Thanksgiving

and an interesting clip from Elder Oaks (we get to hear him sing!)



I just found a card that I gave Dad exactly 28 years ago; it has a picture of three little girls on it and a poem underneath:

Those days were crisp and bracing
When color kindled the woods,
The fruits were ripe, the fields fresh-mown
And life was rich and good.

Nice. And there's the melancholy one from Robert Frost. This poem was mentioned in the book The Outsiders; anyone remember?

Nothing Gold Can Stay
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold,
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

"The Fun Theory"

This would be pretty fun, even though I think escalators are fun too. It might kin-a noisy...

One more

My visiting teachers just came; Colleen B. told me this funny story that just needs to be retold: Her husband was driving his six-year-old grandson somewhere when they passed a gas station and the boy said "Grandpa, don't we need to stop and put some gas in the truck?"
Paul, the grandfather, said "No, I'm not getting gas. We don't need it right now."
Jake said again, "I think we ought to stop. I don't want to run out."
Paul: "I'm not stopping. We'll be fine."
Jake: "Okay, but don't come whining to me when we run out of gas and are stuck here on the side of the road!"

Seems like something a kid on a sitcom would say, but it wasn't scripted, that's what he really said. Maybe it does come from watching tv?

Whisper my name to the grass

Anne Perry got to me today. Here are some wise words from her Meridian article:
"Sometimes I wonder if we let ourselves be too easily discouraged, complain about small things, allow modesty to be overdone and change into talking ourselves down and aiming far too low.
"We have more to thank God for than we realize, most of the time. We have treasures of peace and plenty, of freedom and knowledge, opportunity, beauty and wealth of experience that we barely grasp or understand.
"We are NOT ordinary! We can be giants. We do not need to be handed opportunities, we can make them, seize them as they are passing us by, or go out and hunt for them."
Anne's article tells about her friend who took her two daughters, traveled to Russia, and wrote a book about her experiences. It's called Whisper My Name to the Grass, titled after what a political prisoner said to her: "When you next visit the Statue of Liberty, whisper my name to the grass there." Knowing a little of the importance of names and words, this held some significance for me.
I watched some Education Week broadcasts last night. Brother Thomas Wayment spoke on scriptural examples of suffering and adversity. When Jesus taught about the difficulty of getting a camel through the eye of a needle, he really was talking about a camel and a needle. Imagine how the camel would look after getting pushed and squeezed through the small eye-it wouldn't look like a camel anymore. It would be different. That's what going through adversity's refining fire should do for us-change us, and hopefully into something better, or to our better selves.
Since finishing my job at the fair, I'm having an introspective week. I'm contemplating fall cleaning, proofreading next week, and starting work at the temple the week after that. And unless I knit or crochet up something super special to show, I think I'm done with this blog for a while. Like someone I know once said, "Sometimes you need a fresh start." Or maybe a fresh pause. Yes, I think that's what I'll do - push the pause button. And when it's time to unpause, I'll be back :)

[bouquet of sedum from my garden]

[the popcorn corn Robin bought at farmers' market. It really worked]

[Doug cleaning out his side of the closet]

I get to stay home all day today, and that means:
• baked beans on the stove
• peach pecan cake in the oven
• potato salad made and in the fridge

and maybe:
• raspberries, beets, and tomatoes picked
• baby socks unraveled and re-started
• ironing, blech...

Two hundred and twenty-two years ago today, thirty-nine brave men signed a document that changed the course of their history and subsequently, ours. Happy Birthday to our United States Constitution, and a sincere thank you to those who cared so much about the future of their country.
If you get a chance in the next few days, watch A More Perfect Union or read the book by Ron Carter (Prelude to Glory series, [the book''s a big one, I only had time to read parts of it].)
Or come over and watch the movie with me. It's good. We'll make some popcorn.

Our mothers' hands

I once read an Erma Bombeck column that talked about our age showing in our hands, not just other body parts: "One day you look and you realize you've got your mother's hands...You can smooth out your neck, adjust your nose, remove the bags from your eyes...but those hands are going to give you away."
I like to compare my hands with one of my daughter's hands on one side, and Aunt Wilma's hand, or someone else close to that age, on the other, with me in the middle. And that's right where my hand fits - not smooth and tight anymore like my girl's, but not really wrinkly yet like the aunt's.
This week, though, I wonder if my hands are getting to be more like my dad's. Sore. Dry. Banged up and bleeding. Of course, no one could burn or cut herself like Mom, but boy, my hands have taken a lot this week:
• several punctures that bled from a variety of large & small pins at the fair
• a hornet sting
• an oil burn from french fries last Friday
• a thorn from the garden
• a pretty good cut from slicing onions for spaghetti sauce
I know, I know, who cares about my list of accidents? My girls are used to me having something burned or cut or slivered. But this post isn't really about hands, it's about 11:00 p.m. last night and canning. I don't like to can anymore! But the jars look so pretty when they're done and if they seal. I'd rather freeze, but my sauce was way too hot to put into freezer bags [only two, no three, melted bags] and I needed the kettle to cook more, so can I did: marinara sauce and grape juice from our Concord grape vine. Here's the mess:

View of the stove

View to the side of the stove, with the bad bad jars that didn't seal starting to line up together in the center.

Husband washing dishes and pans. Yup.View of my latest crocheting project I was doing while he was washing up.

And oh, look who came out from under the bed --
Helen/Penny/Shirona.

She stayed under the table the whole time we were working in the kitchen, until part way through the night when she went back under the bed. We felt this to be a huge step in her socialization. This morning she was in the kitchen cupboard, another big step.