Bucket List

It's Thanksgiving, 2012.  I'm at home, making my jello salad layer by layer, and am, by tradition, running late.  Will it have all 10 layers?  Maybe, maybe not.  I had full intentions of getting an early start last night, but Larry and Iris called me at 7:00 saying they had an extra ticket to an ice hockey game, so I went with them.  Time well-spent.

My mortality has been harder to ignore lately.  What with doctors prescribing things like compression stockings (honestly!) and tut-tutting about my blood pressure, and adding to my prescription list ad nauseum, I have realized I may not, in fact, live forever. At least not in mortality.  Don't get me wrong; I still plan on living until I'm 84 (the age at which I decided all of my grandchildren would be at least 12), and death itself is not really even on the agenda then (heard of twinkling?).  However, in the interest of full disclosure, there is this survey I took yesterday on my personal life span that is haunting me a bit.  Because of recent good habits--exercising and losing weight--and my life long abstinence of drugs and alcohol,  my biological age came back at 48, a full ten years younger than I am.  My life span number was 98!  Wahoo.  Way older than 84. Unfortunately, my age of feeling healthy and acting healthy was 58.  Dang.  Does that mean ten years from the 48 number or does that mean right now?  Well, who knows?  But it sobered me.  (It should sober my caregivers for the last 40 years of my life; btw, great program on NPR yesterday about the value of multi-generations living under one roof!)  So, in the interest of realism, I have decided to at least make a bucket list.  Things I want to do before I die:

1.  Read all of the Newbery Medal books.
2.  Finish Trick and maybe a couple of others.
3.  Visit Scotland again.  At least once.
4.  Go on a mission.
Hmmm . . . This is harder than I thought. That's all I can think off right off the top of my head. Surely there are more.
4.  Read a lot more books.  Duh.  
5.  Oh, I know--finish all the scrapbooks I've started.  Well, there's ten years.
6.  Have a flower garden from April to September that I'm proud of.
Seriously.  Have I no sense of adventure?  Most of this stuff I can do while I'm sitting up in bed at the nursing home.  Okay, I'm being realistic.  Maybe I'll think big, but I have no intention of getting to do all these things.
6.  Visit Africa and China.
7.  Publish a children's book and become sort of famous.
8.  Visit every single Temple.
9.  Wear a size 10.
10. Get married.  Haha!

Mostly all I want to do is be as happy as I am right this minute!  If I can make a difference with the students I teach, pay my bills and see or talk to one of my children or grandchildren almost every day, I'll have a very nice life.


  

Happy Birthday To Me

When I was a teenager, I used to write in a journal quite regularly.  Often, I would light several candles in my room at the same time and listen to melancholy music.  I wrote special entries two times a year.  Inventories.  One was on New Year's Eve and the other was on my birthday.  Sadly, but perhaps wisely, I threw out those journals, filled with teenage angst as they were.  In later years, I wrote in journals and continued, for a while at least, the yearly inventories.  Unfortunately, they devolved into really sad accounts of everything I was failing at.  They would always end with goal setting.  Lose weight.  Read my scriptures more.  Be nicer.  Keep the house cleaner.  I stopped writing in my journal.

Still, it is in my nature to write.  I've attempted comebacks from time to time.  Vacation journals.  Spiritual thoughts journals.  Scripture memorizing journals.  Food and weight loss journals.  And most entries start the same way--"It's been so long!  I can't believe I haven't written in so many months!"  Then blogging came along.  I decided to write essays to satisfy the life long dream of writing; my thinking being that if I wrote semi-public blogs, it would inspire me to edit and re-write and thus improve a talent.  I blog less often than I write in my journals.

It is less than an hour before my 58th birthday.  Inventory time.  I'm still trying to lose weight, still not reading my scriptures as often as I could, I'm still not nice to everyone all the time, and I will never have a house to which I'm comfortable having company visit unannounced.  I have not fulfilled my goal in writing fiction for children. Well, that's not true.  I've written plenty, but never worked hard enough to be published.  I'm a decent teacher, my students know I love them and most of my co-workers like me.  Not all of them.  I'm single, wish I were married but can't imagine how that could ever happen.  I have four children and six grandchildren on whom I am too dependent for love and approval, but are unquestionably the greatest joys in my life.

I sound as though I am filled with middle aged angst.  Perhaps I am.

Oddly, one thing saved me as a teenager when failure and discouragement weighed me down, and it still saves me today.  Forty some years ago, I had a deep knowledge of a Heavenly Father and Savior who loved me.  I knew that no matter how imperfect I was, they would always love me. And despite my other failings, I pray often, and am subsequently blessed and comforted. 

So, when I lose 5 pounds and then eat banana bread muffins all day and gain it back, when I waste time watching TV instead of writing or cleaning or exercising, even when I am unforgiving or cause offense, I can honestly say that it's a wonderful life.  I will get up in the morning, feeling a little older, and spend time with friends, talk to family on the phone, and count my many, many blessings. 

Acknowledging Him in All Things

"Trust in the Lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways, acknowledge Him and He shall direct thy paths." Proverbs 3:5

Day after Thanksgiving acknowledgements. I am thankful for and acknowledge my Savior for:

1. The basic necessities of life given in rich abundance: food, shelter, clothing. I have immediate access to nutritious food and clean water; I have a warm, safe house with lots of stuff I love; I have clothing for every need and every season.

2. The love of family and friends--considered by many the fourth basic necessity of life.

3. My children. Kind, loving, interesting, compassionate, and humorous--one and all. They make me proud and allow me to experience the love my Heavenly Father has for all of His children.

4. My son- and daughters-in-law. I love them as much as I love my children. Which says a lot.

5. My grandchildren. For me, as close to a fifth basic necessity of life as possible. I know that many people never are given the blessing of children and grandchildren, so I am even more grateful that Heavenly Father has allowed me this opportunity. My fondest desire is that my love for them can help them in their lives in whatever way is needed.

6. Temples.

7. My students who teach me to listen and love while I teach them the order of operations and when to use commas.

8. Books.

9. Chocolate. I think it's more than just food.

10. Cats. Really. I know it makes me sound lonely and pathetic, but I really really like cats.

Give Peas a Chance

Recently, President Obama (whom I like, for the record, even though I am willing to accept he may be like President Carter, whom I also like, when it comes to getting things done--or it may be that no one in Wash DC has the slightest interest in working together, I just don't know) said we should all cowboy up and eat our peas. Actually, he said something about eating our peas as an analogy for doing something difficult but that may be good for us. He didn't say 'cowboy up' but he should have because a plethora of pea growers got into a little snit because he was implying that no one likes peas. I don't think the cowboys would have minded being used in a presidential analogy.

Anyway, I know people who don't like peas and I'm just here to say that they are loaded with fiber and protein, have no fat and not many calories and they come in really cute little packages. So, people, cowboy up and eat your peas. I love them and I'm not afraid to let it be known.

Morning Walks

I think I have a new habit. It's hard to know for sure; it's only been 2 weeks and I've heard it takes 21 days to establish a new habit. (Who comes up with this stuff? Probably someone who wrote a grant and then got paid to tell us that it takes exactly 21 days to establish a new habit! I want that job.)

Anyway, I'll rephrase. For the time being, I have a new interest which will last as long as I am being rewarded for doing it. (I'm basically a behaviorist--all human behavior happens because it is being reinforced.) This interest is walking for an hour, or more!, every morning.

I try to go at about 7:00, before it gets hot. I take a different neighborhood route every day--there are a plethora to choose from--and I think I must be walking a little faster because I seem to be travelling more and more ground.

If I choose a route that goes up a hill and challenges my legs, then I have to put up with the car exhaust from the lucky people who have jobs (actually, I sort of like not having to leave for work at 7:00, but don't tell any potential employers that). I've walked along the canal a few times lately and I like that. Lots of trees, running water, and I can talk to myself without any drivers thinking I'm crazy. Because I mean I talk to myself--outloud--not just think to myself. I also answer myself.

Sometimes, these talks are conversations with my Heavenly Father. I know people who might think that sounds weird or pretentious, but it's what I do. It seems more productive than kneeling by my bed, which I also do, because I can pause and reflect on what answers might be coming and there's not much chance I'll fall asleep.

Here's what I reflected on today:
1. My body is a temple. And just like the Boise Temple is being remodeled so that it works better, my body needs to be remodeled so that it works better. Both jobs will probably take a year. Yikes. I'm grateful for my friend who is doing minor remodeling on her own temple because I'm not sure I could do this alone.

2. I will continue to consider the lilies. My house payments will be made. Eventually.

3. As much as I hate the prospect, for a plethora of reasons (twice this blog for extra credit from the vocabulary fairy), I think I might want to get married again someday. I hope both temples are ready by then.

4. People have interesting expectations for me. I wasn't giving myself my MS shots once a week like I was supposed to, so my doctor changed to a different type that I should be giving myself 3 times a week. I wasn't doing my visiting teaching with 3 sisters so my very good friend the Relief Society president gave my partner and me 6 sisters. hmmmm The higher expectations are probably for my own good.

5. I really do love my children more than they will ever know. Sometimes they need me more than other times and that's fine. In fact, that's the plan. One of the roles I hope for is to always be a mother who knows when she's needed and when she's not and doesn't mix up her needs for theirs.

That's about it. Not a bad walk.

Lead Kindly Light

Lead lindly light, amid th'encircling gloom
Lead thou me on.
The night is dark, and I am far from home
Lead thou me on.
Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant shore--one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, not pray'd that thou
Shouldst lead me on.
I loved to choose and see my path, but now
Lead thou me on.
I loved the garish day and spite of fears,
Pride ruled my heart, remember not past years.

So long thy pow'r hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on.
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone.
And with the morn, those angel faces smile
Which I have loved long since and lost awhile.

A couple of years ago, I took a step into the unknown. I left a secure job when I was offered one that was much closer to home. I felt sure it was the right thing to do, and still feel that way even though the new job ended after one year. When I found out I was being laid off, a sense of calm and peace assured me that things would turn out fine and that my Heavenly Father was aware of my needs. Of course, impatient person that I am, I thought that meant things would turn out fine quickly. To cure this impatience, I have been given a plethora (that's right--I'm going to use this word in every blog I post) of learning experiences where I want answers to my prayers in a nano-second as opposed to 'due time,' the time frame Heaven seems to operate under.

Sometimes I feel like I am walking in the dark. I get discouraged and wonder, like Tevye, if it would spoil some vast eternal plan if I were wealthy. Heck, I don't even need to be wealthy. If I could pay all my bills and afford gas to Utah a couple of times a year, I would be satisfied. Well, maybe every July in Scotland, too. And it would be nice to buy things at garage sales without feeling guilty.

It's not really the money though. It's the self-doubt. Am I doing all that I should? Am I still too proud? I hate accepting help from others, let alone asking for it. Is this a fore-ordained test of some kind or a natural consequence of the economy? Most of all, am I learning what I need to learn or will I need a hundred more opportunities just like this one?

Here is what I have learned: If I trust in the Lord with all my heart and I don't try to understand things in an earthly way, if I remember that He is over all things and allow Him to direct my paths, I will be okay. And if I remember and rehearse in my mind the words to my favorite hymn, I will continue to feel peace in this uncertain chapter of my wonderful life.

I think that I shall never see a poem lovely as a tree . . .

I have always liked this poem even though my teachers probably thought it was too simplistic. Sometimes it seemed like a poem had to be vague and beyond comprehension to be of quality. Personally, I preferred poems that only required a couple of readings--laziness on my part, no doubt. I always liked Wordsworth of course; he was British and wrote about daffodils, but when I had to memorize Flanders Fields by John Macrae, I had little understanding of the horrible warfare it chronicled. I blame that on my history teachers. But I digress. I love poems, but I love trees even more.

I came to this renewed realization today while on a walk. At first I noticed how many different trees there were and how some had been pruned to barely let me pass underneath. (I felt sorry for tall walkers for at least 3 seconds.) But then, I realized I had left home too late. It was getting warm and I had to keep crossing streets to find shade. I don't do well in heat, but actually, the shade from trees keeps the sun from baking us all. I'm not exaggerating. Think about the Sahara Desert. Just an unforgiving sun, no trees at all. I've seen plenty of poems lovelier than the sun. I don't hate the sun--it keeps us from freezing and wandering around bumping into trees, which of course couldn't grow without the sun, so fine, I like the sun, too--but I like trees way more.

In my childhood, from whence a plethora (:)) of wonderful memories come, I used to sit in a hollow area under and in between two giant lilac bushes and snowball bushes in my back yard. Probably daydreaming and/or hiding from the messy room police. In elementary school, on the way home, we walked by a giant fir tree and we could sit under it also. Trees--and bushes I guess--are like Mother Nature's skirts that shelter us from harm and where we are safe. Unless there's a thunderstorm when you probably shouldn't stand under them.

You know, I just really liked all the trees I saw on this morning's walk, but it's clearly as difficult to write about this particular sentiment as it is to write a really good poem, so I'll let Joyce Kilmer take it from here:

I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.

---Joyce Kilmer