The Magic of Minor Holidays

We have a long tradition of getting the most out of our minor holidays.  David once made the best decision of his life on a minor holiday and since then we do our best to joyfully exploit every minor holiday on the calendar.

Yesterday was no exception.

We all slept in, with the exception of Caleb who set his alarm and rode his bike to the church to set up flags around the neighborhood with the rest of the scouts.  Do I love that I heard his alarm and then rolled over, burrowed into David's side and went back to sleep, completely confident that he would get himself up and do his duty?  Yes, I do.

I made a big breakfast of crazy pancakes (which are really German Pancakes, but we call our crepes "German Pancakes" and so we needed a new name for the actual German Pancakes.  This was a mistake perpetrated in the last generation in our family and I don't know why I didn't correct it when I had children.  Make a note Em, this madness can stop with you.)

And then we played games until mid-afternoon when I took Olivia to her viola lesson and stopped at the store for baking potatoes.

David surprised us all by coming home by five, a rare occurrence on any day, and celebrated by kissing me thoroughly while the potatoes baked.  And just when things started taking a turn for the scandalous and he began pulling me towards a more private corner (I'm telling you he has a thing for minor holidays), I raised my head and caught my children enjoying a perfect gloaming together.

At dinner, Olivia bowed her head and thanked heaven for "all the soldiers and all the veterans who had fought in that war."  We all said "Amen" and meant it.  Because of them we enjoyed a perfect minor holiday, free and safe, in the middle of the week in the middle of November.  We could not have been more grateful.

I was humming this morning while I dished eggs onto the plates.  Ethan said, "You're alone again today, Mom."  He had a worried look on his face that said he didn't want to be the one to break the news to me but somebody had to do it.

I said, "Yep."

"Then why are you happy?"

I smiled at him and told him to eat his eggs.

Why am I happy?  Leftovers from yesterday, I suppose.  And the small, delicious taste we got of the major holidays just around the corner.  I really can't help myself.  I have been seduced, yet again, by the bewitching charms of the minor holiday.  After all, she has all the fun and none of the work and stress and pressure of her more "official" sister.  Which is just more evidence of birth-order discrimination, I say.  Apparently, even first-born holidays do most of the work.

(That's right, I said it.  My brothers and sisters may now audibly groan.  It's still true, though.)   

Better Than a B12 Shot

There is a story that is told in my family, especially among the women.  A family folk tale of sorts, but I heard it from my Aunt Margaret who swears it's true.

It goes that when my mom and her sisters were young and my grandmother would get in a particularly bad mood, one of my aunts would call my grandpa and tell him to bring home the B12 shot.  My grandpa was a doctor and on really rough days he would bring his doctor bag home and while my grandmother was madly stirring away at something on the stove he would lift up her sleeve, swab her arm, and give her a shot.  The story goes that neither of them acknowledged that he'd done it, she'd go on doing whatever she was doing without even looking at him, and he'd put everything back in his bag.

(I told this story to David once and he said, "Really?  Did it work?" and then wondered aloud how you go about getting B12.  He said he was just kidding when I protested indignantly.  But sometimes when I am particularly hard to live with and I see him staring off into space, I know he is secretly wondering if there is a B12 black market.)

There were several things this week that just made me happy.  Better than a B12 shot, I say.  The picture above was one of them.  The American Girl Christmas Catalog arrived this week.  When David got the mail he said, "Oh no."  I just smiled.  The girls poured over it, took it to school for conferences with their friends, let their dolls peruse it, and sat with David oohing and aahing over the holiday spreads.  This morning, after the girls had gone to school, I found Olivia's dolls making their own Christmas lists.  The anticipation has begun already.

And while I'm at it, just for the joy of it, here are a few more things this week that made me happy:

I found a get well note under Olivia's pillow from Savannah, that was mostly a long paragraph listing the fun they could have together once Olivia was feeling better and a profession her love.  Eighteen x's and o's with lots of exclamation points.  And speaking of sisters, I got a comment on my post yesterday from both of my sisters and one sister-in-law, all of whom knew exactly what I was alluding to.  I thought how very nice it is to be known.  I was completely delighted at this happy gift and the little impromptu book club on my blog. 

Yesterday David suggested that we meet for lunch.  I put him off thinking that we were both too busy, but then changed my mind after I got ready for the day because I thought I looked so good he really deserved to see me.  We met at In-n-Out and ate outside in the decidedly pleasant weather.  It is so rare to see him in the middle of the day, I have decided that lunch is my favorite kind of date.  The only downfall of the lunch date is there is no place for passionate necking.

Savannah and I have plans to tea-dye her mummy rags after school today, and we are going to pick pumpkins this Saturday.  For whatever reason I am embracing the Halloween season this year and my children could not be more pleased.  Perhaps it is all the spooky movie watching...we have plans for another movie marathon this weekend.  On tap, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Casper, and Ghostbusters.  And David and I have our own late-night plans for Wait Until Dark, my personal Halloween favorite which I could watch any time of the year.

Yesterday I took Savannah and Ethan to the school book fair in the afternoon.  They both spent their birthday money on new books.  (Thanks Greg and Becca!)  Can I tell you how happy it makes me that I have children who would rather spend their money on books than anything else?  Deliriously so.

And speaking of books, Caleb has been working on his Reading Merit Badge.  One of the requirements was to read to a child for four hours.  He completed the requirement by reading to Ethan every evening, but they both enjoyed the experience so much that they've continued reading together every night since.  Last night they finished The Enormous Egg.  My heart does little thumps of joy as I hear Caleb reading and Ethan laughing from the other room and see their heads tipped towards each other in a pool of yellow lamp light.  Be still my heart.

Best of all, the weekend is here.  Mine is going to include date night, stake conference, sugar cookies, an indian-food dinner party, a trip to the thrift stores for our missing costume essentials, and maybe even a nap.  Color me delighted.

Like a Fire is Burning

Last week we fall-breaked.  Which meant games and "scary" movies every evening (tis the season).  And late night runs to the store for supplies to make cheesecake and pumpkin pie just because they sounded good.  Caleb and I worked on merit badges while the girls had sleepovers with their cousins and their dolls, and we ate dinner on the patio every night.  David is nearly drowning at the hospital these days and arrived home late every night, but it didn't matter since bedtime had been suspended for the week.

On Friday we went camping and played games in the tent and cooked our meals on the campstove and s'mores over the fire.

It was a good week with my children.

Last night on our way to a meeting I told David, "I hate Sunday nights."  He laughed and admitted the same thing.  It's like being born again every Monday, ripped from heaven and thrown back into the lone and dreary world, blinking and blinded by reality and to-do lists.  A feeling made worse last night by the fact that I had had my children home all week and knowing it would be another nine weeks until they were all mine again.

The meeting we were headed to was the dedication of our new stake center, as our old one had burned down nearly two years ago.  I went to the meeting out of duty, aware only of my looming week and temporal worries.  I left the meeting transfigured.  I had no idea that it was going to be a gift from heaven.  I have rarely felt such an outpouring of the spirit, and I have never heard such a beautiful, powerful prayer.  As we rose at the end to sing "The Spirit of God" I was reminded of the rededication of the Manti temple that I attended as a child. 

I felt like I was standing in front of the burning bush.

And I was on fire too.

David put his arm around me to prop me up in front of all that heat and love.

I was overwhelmed by the love of heaven, by the palpable presence of God and his angels, the truthfulness of his work, but mostly by the mercy and kindness of my Savior, Jesus Christ. 

And that fire burned through all the choking anxieties and paralyzing demands of earth life, scorched my burdens and my fears, and left me joyful and stronger and brimming with faith.

I sobbed most of the way home, which wonderfully, did nothing to quench those flames.  The fire is still burning this morning, as David noted with a smile as he kissed me goodbye and I smiled up at him.  I don't think he's seen one of those on a Monday morning since school started. 

Transfigured, indeed.

Things That Are Worth Driving 20 Hours For

I call this, "Roadtripping with a Purpose."

On Friday morning, we set the alarm and instead of dressing for school we headed north in the early morning light.

We drove all day.  And tomorrow we will drive all day back home.

But there are things worth driving 20 hours for.  I present them below for your reference. 

1.  For this undivided view.  (This is reason enough, by the way, but there are more.)

2.  To see LaVell Edwards Stadium lit up at night.

3.  To watch the moon rise spectacularly over the Rocky Mountains.

4.  For the bird's eye view.

5.  For these smiles.  (Alma mater's sons and daughters.)

6.  To be this close to the action.

7.  To deliver a baby gift.  (It's better in person.)

8.  But mostly, for this series of pictures here...I post them all because of the story they tell.  Be still my beating heart.

I am nearly undone by the picture of "eternity" I captured, quite by accident, in the first picture, as my husband, and our boy get ready for Caleb's first priesthood session of General Conference.  They are going to the Conference Center where they will sit and listen in the very same room as the prophet of God. 

It was worth it. 

And then some.

When You Were Young

Last night The Killers were in town.

In lieu of Family Home Evening I put charcoal around my eyes and David drove me (all prickly) to the concert.  I had emailed him earlier in the day and foolishly written that I wasn't going.  He wisely ignored me.

Brilliant man.

And now a confession:  it was the first concert I've ever been to.  And I think David was out of practice because we got there in time to see the opening band and the theatre was still only half full.  Most people only showed up in time to see the Killers' first song, "Joyride."

It was a great concert.  Absolutely incredible to see them live.

I danced.  I screamed.  I jumped up and down with the drummer's pounding.  I begged for more.  David screamed at me between numbers, "This is so good!"

The Killers' latest album has been the soundtrack of my life for nearly a year now as I've shuttled kids to and from.  (David introduced me to it, of course.)  One day last winter I told David that it might be the best album ever made.  A few weeks later he announced he had tickets to their concert for my birthday. 

We crawled into bed late last night and whispered our throaty goodnights because we were hoarse from screaming.  And this morning, with a sore throat and charcoal smeared down my cheeks, I hummed "For Reasons Unknown" as I tied the girls' hair up for the day, and thought about my love affair with David.

There were a million reasons I fell in love with David.  (Someday I will tell you the story about the one at the gas station in Orderville, Utah that sealed the deal.)

But last night, I remembered this one.

He is dancer.

He was always the cool guy who listened to cool music and introduced me the joys of a really good bass guitar and a soulful melody, of the language that only a rock band has, and of the transformation of words by rhythm and electric guitar and a bass drum as deep as your secrets.  I felt like a groupie around him sometimes.

Last night in my new Bonnie Tyler voice I told him how strange it was that we had never been to a concert together, as he has been my music tutor all these years.  And it seems like the thing to do when you are young.

He smiled and reminded me of how poor we used to be.  When the choice between food and music was always food.

And so there we were.  Fifteen years later (when the choice is now between food and music lessons) with four children and a mortgage on a Monday night, escaping for just a few hours back into our early courtship.  It felt like a memory.  Like a door to a life before spelling lists and medical staff meetings.  When we were young.  I was vibrating by the time we left. 

And sometimes you close your eyes

And see the place where you used to live

When you were young.

Through A Glass, Darkly

This morning Caleb said the prayer.  It was longer than usual. 

Over the weekend our prayer list grew.

And he was reminding heaven about each of our loved ones by name, one by one.

On Sunday we went to church fasting and praying with the rest of our congregation.  I walked into church behind a good friend and thought about the comfort of worshipping together as I watched her Sunday heels enter the building.  I thought about what it means to pray together when tragedy strikes.  Of asking for help when we feel helpless.  And the comfort of belonging.

This weekend we received the news that one friend had died unexpectedly, and another two had come very, very close. 

And suddenly, in a flash of awareness, I remembered that one breath separates this life and the next.  That ordinary life is a luxury.  That asking your husband to take the garbage out is a gift.  That being irritated that he's in a meeting and late for dinner is a grace.  That most of the time, I am living blind to the real situation:  that anything and everything can change in a moment.

I thought about that all day.  I went to church and prayed with my family.  And in between my messages for comfort and healing for our friends, I asked heaven to also help me remember that regular, ordinary life with its dishes and homework and socks left by the side of the bed are evidence of the kindness of heaven.  That being able to wake up next to David and then blearily make pancakes for six is the tenderest mercy of all.

I thought about that all day.

And then we went to bed and had a fight.

(Technically, it was really just me fighting because David never participates, despite all my goading.  He'd rather kiss than fight.  And sometimes that, in and of itself, makes me want to fight.  I don't need a good reason, see?)

He rubbed my foot while I railed.

He rubbed by back while I got it all out.

And then I fell asleep and after a while, David's snoring woke me.  I pushed his heavy arm from around my waist and I thought about the luxuries of my life.  Of fighting over nothing.  Of an arm thrown over me in the dark.  Of someone lying next to me, waking me with their snoring.  Of how dark the glass I am peering through must be.  And how between that and the blindness of my mind, I must be nearly always lost.

And for a long time after that, I thanked heaven for my blessings. 

Especially the ones I can't see.

Emptying My Pockets

I woke up this morning and knew it was time.

Just like that.

I have been hording my pictures of our vacation to British Columbia like presents on Christmas morning.  I always like to open mine last, to make the moment last as long as possible.  I eat the crust around my toast first for the same reason.  I save the butter-soaked middle for last.

Somehow, in my mildly mad head, I thought this post would signal the end of those magical three weeks.  (Which in reality, did actually end about three weeks ago.  Whatever.)  And I was not ready for it to be over.  But yesterday we went and bought new backpacks and bright, new underwear and a box of number twos with fresh pink erasers.

And today I woke up ready to empty my pockets.

This morning I dumped a used water bottle, full of the sand and shells of Cox Bay, onto a paper towel in my kitchen and set it in the sun to dry.  When it is dry I will put it in a glass jar and it will join the other bottles of summertime past sitting in my kitchen window.   

And this fall, when I am rinsing the morning syrup off the dishes in this quiet house, or wildly rushing to make dinner in the middle of lessons and softball games and orchestra rehearsal, I will remember our magical holiday.  There is a good chance I will cry a bit (let's be honest, it's me we're talking about), but I also think there's a chance that I will smile after the crying.  

At least now I feel ready to.

And now, a movie and some details.  Details first. 

We drove to Utah on a Sunday and spent the next four days playing with David's family.  We climbed Mount Timpanogos and the kids swam and we ate at all our old haunts.  While we were there, my beloved grandmother passed away and so on Friday we drove down to St. George for her funeral.  It was beautiful.  Full of music and testimony.  I know she liked it.  My favorite part was the letter she wrote to us, which my uncle read at the funeral.

On the fourth of July, the next day, we drove to Boise, ID to meet my brother Jacob, his lovely wife Lisa and their two delicious boys.  The next morning we caravaned to Port Angeles, WA and drove onto a ferry boat which took us all over to Vancouver Island.  We spent the night there in Victoria and the next day we walked around the city and fed the seals at the wharf and ate the best fish and chips I've ever had.  In the afternoon we got back in the cars and drove about five hours to a little surfing town at the end of the road called Tofino.

We stayed there for five glorious days.  We boogie-boarded, we beach-combed, we hot-tubbed, we whale-watched, we built beach campfires, we played games, we rode our bikes up and down the beaches.  I told you.  Magic.

Then we drove to Nanaimo, BC, (saw Cathedral Grove on the way) and boarded another ferry for Vancouver.  Once there, we drove about an hour north to Whistler, BC.  The next morning Jacob and Lisa headed back for Idaho, and we spent another four days riding the trams and ski lifts and zip lines of Whistler and Blackcomb mountains.  We slept and hiked and saw the latest Potter movie and four black bears.  While we were there, we shopped for souvenirs and heirloom tomatoes at the farmer's market and the stomach flu went through most of us.

We arrived home on a Saturday to a 100-degree house, almost three weeks from the day we left.

David keeps talking about going to Kauai next year for our anniversary.  I told him I only want to go back to Tofino.  For the rest of my life.  It was that good.

And now, our holiday in still-frame and set to music:

1000 Words About Why

I drove 15 hours for this.

It was worth it.

And then some.

Pining for Eden

The thunder woke us up last night.  I couldn't think of the last time I heard thunder in Arizona.  And even now the world is slowly dripping outside my window.

Strange.  (Bordering on spooky.)

Half asleep, I said a big "Wow," holding out the vowel too long and asking David if that really was thunder.  He grunted in the affirmative and rolled over.

I said triumphantly, "See, the whole universe is mourning our fall from grace."  But he was already asleep again.  He doesn't believe in seeing signs in the weather.

I, however, tend to.  Just for the melodrama if nothing else.  Reading the mind of heaven by the inflections in the clouds.  Almost as good as reading David's eyebrows.  (Which I am brilliant at, by the way, no matter what he says.)

Last night in the dark, while the skies rolled above us and added their own consternation to mine, (I love it when the universe agrees with me), I thought about our magical days on the beach at Tofino. 

And pined away the rest of the night.

I pined especially for July 10th.  The best day of my entire year.   

That morning we rode our bikes to the beach at low tide, when the fog was still thick and sand dollars littered the beach, a fortune free for the taking,   

and the kids scrambled over the tide pools and filled their pockets with the discarded homes of sea creatures.

 

We rode the bikes all the way down McKenzie beach

and flew the kite,

and then nearly got lost in the fog on the way back home.  We followed the shoreline until it ran out into the rainforest.

Home for lunch and hot-tubbing, and then we stuffed ourselves back into the wet suits and spent one last glorious afternoon on Cox Bay.

See what I mean?

Easily the best day of my year.  In the top ten of my life even.

Go ahead and wistfully weep with me and the Arizona sky.  The universe has given its approval.  

I intend to pine until the sun comes out. 

O, Canada

I spent today tugging my children in and out of their wet suits and toasting smores over our beach campfire.

The stuff of my dreams.

We woke to sunny skies.  The best omen of all.

And so we hauled nearly everything in the house to the beach and spent the day together in the ocean.

It was one of those days I wish I could live over and over again.

We swam, and boogie-boarded, and flew the kite.

I rode my rented beach cruiser from one end of the bay to the other and climbed the jagged rocks that surrounded it.

I swallowed a hotdog with mustard and sand, and a gallon of the ice-cold Pacific.

And my children played,

and played,

and played.

Tonight when I heard David's breathing slowing down for sleep, I tucked my head next to his and whispered, "Did you know it was going to be this good?"

Eyes closed, he gave me a satisfied grin. 

O, Canada.