The Hair Cut

“I can't go to church like this,” I thought in desperation as I surveyed the mess I'd just paid for at the beauty salon. “And I certainly can't sit on the stand with my back to everybody, so they can see how horrible I look!”

I felt like crying, like hiding in my closet, like running away right that minute and not coming back until my hair grew out.

The problem was, the coming Sunday was our Primary Program, where all the children age three through twelve sat on the stand and sang songs and told about the things they had learned that year. I was the second councilor, and in charge of the program.

My job, at this point, was to sit on a small chair next to the podium with my back to the audience, so I could direct the program and prompt children who needed help with their parts. In preparation, I went to a beauty shop to get my hair cut and styled. Why no one could ever understand my instructions and cut my hair right, I didn't know, but when I walked out of the salon the back of my head looked like a boy, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to fix it.

“I can't do this,” I cried as I tried my hardest to wrap my hair around a curling iron, thinking I could at least go curly. It wasn't any use. The cut was so short I couldn't get it around the iron even once.

“I can't do this,” I whined as I tried on every outfit I owned, hoping to find something that looked so spectacular it drew attention away from my hair. Of course, that wouldn't help, since sitting on the little chair meant no one would see any part of me below my shoulders.

“I can't do this,” I plead, as I knelt by my bed Saturday night and asked Heavenly Father to help the program go well, and to make me forget about my hair.

A memory came into my mind as I knelt there, of dad telling me about one of his cousins.

“I always liked her,” he told me one day. I'd moved into this particular cousin's ward, but had noticed that although her husband came to church every Sunday, she didn't seem to be particularly active. “She was one of the nicest cousins I had, and we had fun together when we were teenagers.”

“She's struggled with her weight, though, as she's grown older, and it's been really hard on her, I guess. She seems to go up and down, and when she feels overweight, she goes into hiding. Sometimes a year or more will go by without her even leaving the house.”

I'd felt bad for dad's cousin when I learned about her. I had a chance to visit her in her house, and personally, I didn't think she looked bad at all, but in all the time we lived in her ward, I never saw her at church. It was sad to think of all the blessings she had missed out on during that time.

Mom used to say, “Gale, your friends are going to be too busy worrying about themselves to even notice what you're wearing or how you look,” when I was an insecure teenager. Perhaps no one would really care how ugly my hair looked on Sunday. Or at least, if they did, they wouldn't remember and think about it afterwords.

“Buck up, Gale,” I told myself sternly. “You're not going to church so other people can see you. You're going to worship the Savior, and help the children worship Him. You can do this!”

And I did.

Alyssa and Matt

Moms cry at weddings, once in awhile dads do, too, and brides sometimes shed tears of joy, but how often do you see a groom cry? Matt did, proving to me just how tender his heart really was.

My middle daughter, Alyssa, dated Matt on and off all through high school. They weren't exactly steady sweethearts, but she always came back to Matt. It was kind of a forgone conclusion that she would be there when he came home from his two year mission to Brazil, until the week after he left. Those two years were an up and down mixture of falling in love, changing her mind, finding someone new, leaving him behind, getting engaged, struggling to make it work, and eventually realizing that no matter how hard she worked at it, it just wasn't the right thing to do. By the end of Matt's mission, Alyssa had gained a great deal of wisdom and experience, and she knew that Matt really was the guy she wanted to spend eternity with.

He came home a week before Christmas, in 2004. On December 23^rd he talked to Moe and I and asked permission to marry Alyssa. The next day, Christmas Eve, was our annual Christmas Smorgasbord. Alyssa had to work, but Matt came. I was really impressed that he would want to be part of our noisy, happy party, especially since he didn't even know most of the extended family. He really made points with me when he agreed to play a wise man in our little Christmas Nativity, he was such good sport. Later that night he officially asked Alyssa to marry him, and we couldn't have been happier.

I've always been an advocate of short engagements. Long courtships are important, but once a couple has decided they want to get married, I figure, just do it! Alyssa and Matt followed my advice, perhaps a little too strictly. They decided to get married the first of February. We scrambled and pulled together a lovely reception in just over a month, and everything worked out well.

Alyssa found a beautiful wedding dress that she loved. We rented a reception hall where all we had to do was provide centerpieces for the tables and the food. I pre-ordered fourteen dozen roses to go on the tables and baked tons of crescents and lemon bars, and everything turned out perfect, (except for the fact that florists double the price of roses the week before Valentines Day.)

The only other complication we ran into was a field trip Krissi's second grade class had planned for the same day as the wedding. She really, really wanted to go on the field trip, but finally chose to go to her big sister's wedding instead. I was proud of her, but she's never forgotten the sacrifice she had to make for her Alyssa.

Dad performed the wedding and sealing for Alyssa and Matt in the Mesa, Arizona Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There, couples can be sealed for time and all eternity, not just until death do you part. Dad did such a beautiful job, and we were all so happy, but the best moment was when, looking past Matt's head into Alyssa's beautiful face, I realized tears were also sliding down his cheek. Such a happy ending (and beginning) to such a wonderful love story! Today, one daughter and three sons later, they are still living happily ever after, and I am so proud of them.

Mom

MOM

In youth, mom spoke Swedish and played with her siblings.

Lighting sparklers in the bath tub, adding vanilla to the soup,

Punching Elizabeth, helping sweeten bread, and obeying Egon.

Nights were spent with Mormor so she wouldn’t be alone.

Because that’s who mom was.

She loved her family.

In Mesa, she acted in plays and learned in school.

Spending summers in Groom Creek, she fell in love with Ralph’s blue eyes.

Being teased about a picture under her pillow, she dreamed of true love.

She learned to be a loving wife and companion.

Because that’s who she was.

She loved her sweetheart, Ralph.

As mother, she mended cuts, dried tears, and stopped fights.

With, “When I was a little girl,” she taught life’s important lessons.

She listened to our dreams, laughed at our silly jokes, and enjoyed our loud music.

She waited up talk to us when we came home at night

Because that’s who she was.

She loved us, her children.

In Primary, Young Women, Relief Society,

She led graciously, worked tirelessly, and served humbly.

She taught special lessons, prepared inspiring talks, gave loving service.

She brought a smile and the spirit to all she met.

Because that’s who she was.

She loved all of her sisters.

She drove friends to the doctor, took food to the sick,

She visited shut-ins, she took piano lessons from a lonely widow.

Mom took care of her family, her parents and in-laws, and her grandchildren,

Never too busy, tired, or sick to help us.

Because that’s who she was.

She loved everybody.

She froze to death and fixed her own hair in Germany.

She sacrificed art, books, even TV to serve in the temple.

She changed her work-room into a special place for dad to give blessings

So she could support him in his callings.

Because that's who she was.

She loved serving the Lord.

Now she is serving another mission,

A gracious, elect lady, the light of Christ shining in her eyes.

One day she will stand with confidence in God’s presence,

A loving daughter, a humble servant, a friend.

Because that’s who she is.

And our Father loves her.

Dad

DAD

In youth he climbed fig trees spreading high up in the sky.

Learning to reach, stretch and grow,

Secure in safe arms of steady branches

And the promise of a cool landing if he fell into the ditch below.

Unafraid, he learned to reach beyond his grasp and to trust.

Because that was who he was.

And he always wanted to do what was right.

Dad matured and excelled in school, work, service, and mission.

Saved from a truck and a sawmill,

He served family, friends, strangers and the Lord.

He trusted Him to provide food, safety, and in the end, a good companion

Who would be his sweetheart for time and all eternity.

Because that was who he was.

He always wanted to do what was right.

Trained to be a teacher, Dad learned to desire improvement,

Always finding more to learn,

He struggled to gain knowledge and perfection.

Ogg Mandino, graduate school, riding a bike for physical fitness,

He tried to keep in shape and become a better person.

Because that was who he was.

He always wanted to do what was right.

Using his Priesthood, he served his wife, his children, his ward.

They loved him for his kindness,

They trusted him because he, too, was human,

Imperfect, making mistakes, stumbling over names and saying the wrong things,

Apologizing, repenting, trying to do better.

Because that was who he was.

He always wanted to do what was right.

Retired, while others relaxed, he worked even harder.

Home builder, missionary.

Trusting that the right words would come through his mouth,

Praying that angels on the other side would recognize their own names,

That God would send him and mom where they were needed most.

Because that was who he was.

He always wanted to do what was right.

One day he will meet Father in a home left long ago.

Family, friends, and heaven,

Will stand with him as Christ presents him to God.

Son, servant, future God, with the image of His countenance in his eyes.

Able to stand with confidence in His presence, because

That is who he will become.

Because he always wanted to do what was right.

Crippled

Crippled

by Gale Ashcroft

Yesterday I watched a crippled man get off the bus.

I winced when his eyes tightened from pain as he wheeled

Toward the basketball court at the park.

I wondered at his courage to play when he hurt.

Today I soak in the tub, hot water stealing my will to get out.

A headache makes me late to work. 

An eclair sabotages my diet.

Perhaps I called the wrong person crippled.

Mother's Health

Although mother did everything, her health gradually started to give her fits.  Perhaps it was because she had milk disease when she was a child.  I wonder what it was really called?  She said she got it from drinking unpasteurized milk.  Although she eventually recovered it caused her to never able to donate blood.

I don't remember mom ever being sick when I was a child, but I know she was. I remember being frustrated with her once when I was a teenager. I don't know what the problem was, but I was sure cross when I went to bed. Dad came into my room a little later, sat on my bed, and said, “Gale, don't worry too much about tonight. Mom's having a hard time right now, and she doesn't feel very good. Just be patient with her, OK.”

At the time, I suppose I didn't think too much about it, except it was nice to know I wasn't the one who was causing the problems, but later I realized a couple of things. First, when someone doesn't feel good it's easy for them to be cross, and second, dad understood and loved both of us. He was a great dad. And mom was a great mom.

The truth is, she spent a lot of her life not feeling good, but most of the time none of us even realized it. I remember her having to have polyps removed from her nose. The doctor cut them out, then packed her nose with yards and yards of gauze. How that must have hurt. I helped her sinuses, but she still struggled with allergies and sinus infections her whole life.

Mom inherited grandma Johnson's bad feet, (and I inherited them from her). She had bunions removed a couple of times, but they always came back. She had hammer toes and bone spurs, and who knows what other kind of problems, which eventually led to the podiatrist removing all the bones in most of her toes in later years. Aching feet are one of the worst things to have. In fact, one of my favorite bumper stickers said, “if you want to forget all your troubles, wear shoes that are a size to small.”

In 2003 mom had back surgery, hoping to alleviate the back pain she had endured for years. The doctor put a metal rod in her spine, and after the surgery he told her he was surprised she had been able to walk at all, her back was so bad.

The surgery helped, but it was still hard for her to walk because her knees were bad, so she had them operated on a few months later. After that walking was easier, but she started having pains in her legs and feet that stayed with her for the rest of her life, and the doctors never fully understood what was wrong.

Through all these surgeries and illnesses, mother never slowed down or stopped taking care of the rest of us. She would be down a week or so in recovery, but as soon as she could she was up, carrying on like before. It was cool to watch the way dad stepped up and took care of mom when she was down. They were a great couple, and had learned through the years how to complement and take care of each other. That's why dad began to worry as mom's health deteriorated bit by bit. He was determined to do whatever it took to keep her with him as long as he could.

Watch Where You Step!

Moe bought the land he found on the internet. It seemed to be a good deal, but we didn't really know until we made a trip up north to check it out.

The land was not actually in Snowflake. In fact, it was almost 50 miles away, but when we went to see it I was impressed. Forty years earlier the area had been marketed as a large, planned subdivision, but very few lots were actually sold. There were three or four houses in the area, but they were spread out so widely it seemed like our lot was all by itself, surrounded by undeveloped rolling hills covered with cedar, gamma grass, and wild flowers.

Moe was thoroughly enchanted with the place. I had reservations since I really wanted to live in Snowflake, but I was happy we at least had a place to plan and dream about.

The first thing Moe did was build a tool shed for storing equipment. In the middle of July, 1994, we went up to the cabin for a week, taking the shed with us. Jodi and Jessica came with us, to keep Kami and Krissi company. It was always so much fun to have them with us.

It was late afternoon before we got to the cabin. Our plan was to drive over to our land the following day to put up the shed. I went to work cleaning the cabin and getting things settled in while the girls went down the hill to play. Pretty soon I heard shouting down below.

“Mom, mom,” Kami was yelling at the top of her lungs. “Krissi stepped on a nail!”

I stopped cleaning and went out onto the back porch to see what was going on.

“Mom, mom,” Kami repeated as soon as she saw me. “Mom, Krissi stepped on a nail down at grandpa's cabin!”

Jodi, Jessica, and Krissi trailed behind Kami, Krissi obviously limping as she climbed the trail.

“Did you really step on a nail?” I asked her when she got to the cabin.

She didn't look particularly upset.

“Yes.”

“Did it go all the way through your shoe and into your foot?”

“Yes.”

“It did, mom, I saw it!” Kami contributed. “She stepped right on an old board with a nail sticking out of it, and it was stuck on her foot until she pulled it off.”

“Why don't you go down and get me the board so I can see it,” I suggested to Kami, while I sat Krissi down on the bed on the back porch and started pulling off her shoe. Sure enough, I could see a red, round wound on the bottom of her foot. Now what were we supposed to do?

I got some soapy water and washed Krissi's foot, then put some antibiotic cream and a band-aid over the hole. Kami brought up the nail and I looked at it carefully. It didn't look particularly rusty or dirty, but heaven knew what kind of germs were on it.

“I don't know,” I told Moe. “She probably needs to get a tetanus shot, don't you think?”

Moe didn't know any more than me, but he suggested we call my brother-in-law, the doctor, next morning when we took the shed over to our land. We didn't have cell phone reception at the cabin, but we did at the land. Then, if Alan thought Krissi needed a shot, we could stop by his clinic on the way back.

It took all the following day to transport the shed and put it up. I called my sister Linda in the morning and asked her to talk to Alan when he came home for lunch to find out what we should do for Krissi. Linda called me back in the middle of the afternoon.

“Alan says Krissi doesn't need a tetanus shot as long as she is up to date on her immunizations,” Linda told me, “but she ought to take an antibiotic to make sure her foot doesn't get infected. He says he can bring some home from the clinic if you'll stop by here on your way back to the cabin.”

We drove over to Snowflake when we were done with the shed, and it was late very late before we finally got back to the cabin. Thank goodness we were on vacation and could sleep in the next morning, but the girls were up, ready to play, before too long.

“Mom, mom,” I heard Kami shouting while I was in the kitchen making breakfast. “Mom, Jodi stepped on a nail, just like Krissi.”

They had to be kidding!

I walked out onto the back porch and watched the four girls troop up the hill. This time it was Jodi limping.

“What happened?” I asked when they got to me.

“I stepped on a board with a nail in it,” Jodi admitted reluctantly.

“Did it go all the way through your shoe and into your foot?”

“Yes.”

We stripped off Jodi's shoe, and sure enough she had a hole in the bottom of her foot, almost identical to Krissi's.

This time we drove up onto a hill not far from the cabin where we sometimes got reception and called Alan again.

“Just give Jodi the same pills you're giving Krissi,” he told us consolingly. “I'll call in another prescription for you when you get home, so you'll have enough for both girls to take the full dose.”

“Thanks, Alan,” I told him gratefully. “It sure is nice having a doctor in the family!”

“You're welcome,” Alan said with a laugh. “You guys better hurry up and move here, though, so I can become your family doctor.”

I couldn't have agreed more.

Bargains, Bargains, Bargains!

“Guess what I found?” Moe asked me excitedly one evening after he'd been working on the computer for a couple of hours.

“What?” I answered, although in my mind I'm afraid I said, “What now?” Ever since Moe had discovered Google, Ebay, and Craig's List he had been finding the strangest things to buy.

Not that he hadn't already had a penchant for discovering odd stuff that he had never needed before, but suddenly couldn't live without. Somewhere, back before we ever met, Moe learned the wonders of thrift stores. He claimed to hate shopping, but he spent hours at the Goodwill store near his work every week, addicted to the thrill of the hunt, and the high of the find.

Eventually I had to stop chiding him about his addiction. At first I rolled my eyes every time he brought home something he'd found for “such a good deal!” But after the couch, bumper pool table, and other furniture he bought me I had to stop teasing him.

When he started collecting golf shoes because some of my brothers had taken up the sport, I began grumbling under my breath again. Then he went and brought home a pair just his size. Why in the world did Moe need golf shoes when he didn't golf? But he was excited about them and had to show me how nice they were, so he sat down on our bed to try them on and discovered a hundred dollar bill stuffed into the toe of the left shoe! Boy, we came up with some good stories imagining how that money came to be in that shoe. I could just see some poor old golfer hiding his mad money there so his wife wouldn't find it, then dying of a heart attack and his wife donating his stuff to Goodwill. Anyway, after that I had to bite my tongue every time Moe brought home something 'wonderful', and now the internet brought bargain hunting right into our home! Oh, joy!

“So, what did you find dear?” I asked again, trying to hide my annoyance.

“Land for sale up by Snowflake!” Moe exclaimed happily. “And it's dirt cheap! Someone is selling their property without really knowing what it's worth, and I think we should buy it!”

Oh brother, was my first reaction, but I didn't say it out loud. I'd been hoping I could talk Moe into moving up to Snowflake some day, and I knew if I didn't handle this right I'd blow the whole thing. But buying property over the internet? I wasn't too sure about that.

Pal and the Accident

“Mom, mom!” Kami sobbed as she ran into the tiny kitchen of our cabin, “Pal's been hit by a truck! Pal's been hit!”

I dropped the dish I was washing and rushed outside with Kami to see what had happened.

A brown truck was stopped on the road in front of the cabin, it's driver, a middle-aged man, was standing on the other side of our fence, talking to Krissi, Jessica, and Jodi. He looked up as I came outside and began apologizing profusely.

“I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry,” he repeated over and over again. “Just as I came around your corner there the dog ran out into the road and I couldn't stop in time. I hit him hard! I'm so sorry!”

Kami was running all around the cabin, sobbing, the other girls running after her, calling at the top of their voices for Pal, but above the din I tried to assure the fellow that we knew it wasn't his fault.

Chamberlain Trail was a narrow dirt road that climbed a hill and turned a sharp corner right before our cabin. No one could tell what was ahead, and even though Pal loved to roam and explore the woods, he had a habit of running home every time he heard a car approaching, following his instinct to protect Kami, I suppose.

“But where is Pal now?” I asked in confusion. If he'd been hit by the truck, why wasn't he lying on the road?

“I don't know,” the man told me in wonder. “I hit him hard, but he took off like a bolt of lightening instead of falling down.”

“I think I saw him run down the hill,” Jessica told me, coming back to listen as I talked to the man. She and her sister Jodi, Kami and Krissi's best friends, were spending the week with us up at the cabin.

Kami came back around the cabin just then, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don't know where Pal is,” she cried in anguish. “I can't find him anywhere.”

Putting my arms around her, I hugged my eight year old daughter tightly. What could we do? I had no idea where Pal would be either, but I could imagine him lying on the ground, bleeding to death before we found him.

I did the only thing I could think to do. “Kami,” I spoke quietly in her ear so she would listen to what I was saying. “Let's say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father to help us find Pal. And let's ask Him to help Pal be OK, if it is His will.”

Kami stopped pulling away and immediately bowed her head. “Do you want to say the prayer?” I asked.

She nodded, and began: “Heavenly Father, please help me find my dog, and help him to not be hurt bad.”.

As soon as she finished I said, “Let's go down and look by the creek. Maybe Pal is down there.” I don't know why I said it, except Kami hadn't found him up by the cabin, and that's the first place I thought to look. The girls raced off ahead of me, I thought I ought to talk to the man with the truck. A few seconds later I heard them calling up the hill, “We found him! We found him!”

Sure enough, moments later they came trooping up the hill, Kami holding onto her beloved golden retriever. Both the man and I went to meet them and see how Pal was doing. He was shaking all over, but besides that he didn't seem to be hurt at all.

“I can't believe it,” the man said after checking Pal out. “I was sure he was killed or at least hurt bad.”

I thanked him for being so concerned and he got in his truck and drove away. Then I went back to Kami and asked her where she'd found Pal.

“He was hiding in the bushes down by the creek,” she told me. “He was afraid to come when I called, but I found him when I went down there like you told me.”

I gave her a big hug and patted Pal's head affectionately. “I think Heavenly Father loves you an awful lot, and Pal, too,” I told her happily. “He sure did answer your prayer quickly. Do you think you ought to tell Him thank you?”

So Kami said another prayer that day, kneeling on the back porch with her arms around her dog. She thanked Heavenly Father with all her heart, and I felt sure that she would never forget how He had answered her prayer.

I Just Never Learn, Do I?

“Dang it!” I exclaimed in dismay, dropping the weed eater I had been using and cupping my hand over my eye. The pain was excruciating!

After a few seconds, I lowered my hand experimentally, but quickly replaced it. It didn't help much, but uncovering my eye was worse.

“I should have known better,” I muttered to myself as tears streamed down my face from both eyes. Maybe the water would help wash out whatever was in my left eye.

“Hey, water is a good idea,” I thought to myself. Picking my way over the lawn, I felt around for the hose I had left running in the planter box. I let the water run into my left hand, holding it under my eye, but I couldn't keep the lid open long enough to do any good. Man, it hurt!

Stumbling into the house, I went in search of mom. At times like this I was extremely grateful we shared our double house.

“I knocked something into my eye with the weed eater,” I told her as soon as I found her in her kitchen. “I think I'm going to have to go to the doctors.”

“Gale!” she exclaimed. “You should have been wearing goggles!

“I know, I know.”

Mom tried to look in my eye, but I couldn't keep it open long enough for her to see anything.

Mom watched the little girls for me, and within half an hour I was sitting in my doctors office while he tried to see what was going on.

“I'm sorry, Gale,” he told me after taking a look at my red, swollen eye, but I'm going to have to send you to an optometrist. This is more than I can take care of. What on earth did you do to yourself.”

“Oh, I was weed eating our front yard and knocked a rock up, I guess,” I mumbled ashamedly.

“You ought to wear protective goggles when you do that,” he told me sternly.

“I know,” I replied.

The eye doctor gave me the same lecture. “You're really lucky you just cut your eye,” he told me while he worked. He had already put numbing drops in my eye, the relief was wonderful! After a few minutes he held up a pair of tweezers triumphantly and said, “See this! No wonder your eye hurts!”

He was holding a not that tiny pebble in the tweezers. “This was in your eye lid,” he told me. “Now do you know why you're supposed to wear goggles when you work in your yard?”

Yes, I knew. Actually, I'd known long before I ever got the darned rock in my eye in the first place. But dang it all, goggles made my eyes sweat, then they fogged up and it was hard to see, and who wanted to look like a raccoon with a funny tan line around their eyes all summer?

I had to admit, though, it wasn't that becoming wearing a black eye patch either for the next few days. Maybe I would try wearing goggles when I worked out in the yard, at least when I used the weed eater.

Discovering Snowflake, AZ

“Moe, I love Snowflake!” I exclaimed.

I had taken the girls up to visit him while he was elk hunting in the middle of September, 2003. He always set up a trailer and spent the full two weeks of archery season. The girls and I drove up to see him in the middle of the hunt.

“I can see you're busy,” I told him not long after we got there, “so I think we'll head on over to Snowflake to see Linda's new house, OK?”

“Have fun,” he said as he kissed us goodby. I don't think he was particularly hurt that we were leaving. Elk hunting takes a lot of concentration.

I had an idea of how to get to Snowflake from where Moe was hunting, but had never driven there before. Linda had told me to drive to Winslow, then turn east. I got that far OK, and we needed gas, so I decided to ask for directions at the gas station.

“Can you tell me the way to Snowflake?” I asked a nice looking boy behind the counter

“Where?” he wanted to know.

“Snowflake,” I told him. “I know you go to Holbrook, then turn south on the road to Show Low. It's supposed to go through Snowflake, but how do I get to Holbrook?”

“That's easy,” he told me. “Just get on the freeway heading east. It's less than an hour from here. But I've never heard of Snowflake. Hey, Joe, do you know where Snowflake is?”

Another fellow, a little bit older, looked around at us and shrugged his shoulders. “Nope,” he answered.

There were two other men in the store, but they weren't any help either. It kind of surprised me that none of them had ever heard of Snowflake, but I wasn't really worried. I knew it had to be there. Linda had moved there, after.

I found Holbrook without any trouble, and signs that told me where to turn south to go to Show Low, but nothing said anything about Snowflake. Oh well. Linda had said it was on that road, so I hoped it was.

Sure enough, Snowflake was right where it was supposed to be. I couldn't have missed it if I'd tried.

“The people in Winslow have never heard of Snowflake,” I told my sister Linda when we got to her new house, “they acted like I was crazy.”

“That's because they lived in Winslow,” she assured me.

I loved Linda's house. She and Alan had moved the previous year, when Alan began practicing medicine in his home town. They had built a big, beautiful house right off the main street, and it was lovely. Linda was busy planting trees and landscaping her back yard, which I was very jealous of. She already had thick green grass, pine trees and aspen, and I wanted a yard like hers.

“Wouldn't it be fun to be able to have flowers all summer, cool shady trees, and a lush yard to enjoy?” I told Moe on the phone that night when he called to see if we'd made it alright. “I want to live in Snowflake!”

Moe didn't understand my enthusiasm for the pretty little town until he came with me to visit Linda and Alan a month later. Then he got the bug, too. There was just something enchanting about the quaint community nestled in the little green valley beside Silver Creek.

Snowflake consisted of one long main street, stretching through the middle of the valley for two or three miles. All the businesses were on that main street, while quiet neighborhoods meandered up and down hills behind it on either side. There was one stop light on the north end of main street, and that was all. On the south end of town the street climbed a hill, then dropped down into an huge, pastoral meadow. It was called Belly Button. Really. There was even a sign proclaiming that we were in Belly Button, USA. The meadow divided Snowflake from it's tiny sister city, Taylor, on the other side. They also had one stop light. It was such a cute place!

“Maybe we should start looking for land up there,” Moe told me as we drove home from that visit. “I can see us retiring in Snowflake.”

So could I.

Kami's Pal

When Pal was a year old we took him to the cabin for Spring Break. Kami loved her dog, and although it was a lot of work to begin him along, it was good to have him. He was a sweetheart.

Golden Retrievers are known for their nice personalities, but I think Pal was the best of them all. He was a papered pure bread, creamy white in color, with the biggest dark eyes that looked at me so intently I could swear he was communicating with me.

We had a great time at the cabin. At the first of the week the weather was nice, and Kami and Pal ran all over with Krissi tagging along behind them. Kami was almost eight, Krissi six, and they were a hoot! Stephen came with us, and although he was seventeen he didn't seem to mind hanging out with his little sisters. Most of the time he went hiked the creek and went fishing, but in the evenings we played games and read stories and enjoyed sitting around the fire in the cabin.

Like always, playing at the creek was the girl's favorite thing to do. It was too cold for swimming, but they had ball skipping rocks and throwing sticks into the water.

“Look what Pal does,” Kami told me the first afternoon. She picked up a big twig and hurled it as far out over the rushing water as she could throw. Instantly, Pal jumped into the water and swam after the stick, caught it in his mouth, then swam back to shore. Climbing out, he dropped the stick at Kami's feet, tensed his shoulders, then shook wildly back and forth, flinging cold, muddy creek water all over us.

“Pal!” I exclaimed as I ran out of range, shaking my head in disgust. Wet dog was not my favorite smell in the world.

“Don't you think it's too cold for Pal to go swimming?” asked Kami in concern.

“No,” she told me matter-of-factually.

“I think it is,” I tried to persuade her, but Moe, coming up behind me, just laughed and said Pal would be fine.

“He's a retriever,” he said as if that settled the matter. “He's bread to jump into icy water and retrieve ducks. This won't bother him at all.”

The next day we walked down to the crossing, where Chamberlain Trail crosses Haigler Creek. There are some deep holes there, and the girls wanted to go fishing. They didn't catch anything, but they sure had fun tossing sticks in for Pal to swim after.

Eventually, Kami used up all the twigs she could find, so she started throwing rocks into the creek. Pal didn't care what he chased. In he jumped, plunging out of the creek seconds later holding the rock in his mouth. He was amazing!

The weather turned cold on Thursday, clouding up and getting quite blustery. We were all thrilled when we woke up to snow on Friday morning. It was beautiful! The only thing I worried about was Pal, but Moe assured me that he was bread for cold weather and he would be fine outside on the front porch.

Friday afternoon, though, Kami ran in the cabin calling, “Mom, mom, Pal's hurt!”

Following her outside, I saw what she was talking about. One side of Pal's neck was red and covered with blood, and he wouldn't stop scratching.

“Moe,” I called anxiously down the hill. “Can you come up please. Something's happened to Pal.”

We couldn't figure out what had happened to Pal. It looked like he'd been cut with wire or something, but how?

“Maybe he got his neck stuck in a barbed wire fence or something?” Moe suggested as we tried to wash the blood and mud out of his fur. We didn't do a very good job, it obviously hurt and Pal didn't like being touched there.

To keep him from scratching and making it worse, Moe wrapped Pal's feet with old rags and duct tape.

Our holiday was over, anyway, so we packed up and came home. The next morning Kami and I took Pal to see the veterinarian.

“Is Pal alright?” I asked anxiously, when the Vet came out from examining him. “Do you think he was cut by wire or something?”

“No,” the Veterinarian replied. “He cut himself?”

I looked at him in surprise.

“Pal has an ear infection,” the doctor explained. “It hurt, so much that he scratched so hard it cut his neck.”

Well, that was a surprise, but I was glad to hear he hadn't got into something up at the cabin that hurt him.

“I've given him an antibiotic to clear up the infection,” the doctor continued, “and we've cleaned the wound. He should be just fine soon.”

“Thank goodness,” I said, squeezing Kami's hand. I think I had been as worried as she was about her best friend.

But I wasn't so happy when the doctor brought Pal out a few minutes later and turned us over to his receptionist. She gave me a bill for $300.00!

Three hundred dollars, just for some penicillin and to wash off some blood? Man, having a dog was more expensive than I had bargained for! It's a darned good thing I loved him.

The Best Bridal Shower Present Ever, or Dog Food

“Eeeewwwwwww............! Are you sure you want me to eat this?” my future niece-in-law asked hesitantly, giving me a long, searching look. “I don't think Jon will ever do anything that lands him in the dog-house this bad.”

We all smiled and shook our heads up and down. The younger cousins began chanting, “Eat it, eat it,” and my sister-in-law, Tammy, patted her son's fiance's hand and gently urged, “It won't be that bad, Natalie.”

Carefully, picking up just the tiniest morsel of the disgusting looking food out of the bag, Natalie opened her mouth, made a terrible face, and gingerly placed the lump on her tongue. Her lips closed, her eyes shut, and she chewed.

Suddenly her eyes flew open, a huge grin popped on her face, and she began to laugh. “Oh, you guys”, she giggled, then grabbed a handful of 'dog food' and shoved it into her mouth. “This is delicious!”

Everyone agreed as the bag was passed around the circle of laughing cousins, aunts and uncles, and we helped ourselves to handfuls of the unappetizing but yummy mess. I grinned as Jon leaned over his future bride, pecked her on the cheek, and congratulated her for being a good sport. Natalie had just passed the first test of fitting into our extended family.

The dog food tradition began years earlier, at my little sister's bridal shower. We have an aunt, Amy, who was always a favorite with all the cousins. She was fun, sweet, and a little bit crazy. She presented Julie with a bag of dog food and a big ceramic doggy dish when it was her turn to give her a gift.

“This is for those times when your husband ends up in the dog house,” Aunt Amy informed Julie. “I know he seems pretty perfect now, but it's going to happen one of these days.”

Julie laughed and put the bag down by her side, next to her other opened gifts.

“No, you'd better open it and try a little for yourself,” Aunt Amy coaxed her. “You need to be able to assure him it won't kill him to eat it for a few days.”

“You want me to eat some of this dog food?” Julie asked, horrified.

“Yup,” Aunt Amy told her. “It won't hurt you.”

Julie looked at Aunt Amy with disbelief, then turned to the rest of us with a questioning look, but we were all laughing so hard we weren't able to help her.

“Come on,” my youngest sister, Sharon, coaxed. “I want to see you eat dog food.”

Julie was not at all sure she wanted to oblige, but with everyone's insistence, she finally opened the top of the bag. I could tell she had been hoping Aunt Amy was just teasing her, maybe thinking she had already opened the bag and replaced the real dog food with something else, but the top of the bag was still sewed shut and looked as perfect as it had the day it was bought.

Aunt Amy was actually cleverer than any of us thought. It turned out she really had replaced the dog food with her own concoction of chocolate covered cereal; which looked just like the real thing, by the way; then resewed the top so it just looked like it was unopened. We all got such a kick out of her gift that giving dog food to new brides became our family tradition. I still don't know if we enjoyed it most because of the horrified looks the poor fiance's got when they had to eat it, or because the rest of us loved eating the special treat so much, but one way or the other, it was sure a fun thing to do.

Just in case you have a bridal shower coming up, here's the recipe for our home made 'dog food'. Just remember to clean out the original bag well, then put your new mix in a clean plastic bag before you lower it into the dog food bag and restitch, or in some cases, re-glue the top shut. And have fun!

Dog Food

1 stick of butter or margarine

1 ½ cups peanut butter

2 cups chocolate chips

In a very large bowl, melt this in your microwave for a minute, then stir until completely blended. Pour a box of rice or corn chex cereal (I use the generic brand because it's cheaper) over the chocolate and stir to coat.

Sprinkle 1 to 2 cups of powdered sugar over the mess in your bowl and carefully stir it around until all the cereal is coated. Sometimes it takes a little more sugar, especially if you like your dog food kind of white and powdery looking, sometimes less. When it's completely coated, pour out on a big cookie sheet and let dry.

Scoop your dog food into a big plastic storage bag, seal, and put inside an emptied and cleaned real dog food bag. Then reseal the top so it looks like it hasn't been opened.

Enjoy!

Kami and the Dentist

I can't say that I enjoy going to the dentist, but I put up with it.  It does seem pretty ironic to pay someone to make your mouth hurt, though..

When Kami was little she didn't seem to mind the dentist too much, until she turned eight.  That year the dentist found a small cavity in one tooth, and we made an appointment to have it filled the following week.  I was only thinking about how much it was going to cost when I took her back. The dental assistant took her back to a room like always, but a few minutes later she poked her head around the door and motioned for me to join the doctor. 

"Kami won't open her mouth," he told me seriously. 

"Kami, what's the matter," I asked my daughter, walking around to face her.  "You know you have to open your mouth so the dentist can fix your tooth."

She gave me a hard look and clamped her mouth down tightly.

I looked at the dentist, he looked at me, and we both looked at Kami.

"Come on, honey," I wheedled.  "Please open your mouth.  You can't get your treat if you don't let the dentist fix your tooth."

Apparently Kami didn't care about the treat, because she just stared at me obstinately and kept her mouth shut.

The doctor tried, his assistant tried, I tried, but none of us could get that little mouth open. 

"I'm sorry, but I think you're going to have to take her to a pediadontist," the doctor told me.  "They specialize in this kind of thing."

I was not a happy camper.  Our normal dentist cost quite enough, but I was sure a specialist was going to cost a small fortune.

I was right.  I called the pediadonist our doctor recommended and made an appointment, but I was not happy about it.  We had to go down and have a consultation visit first, and I figured out why it was so expensive.  Whereas our regular dentist worked in a simple, conservative office, the pediadontist had a huge, colorful office, complete with a large, over sized aquarium right in the middle of the waiting room, fish covered wall paper, fish decorated scrubs for all the staff, and huge, wall mounted television sets in each corner, playing, of course, Finding Nemo.  It was fun, but.......

The pediadontist himself was a little nutty, it was easy to see he was more comfortable with his patients than with their parents, but the rest of the staff were courteous and professional.  Kami seemed to enjoy the visit, and we made an appointment for her to have her teeth worked on the following week.

I had to give her a pill an hour before we came to the office on the morning of her appointment, to make her  less apprehensive.  The dental assistant explained that the doctor was going to put some bubbles in her mouth, (actually a shot of Novocain), and her tooth was filled without any problems.  It was just my checking account that felt the pain.

A few days later I was regaling my family with the story when Kami walked into the room. 

"Why wouldn't you open up your mouth for the regular dentist?" Kami's big sister, Alyssa, asked her.  "You were never afraid to go to the dentist before, where you?"

"No," Kami told her, "not until my primary teacher told us about one time he nearly died at the dentists."

"What?" I asked her.  "When did your teacher tell you this story?"

"The Sunday before I went to the dentist," she told me.

So, that was it.  I can't say I was very pleased with Kami's primary teacher after that.  He may only have been joking around with his class, and he and his wife were really good teachers, but his little story had cost me a great deal of frustration, time, and money.  Silly man!

Obedience Brings Blessings

I read a story, once, about a woman who had some sort of brain disease, I think it may have been a tumor but I can't remember. For a long time she was afflicted with short-term memory loss, and was unable to remember what she had just done a few minutes earlier.

During this time, everyone in her church was asked to make a goal to read and study the scriptures daily. This woman was a devout Christian, a good member of her church, and she wanted to be obedient, but she really wondered what good scripture study was going to be for her? She was unable to remember a conversation ten minutes later. Certainly, she wouldn't be able to remember anything she read. Still, she determined to follow the council.

Each day she made a point of reading her scriptures. Much of the time she was in the hospital, and she was not able to concentrate, but she persevered, even if she only managed to read one verse at a time.

“I don't think I got a thing out of reading,” she explained later. “I couldn't tell you what I read, I only knew that I had read because I made a note on a pad of paper so I would know I'd accomplished my goal.”

Gradually, a remarkable thing began to happen to this good woman. She wasn't cured of her illness immediately, but she began to be enveloped by a sense of peace. Instead of anxiety over what the future held, she was given a feeling of calm assurance that everything would be OK. And, eventually, it was. She got her short-term memory back, and was eventually was able to read and study the scriptures and learn from them, again. But during that year when they made no sense, she was being blessed just for reading them.

Sometimes obedience, just for the sake of obeying, is all we can give, but the Lord recognizes our efforts, and obedience brings blessings, often unexpected ones.

The Fortunate Flood

New houses don't stay new forever. Carpets wear thin, countertops get dull, and walls and floorboards get scuffed, dented, and generally worn out. My favorite thing in the world was paint. With a gallon of paint I could brighten and clean a room in just a few hours, but even that only lasted for a year or two.

When we first moved into our home in Gilbert I spent days stenciling ivy on my kitchen walls, pillars and Grecian urns in my front room, and country flowers in the TV room. As the years passed I changed the ivy to apple's and leaves, the pillars to an English garden, and the flowers to Scandinavian designs. But in the bedrooms I got more inventive.

I painted a sailboat in Stephen's room, with rope and anchors trailing around the ceiling. Kami's room became a palace for a princess, Krissi's room was the Griffindor dormitory, complete with Crukshanks, Hermione's tabby cat sitting on a chair in the corner. I painted a window looking out over the ocean in the downstairs bathroom, a Hawaiin beach in the extra downstairs bedroom, and a harbor looking out towards a lighthouse in my room. I loved them all, and they kept my attention from fixating on the worn out carpet below.

One fall break, Moe and I took the kids who were still home up to spend a week at the cabin. We had a glorious time, and I didn't look forward to coming home. On Friday afternoon we called mom and dad to check in and see how things were going.

“I'm afraid we've got a problem here,” mom told me as soon as she answered the phone. “There's been a flood in your side of the house, and it's a mess.”

“A flood?” I asked in surprise. “What happened?”

“Well,” mom explained, “dad went over to check your house on Monday, and saw that the faucet in your bedroom was leaking. He got some new parts and thought he'd fixed it, but Tuesday night we heard running water and went over to see what was going on. Water was pouring out of your bedroom, onto the landing, and rushing down the stairs just like a waterfall. I guess the new faucet sprung a leak or something, and water was spraying all over your bathroom. It must have broken sometime Monday night. It flooded your bedroom and bathroom, then soaked through the floor and flooded the bedrooms and bathroom downstairs. It's a mess!”

“Oh mom,” I exclaimed in concern. “I'm sorry!”

“Dad got the leak stopped, and the boys came over and helped him pull out the carpets and move the furniture, but we don't know how much damage has been done, yet. We'll have to get a contractor to come and look at the walls next week.”

I felt terrible. Not for me, but for my poor dad and brothers who had had to work so hard to clean up my flooded house. As for me, I was actually kind of excited. If my carpets were ruined, maybe I'd get new floors!

We came home the next day, and it was worse than I'd even imagined. The water had soaked half way up the upstairs walls, through the ceiling, and totally destroyed the downstairs.

Thank goodness we had good homeowners insurance. An adjuster came and figured out the damage, giving dad an estimate that would pay for all of the repairs. All of my murals were ruined, and even though I knew I could paint new ones, the adjuster gave us an extra generous allowance to cover the ruined “original artwork”. How flattering!

With the extra money we were able to upgrade the flooring, laying tile throughout the house. I loved how easy it was to sweep my floors. No more carting the heavy vacuum cleaner up and down the stairs, and the tile was always cool on my bare feet, even in the middle of the hot summer. I also got a new bathtub in my bathroom, which I loved. Before, we'd just had a walk-in shower. Now I could take long, leisurely bubble baths in the winter, something I'd wanted to do for years.

What fun it was, months later when the construction was finally finished, to move back in. It was like moving into a new house. And best of all, I had all new, fresh white walls, just waiting for me to come up with new pictures to paint.

Happier Not Knowing

We rented a new mini-van this past weekend to drive up to Salt Lake City with our kids. We had a delightful time, but I learned something when we returned the car. The less I know, the happier I am.

I drive a very nice, reliable, comfortable car. It's not new, but it isn't old, either. It sure felt scrungy this morning, though, in comparison with the rental car. Over the weekend I'd grown accustomed to the satellite radio, cushy seats, and other extras.

The air-conditioning really spoiled me. There were controls on the passenger side that allowed me to adjust the temperature degree by degree. If I got too warm, I pushed it down a notch, when I started to chill I took it up. I've never ridden so comfortably!

My car has a control on the passenger side, too, but it doesn't work like that! In fact, compared with the new mini-van, my car suddenly looked dingy and old and dirty, although a week ago I thought it was really nice.

I've discovered the same discontent when I've visited people's homes. I love my house. It's perfect for me, it's decorated the way I like, it's comfortable. But if I visit someone who lives in a newer, fancier, nicer house, suddenly my home seems cheap and tawdry.

Perhaps that's what happened during the years we lived in Gilbert. To begin with, our house was new and exciting. It was never rich, I didn't have the money to pay for granite counters or hard wood floors, let alone ornate molding and brass fixtures, but I loved it just the same. Compared to the older, farm houses in our neighborhood our house seemed really modern.

Gradually, though, the farmland was sold and developed into new, upscale subdivisions. These homes were pricey! I loved the people who lived in them, but I had to readjust each time I came home to my own, simple house. Over the years, as my house and I aged, the neighborhood got ritzier and ritzier. Each subdivision had bigger, nicer homes, and younger, richer families. Eventually, I began to feel frumpy and out of date everywhere I went. At the store, at school events, even to a small degree in church. It was embarrassing to walk out of meetings and see our old car sitting in a parking lot filled with new SUV's.

The people in our immediate neighborhood were still the same, wonderful, compassionate, grateful people whom I loved with all of my heart, but more and more the community as a whole moved towards being an upscale, elegant place to live.

I was fine as long as I did my shopping at Wal-mart, but when I ventured into the ultra-fashionable shopping malls that began to pop up all around us I was doomed. Suddenly my ordinary furniture was outdated and ugly, my nice clothing looked plain and drab, and my jewelry? Well, let's just say it didn't pop, sizzle, or  bling! I came home needing stuff I hadn't even heard of two hours earlier.

It took me awhile to figure out why I wasn't happy anymore. I was jealous, plain and simple. No longer satisfied and content, I wanted all the new stuff I kept seeing. I discovered, like it or not, that for me, happiness meant being uninformed, naive, and not knowing what else was out there.

Lofty Ambitions

I met some old neighbors the other day, and was reminded once again of all the wonderful people who have passed through my life. How I hope I will have the blessing of associating with these wonderful people some day in Heaven.

These particular friends moved into our neighborhood when our kids were young. They had lots of sons, which made the girls in the area very happy. Their older sons had already grown, served missions for our church, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and were settling down. Their middle sons were preparing to serve missions soon, but their youngest son, Joseph, was still little. In fact, he was just a few months older than Kami.

One day, not long after they moved in, Joseph came down to our house to play. Moe was outside, working, and enjoyed getting to know the little boy.

“What's your name?” he asked him.

“Joseph.”

“Joseph,” Moe repeated thoughtfully. “That's a great name. Maybe you'll grow up to be a prophet, just like Joseph Smith.”

Joseph gave Moe a disgusted look. “I don't want to grow up to be a prophet,” he told Moe firmly.

“Then what are you going to be?” Moe teased.

“A missionary, of course,” Joseph stated, “like my brothers.”

April Conference

This is one of my favorite weekends of the year, April Conference.  Twice a year, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints holds it's annual, and semi annual, conference.  During five two-hour sessions, the prophet, apostles, and other leaders of the church give council and direction for the 14,000,000 members of our church.

Once in awhile, not as often as I would like, I am able to actually go to Salt Lake City and attend the actual conference.  Most of the time, though, I watch it on television. 

I am always surprised, when I am actually there, to see protesters standing outside of the Conference Center, holding signs and shouting disparaging comments about the Church. 

"If only they would go inside and listen," I always think, "they would see that we believe in the same Christ, and Gospel as they."

So today, if any of you are wondering what my church believes, you have chance to find out.  Go to LDS.org, to find discussions on our beliefs and answers to your questions.  You will also find links to watch the actual conference sessions. 

I would invite you, all of you, to come and see.  You will find the teachings of the Lord, Jesus Christ, whom we revere as our Lord, our Savior, and our God. 

Come, see.

The Manicure

I had a friend while we lived in Gilbert who only had sons. She was a beautiful woman, but missed having daughters to dress up.

My friend's husband owned a construction company. He went to work very early in the morning, and often fell asleep on the couch at night long before she was ready to go to bed.

One evening, while her husband snored on the couch, my friend sat up watching TV, painting her fingernails.

“Nothing woke him up when he was sleeping,” she explained when she told me the story a few days later.

“I guess I was feeling kind of sorry for myself, not having any little girls to paint nails with, so I got this bright idea to practice on my husband.”

Very carefully, my friend painted each of her husbands nails a bright red. He never stirred.

The next morning, long before she woke up, her husband quietly got dressed in the semi-darkness and slipped out the door so as not to wake his wife. It wasn't until he pulled out his wallet to pay for a Big Gulp at Circle K that he saw the bright red paint on his fingernails. It was hard to tell who was more astonished, him, or the cute little girl behind the counter. She certainly never expected to see a big, hulk of a man like that wearing nail polish.

My friend's husband sure was cross when he got home that afternoon. Wearing gloves all day in 105 degree weather wasn't fun, but it was the only way to keep his employees from seeing his manicure.

“How do you get this stuff off?” he grumbled, after he'd used a whole bottle of rubbing alcohol to no avail.

“Oh, it usually just wear off my fingers in about a week,” my friend assured him with a twinkle in her eye. It did, too, and she never told him about the bottle of polish remover sitting in her medicine cabinet, next to the nail polish. “After all, it kept him from drinking soda pop for a whole week.,” she told me.