Joy In the Journey

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“This is our one and only chance at mortal life—here and now. The longer we live, the greater is our realization that it is brief. Opportunities come, and then they are gone. I believe that among the greatest lessons we are to learn in this short sojourn upon the earth are lessons that help us distinguish between what is important and what is not. I plead with you not to let those most important things pass you by as you plan for that illusive and nonexistent future when you will have time to do all that you want to do. Instead, find joy in the journey—now.”

Thomas S. Monson

 

It’s Been a Year…

since I’ve seen my cute boy

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as of today–June 4, 2009.

He is happy and safe and learning Russian as well as Lithuanian and fumigating his apartment for fleas, and loving it all.

He met a man who introduced himself by saying, “Hello, my name is Jesus.”

Without missing a beat, Dane answered, ” Nice to meet you. How can we help you?”

Sheesh–I miss that boy.

I’ll just have to walk around saying, “One year left…one year left…one year left.”

Tick…tick…tick. The countdown begins…

The chanting does help.

I am brave…I am brave…I am brave.

I am trying…

 

 

*****

Read Jillian’s “Walking On Sunshine“” post about her brother.

 

 

Rose Parade

There is a ton of color in our yard these days. Most of it is coming from the rose bushes that are everywhere. They remind me…

When I was a little girl, my dad took the family to the Tournament of Roses Parade. It was a pretty big deal. However, in order to get a real spot on the curb to watch the whole thing we had to stake out a chunk of space on the sidewalk in down town Pasadena. It was so strange to be sleeping outside with a million other people—on the pavement. Uncomfortable and awkward–but exciting at the same time.

I remember there were some scary looking hippies—sorry, that’s what we called them back then—who were smoking something when we got there. They played guitars and sang nearly all night. My dad rigged up some kind of Bunsen Burner deal and made hot chocolate for us and shared some to them as well. The smoking stopped immediately because there were “little dudes around.”

My cute dad was always one for heading off any signs of trouble–at the pass–and making friend with everyone. Sometimes it scared my mom half to death–but he felt like being kind and friendly right up front, was the best way to keep us all safe.

As we kids started to fall asleep the singers’ music got softer and more lullaby-like. I vaguely remember a slow, sweet version of Puff the Magic Dragon as I drifted off to sleep.  While we slept, some other group of people set up chairs right in front of us, completely blocking our view of the street. We woke to the sound of the “hippies” physically escorting the curb poachers far, far away from our space.

I’m sure it was a wonderful parade–maybe it even had something to do with roses. Sincerely, I can’t remember one speck of it. What I do remember is my dad shaking hands and patting the backs of some new, very different  friends. Friends that didn’t look so scary any more.

Read about  The Rose Named Peace
Photos by Jillian

Nearly, Nearly…

Nearly a pink blossom

Nearly a graduate

Nearly a cozy fire

Nearly a peach

Nearly Summer

Nearly at the end

Nearly one year out

Nearly jam

Nearly fifty-one years old

Nearly perfect

Perfect

Memorial…the Day

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This day has always been about families. Pulling everyone together to remember those who aren’t with us right now. In a lovely way, it is also about flowers.

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Bundles and bundles…

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of real flowers…

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to leave with a few people  we love, and miss very much.

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Great Grama Beck—the only doctor type person in town way back then and who sewed a neighbor’s scalp back on after a mule kicked him in the head.

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My momma’s brother who took one breath on the day he was born then closed his eyes again.

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My grama who once gave a kid a black eye for calling her little brother a “dirty farm kid.”

And my grampa who used to be a magician and could escape from being wrapped with chains–in 3 minutes.

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My great-great grandpa who gave Orson Hyde a purse of gold for his mission to the Holy Land a long time ago.

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We have spent this day remembering our family, with my mom and dad so many times–it seems impossible that now we are remembering them. How can it be?

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My lovely flower bearers…

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…and our tiniest blossom–so she will know the goodness that she comes from, and never forget.

I hope your Memorial Day weekend was wonderful for you all.