Missing Fruit

           The first counselor of the bishopric has been conducting the meetings for this month. It was fast and testimony meeting on August first.  He invited youth to come share their testimonies with warning if they did not do it that week that they would be called upon to share the following week.

          I have been in some wards where when speakers were not present the bishop has called speakers out of the audience.  Some are gifted enough to pull it off.  I would like to be one that can.

          Two years ago I would study the “come follow me” lessons as though I would need to teach.  And last year our bishop used the outline for sacrament meeting talks.  Thus I would study the lesson with a certain topic in mind that I could prepare a talk.  This year?  Sometimes I can find something to share from the Old Testament.  But not every week.

          When the youth were sharing testimonies about their time at camp, I tried to reflect on past activities that I had done as either a youth or youth leader.  Of course the leader ones stood out better as they happened more recently.  I had served the two years prior to my engagement and then marriage to Richard.

          One of the experiences that stood out was a reenactment of Lehi’s dream.  We were asked to hang onto a rope which represented the Iron Rod.  If called upon I would have given a talk relating to that experience as found here. 

I Won’t Be DWTS

           I had signed up for a dance class in my junior year of high school.  It was not on my schedule of classes.  I still wanted to take the class and tried to transfer in.  Nada.  And then I got my report card.  They had me failing this class that I wanted to take but wasn’t taking.  Apparently my name was on the role.  I was so mad!

          The office had a different schedule than the one I had.  I had tried to transfer into the class and the instructor didn’t even recognize my name as her absentee student?  I was angry.  I let every faculty member know how I felt.  It was wrong!  Their failed system was not my fault. 

          Grade retracted.  I did not fail the class I hadn’t taken.  I still wanted the class . . . or so I believed.

          Almost 50 years later I am watching the talents of the pros on Dancing With the Stars and the need for two other dancers to join their team.  I am amazed at what their bodies can do as they learn and create routines and get thrown around and learn new steps and perform in such a short time.  Wow. 

          Start while you’re young.  Even before high school – which I did.  Mom had enrolled me in various dance classes but it is not something I pursued.  It was probably better for me in the long run to not have been part of the class.  I was on the skinny side and may have been one of the dancers that was thrown.  But it’s in the past.  It’s a forgotten desire.

          When I look at the dancers performing on Dancing With the Stars I am in awe.  What talent.  What creativity.  What excruciating hard work!  Probably why it is only on twice a year.  The dancers might need the four to six month rest.  How does that even work?  Do they get a break?  They are putting their bodies in jeopardy every bit as football players who land on each other or hockey players who may sometimes slide and fall or any other athlete of so many different sports.  Dancers are athletes in a sense as it is physically demanding and teamwork is very important.

          I think it’s a great opportunity for those who have that desire and ambition.  I don’t know that I would have had the desire.  I’m not competitive for one thing.  I do have a heart murmur which I’m guessing I’ve had since childhood and thus I do get easily wiped out just walking.  And to be able to dance in heels.  Forget that!

          I appreciate dancers.  I appreciate performers.  I enjoy the music and talents of those who play instruments and sing.  My talent doesn’t lie in singing either.  But I do like to sing and I do like to dance almost as much as I enjoy watching dances and listening to music.

Never Too Early for Halloween

 Jaime's favorite holiday.  New sale introduced yesterday.

Queen Anne's Lace

 Since Sugar and Cocoa have left, Queen Anne's Lace seems to have taken over the yard.  Overall I don't miss the goats.   It would be nice to have a weed free yard.  Dream on!

Between Worlds

           I have been rewatching the series “This is Us” which jumps back and forth from childhood to adulthood and intertwines stories of not only the five Pearsons (Jack, Rebecca, Randall, Kate and Kevin) but others whose paths cross with the five main characters – some becoming main characters more than Jack).  The constant flashbacks usually drive me nuts but I have been looking at this series in a different frame of mind.

          I have only one and a half episodes left.  Rebecca now has dementia and the three children are proposing ideas of how to deal with her care.  They don’t have the gospel.  They don’t pray about their decisions.  They have never done role play the way that we had in my family.  We made decisions based on mom’s desires but also prayed about decisions we made.  For many we knew the answers before the question was asked.

          The biggest one came when the doctors had approached us with the decision of cutting off her leg or putting her on dialysis or perhaps it was time to consider hospice care.  Hospice care.  We all agreed before the doctor walked away.  The recent in-law to join the family was taken aback.  How could we possibly make such a life-changing decision without even thinking about it.  Truth is we had thought about it.  Long before Mom got dementia she had told us that she didn’t ever want to go on dialysis.  It was her wish. 

          Having a missing leg would have been devastating as she was not in the frame of mind to understand why it was missing.  It would have to be explained to her several times a day.  She would have been miserable.  Hospice provided a pleasantness which we all witnessed as she would fade in and out with the other side.  We knew she was happy.  But that is how we were raised.  We were raised not only believing in God but confiding in Him and allowing Him to be a part of our decisions. 

          We have our free agency.  He helps us to be free.  He allows us to feel peace. I wish everybody else had the same closeness that we have in my family.  We are not perfect but our upbringing has certainly made a tremendous different that I don’t see very often.  I wish we were part of the majority.  I wish everyone had that.

Downsizing

           Richard felt excited to make some toy rabbits to add to our planters plus items.  It is almost mid July and I wonder how many will purchase planters to start gardens that theoretically should have been started months ago.  But I am by no means a gardener.  What do I know?

          We do a farmers market on Wednesday and one on Saturday.  We usually get more business on Wednesday.  Take yesterday for example.  Richard had wanted to make a whole slew of bunnies. We have never introduced them and I told him that we should just stick with the four we had.  We didn’t know that right after we set up there would be two busloads of children, each with five dollars to spend.  We sold three bunnies and three painted stools within the matter of minutes. 

          There was one girl who wanted a robot planter (which I learned later on, works well as a doll chair) but they are 20 dollars.  When we returned home I suggested to Richard that he just make smaller robots out of the scraps of wood.  Why not.  I don’t know if we’ll continue after this month.  They may be more time consuming.  But I think it will be a hit with the children.

Zyrtec over the counter is NOT the same as prescription

 . . . at least it seems that way.  My doctor had called in a prescription in March – I was told to take as needed.  Now I’ve taken Zyrtec before.  Over the counter.  The small white pill is oval shaped.  They have not made me drowsy.  But this small pez shaped ones that the pharmacy doled out . . . omigosh!

          The first couple of times I had taken the small pez shaped cetirizine I felt like I was in a coma for two days.  That is when I decided maybe it would be best if I cut them in half.  It still knocked me out.  I took only as needed.  I’ve cut six of them into thirds – which still wipes me out.  I still have twelve full ones left.  Perhaps I’ll need to cut them in forths.

          I do sleep better.  Much better.  The garbage truck collected the trash.  I don’t know what time.  I was zonked.  Won’t be taking one again for a while.  And it will only be a third of one.  Good night!