Way back in 2001, we met Bonny Blue. She was a little blue Pontiac Grand Am, just big enough for our little family of four. We loved to drive her over to the library to see the big goldfish in the local library's indoor pond, go shopping, and take the girls to see their grandparents, who lived close by. She fit into our family just perfectly!
About a year after our meeting, we moved from Idaho Falls to Boise, Idaho and stayed there for five years. She took my husband to work, was always there to pick up our oldest daughter from school, and took us to many fun family outings. She was even there to pick me up from the hospital after our Zanderman was born.
When she was about 10 years old, my husband got accepted to law school in Texas. At first we were worried about Bonny Blue surviving such a long journey. But, since we had faith in her, we squeezed our three young children in her backseat, and packed as much as we could in the trunk. It took us four days to make it to Houston, but she did it!
She continued serving my family by taking my husband to law school and work, took us to church and to playdates, and the children to school. Still she pressed on, but was getting old.
Miraculously, Bonnie Blue got a sibling named Trusty Dusty in 2008. Trusty Dusty was a gray mini-van, a year older than Bonnie Blue. He joined our family when a kind-hearted man from church gave him to us! Since someone else from church had given his family Trusty Dusty while he was in school, he decided to continue the tradition by giving it to us--another family in school. His family had gotten a new mini-van and no longer needed Trusty Dusty. We were so grateful to have two cars!
Trusty Dusty became mine while Bonnie Blue became my husband's commuter car. Trusty Dusty was my car-pool vehicle and the one I relied on to take the kids to doctor and dentist appointments. He took us to church and on family outings to the zoo and museums. Trusty Dusty trudged on all through law school and then finally died a few months after my husband graduated.
Since then Bonnie Blue has been our go-to girl and has pulled the weight of two vehicles instead of one. While she is old and on her last leg, she is a part of our family who we pray for ever day. We know it is only through prayers and the blessings of tithing that she still runs. While her days are numbered, she will never be forgotten.
We love you Trusty Dusty and Bonnie Blue! Thanks for taking care of my family all these years!
September 30, 2011
September 17, 2011
Santa Pat
From the day my family moved into our first Texas home four years ago, we met a man who I will affectionately refer to as Santa Pat. While my family moved to Texas in August-- the hottest, stickiest month in Houston, we got here a few days before the furniture came in the moving van. After sleeping on air mattresses and living out of suitcases for a week, we were more than happy for the furniture to arrive.
I will never forget that miserably sticky day when men and boys from church came to help my husband unload the moving truck. It was Santa Pat who I will never forget. He introduced himself and and his older sons, telling me that he lived nearby and gave me his phone number in case we ever needed anything. I stood in amazement at the kindness of this big, intimidating man, who I barely knew.
As time passed, I got to know Santa Pat and his family better. His daughter often babysat for us and his youngest son went to school with my oldest daughter. My children grew to love his family as we watched his kids go off to college, get married, and start families of their own. He and his wife were the directors of our neighborhood pool and gave my kids swimming lessons every spring.
At Christmas time, Santa Pat, bleached his beard white and could have been Saint Nick's identical twin. One time in church as we sat in a Mormon Sacrament meeting, my son who was about two or three at the time, saw Santa Pat sitting up in the choir seats. My little Zan-man got really excited as he jumped to his feet and stood on the bench in the pew. Pointing to the choir seats, he loudly exclaimed, "Mommy! It's Santa!" Santa Pat was as jolly as I imagine the real Kris Kringle would be. He had a special way with children and often dressed as Santa for Christmas parties.
It was during the fall of 2010 and winter of 2011 that I really got to know Santa Pat when I served as the Ward Choir Director. Thought I have a musical background in piano, I had little choir experience. Though I had been in a college choir for a semester and had sung in other ward choirs, I had never been the director and felt very inadequate. Santa Pat and his wife and son, all were loyal choir members with beautiful voices. I always appreciated their advice and rides to and from church since my family only had one car.
In July of this year, I saw Santa Pat one Sunday before he left on vacation to visit family. Little did I, or anyone else know it would be the last time we would ever see him again. I received word one night that his family had been in a car accident in Eastern Idaho and that it had taken our dear Santa Pat.
As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I know that Santa Pat is doing the Lord's work on the "other side." While we all miss him, I know that we will see him again. Though his mission on earth was complete, I know he is in a happier, more peaceful place where the spirit of Christmas is everlasting.
I will never forget that miserably sticky day when men and boys from church came to help my husband unload the moving truck. It was Santa Pat who I will never forget. He introduced himself and and his older sons, telling me that he lived nearby and gave me his phone number in case we ever needed anything. I stood in amazement at the kindness of this big, intimidating man, who I barely knew.
As time passed, I got to know Santa Pat and his family better. His daughter often babysat for us and his youngest son went to school with my oldest daughter. My children grew to love his family as we watched his kids go off to college, get married, and start families of their own. He and his wife were the directors of our neighborhood pool and gave my kids swimming lessons every spring.
At Christmas time, Santa Pat, bleached his beard white and could have been Saint Nick's identical twin. One time in church as we sat in a Mormon Sacrament meeting, my son who was about two or three at the time, saw Santa Pat sitting up in the choir seats. My little Zan-man got really excited as he jumped to his feet and stood on the bench in the pew. Pointing to the choir seats, he loudly exclaimed, "Mommy! It's Santa!" Santa Pat was as jolly as I imagine the real Kris Kringle would be. He had a special way with children and often dressed as Santa for Christmas parties.
It was during the fall of 2010 and winter of 2011 that I really got to know Santa Pat when I served as the Ward Choir Director. Thought I have a musical background in piano, I had little choir experience. Though I had been in a college choir for a semester and had sung in other ward choirs, I had never been the director and felt very inadequate. Santa Pat and his wife and son, all were loyal choir members with beautiful voices. I always appreciated their advice and rides to and from church since my family only had one car.
In July of this year, I saw Santa Pat one Sunday before he left on vacation to visit family. Little did I, or anyone else know it would be the last time we would ever see him again. I received word one night that his family had been in a car accident in Eastern Idaho and that it had taken our dear Santa Pat.
As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I know that Santa Pat is doing the Lord's work on the "other side." While we all miss him, I know that we will see him again. Though his mission on earth was complete, I know he is in a happier, more peaceful place where the spirit of Christmas is everlasting.
September 10, 2011
Finding Joy in the Journey
As I stood on a ladder, painting my son's room this week, I let my mind wander. I looked down at the colorful splatters on my paint clothes and remembered all I have learned as I've painted and repainted my home.
Since I live in an older home that we at first considered our "law school" house, I looked around me realizing how much this house of walls, floors, and ceiling has become a home to my family over the past four years.
Initially I thought my life would begin once my husband finished law school. It was while I waited for his education to end and his career to begin that I found myself immersed in the journey life took me on. Now, I laugh at John Lennon's statement, "Life is what happens while you're making other plans."
It has been during this time that I have grown the most. I have learned to turn an ordinary house into a home through painting and stenciling. I also passed the time by writing a novel (which has yet to be published). I taught piano lessons and babysat. I survived a hurricane. I learned how to teach my children and to encourage their talents in music, art, gardening, and animals. I recently learned to make jam (it's easier than I thought!). My kids and I spent the summer learning to make quilts, both tied and patchwork. I learned how to use a sewing machine (yes, it's a miracle since I have always hated sewing!). Last but not least, I learned how to serve others by watching those who have served me.
Now as I enjoy the fruits of my labors, I realize that wherever life takes me, it is the journey that changes a person, not the destination.
Since I live in an older home that we at first considered our "law school" house, I looked around me realizing how much this house of walls, floors, and ceiling has become a home to my family over the past four years.
Initially I thought my life would begin once my husband finished law school. It was while I waited for his education to end and his career to begin that I found myself immersed in the journey life took me on. Now, I laugh at John Lennon's statement, "Life is what happens while you're making other plans."
It has been during this time that I have grown the most. I have learned to turn an ordinary house into a home through painting and stenciling. I also passed the time by writing a novel (which has yet to be published). I taught piano lessons and babysat. I survived a hurricane. I learned how to teach my children and to encourage their talents in music, art, gardening, and animals. I recently learned to make jam (it's easier than I thought!). My kids and I spent the summer learning to make quilts, both tied and patchwork. I learned how to use a sewing machine (yes, it's a miracle since I have always hated sewing!). Last but not least, I learned how to serve others by watching those who have served me.
Now as I enjoy the fruits of my labors, I realize that wherever life takes me, it is the journey that changes a person, not the destination.
September 4, 2011
An Unforgettable Example
About a month ago, my 91-year-old grandma passed on. She outlived my grandpa by 14 years, but suffered many health problems along the way. She was the last of her siblings to go and had not seen her parents in about 50 years. Since I live so far away, it broke my heart that I could not attend the funeral in another state. Still the things she taught me as well as the memories I have of her will live on forever.
As a little girl, I lived only a few blocks from her. Some of my most cherished childhood memories were of the many Sunday dinners at her house. Grandma was a fantastic cook and my siblings and I always loved going over to her house. Since my grandpa was a fisherman, dinner often consisted of fried trout (or sometimes Southern friend chicken), homemade rolls, jello salad, garden vegetables, and strawberry freezer jam. Dessert always followed with a homemade berry pie. Yum! It's ironic that I hate cooking and I do not have the talent that she did.
On nights when my parents were out and my grandparents babysat me, I remember how grandma made everything fun. She often put on a fun movie then turned on her popcorn popper and let my siblings and I watch as the kernels popped into our favorite treat. Other times when my cousins came to visit, she taught us how to make cakes and treats.
One time I remember spending the night with my grandparents when I was about three years old. It was just me and since I was scared, Grandma let me sleep between her and Grandpa in their bed. Of course I could not sleep without my dolls, of which there were three or four. We squeezed the dolls between us and another one on top of the pillows, then we all went to sleep. In the morning, Grandma and I woke up and did not see Grandpa. We looked everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Finally we found him down in the basement asleep on the sofa. He said the dolls had made him fall out of the bed! Grandma laughed about that story for years.
Many times as a young child, I accompanied Grandma to a neighbor's home or to visit a sick friend. She always took a jar of jam, homemade rolls, or a pie to cheer them up and it always worked. She and my grandpa volunteered at the thrift store, Deseret Industries, and often visited the elderly in the local nursing home. They served three LDS missions in West Virginia, Georgia, and Ontario, Canada. My grandparents also served as temple workers in the Logan, Utah Temple. I learned how to serve others by watching her.
Family history was also one of Grandma's hobbies. I loved looking through her Books of Remembrance as she showed photos of my ancestors and told me stories about them. It is because of her that I feel that I know them and love them. Her many stories will continue to live on as I tell them to my children.
Though I miss my grandma's cheerfulness, laughter, and love for her fellow man through service, I know that she is really not that far away since I will always carry a part of her with me. I only hope that when I am gone someday, my descendants will think as highly of me as they do of her.
As a little girl, I lived only a few blocks from her. Some of my most cherished childhood memories were of the many Sunday dinners at her house. Grandma was a fantastic cook and my siblings and I always loved going over to her house. Since my grandpa was a fisherman, dinner often consisted of fried trout (or sometimes Southern friend chicken), homemade rolls, jello salad, garden vegetables, and strawberry freezer jam. Dessert always followed with a homemade berry pie. Yum! It's ironic that I hate cooking and I do not have the talent that she did.
On nights when my parents were out and my grandparents babysat me, I remember how grandma made everything fun. She often put on a fun movie then turned on her popcorn popper and let my siblings and I watch as the kernels popped into our favorite treat. Other times when my cousins came to visit, she taught us how to make cakes and treats.
One time I remember spending the night with my grandparents when I was about three years old. It was just me and since I was scared, Grandma let me sleep between her and Grandpa in their bed. Of course I could not sleep without my dolls, of which there were three or four. We squeezed the dolls between us and another one on top of the pillows, then we all went to sleep. In the morning, Grandma and I woke up and did not see Grandpa. We looked everywhere, but he was nowhere to be found. Finally we found him down in the basement asleep on the sofa. He said the dolls had made him fall out of the bed! Grandma laughed about that story for years.
Many times as a young child, I accompanied Grandma to a neighbor's home or to visit a sick friend. She always took a jar of jam, homemade rolls, or a pie to cheer them up and it always worked. She and my grandpa volunteered at the thrift store, Deseret Industries, and often visited the elderly in the local nursing home. They served three LDS missions in West Virginia, Georgia, and Ontario, Canada. My grandparents also served as temple workers in the Logan, Utah Temple. I learned how to serve others by watching her.
Family history was also one of Grandma's hobbies. I loved looking through her Books of Remembrance as she showed photos of my ancestors and told me stories about them. It is because of her that I feel that I know them and love them. Her many stories will continue to live on as I tell them to my children.
Though I miss my grandma's cheerfulness, laughter, and love for her fellow man through service, I know that she is really not that far away since I will always carry a part of her with me. I only hope that when I am gone someday, my descendants will think as highly of me as they do of her.
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