Dear family,

May I suggest the following rules for essay-writing????

1- One hour time limit. (5-minutes definitely fits under this time limit)

2- No guilt about not writing

3- When possible, hit the “reply to all” button when replying to an essay

Open for suggestions or additions….

Love, Holly

Link: Mifferules

Authors

Sunday, April 5, 2009

April Fool's!

It is 11:00 pm and I need to wake up early tomorrow, so I am only giving myself five minutes. I’m lying here in bed, remembering the time that Dan short sheeted mom’s bed, and she blamed me for it. I thought it was the funnies thing that Dan would do that, so it was totally worth taking the blame. One of my roommates now, ironically also named Daniel, has some wicked traditions of pranks in his family. He invited me to a family party of his a while back, and while we were just hanging around eating the food, he and his little brother cut one of the pieces of apple pie horizontally, put a few drops of worchestershire sauce in the slice, and put it back in the pie pan for someone else to discover. [Disclaimer: I’m not giving anyone any ideas. If you get ideas from reading this, it is your own fault. But you know it would be funny.] Sometimes while I am praying over my dinner plate, he will grab the plate from off the table and put it in the oven before I open my eyes. Of course I’m expecting it now, but he gets me every once in a while. I wish I could have been more prepared for April Fool’s Day this year. I chatted with Dan online for a few minutes that morning, and in the conversation, I asked what he would think if I was deciding to get engaged. He asked how serious I was being with myself, but I had to get to class, so I left it at that. Later on that day, we got together for lunch, and he laughed at how bad I am at following through with an April Fool’s joke, and I had to admit that I wouldn’t have been able to play it off very well. As the day went on, I almost forgot all about it, until when I was at Holly’s, I had just gotten started reading to the kids, when I got a phone call. From Megan.

“Hello?”

“Andrew! It’s your sister in law, Megan.”

“Hi!”

“Are you engaged?”

“Uhh…no? Not that I know of.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why?”

“I got a text from Dan saying I need to call you.”

“Dang it! He should have told me first!!”

I could have totally pulled it off. And you would have all believed it. Because Mom was in Germany to say anything against it and Dan would have loved the joke. Next April Fool’s will definitely be better. You’d better watch out. :)

Sunday, March 29, 2009

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?

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

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.