.
Being a child of such good parents allows me to see what a parent can accomplish when they keep their mind on it. My parents both have been wonderful and conscientious about the way they raised their children. My father said that even though he thought long and hard about what he would do when he was a father, things never seemed to work out the same way in real life. The principle here is that he was trying to do his best. He talked about Santa Clause, sport teams, and doing homework as examples of things they worried about before ever getting into a situation where a decision would have to be made.
The Santa Clause idea is a really telling thought that my father expressed. There was a fad that was going around where parents felt like teaching their children about Santa Clause was lying and the child would resent that later in life. My parents were very conscious of the arguments, discussed the possibilities, and then decided to not tell, but not lie about Santa Clause to my oldest sister. My father said they worried much more about my oldest sister than the rest of their children. When asked if that meant they felt they had parented her better than the rest of the children my father said no. He told me that you have to try harder with the first child, but there are more mistakes made along the way.
My father is a firm believer in the idea of children being innately good. He told me that he learned that from his mother. He asked her one time why he does not ever remember being disciplined by either of his parents. His mother’s response was that she just had good kids, so she never needed to discipline them. Of course this is not completely true, but it is a good way of saying that children are not just a blank slate, but they have a strong personality as well which comes innately good.
I asked my parents what they did to prepare to be parents or improve their parenting skills. I asked this question because I remember my mother always saying things like “they always say…” to which we would respond “who are ‘they’?” The ‘they’ she was talking about was the authors of the books she had read. Looking at it now I am pretty impressed that she was able to read through many of these available books. She told me at one point she was going to break down with stress over her first two kids. She really felt like she should read some of the new parenting help books but also felt like reading her scriptures was even more important. She said she was told, in response to a prayer, that if she would study the scriptures as her manual, that the rest would be overcome.
I was surprised to hear my dad say that control can only come from punishment with kids. I do not think that is the way we lived as children, but that was his first reaction. We talked about how he never used the term ‘grounded,’ although, we probably had the same punishment. He said that reasoning is great with kids until you run out of time. His main and final point I will have to quote because I feel like it really summed up their consistent method of teaching. My father said “You get more mileage from promoting good behavior than punishing bad behavior.
The concept of consequences being right seemed to be a big topic for both of my parents. They felt like it was something they truly believed in, but did not learn to do it very well. They tried to come up with good consequences through spouse discussions, but it was too easy to do things like take away the toy, or any other negative consequence. They found that it is really hard to find natural, non contrived consequences that fit the crime. My mom told me that they hated missing the school bus for example because it punished her more than the child since she would have to drive them to school. She decided that if they missed the bus again they would have to find their own ride to school. Fortunately we must not have ever missed the bus after that since we never had to find a ride, but the consequences did fit the crime. They found that it was mostly just important to be consistent with their disciplining and most of the problems went away.
My parent’s final words of advice were to learn as you go, keep your eyes open, and try to do what’s right and that you will get more answers from Heavenly Father than you ever thought you would.
Application of information
The most I learned from this interview was the importance of consistency in raising children. Children need to know where the line will be whether they are one to try to push across it or not. If a parent is moving their decisions all over the place the child will not have a sure foundation to stand on.
I learned that I have great parents and grandparents. The reason this is something I can apply is that I have the confidence in myself to be a great parent because of it. They have taught me very well and I appreciate it. I believe in my ability because of my legacy.
I feel like when I have a family I will be able to discipline them correctly and put them in their place without any verbal, physical, or emotional lashing out. I believe in the power of incentives and see that as a solution to these problems.
I learned that consistency makes the daily tasks bearable and expected from children. It gives them something they can be successful at. Things like fasting can teach self discipline as well. Working like this with preparation can be a great help to my children.
My Plan of Action
I plan to make very few changes to the way my parents parented. I really liked their method of having a plan of action and carrying it out with consistency. I would like to continue most all of my family’s traditions, especially things like early morning scripture study and Sunday stations-an organized activity set. I would like to have these types of activities be a genuine part of my parenting.
I would like to be a very authoritarian parent. According to the book Strengthening Our Families, I would have a connection, but consistent regulation, and purposeful autonomy. I hope to provide the necessary environment where that can grow.
I want to celebrate with my children each of their successes. My family always eats ice-cream when we were going to celebrate, but I think there should be some sort of traditional congratulations I will be able to do for my child.
I would like to change one thing my parents did. I realized talking to them about chores around the house that there must be a better way to do them. I feel like part of the reason I didn’t like chores was because I did not really see any result from what I did. I would have to clean the same thing every week for example whether it was clean or not. I feel like I would have been much more willing if I was able to see a difference from what I did.
Conclusion
My parents were not perfect in any way, but I feel like they are near perfect. They have become more unified by having kids and then having them all goes away. I feel like the key to good parenting is just to love your children and keep your promises. Be consistent and the things which should happen will happen and in the best possible way.

Arranged Marriages

March 8, 2009


When I lived in San Antonio, one of my church callings was as Laurel Advisor. There were only 2 or 3 laurels at church every week, and so our classroom usually had more leaders than girls in attendance. Besides the girls, I was there, Sherri Warner (YW Pres) and Lindsey Cossen (YW sec).

One week, Sherri Warner taught the lesson about marriage. The start-off activity was to ask each of the girls to make a list of qualities that she would like to find in a companion someday. Sr. Warner asked us leaders to make a list of qualities we’d like in a future daughter-in-law.

How surprised I was, when each of us read our lists out loud, to find out how different we all were! I expected the girls to have unique lists, but somehow, I expected the leaders to all paint a similar picture. Sherri’s dream daughter-in-law was gentle, a skilled and contented homemaker, kind and loving. Lindsey’s dream daughter-in-law was athletic, independent, confident, and organized. My dream daughter-in-law was cheerful, grateful, deep-thinking, curious, and well-read.

Last week for Family Home Evening, I decided to have my boys try this same activity. They looked at me with completely blank faces when I first explained. Anyway, Noah seemed to “get it” after a few minutes, and the other boys played along with some skepticism. Here’s what I got:

Oak:
Nise [nice]
Fridly [friendly]
Good wheth kdis
Mormon
Not fat
Gose to chech [goes to church]
Likes the Book of Mormon

I think Oak’s first three entries are tellings: nice, friendly, good with kids. This gives me hope for Oak - I hope he marries a nice person! He lets Mercy boss him around so much, and loves her through it all, that I had imagined him married to a demanding and opinionated woman.

Danny:
Athletice
Good at cooking
Talkeative
Conservative (Danny says that this means “someone who doesn’t buy too much stuff”)
Happy
Mormon

Danny wrote “talkative” because he told me that he is quiet. This surprised me initially, since he doesn’t seem very quiet at home, but maybe he is at school. I hosted his Bear cub scout troop last week for the first time, and I was surprised at how quiet he was.

Athletic. Good at cooking (Danny does like to eat). Conservative. Danny has always been fascinated by earning money and by business ideas. He thinks of ideas for stores, and often notices when he sees a business that seems like it would make good money. He is the most motivated out of all our boys to do his daily jobs so he can get paid. Yet, he also spends the least.

Noah
Kind
Helpful
Truthful
Healthy
Tall
Likes animals
Sports
Likes hiking
Funny
Optimistic
Smart
Good grades/jobs
Big Family (comes from a big family)

Noah has an interest in animals. It started in the first grade with “My Side of the Mountain” and falconing, and has never gone away.

Truthful: Noah is very literal, and does not like it when other people generalize, estimate, or exaggerate. Kind, Helpful, Funny, Optimistic. This sounds like a great person.

Mike and I have joked about arranging our kids’ marriages over the years. We’ve met other families who we really like, and who are raising their kids in a fashion that we relate with. We feel less sure of our own kids’ abilities to pick a spouse as we’ve seen other “ideal” marriages fall apart in recent years, in particular the Rohrers and Mike’s cousin, Heidi.

But, in the end, our kids will be choosing for themselves. I remember Dad’s comment after meeting Mike for the first time, “He seems like a BYU boy.” It didn’t exactly seem like a compliment. I think that if my parents had picked out my husband, they would have picked someone calmer and more scientific than Mike, and, honestly, our marriage might have been easier. . . but less fun. If Mike’s parents could have picked out his wife, they might have picked someone more talkative and cheerful, and someone who would never want to move out of Utah.

I knew a great couple in Wuerzburg, the Pindars. Connie is Bavarian, and a convert to the church as a teenager, thanks to a Mormon friend in her neighborhood. Her husband, Kenyatta, was also a convert as a teenager, raised in Germany by an African mother. They both had served missions, have strong testimonies and a desire to make a difference for good. They had two little kids the last time I saw them. Connie told me one time what a hard decision it had been to marry Kenyatta, once her parents had made it clear how upset they were with her marrying a black man. Her father, in particular, wanted nothing to do with her if she went through with the marriage. She told me that her deciding moment was when she pulled out a list that she’d made in YW, a list of characteristics of her future husband. She said that she looked over her list and Kenyatta was everything she’d ever dreamed of, and more. And, what’s more, she realized, no where on her list had she written, “white skin.” That’s when she decided that she’d marry Kenyatta.

Listing of characteristics I’d like in a daughter-in-law makes me want to be a better person. I want to be happy, cheerful, friendly, grateful, truthful, healthy, tidy, nice, and love the Book of Mormon, so that this is the kind of person with whom my kids will feel comfortable.

Ramblings:

Taylor had a meeting of her club yesterday. They had a special treat. A person in the neighborhood owns horses, and agreed to give them rides in his carriage. It was an authentic carriage, about 100 years old. Then they took turns riding the horses. It was a beautiful day, the birds were singing, the weather was just right, and I couldn’t help but think what it would be like to have that life. Lots of open air, caring for animals that the kids love to be around, lots of open space for the kids to run around in.

Then I thought about the work. The man that owns the horses says he gets up at 5:30 every day to feed and care for them for about an hour and a half. Then he takes another hour with them in the evenings. The stalls have to be cleaned, the fields cared for, the horses cleaned and exercised, etc. etc. I’m sure Dad knows better than me, though I suppose horses wouldn’t be as bad as milk cows.

I would love to have my kids grow up where they would learn to work hard and enjoy being outside. But for that to work, I would need to be there with them, which means that I would have to find a way to make a living at it. Maybe after I’m rich I could quit my job and have a ranch or something. Maybe a Bed and Breakfast with some riding horses or something.

I have been trying to decide what I will do with my money when I am rich. (Yes, that’s right, when). It would be fun to travel around a lot. I’ve always wanted to visit Australia and New Zealand! At the same time, I should probably use it to help people, instead of just squander it on me. So I can’t decide if I would keep enough to live comfortably, and give the rest to the church, since you know the church will use it right, or if I should start a charity or something. Shirley and I have talked about starting a ranch for handicapped kids. There are so many people that need help in so many ways; it’s hard to settle on one. But you would have to to be effective. I would need to find something or I’m afraid I would spoil our kids rotten!

On a side note, if any of y’all are looking for an essay topic, I‘m curious to know what you would do if you were rich. I’m talking Bill Gates rich; with enough money to do just about whatever you darn well please.

Shifting gears again, Taylor woke up this morning to the sounds of birds singing. She just had to call me at work to tell me how sweet they were to wake her up like that. But then they hid so she couldn’t see them. It’s fun to be reminded of the simple things in life.