Who can I trust?

Here is something I wrote in September of 2016, that I feel is pertinent now:

Yesterday morning I woke up and glanced at the clock and thought I saw that it was 5:30 a.m. I did not want to be up that early, but I was awake, so I got up. (I realized, after an hour on the computer, that I’d actually gotten up at 3:30.) Everyone else was asleep, so I went to look at facebook where I was bombarded with political memes and the bickering that always follows them. As I read, I suddenly thought of Joseph Smith’s history. It struck me that his words—with a few changes (from religion to politics)—were very applicable here:

For, notwithstanding the patriotism which the voters for these different candidates expressed at the state primaries, and the great zeal manifested by the respective parties, who were active in getting up and promoting this extraordinary scene of political feeling, in order to have everybody vote, as they were pleased to call it, let them join what party they pleased; yet when the voters began to file off, some to one party and some to another, it was seen that the seemingly good feelings of both the candidates and the voters were more pretended than real; for a scene of great confusion and bad feeling ensued—politician contending against politician, and voter against voter; so that all their good feelings one for another, if they ever had any, were entirely lost in a strife of words and a contest about opinions.

During this time of great excitement my mind was called up to serious reflection and great uneasiness; but though my feelings were deep and often troubled, still I kept myself aloof from all these parties, though I followed their several campaigns as often as occasion would permit. In process of time my mind became somewhat partial to a third party, and I felt some desire to be united with them; but so great were the confusion and strife among the different parties, that it was impossible for a person such as I was, and so unacquainted with men and politics, to come to any certain conclusion who was right and who was wrong.

My mind at times was greatly excited, the cry and tumult were so great and incessant. The Democrats were most decided against the Republicans and Libertarians, and used all the powers of both reason and sophistry to prove their errors, or, at least, to make the people think they were in error. On the other hand, the Republicans and third-parties in their turn were equally zealous in endeavoring to establish their own tenets and disprove all others.

In the midst of this war of words and tumult of opinions, I often said to myself: What is to be done? Who of all these parties are right; or, are they all wrong together? If any one of them be right, which is it, and how shall I know it?

As I said, I wrote that in September of 2016.

Today, February 23, 2020, with the whole political and election season hard upon us again (if the craziness ever really did die down from the last time) I’ll add these quotes by President Russell M. Nelson:

“You don’t have to wonder about what is true. You do not have to wonder whom you can safely trust.”

“If we will truly receive the Holy Ghost and learn to discern and understand His promptings, we will be guided in matters large and small.”

This time of politics is wearisome enough, with all of the mud-slinging that goes on. Let’s not add to it by bickering on facebook. This is not the place for debate, because without body language, vocal inflection, and facial expressions to help out, it’s difficult to tell whether you’re engaged in a “friendly discussion” or a bout of verbal fisticuffs. By all means get together with your friends and family, face to face, on both sides of any issue, and discuss it like you are friends and want to stay friends—please do! But let’s be above the fight.

And as you work on making a decision, remember who you can really trust.

  

The difference between my mom and my dad

I love my mom. She is a great person—funny, generous, and smart.

I love my dad. He is a great person too—witty, intelligent, and kind.  

Mom and Dad were alike in the important things—shared beliefs and values; hard workers; loving; good parents; great people. But they were also very different from each other. Here are a couple of illustrations for you:

This picture was taken of Mom at work,
about ten years before this story happened.

1.  Bruce and I started dating about a year after I got my driver's license. He was surprised that I couldn't drive a standard transmission car. Well, I'd never had to drive one; I always drove my mom's automatic. But when he said he'd teach me, I thought it would be pretty cool to learn, to have my boyfriend teach me, and to be the only girl in my family who drove a stick-shift.

So Bruce taught me to drive a stick, mostly in my dad's Ford Ranger, and I did really well! So well, in fact, that I was confident to drive it all by myself one day. I don't remember where my mom's Subaru was for the day—maybe out for a repair, maybe my dad had it; I don't know. But one afternoon only the truck was around, and I wanted to go hang out with Bruce at his house for a while. So I told Paul, that I could get Mom from work that evening if I could take the truck over to Bruce's house. (Paul was supposed to pick Mom up.) And I drove that truck right on over to go see Bruce. Perfectly smooth. No jerking starts or stops, just smooth sailing all the way there. Bruce was proud of me! Then, just before 5:00 I drove over to my mom's office to pick her up; again, it was a smooth ride. I felt pretty awesome. And wouldn't Mom be surprised to see that I had come to get her in the truck all by myself?

Oh, she was surprised all right! Not surprised like, "Wow! Look at you, driving the truck!" but more like, "What in the world are you doing driving Dad's truck?!" and, "I hope we make it home in one piece!"

Well, I was instantly nervous. And it was rush hour, stop and go traffic all the way home. And I killed that darn truck every time I had to stop, and had a hard time starting it up again every single time, and Mom kept up an anxious, worried scolding the entire drive. To make things worse, our bishop had been behind us the entire way, and that weekend he laughingly told my mom that he was sure whoever was driving that truck had stripped all the gears. Which she then told me as proof that I should not be driving the truck. And I never did again.

This picture was probably taken pretty close
to the time these stories took place.

2.  On the day I registered for my senior year in high school—while I was at the school, actually—my dad had driven the motorcycle to work and was in an accident. He broke his ankle pretty badly. I don't remember if he just had to stay home for a long time, or if he was just home this day, or what. But anyway Dad was home, and I was home (hm... it must have been before school actually started back up, then)... and he needed to stop at his workplace for something. I had driven Mom to work (in the automatic transmission Subaru), so Dad asked me to take him to work, and I did, and of course made it there without incident.

On the way back home we were driving down the freeway, which was wide open and empty... except for the car that was directly in my blind spot. So we're flying along at 55mph, Dad's reclined in the passenger seat, and I need to move left so that I won't be in the exit lane. And I didn't see the one. single. other car on the entire freeway for miles. Now, this guy could have moved into the next lane over as he honked his horn at me, and he could have flipped me off, and sworn at me, but he didn't. He just laid on his horn and stayed right where he was. I, on the other hand, had a near heart-attack, and over-corrected, yanking the steering wheel hard to the right. And as I'm racing toward the freeway barrier, I freak out again and yank the wheel hard to the left, making a swooping, speeding arc toward the left barrier. Once again I pull the wheel to the right, braking this time, and shrieking out my best horror-movie, blood-curdling, "we're about to die" scream as we come to a stop about a foot away from the right-side barrier. And after a second, Dad looks over at me and calmly says, "Did that scare you?"

And that is the difference between my mom and my dad. ♥

Odds & Ends

..or maybe Oddities & Ends

Just a few things I've noticed about myself...

I've been sick for the last couple of days, and I seem to have a morbid fascination with the way it makes me feel. First I had a fever—102.9 at the high point, although I have to wonder if this was because I was buried in blankets with the bed-warmer on...  And of course, fever means chills (hence the cocoon). This lasted a night and a day and a night. Today I'm mostly just tired.

But the weird thing is... well, two weird things: 1. Food tastes strange. I swear I could taste cinnamon in the home-made chicken noodle soup that had no cinnamon in it. Bleh.
2. I just feel wrung out. My body hurts, I'm super tired, and I'm shaky. Like I had a really long workout session. Which maybe I did.

But here is the odd thing: I'm not out for sympathy or anything. It's just that I catch myself really paying attention to the way these things feel, almost as if I were observing someone else who was sick. But, oh my goodness! I am so glad I don't feel this way when I see other people who are sick. (Could you imagine, in a household of ten people?!)

Well, Being sick is weird. That's one thing.

Here's the next thing I've observed:
I am sewing a costume and I'm putting in a lot of extra work that might not even be seen from the stage. But I have to do it. I am driven to do it. Because it will make me happy. Like Inigo Montoya wanting to fight "the man in black" left-handed, I can have no satisfaction if I don't do it this way.

And here's the third thing:
Whenever I am sewing a seam, the first pin I pull out of the fabric goes into my mouth and stays there until the seam is completely sewn. I never put more than one pin into my mouth; I never take that pin out until I'm finished. Every. Time. It is how I sew.

So, three idiosyncrasies. There's probably a lot more. A lot more. Do you ever observe yourself this way—as if from the outside, looking in?

Sweet?

So here's a thing I've been thinking about since..a few weeks before Thanksgiving, I guess.

I had been thinking I'd like to be doing more for other people, and not just worrying about my own, and my family's, concerns so much. I was starting to feel really self-centered, and a little down. And it was hard because I'm not really in a position to do much for people. Or, the things I  can do... I may not be aware of the need.

One day, in Relief Society, they sent around a sign-up for people to cook once a week for an older couple; they had recently discovered that the wife had congestive heart disease, and would probably die within six months. The husband was taking care of the cooking, and didn't feel like he needed help, but they were glad to accept the offer of having someone bring them a meal once a week and visit with them a little, on Wednesdays. And I thought, "I can do that." So I signed up for a day that was still free.

And then I thought, It's easy for me to cook a meal for another person, or even for a whole other family. I have food in the house; I like to cook. This is something I can do for other people. And I decided to volunteer to cook for people whenever I heard about that particular need. So whenever a sign-up sheet went around, I put my name on it.

And pretty soon people started telling me, "It's so sweet of you to do that!"

??

OK. Next scenario.

I found out about a family who needed some Christmas. The only thing I did was put a bug into the right ears, and Christmas happened. And it was wonderful to be a part of it—to see how people just jumped in to help. That was truly the best part of my Christmas this year. But, again, people were telling me, "It's so sweet of you to do this for them!"

And it was weird, you know? That's not what it was about.

One more.

A few weeks ago a friend, an older lady who lives by herself, called us on a Saturday night around 9 p.m. because she needed a ride to the emergency room. Bruce and I were glad to take her. And we stayed with her until 2 a.m. and gave her a ride home.

The following Sunday I was telling another friend about this and she said, "It was so sweet of you to do that for her."

And I am really puzzled.

I'm not doing these things, or telling people about them because I want a pat on the head. I told people about the Christmas thing because I  needed the help. I was telling about my Saturday friend in the E.R. because my Sunday friend wondered why I was so tired that day.

I wasn't being sweet. It's just...  These things needed to be done; people had a need. And I was there. I didn't do anything amazing, I just did what anyone would have done.

So how should I react—what should I say—to people who want to praise me for these things? Because the polite—and even kind—thing would be to graciously accept their compliment, I guess. I mean, if someone praised my skills as a pianist (which is not likely with the amount of practicing I do), that's what I would do; I would just say, "Thank you." But that is really a different thing.

I guess this is why we do our alms in secret; why, when we do a good deed, we try to do it so that our right hand doesn't even know what the left hand is doing.

I don't need anyone to say anything about this; I'm certainly not fishing for more compliments. I'm just trying to process it, I guess.

Organ Transplant

Today I need to talk about something really important.

Just kidding!

I'm really going to talk about Christmas some more!

Despite all the extra stuff we were doing all the way up to Christmas Eve, we managed to get the house fairly clean and our traditional dinner all cooked by 6:30. (Michael asked, "How long has this dinner actually been a 'tradition'?"  He did say it with the extra quotation marks—I could hear it. Well... Only about three years, I guess. But it's yummy, so now it's a tradition.) We used paper plates, so clean-up was easy. Hooray!

Then we watched How the Grinch Stole Christmas and A Charlie Brown Christmas while we hid in our respective corners, behind large pillows and piles of wrapping paper, and finished wrapping all our gifts. For the rest of the evening we played some games, ate snacky things, and then wrapped up the evening watching The Christ Child. 

I guess I got to bed before midnight—which is saying something on Christmas Eve.

But then I had to visit the bathroom at 4:00 a.m. I went back to bed, thoroughly intending to continue my long winter's nap, but I was still awake at 5:00. So I got up, figuring there was no sense, or kindness, in tossing around and keeping Bruce awake too. I went and sat at the computer, and played dumb solitaire games. Then at 5:30 I heard an alarm go off. Really?!

My three stinker girls all got up, went down the stairs and into the great room where they sat looking at the tree and the presents, and talking and giggling together. (Actually, I think this is their tradition. 😊 )  I thought for sure they'd go and "wake me up" at any minute. But by 6:00 they hadn't made their move, and I was tired enough to go back to bed, so I did. I waited for them to come get us, but  I just fell asleep again pretty quickly.

The girls finally did start knocking on bedroom doors at 7:00, and I woke up more groggy than I had at 4:00. Ah, well.

Breakfast went into the ovens to bake while we opened gifts. My kids with jobs had gotten gifts for everyone, and we had the things I got, and a couple of things that Santa brought us—including a banana chair! It was nice. But we couldn't open the home-made sibling gifts because Jason and Adreanna spent their Christmas Day with her parents; that tradition would have to wait a couple more days.

Bruce got the first gift of the morning: nestled among twelve
pairs of socks was a book of Dad Jokes (from Lindsey).
And then we had to listen to him read out Dad Jokes for a while before we could get back to opening gifts.

We had our lovely—traditional—breakfast around 9 a.m., and when breakfast was done I would have gone back to bed...but we were expecting Daniel to come and help Bruce unload my giant surprise from the van. Daniel showed up around 10:30 with his brother-in-law, Nick, and his older kids, Thomas, Ruth Ann, and Hannah. I prepared our afternoon/evening meal for the oven—with my back to the goings-on—while I heard the grunts and clunks and movings of fate. Or a Christmas present.

They had to remove the door from its hinges
in order to get my gift into the house...

And the entire time I was hoping that I would be sufficiently excited and pleased after all the build-up of the past couple of weeks. (Oh...wow. You got me a mechanical bull. Thanks...?)

They did finally wrangle it into place, but to do it they had moved the table so it blocked my path from the kitchen directly to the great room. I had to go around, through the hallway, through the living room, through the dining area, and then in to where my gift sat. The paparazzi were there with their cameras along the entire route.

I walked into the great room and saw...

This cracks me up—look at all the cameras pointed at me! 😃

An organ!

A full-size, performance/church organ (32 foot pedals and two keyboards...registers), in a really beautiful wood console. Wow!

I also got a box of organ music, and about ten old music magazines called The Etude, which were printed in the early 1930's. I may copy a couple of the covers of those, frame them, and hang them in the great room, near the organ. Maybe.

It didn't take me long to start wondering if Bruce, who is a terrible liar, actually lied to me when I asked if he'd gotten me an organ, or if that was one thing where he just said, "That would be cool!"  What do you think?

Anyway, the man who called Bruce way back on the ...third?... day of Christmas was a guy in our ward. His brother-in-law wanted to get rid of this organ that he's had for about thirty years, but he wanted it to go to someone who would use it. He got it from a lady who had it for around twenty years, and she got it from the old Ashley Ward Building, and we didn't know how long it had been there. And now it belongs to us. Wow. (Actually, I'm still trying to wrap my head around this.)

We spent the rest of the afternoon visiting with friends. The Ray kids and our kids exchanged gifts and played a game together. We ate more snacky stuff, and in the evening we watched a movie; End Game, I think (which is when I fell asleep). Then we played some of our new games—Big Boggle, and Splickety-Litt. Fun!

So we had a great Christmas Day—really nice. But our holiday still wasn't over...