All Ye That Labor

Years ago,
my then-in-high-school daughter
was having a hard time sleeping at night.
Each morning,
she'd drag into the kitchen,
"I didn't sleep at all."
This went on for months.
I didn't get it.
I was dead-tired by the end of the day.
My favorite piece of furniture that I own
is my bed!

Life changes, like it does
and I too have had many a sleepless night
since then
for a myriad of reasons...

One period of time was when Mr. W was out of work
in 2007-2008.
That was a long year.
I found that I started dreading bedtime
because I just couldn't turn off my stress-filled brain.
I tossed and turned all night long;
even chiding my self for not being able to
let my brain and my body rest
when I knew I needed it so.

Something had to give.

And it did.
I got a blessing and was admonished to
trust in God's love for me.

Another sleepless night came,
and in my mind's eye
an image came forward:
I laid all of my cares and concerns,
my weaknesses and my hurts,
all of it
upon a silver tray
and handed it upward
to a waiting Savior
to take care of while I slept.

I felt peace.

I knew I could trust in His care
to give me a reprieve at the end of the day
and allow myself to rest.
His great Atonement covered my cares.
I knew that He knew I was a responsible person
and I would pick up my cares again in the morning.
but if He could just hold onto them for me through the night,
I could rest in Him.

That was a few years ago--
and a habit developed then that has served me well.

Lately,
I have felt unsettled and overly concerned about things.
Yesterday especially,
I was at full tilt.
Something had to give.
I was supposed to meet Mr. W at the temple
last night after he got off work.
Mid-afternoon though,
I just wasn't feeling it.
I wanted to reschedule going
for another day--
maybe Saturday?
But I couldn't bring myself to cancel on him.

As I drove up to Denver alone,
I was still in a knot.
I get like that sometimes.
Wound so tightly I practically "ping" off walls.
The ribbons of gray highway thru foothills
can be hypnotic
and my thoughts and concerns were soon
peeling away
layer by layer
being laid out on the sides of the road
behind me.

I got to Denver with alot of time to spare
so I went over to Deseret Book Store
just to walk around and soak up the beautiful music
while I waited for Mr W to arrive.
There's something about that little store--
full of inspirational artwork,
music,
book titles alone that, just reading them,
makes me feel better.
I wandered thru the aisles for just a few minutes
before I had to leave to get over to the temple parking lot
to meet my Love.

As I pulled up and parked,
I noticed his car was empty--
that meant he'd gone into the visitors center
to change from his work clothes to his suit,
which he would only wear for a few minutes
while he walked into the temple and then change again.

Having a few more minutes alone,
I closed my eyes and offered a prayer
that I would feel my Savior's love for me
and the fears and concerns that had set hold upon my heart
would be lifted
and I would be able to see things clearly.

I didn't know how clenched I really was
until after I entered the holy temple
and upon showing my temple recommend,
the temple worker said,
"Welcome. We're so glad that you're here."
Which to my soul felt like,
"Welcome Home."
My body reacted immediately with a big, long exhaled sigh.

I could rest.

Every minute in the temple,
it was as though another layer peeled away
and complete peace washed over me
like waves at the shore,
taking the negative discards out to sea.

The rest was welcomed and savored,
I would not rush this along,
"Just Be Still." came the thought.
So I was.

Coming into the temple, I was as a refugee from chaos,
demands upon my energy, resources and spirit,
unrelenting.
I had nowhere else to go for the kind of nourishment so needed.
Like a child coming home,
I found His love waiting for me there.

The time came for me to leave,
and I braced my self for impact
outside the temple doors...
they opened and being fully aware
of my former layers,
I anticipated the familiar weight to
drop back on my shoulders.

It didn't come.

It didn't come on the ride home.
It didn't come when I pulled into the drive of our home.
It didn't come when I saw dinner dishes on the counter,
or shoes scattered on the floor.
It didn't come when I climbed into bed
and was alone with my thoughts.
It wasn't there when the sun peeked in my window this morning,
or when the Bee woke up complaining about unfinished homework,
or the Boofus presented a scratchy throat and a headache.
It didn't come when Daisie came bounding upstairs,
running late for school.

The weights that bore me down
are lifted and remain so,
even in the light of day
and I am grateful.

Beginnings and Coming Arounds

Ever notice the patterns in your life?

How things come and go

and come around again?

It is a common theme in my life

and the longer I live

the more often it happens--

these "karmic" moments--

and I'm not all that surprised anymore.

For instance,

as a surprise for my birthday this year,

the 17 year old, Daisie,

gave me a great gift--

one she now heralds as

"The Best Birthday Present for Mom EVER!"--

she was actually tickled to give it to me.

What was it?

A plane ticket to Houston to spend

Thanksgiving with her sister, Danielle and her family.

It would've been the first Thanksgiving in Texas

without family

and Daisie thought it would be a gift for them 

as much as for me.

SO.

I got to go see those sacred grandsons

and spend time with my girl who is far away

from her hometown and family.

I actually got to go to Church with them too.

And as it turns out,

they meet in the very first LDS meetinghouse

that I ever went to in Houston.

And in the same exact ward.

I was a new convert to the Church

and while I'd not lived with my family in a long time,

and they moved from Denver to Houston

while I was in Provo, Utah at BYU

I'd gotten sick and received a blessing

wherein I was told to go "home" to my parents house.

I did as I was counselled and flew to a home I'd never known.

My folks,

still very much against my new faith,

picked me up at the Houston Intercontinental Airport

and on the way to their house,

mother said,

"I don't think there are Mormons in Texas, Dawn. 

We haven't seen a single sign of one."

Just at that exact moment,

my father pulled up to a four-way stop sign

and stopped.

Then, two young men with white shirts and black name tags

drove their bikes right across the intersection

in front of the car.

I bolted out of the car,

and yelled to them!

"Hey! Elders! Where's the nearest Chapel?"

Elder Tonks and Elder Bringhurst gave me the information

I needed and I got back in the car,

so grateful for that tender mercy.

My folks were astounded to say the very least!

The building that my daughter and her family attends

is the very building that I went to thirty years ago.

As I walked into the chapel,

a memory flashed of me standing up at the podium

bearing my testimony of my love of the Savior

and even sharing the previous days' experience

of nearly running over the two missionaries

who told me where to come to church.

And the feeling came to me that as an 18 year old

new convert,

I never imagined,

no never in my wildest dreams,

that I would come back to that building

with my daughter and her husband and my sacred grandsons.

How cyclical

life is...

there are people there,

people I didn't know long ago,

who have welcomed and tended to my family

in my absence.

I am grateful for that continuum of goodness.

SO many came up to me sharing their fondness for my girl

and her family;

shared how much their ward needed a young couple

with strong testimonies of the gospel

and desires to share in the service that is needed.

Though I only attended that ward for a few months,

there are fun memories that remain

and now new ones to add.

Life gives back to us--

we do reap what we sow.

Peas & Carrots: I'm in a Pickle

Ever gone to lunch with friends
who know each other in one group very well,
and friends who know each other in another group very well
and you find yourself somewhere in the middle?

That happened to me recently.
One group of lovely women
discussing another mutual friend's choice
(who btw wasn't there, nor do I know that person)--
let's say her choice of "peas"--
"Why?!", they exclaimed,
"I could never eat peas! Never. Such an inferior choice,
when there are obviously better choices in vegetables, such as carrots!
Never. Poor thing, she just doesn't know better, that's got to be it!"

The hair on the back of my neck stood up,
when I noticed my friends on the other side of the table
go suddenly quiet and I knew why.
One most certainly loves peas,
and has been eating peas successfully for many years.
She tried carrots, but they didn't agree with her.
She baked them, boiled them, sauteed them in rich, creamery butter,
but they still gave her heartburn.
The other friend has children who decided years ago
that carrots just don't do it for them.
Nevermind that their mother served up carrots in delicious and attractive ways--
they thumbed their noses up at them,
and instead chose peas over carrots.
Instead of deciding to never serve her children a meal again,
she made the conscious choice to respect their taste for peas,
and learned how to use peas in her favorite recipes--
because she learned along the way that
it's not what's served at the table,
but whose sitting around it that's the most important to her.

So,
back to lunch:
I sat there listening to one ignorant group blasting "peas"
not knowing there were some "pea-loving" friends
sitting quietly in their midst
and I panicked a little inside.
Not wanting to cause a scene or embarrass either group,
I put my hand on a non-pea-lover's knee,
to quieten her, as lovingly as I could
and raised my voice just a little,
enough so that everyone could hear me:

"You know, I love carrots. I do. But I can tell you that in my experience,
if carrots don't agree with you, then peas are just as good a choice!"

The carrot lovers agreed. IN sentiment at least. They haven't had to ever choose between
carrots that make you ill to peas that fill you up and make you happy.

The silent pea-minority said nothing.


I have no problem with peas.
Or carrots.
I've chosen carrots for myself,
but if pressed,
I can see myself choosing peas too.
My children thus far,
have decided that they too,
like carrots.

What I came away with was this:
be careful in what you declare to be unsavory on your plate,
because
hunger dictates alot more than you may think.

Now, rutabagas, that a whole 'nother thing.

So, what did you do when this happened to you?

Poetry Memorization and the Bee

Bee's teacher assigned the kids to memorize and recite a poem--

Jack Frost
by Gabriel Setoun

The door was shut, as doors should be,
Before you went to bed last night;
Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see,
And left your window silver white.

He must have waited till you slept;
And not a single word he spoke,
But pencilled o'er the panes and crept
Away again before you woke.

And now you cannot see the hills
Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane;
But there are fairer things than these
His fingers traced on every pane.

Rocks and castles towering high;
Hills and dales, and streams and fields;
And knights in armor riding by,
With nodding plumes and shining shields.

And here are little boats, and there
Big ships with sails spread to the breeze;
And yonder, palm trees waving fair
On islands set in silver seas,

And butterflies with gauzy wings;
And herds of cows and flocks of sheep;
And fruit and flowers and all the things
You see when you are sound asleep.

For, creeping softly underneath
The door when all the lights are out,
Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe,
And knows the things you think about.

He paints them on the window-pane
In fairy lines with frozen steam;
And when you wake you see again
The lovely things you saw in dream.

Bee told me about this assignment,

the night before it was to be recited

the next day.

I would like to be all "I am so surprised that she laid that on me so late!"--

but it's honestly, 

typical of my children.

What they lack in preparation,

they make up for in confidence, no doubt.

Whereas I hate to be hurried or under duress--

the stress is never worth it to me--

my offspring like the rush, the chase,

the do-or-die-in-an-instant!

They have tremendous confidence,

that's all I can come up with, really.

Who in their right mind waits until the night before,

to memorize such a long poem?

So this is how I helped her memorize that long poem:

I wrote the first letter of each word

on an index card

and two paragraphs or stanzas (?)

to a card.

Then, she read the poem outloud 

to me,

with me,

several times.

I read it to her too,

helping her to hear

the syllables and rhythm.

Then, we replaced one verse at a time

with the first letter of each word

and just kept building on her recall

until she had the whole poem memorized.

We practiced it about 412 times that night,

then a few times in the morning before school.

And ya know what?

It worked.

She got one point taken off--

not for a forgotten word,

but for "enthusiasm" in delivery.

She definitely has t.c.

Her teacher told her she was a *"g."

*that would be "genius".

Sewing: Pleated Contrast Fabric Valance

Awhile back, I offered to help a sweet friend, L. decorate her home a little.

First, we decided to paint.

She'd lived in her house for about 14 years,

and hadn't ever painted over the builder's paint.

SO, with some coaxing,

one wall at a time, even,

we painted her living/great room

Kwal's "Toffee".

She wasn't sure how much she wanted to paint--

but as we went along,

she caught my "vision"

and soon her diningroom and entry were painted too.

We also painted her kitchen two shades lighter,

"Arrowroot"...

then it was time to get some curtains up

in both the great room

and the kitchen.

We found some ready-mades at JCPenneys

but had a hard time finding the right style for her sliding door (96")

and a small (39") window in the kitchen.

L. found this style and I agreed to give it a try:

                                          

                                            She picked the fabrics and I learned a new skill:
sewing without a pattern to make custom window treatments.
I read the instructions several times over. Cutting the fabric was the hardest part!
I so didn't want to waste any fabric. I measured once, twice, and more to make sure.
I also wrote on a separate piece of paper each step in my own words,
which actually helped too.

 I didn't take pics of the larger one, 

but here's the smaller one.

This style doesn't use a curtain rod,

but a piece of wood (so much cheaper BTW),

which we mounted the fabric upon.

I actually finished these up in a few hours,

and when L. gets them hung up,

I'll get some more pics of the finished project.

It took longer than I thought it would,

because of my brain stuff,

but L. was super patient and it turned out well

for both of us:

she got her window treatments

and I got some needed "therapy" for my brain.

Now that I'm done with this,

I'm ready to start on our own home.

FYI details:

I did use lining, which is really essential when using light to medium weight fabric on a window.

L. also used a 50% coupon at JoAnn's fabrics and I think her cost for the fabric was less than $70.00.

I also made coordinating covered buttons! Super easy to make and apply.

The black fabric is just broadcloth...cheap but when lined, it's fine.

Also, I like to listen to music when I'm sewing--

Michael Buble was too loud,

but James Taylor was like having a friend sit next to me

while I worked away.

He gets 2 thumbs up!
I love trying new things!

Dear Mitt,

*credit dialy beast

You don't know me.
I've never lived in your state,
gone to the schools you've gone to,
my kids don't know your kids,
in short,
our paths have never crossed
in person.

But still,
I voted for you.

I didn't vote in the 2008 election because
I didn't believe in McCain and I didn't know Obama.
So I didn't vote.
I know Obama now.

Since I didn't vote in 2008,
I couldn't complain about how the country was being led.
I didn't have that right.
But I have certainly suffered for it.
So I decided to be a better American Mother this election year
and study up on you.
What I learned compelled me to join your cause.
I wanted to make a difference with you.
I believe in your vision of a strong America.
Like you,
I felt the stakes were too high to be silent,
or ambivalent.

I took my little "voting stone" and tossed it into the
turbulent political sea for you.
It didn't make much of a splash,
but it's still there, ok.

I voted for you.
And I would vote for you again.
Thank you for stepping up and working so hard.
Thank you for taking hits and being dragged thru the mud
for your love of America.
Thank you for being a better citizen than most;
for putting your life on hold to do good and be good.
You gave all that you could and more than I probably will ever know.
May Father in Heaven bless you for the sacrifices you have made,
your family has made,
in the cause of Right.
You fought well.
And I am proud to say:
I voted for Mitt.

Sincerely,
A Mother in America

This Mind of Mine

I Ain’t Right in the Head

Saturday marks a year since the car accident I was involved in.

The one where I was driving my daughter’s friend home from school,

And was rear-ended by a car going around 40-45 mph,

While I was at a dead-stop waiting to make a left hand turn.

The other car’s driver was a 17 year old boy

Who, when he amazingly stepped out of his newly-smashed/totaled car,

With his cellphone in his hand,

Said, apologetically,

“I’m sorry. I was looking down.”

A year has passed by and taken memories with it.

I recently had a conversation with my oldest daughter, Dani

About the last year—

What I do and do not remember.

A few months afterwards,

I realized I’d had my 50^th birthday.

I even wrote about it on a blog that day.

But, one particular day, when I was alone,

I thought this thought:

“I had my 50^th birthday, and no one remembered! Noone did anything!”

I was really upset.

Diana came home  at that point (or maybe she was already home and I don’t remember),

But in any case,

She popped in and asked what I was upset about.

When I told her that I was upset because no one had celebrated my birthday,

She informed me that

Yes, they did. My family and my friends did celebrate my day.

Nan had thrown a 50’s themed party and it was really cool.

I couldn’t believe that I had no recollection of it

And that really made me sad.

In speaking with my oldest daughter, Dani recently,

She added that she and her family was there too!

It just showed that even 2 weeks later,

My brain resembled top ramen.

When it’s cooked and swollen, dontcha know.

So went the holidays as well—

I don’t remember Thanksgiving or Christmas

Except when someone shows me the pictures of Isaac’s blessing,

Or pics of the day,

Then, I have an A-HA moment and snippets resurface.

New Year’s is a total blank,

As is Valentine’s and Easter.

Birthdays are the same.

It’s almost as if the last year didn’t happen.

Weird, very weird.

Another thing that has taken a turn is my passion for writing.

Before the accident,

I couldn’t NOT write—

Even on what I thought were hard days before,

I still had more passion for expressing whatever was going on at the time

Around me—

The kids,

The daily-ness of life in Colorado

Whatever.

I lost my passion for writing

As the place where all of that passion is stored

Has somehow been tucked away in a safety deposit box

And I’ve lost the key.

Oh, looky there. A simile. 

So unpredictable, this mind of mine.

Ever felt like you’ve lost a part of your self?

Other areas of my life have also been affected by my lack of creativity/interest.

In trying to reclaim my basic ability to think and organize,

I guess the creative parts had to let go or step aside.

My writing is boring to me, even.

I feel as though I am more a “recorder of things”

Than a “storyteller”—which I envisioned myself.

Not a great storyteller,

But I felt if I kept at it, I could become better.

Now,

I don’t even know where to begin or where to look for

Those words, that passion, those visions.

It doesn’t  appear that I am a storyteller, afterall.

Likewise,

My passion for interior decorating has waned.

I haven’t done a dang thing with this house we moved into July 2011.

I had plans to paint, to sew window treatments,

To plant a garden and make this house

OUR home.

My biggest problem is that I can’t decide what to do first.

To paint?  What color, where?

To sew? What kind of fabric, which style, what window?

The idea of gardening, equally excites and overwhelms me,

So I did nothing.

This new state of being bothers me.

I’m not ME.

Not the ME I thought I was.

I “do” things,

But I’m not “Am” things.

My doctor’s say it will come.

“Give it time.”-- when my faculties arouse and I remember who I used to be.

The basics to this are fairly simple:

I forget a lot of things. Even the bad stuff is flushed away.

I can’t hold onto feelings of resentment or remember who should be disciplined.

Likewise, I forget kindnesses though.

I have a stack of “thank you” notes written who-knows-when,

Sitting here at my desk, and some in my nightstand.

I write them and forget them.

SO I am pretty sure the awesome people who’ve shown me so many kindnesses

Think I’m lame and ungrateful for their effort.

Ugh.

That’s not who I am. Was.

Maybe I just think I’m worse than I was?

That’s another thought rolling around.

Maybe I’ve always been “good-intentioned”?

It’s possible.

But have I always been so bad at being “good intentioned” as I am now?

That’s the question, right?

Am I rambling?

I’m rambling.

One doctor said I need to have a plan for recovery.

He was a jerk of a doctor, truly—

I had to see him for an IME for the defense.

And the only thing I remember from that meeting was

Those words.

“A plan for recovery.”

Since the accident, the kids put up a magnetic white board calendar for me

With my whole month written upon it:

My doctor appointments,

Lawyer appointments,

Kids schedules,

Yucky stuff like when bills are due,

Paydays,

And whatever else I need to know.

Should I try to write my “plan for recovery” on there too?

Other than the doctor appointments I go to,

Nearly every day—

And getting back to staging homes with my friend and partner, Kelly,

AND being open to births—

Whatelse should I be doing?

I am trying my best to reconstruct my daily life

As it was before the accident;

Altho I am not working at a company,

Like I used to and was indeed doing the day of the accident.

I don’t even know where to start with that one.?

What can I still do?

What will my brain be open to and hold onto?

I went and signed up for classes at the community college

And then promptly forgot to follow-up with FAFSA

and placement tests.

Lame.

SO very very lame.

Outta sight, outta mind.

That would look good on a t-shirt, yeah?

I could wear it as a warning to others.

How did I let that one go?, I wonder.

The idea of going to school thrilled me.

And then it didn’t.

This is the stuff in my mind.

I can be engaged as easily as disaffected.

Involved and disinterested.

Detached is a word that resembles my day.

I continually try new things to find “new favorites”—

N’  also to stretch my mind;

I will teach any lesson in Church,

Try to sew a new window treatment for my friend, L.,

Try a new recipe—which is kinda crummy because then I can’t recall it,

But still, I’m trying, right?

I try not to say “no” to new experiences.

But I fret more than I used to.

And that’s sucky.

And in this moment of clarity,

I do recall that our family motto for 2012 is

“Don’t Suck”.

Ack!

I have really let that one go down the drain, eh?

When did I get so negative? I asked my neurologist if that’s normal for a concussive brain.

He said it is.

But still, I don’t want to be a Negative Nancy.

Those kind of people drain me.

I don’t enjoy someone whose all mopey and depressed.

It’s, well, depressing.

C’mon little ol brain of mine—

Perk Up! I say.

I tried to do brain exercises,

Like Sudoko.

Sadists developed that, I’m pretty sure.

Like bowling with no fingers.

I don’t  stop trying, but man.

it feels like Algebra in the 7^th grade.

Which I only got a “C” in.

Maybe my problem is that I wasn’t too sharp to start with, yeah?

That would make a lot of sense right about now.

Maybe I’m not as far off the mark as I think.

Maybe I’m more a dumb-flip than I remember myself to be;

I do recall telling Mr. Wonderful that I never said I was “smart”

when we met.

And he told me that was ok because he married me because I’m a “good kisser”

Take that!-- Coach _____ who taught 7^th grade Algebra.

(I told you I would never need to know the value of “x”!)

So within this line of thinking,

Perhaps my “Plan for recovery” could amount to me just

Choosing to stay the course?

Go to my appointments,

Try new things,

Stop resenting the white calendar board on the fridge,

Ya know, get over it already;                                                                                             

Pick a darn paint color for the front room

N’ start painting!

It’s just paint for cryin out loud.

Maybe, this mind of mine is better than I think it is.

Let’s go with that.

IN the meantime,

if I owe you an apology or a thank-you note,

let me know.

If I owe you a kindness in return of a kindness,

let me know.

If I owe you a black eye, 

best leave things alone, yeah?

Apparently, I got over it.