Welcome Camden

I have become a grandmother to three as of last Saturday. The most amazing part of these grandkids is just how much you love them. After having Colby, I wondered if I would be able to love other grand kids as much but having added Taylee two years ago and now Camden, the shocking part is you can actually experience this much love and not explode. It's fun to see your own kids become parents. My son who will always be my baby even towering above me, holds this tiny boy and I know the love and wonder that he feels. There is also so much love and appreciation for the beautiful girl that my son fell in love with, that she would go through all the pain and discomfort of a pregnancy to make this beautiful boy for all of us to love. They will be such fine parents just as my daughter and her husband are to my first two grandkids. I do feel so blessed to have the opportunity to grandparent these incredible children. I'm glad I had the best grandparents who showed me just how it is done. I hope I can do as well.

Each year at Christmas I write a Christmas poem. I was a little slow getting it done. I usually send it in my Christmas cards to my sister, my dad and my aunts. So I will post it here since they are my primary readers and it's fitting for this topic.

Christmas Gifts 2011

Now there are three,
growing in various stages of new.
Each resemble a memory of the past;
the dimple in the chin of one grandma,
violet eyes of another, peaked lips,
soft absent eyebrows puckered, lifted, frowning
in such familiar ways.

Colby arrived almost nine years ago,
wide-eyed and unexpected,
shaping the future by making each of us more.
He borrowed features of a childhood face,
the slim body of my father,
along with his gift of social escaping from every pore.
Breathes an ease of interaction that amazes us all.

Taylee grows like an appendage to her mother,
stealing her very looks from the blue eyes
to the hair curling down her back.
She worships her big brother
while he encourages her outside her shy self
to dance in his warm shadow,
teaching her all the words she will need to know.

Camden, baby of my baby
arrives on this day of a distant grandfather
who surely must have chosen him from the rest,
appearing to an audience of adoring family,
round cheeks and rose petal lips,
he sucks on hands and fingers,
entertains us with his magic
while his father becomes more the man
he knows this boy will need him to be.

I have it all dear Santa
each healthy little being
along with the gift of another year
to watch them grow towards who they will become
occupy a place in my heart so big
it feels like I will burst trying to contain
all this expansive love,
a love I could not have imagined
until they became mine.

Hands

This poem in progress was provoked by a writing prompt by Nancy Takacs at the Cliff Notes Writing Conference.





Hands

My right hand smells of basil
from sitting on my heels in the garden
picking flower heads from leafy shoots.
Someone told me to do this so the plant energy
could focus on growing more scented green leaves.
The smell is heavy on my fingertips.
I should be able to taste it
but there is only a flavor of dirt,
slightly salted and August sun.

My left hand smells like the dog
I have shooed through the garden gate twice.
She waits until my head bows,
my squat so close to the ground,
she thinks I am hers. She tastes my left hand
which must be warm whipping cream on her tongue.
My grandson wanders through this garden,
squatting his own few inches from the dirt
while he breaks pea shells to release round bb’s of green
to his tongue while his words circle peas.

My hands disappear into those of my grandmother,
her same age spots and wrinkles as they pushed deep
into raised white bread dough, heels of her hands
pressured into the table. Flour-dusted fingertips
glide across smooth loaves, like her hands
on my six year old calves as she helped me
pull on white cotton socks, folding back the lace edges
around my ankles. I reach out my hand to hers,
wanting my fingers protected inside the soft apricot of her fingers
so neither of us is afraid; her fearing my return
to a city she does not know, only a mother to protect me.
Me, afraid my father, her son, might not need me now.

I stand, the smell of basil everywhere in the garden now.
My grandson digs trenches next to pea plants.
I wave the hand that looks like my grandma’s at my grandson,
place her fingers on my lips and blow him a kiss.
Wait for him to come to the gate
where I will hold his hand deep in my palm
before releasing him to a city I chose to leave,
his mother finding the dad there to complete his family.

I'm Back

You may have noticed that I quit blogging last spring. I thought I was punishing one of the two people that I know read my blog. I actually thought they were the only two reading my blog and I was sure this blogging was taking time away from my actual, real writing. An amazing thing happened in my non-blogging fit throwing, I didn’t write anymore than while I was blogging in fact I probably wrote less and I also had two other people ask me why I wasn’t blogging anymore so there were actually four people out there with enough time in their day to check into my blog on occasion. Of course my usual pleaser personality kicked in immediately and I felt that I had in some way disappointed them. So I’m back, at least for today. I’m hoping I can provide a moment of entertainment or escape for my four fans and that I don’t piss them off too much with what I choose to write. I’m also hoping this act of writing will spill over into the rest of my life. Winter is coming and I’m feeling very compelled to use this winter of my quiet solitude to write something meaningful or at least write enough so it is easier to call me a writer than to call my husband a writer who faithful writes in his journal every day. I should at least try to accomplish an act of writing daily and see what happens.

I was incredibly inspired in the creative generally and the written word specifically at our recent Cliff Notes Writing Conference held each fall here in Boulder. It does something to the soul to just hang around creative people for days. It causes my brain to act in ways I’m not able to direct on my own very well. I begin to see the world from my right brain and feel very compelled to put what I’m observing down and see if the words can in any way match the observation. I wander through my day seeing everything as a writing assignment because there have been so many great ones shared during the conference. So what did I gain from this conference?
1. A writing prompt can be an excellent tool to get the writing going when the left side of my brain is resisting and suggests that I write a grant, clean the house, do something more productive than writing words that will mostly be crap.
2. One of the most important things I learned from Craig Child is I always have time. He gave prompts and then gave us 5 minutes or 2 minutes or 10 minutes. Surely I can find that kind of time in my busy retired life. In fact it seemed that I got to the heart of the writing better with this kind of time limit. Where was this message when I had kids, I could have gotten a lot of writing done with that kind of schedule.
3. I also loved his beautiful journals. I need to figure out how to have journals serve me. I did steal from his journal. I hope I find a good place for the words taken while he was busy teaching.
4. The reading of the written word is incredibly beautiful especially when it is rich in observation and authentic voice. That would include all those who read at the workshop. We need to keep reading our work outloud to one another.
5. I was reminded that I may have some ability to write. Thanks to Dave for proofing my poem and providing feedback which reminded that I can write and maybe someone will notice. From this experience, I am committing to sending a few pieces out this winter and see what happens because of his words and suggestions.
6. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed the photography. I had recently had a discussion with my sister about this creative avenue as well as my pottery. I wondered if photography and pottery were truly creative enough because there isn’t as much wild abandon in these forms of creativity. They seem to just happen, the photo is what you pointed at, the pot is what the clay becomes before I really screw it up. But this workshop helped me to understand that photography is internal and external. How we choose to frame the scene in front of us is the internal creative just as the pot becomes more and more internal with each step of the process.
7. I especially learned a lot about drawing and our landscape at the workshop we set up for the elementary students. I’m ready to try out some of the skills they learned that day in capturing my own landscape.

I recently read Soulcraft by Bill Plotkin, a book I discovered in such an unusual way and then found I had actually met Bill, I just didn’t realize it was this Bill. After reading this book, the search through the creative process to determine the soul seems so much more important. I have even dabbled in sketching and painting since reading the book. I think I always believed I was not very artistic but maybe I have just been a bit afraid of venturing into the realm of my own creativity. I’m probably still afraid but it is time to journey to my own creative. I am dedicating my winter to this journey. It will be interesting to see where it leads me. I’ll keep the four of you posted.

Farewell Aunt Margie

It is much too soon to be blogging another memorial but I do want to acknowledge the passing of my Aunt Margie. The loss of her is painful on many levels. She is the aunt that looks most like my mom and is also a lot like her in their work ethic and business savy. Her passing brought back all the hurt of losing my mom so many years ago. It is also losing a future of really great conversations with my Aunt Margie. Engaging in a conversation with her could take you to a deep discussion in so many areas that are off bounds in most circles. Just last fall at the writing workshop, Steve and I were at the town hall getting coffee ready for the workshop participants at 7am. Between 7 and 7:30, we had quite the discussion about homosexuality, not like who is or isn’t, or is it good or bad but where does it come from, why does it exist and on and on. With Aunt Margie, if you weren’t trying to better understand family members, you were discussing religion, politics, sex, or some other taboo topic. I loved these conversations and the opportunity to think way down deep. Her passing also reminds me that my other aunts are near her age and I may not have them forever. I really have been blessed with incredible women in my life and my aunts have been right there at the top. They have made me think and they have helped me to believe in myself. I can do anything I choose to do because they said so and showed me in so many ways that I could. The loss of Aunt Margie is also tough because I know what her children are now experiencing and I love Camille, Karen, and Gaden like sisters and brother, so it is a sadness at their pain and loss as well.
I have gained so much from Aunt Margie. I thank her for being the strong woman that she has been throughout her life. We are all so blessed that she chose the medical field. She has kept us better informed on our own health. In this regard, I would also thank her for her influence on my daughter, who chose nursing because of Aunt Margie’s influence. I only hope that my daughter will also take some part of her way of nursing to become an even better nurse. I thank Aunt Margie for her directness even when it stung a little, it was always shared for my own good and if I decided not to accept it, that was ok too. I still haven’t bought that new bra yet. So goodbye Aunt Margie, you have lived this life well. Give my mom a hug for me.

Together We Can Help Old People By Colby Rothstein

When I was three, my great grandma lived with me. We played games together like puzzles. Sometimes she would make me mad because she didn’t understand what I was saying and we would fight. I learned she had a disease where she couldn’t remember things. When I moved to Cedar City, she moved to a senior citizens place where they helped take care of her. But I still would visit her every time I came to town. She always had a treat saved for me. When I would see her she was always excited to see me and the other old ladies always were excited too. They would want to give me hugs and kisses. Her memory has gotten worse and worse and now she has to live in a place where they can help her a lot. She doesn’t remember people very well. Sometimes she thinks my grandpa, her son, is her brother. Sometimes she thinks my grandma is her sister. But when I come to visit her, she still gets excited and remembers who I am. Maybe she remembers me because we did a lot of things together when she lived with me. Everyone should still visit old people even if they are sick or have a bad memory. It helps them have a better life and be more happy.

Remembering Fae

I have been neglectful of my blog the last little while but I thought today might be a good time to post so I can memorialize my mother-in-law, Fae Barraclough Wright Cox Stubblefield; the woman with the name almost as tall as she was. Fae was born on November 1, 1924 about 30 minutes after her twin sister Fern. She grew up poor since her father was disabled and there were six kids. She slept with her two sisters Fern and Loraine in a double bed until Loraine got married. She loved telling stories of how her and Fern would trick dates and teachers pretending to be the other one. Fae married early and had two boys. Their father raised them. She then married Steve's Dad. They had and raised Kenny, Geniel, LeeAnn, and Steve. I first met Fae almost 36 years ago at Steve's graduation from college. He introduced me to her as his "friend". I was offended not realizing he had a long term girlfriend that Fae knew much better. In fact she called me that girl's name for the first year of our dating. I didn't get offended at that, she's called all of us by the wrong name over time, including being called a dog's name every now and then.

Fae has always been an important part of our lives. Steve took on the role of caregiver from the time his Dad died and that role never ended. In the meantime, we had lot's of benefits of having her around. She was always very willing to tend our kids and she bailed a working mom and dad out on a regular basis. My kids enjoyed the opportunity of having a grandma around always. She also invited us to Sunday dinner every week and she was a great cook. She would ask where I wanted to go on my birthday for dinner and my request was always her chicken and potatoes with milk gravy. I'll never get the milk gravy right. She was also a pie maker and in recent years as her dementia increased, I had to pick up pie making and that too will always be lacking. Fae never missed one of Geneya and Geoff's events (unless we didn't tell her so we could sneak out without her and that was rare because she loved it too much we would feel guilty). She sat through several versions of "Indian Boogy" at Mrs. Tunbridge's piano recitals. She was their biggest fan at every sporting event. She didn't care much for the referees and there are probably many of them that still remember the fiesty gray-haired lady in the stands. But she thought Geoff could do no wrong. She did worry at each game because the other team was always bigger than our boys and there were always more of them but she didn't plan in their secret weapon, her in the stands. My favorite story, though not at the time, was when we were planning Snow Canyon in basketball when Geoff was a freshman. The gym was fairly empty and Geoff and Brock Sargent were doing their usual wrangling under the basket for the ball. Of course Grandma thought Brock was fouling Geoff so when they finally called a foul on him, she yelled across the gym "They finally caught you, you little jackass." I turned to her in total embarrassment and told her she couldn't call the kids jackasses. She said "I just did." Ohhhh and only about 8 more years of sports to go with Geoff. It was an interesting ride. We always tried to sit behind Nancy Topham at the basketball games because she said she thought Fae was cute. Steve and I would sit on each side of her to protect the rest of the audience and we would try to locate among fans and not too close to parents who she might want to comment on their boys playing ability.

As she got more impaired with dementia, we decided to move her into our house. We already had three generations with us, Geoff, Geneya, and Colby, a 4th couldn't be much more chaotic. And with two dogs, a third wouldn't make much difference. It helped to have so many people to keep her company and safe but the best treat for her was having Colby. They became best friends, playing together and fighting together. You had to keep track just so the fight didn't get too serious for either of them. He got a little frustrated with her because she couldn't remember things but wanted to make him behave. One day his frustration got the best of him and he whack her on the head with a little bat I had brought him from Louisville. I'm not sure he had that bat for more than a day before it was taken away. He did love her and even after she moved to Cliff View, he wanted to go see her and was willing to let the old ladies sitting by her on the couch in the lobby give him a hug. Theirs was a special bond.

She has gone. It's hard to believe that just a little over 3 years ago, Steve had her hiking to Grass Lake, a steep and rocky couple of miles. But then again he had Colby to help :). I'm sure she is having a great reunion with her twin sister, Fern and we all know she has probably already danced a few tunes with Pinky, Steve's Dad who has been gone just a few days short of forty years. That reunion should be incredible. We will all miss her, but she did leave us with incredible memories, lot's of great stories, and the consistency of having her with us for such a long time.

When I was a kid, my Aunt Gerry gave my cousins and I each our own guardian , mine was Rachel from the bible. I never understood why Rachel was my guardian angel until I got Fae and then I understood. I knew that where I was going Fae was going too. I don't think I ever realized until now just how lucky I was to have her. I love you Fae. Give my mom a hug for me.

Blessed Women

I spent my Christmas holiday falling head over heels in love with my granddaughter. She has been my granddaughter for almost a year and I have been quite smitten with her before this holiday but it become that crazy kind of love and I think she loves me back in a similar way. It is also a painful love because it is so much harder to depart from. I miss her before I even walked out the door. I recall in any moment her amazing blue eyes and pouty lips. I think about all I want for her in the future. Tonight at Women’s Council it struck me what I want really for her and for her mother and that is for both of them to have a whole bunch of incredible women in both of their lives. If they do not have sisters (sorry Geneya) then let them have wonderful women friends. Let those friends be the ones they choose but also let them find those friends among their family in their cousins, aunts, and grandmothers. I have been so blessed to have my life be full of the most incredible women you can imagine. It all started with my mother. My every thought went from my lips and through her good thinking and wisdom for the first 30 years of my life. I also had my heart grandmother and my work grandma to love me and to teach me. I now find my aunts have become incredible friends and great models for aging and thinking and creating. I spent last night at Aunt Ann’s sharing a task but also sharing conversations that truly matter. I was truly blessed with the most amazing sister anyone could have. I feel incomplete without my daily phone call. She is like my right arm. When she hurts I still cry just like when were little. I also have cousins that are some of my best friends. I discover regularly how much I enjoy being with them. I also have some really great girl friends. I thought this was what you get and then you nourish these relationships to extend to the end of your life but with my move to Boulder I have found a whole new batch of incredible women. It is such a pleasant surprise to find the opportunity for new friends with new practices and ideas for this next part of my life. So thank you to my women. You are why I am a positive person, why I believe I can accomplish most anything, why I have remained married for these thirty years, why my ideas and thoughts become even better, why I am blessed.

Community Language

In Boulder, we have the opportunity to do the most interesting and unusual things if you have the courage to venture beyond your comfort zone and because my goal since moving here is to go beyond the usual, we venture. Last night we joined the gather of the Men and the Women’s Councils to celebrate the solstice. It was held at the silo at the Red House Farm, formerly owned by my great-grandfather, John King so it always has meaning to be there beyond just a nice place to be. It was a small gathering. The topic was a focus on community and understanding that we all have gifts and wounds. There were many interesting thoughts around the topic but one part that got me thinking beyond the evening was a comment about how each group in a community has its own language. If you possess the language, you are accepted into the group, if you do not it may be more difficult to be a part of the group. I think few of us understand this idea because usually everyone speaks English but it may take having those that do not to help us understand that there is also the language of the group.

Being a part of a group called Educators, this is really evident. We have lists and lists of acronyms we use to talk about almost everything including the students. Then we wonder why parents don’t participate in their student’s educational process. It is a different language and one that can make those without that language feel stupid. Even in this small town there are several different groups who possess their own language. There are the Mormons. You can easily identify them by their language. I was watching a couple on the Today Show whose son had nearly drowned. I knew they were Mormons even before it was confirmed that their home was in Provo. I appreciate knowing how to speak Mormon even if I’m not actively participating. I can connect with members of my own family as well as certain people in the community. There are the Intellectuals here in Boulder. I can usually speak their language fairly well although it’s more work and I’m not as comfortable but I always love the challenge it provides. There are the Laborers. I love their directness, their humor, even their crudeness. It is honest and refreshing. I can speak this language as much as girls are allowed to speak it. I know there is a part of the language that is never open to women but I like hanging out on the edges. There are the New Agers, not sure that is the best label but they find spirit in everything. It is a language I love although I’m far from fluent. I listen more here. You might think there is a language of the Environmentalist in this town but when you live in this town, you love the land. You miss it when you are away or even if you drive it in the dark. You find ways to be outside, to walk across a stretch of sandstone or through a grove of aspen. In Boulder, everyone is an Environmentalist.

All of these many languages I have described are interesting and beautiful. However, the language can also create a barrier keeping everyone else out if you aren’t careful. If you are only comfortable with those that speak your language, life is going to be pretty much the same every single day. You will begin to believe that only people who speak your language are good or worthy. You’ll probably even start looking alike in ways that aren’t very attractive. You’ll never find out that you are very similar to these people who don’t speak your language. You’ll find the more you talk to them that even your language will change. You’ll learn things you never knew about building, sharing, breathing and life. I think the most interesting people in this town are those that speak many languages and travel in and out of the many groups of this town.

So be courageous. Move beyond your comfort zone. You never know what you might find on the other side of some place you've never been. And when you gather with your tribe, listen for that person who doesn’t speak your language and invite them in. Teach them your language or better yet, learn theirs.

Preparing for Christmas

Me going to the Christmas dance in Escalante

Geneya helped me make my blog more festive for Christmas. Since it has always been my favorite holiday, I figured I should get a new post on as well.

My earliest memories of Christmas were at my Grandma and Grandpa Roundy's house, waiting for Santa to arrive. Grandma always had a beautiful Christmas tree placed in front of the big picture window. It was most often a Ponderosa pine with heavy flocking, always full-limbed and balanced since my grandpa could insert limbs as easily as God did. My grandma created the traditions of wassel and sugar cookies. Christmas Eve included a Christmas program at the church and Santa handing out bags of candy. He always stopped at the house before taking off in his sleigh. Chrismas morning started early, usually because Grandpa couldn't wait any longer for us to wake up. After the presents were opened, we spent the morning visiting at Aunt Ruby's, then down to Aunt Fon's and finally, across the street to Evadean's. There was always a Christmas dance on Christmas night and it required a new Christmas dress for the occasion.

The adult Christmas can never match up, so luckily you have kids and grandkids to make it better. I love the Christmas tree, so I have to put one up even if no one will see it but Steve and I, after all I am related to Ott Roundy. I think a lot about the right present for those I love. Being in Boulder makes the shopping a little more challenging but I am learning how to get almost anything off the Internet. It's interesting to see what your adult kids take from the traditions you tried to build about Christmas, what matters to them as well. They both have their trees up already so that Roundy Christmas gene seems to be strong. I need to make a batch of wassel. Steve is trying to get the red lights up on the house. Hopefully we'll get that Christmas cookie contest in sometime over the holidays. We have Steve's Chinese Christmas dinner planned but not on Christmas so we can accommodate all of us. Tomorrow night will bring the yearly Palmer Christmas Party complete with Silly Santa. Colby, Taylee, and I are planning to make it to that party and see what Taylee thinks of that Santa, especially without her mother. Another great holiday season wishing each of you a Happy Holiday as well.
Here's a Christmas poem from a few years ago.

Each Christmas
Christmas 2005

I work harder and harder to make it the same,
the same as last year, the same as when I was seven.
Each Christmas I make gallons of wassel,
just like my Grandma made and her mother.
We sip it with friends, give it as gifts,
wrap fingers warm around those old Santa cups
filled golden with wassel and the reflection
of lights from the Christmas tree.
The tree we searched for once again
on the mountain tops or in pinion forests
depending on the weather and depth of snow.
We walk hillsides, assessing trees; the right size and shape,
Finish the trip with hot chocolate,
heated on the green stove in the back of our truck.

The one time each year I will climb to the top rung of the ladder
to string lights and place those same special ornaments;
“first Christmas” daughter, first son, first grandson,
placed on draping branches with the other special treasures
gathered over a marriage.
Hang stockings on the fireplace, wait empty for the movie, the music, the candy
just the same as last year and the year before.
Bake sugar cookies that never taste as good as Grandma’s
so we spend our time with decorating contests.
Cook Mom’s fudge from the recipe
still on the back of the marshmallow jar,
lasting so many years after she is gone.
Watching another generation open pajamas on Christmas Eve
as his Mother begins her own set of the same traditions.

Each tradition allows us to pretend
this year is the same as the last and the one before that
even though this year we are nursing Raymond back to walking.
Knowing we can never healing his heart
forever damaged in his loss.
Plan the next place we’ll look for Uncle Dean, giving up one day
filled with hope on the next.
Always trying to understand his loss of mind,
how we will deal with the fading of his life
as well as that of our only remaining Mother.

Last year was not the same either or the one before
when we spent our first Christmas with an unexpected grandson.
Never imagining how he would turn our hearts and lives around,
making us all soft and amazed.

No Christmas has ever been the same as the year we spent in the hospital, transfixed by the blue of Grandma’s eyes,
knowing she was leaving us soon and so aware we were not ready.
Or the year after Mom died, leaving Colette and I
broken and extremely gifted, two green boxes of jewelry,
mine the elephant symbolizing her journey to another side.

It’s not the same as my first year as a wife.
Christmas so small and lonely, missing my Grandpa,
who would not have been home that year anyway,
his life lasting only enough years to see me marry this handsome man.
Or the Christmas no one wore new dresses to the dance
and I did. It was maroon velvet with a sparkling empire waist.
I went home early, too beautiful for girls without dresses.

It’s not the same as the first Christmas without my Mother.
Dad bringing a new wife to Grandpa’s that year,
my Mother declining the invitation to still come home for Christmas.
Or that first Christmas after my sister was born
I don’t remember that one because even with two years alone,
I don’t remember anything without her.
Or my first Christmas, when my Grandparents
became changed, their hearts soft and amazed because I was there.

It's not the same as the very first Christmas, Jesus nestled
in the crook of Mary’s arm and Joseph standing watch.
The star lighting the sky so angels could look down and see
all the Christmases to come.

A Good Dose of Fall Creativity

It's been a great fall for sparking the creative. Started with the Cliff Notes Writing Conference/Hogsback Heritage Project with faculty David Lee, Dianne Oberhansly and Gailmarie Pahmeier. Dave was incredible as always. His direction for the Hogsback Heritage Project "Artifacts" got me going on a pretty good poem for the project. Dianne inspired me in so many ways. Gailmarie was new this year to the workshop and had several writing prompts that will keep me writing throughout the winter. I think each of their readings were about as good as you can get. Dave was reading from three new books released this year as well as from a couple of new ones that will be out in the future. Dianne's family piece was funny and encouraged me to think of my own family stories that I might take to written. Gailmarie was amazing as well.

Following our workshop was a six week writing workshop Writing the Rhythms of the Land that was put on by Boulder Community Alliance and Red House Farm with Billy and Grace. I only participated in one of the workshops but was able to attend all but one of the weeks. I picked this one because it included writing but also had elements of movement and sound but mostly because it made me very uncomfortable, especially the sound portion. I learned a lot about my self in my uncomfortableness. How being self conscious can get in the way of some incredible things, especially if you succumb to the compulsion to avoid that which makes you self conscious. These workshops ended on Saturday by bringing all the groups together to share pieces they had created in the workshop. It was open to the community and the pieces were shared in a rebuilt silo that included a circle of chairs around the silo all filled with people and then the floor covered with people sitting until you wondered if this floor could hold such a group. There were kids from age 7 to teenagers to ever age of adult. There were probably 50 people not all having participated in the workshop but it truly was a great event of creativity and community. I enjoyed getting to know Grace in this workshop. She is a great teacher of the creative. Below is one of the pieces I wrote from a prompt of writing what you believe. I read it in a silo located on the property that once belonged to my great grandfather John King.

What I Believe

I believe each of you has value, some of you just don’t know it yet. You must look back to the beginning before you started to believe other people’s words. I believe there are daily opportunities to demonstrate faith throughout your life. Call it what it is. I believe in children, they are always our hope for a better future. I believe in a good night’s sleep to settle and sort the best thoughts and breakfast for implementing them. I believe that each of us will always learn more from something that is challenging than from easy. I think secrets are rarely a good idea but something you must keep for a time until the person who owns the secret realizes that as well. I believe in honesty except for those small things that include judgment. I am against drinking milk from the carton and believe it is best to rinse milk from the cup before putting it in the sink. I believe you should never give up on your parents or your siblings until you have figured out why you got them and resolve the issue. I believe the stories of old people have the power to transform the future if we listen. I believe girlfriends are a necessity for all women and a hot bath can cure most ailments. I believe in eating off the fancy dishes, drinking from stemware, and wearing my most beautiful jewelry. I believe in socks in the winter and comfortable shoes always. I judge men by how much they truly like women and I judge women by how interesting their children, either those they birthed or dreamed, become. I learn most about both men and women by the books on their bookshelves. I believe art is a worthwhile investment even though you will never recoup the money you spent. If a dog likes you, that means something and if cats like you as well, you are truly something special. I believe in the power of touch and also its ability to damage when in the wrong hands. I think preteen girls can show us what incredible means and we could all learn to play from little boys. There is nothing more interesting than the language development of a two year old. Read every chance you get. Sing at least once a week whether you let anyone listen, that is up to you. Dance even when no one knows that’s what you are doing but always dance out loud with someone you love. A smile can change someone’s day but laughter changes everything. Everyone must have some creative outlet or they will explode, find yours. Sit outside often and don’t forget to look while you sit there. Nature calms and cures more than any church but go where you need to find the spirit and never judge someone else’s place. Drink water, eat chocolate, and pay attention to the moon.

Retiring Life

It is amazing all of the things one can become involved in for the retired life. Today's Grandma really isn't going to be sitting in that rocking chair except for a quick break. Election Day brought a new job as Garfield County School Board member. With that there will be a lot of preparation to get up to speed and being able to do it well. I'm excited to find ways to improve education for the students of Garfield County. I'm also working with a group of people here in Boulder to set up an arts council. This will be fun to see how we can get the community involved in creating the council and then putting together great art events as well. I'm also trying to help the Escalante Heritage Center figure out how to raise a couple of million dollars for a new center that spotlights the Hole-in-the-Rock Expedition. Finally, I'm involved in the usual planning for the Boulder Heritage Festival for July, 2011. My personal goal for this year is to write more. That tends to be the thing that gets pushed back a bit more but I'm hoping with more alone time and the quiet of winter coming on that I will get at that goal better. We finished up another incredible creative writing conference last month and that should inspire me way into February.

So retirement is just right with getting to choose the things that I want to do but still having time to visit the kids and the grandkids. Travel is a little more reduced this year from last year, but that's ok too. I do love my life and living it in the most beautiful place in the world.

Telling Your Story

Saturday, we had Meg Brady, a Folk Arts teacher at the University of Utah whose job is collecting and teaching people how to collect stories through Hospice and the Huntsman Cancer Center. She presented the whys and the myths of reminiscing and telling your story. I have understood the one side to the importance of telling our story; so it doesn't go to the grave with you, so our children and grand children get to know what our lives were like, to share what it was like in "the olden days." I didn't understand until this presentation how important telling our story is for the storyteller. She said in England they pay to have people facilitate reminiscing in old folks homes because the residents are more sociable and more connected with the present. So remembering the past doesn't mean that we are living in the past. More importantly, she talked about how by talking about and writing about our past that we begin to see the patterns of our lives, that our lives and the incidents of our lives are not just random occurrences but that they are a part of a life pattern. That makes our lives have meaning and we may not even understand what that meaning was until we write or revisit the events at the end of our lives. We may begin to see the theme of our lives and better understand the importance of why we were here. I had an epiphany today, that this is probably what we have to do when we die. We go to the writing room and begin to write our memoirs. We have to get this done before we can go hang out with God and get on with the next part. So if you've written your own history and thoroughly evaluated your life, you are ready to move on, otherwise you will be hanging out in the writing room for some time first. Do you hear that Dad, Roberta, Aunt Margie, me?

As Mother's Day Continues to Change

The last Mother's Day for me was May, 1988. My Mother was consumed by the cancer that would take her from us in just a couple of weeks. I bought her red sweats that Mother's Day. They may have come from the children's dept. since they were so small to fit her shrinking body. We did have to cut out the waist because of her abdomen that was enlarged from effects of her cancer. She was struggling to eat anything and went from coherent to interacting with that world she was preparing to enter. We were still deluding ourselves with our talk of hope in beating cancer. She knew she wasn't winning the battle but she allowed our talk of hope. Her last words to me were "there's still so much I have to tell you." I will never know what those things might have been. She does present herself now in the most interesting and unusual ways if I choose to believe.

How do you continue to celebrate Mother's Day when your mother is gone? For me it has been a day of sadness, of remembering my loss, of calculating all the places that she is missing. I have gone through the motions, my own children deserve that but I'm sure they felt my sadness and loss as well. I have celebrated my mother-in-law and my stepmom but they have also been short changed by my sadness.

This year something has changed once again. I am selfishly spending this Mother's Day in Boulder, just Steve and I. I received the usual Mother's Day greetings and then I went to the yard to rake and feel the dirt on my hands. I have sat in the sun and let it warm me. I have washed clothes and then felt the breeze as I hang them on the line. I did prepare ahead of time to celebrate my daughter for Mother's Day. She is celebrating that first Mother's Day having chosen motherhood and even though the previous Mother's Days have been well worth celebrating, it was also bittersweet in the way that it changed her life before it was time. She is an wonderful mother and I celebrate her without even a twinge of the sadness except her Grandma Rae would have loved the new girl that possesses her name. I also celebrate my mother-in-law who now speaks directly to her twin sister, dead now for years. I honor the decision to move her to more care as the dementia over takes her. She is more at peace than she has been for some time. I still question the why of this disease and who it is for, what we are all suppose to gain. I celebrate my step mother for her love and kindness through the years. How she decided friendship with my mother was the right step, leading the way to friendship with my sister and I. I celebrate my sister for example of mothering and for always being there for me. She is the one who always understands exactly what this day and so many others feels like and means. I celebrate my Grandma Roundy for teaching me so well about being a grandma. I celebrate the incredible aunts I have, my Aunt Renon for her support at all the events of my life, for my King aunts for inspiring me to write, and read, and think. I celebrate cousins who are great mothers and raise children that are as interesting as they are. I celebrate friends who choose to be a part of my life and allow me to be a part of their lives as well. I celebrate my new daughter-in-law and look forward to many wonderful life events together. Happy Mother's Day to all the incredible women in my life. You have made me so much better than I would have been without you.

Pushing My Limits

Each of us has our areas that are our strengths. I know that I can plan and organize. Few things are too overwhelming in this area unless they come too many at one time then that can overwhelm but in a different way. I know I can accomplish the task, I just have to figure out how to be super organized. I also know how to interact with others, especially in an individual, personal way. Even with hard problems, this is usually more satisfying than challenging. For me, my strengths are head and emotional connections but I have never felt very secure in the physical part of me. I always have wondered if this would have been different for me if I would have been a teenager during a time when girls sports were available like they are today. I was a tall teenager and I think I would have had athletic skill but there wasn't girls sports during my high school time. Girls could be cheerleaders or on the drill team. I did love dance, but never felt secure in that are either. So I spent the next 30+ years developing my head. I can pull off smart beyond my actual ability and I have confidence in this area of head. So what do you do when the man you love not only has the strength of head but also confidence in the physical. He wants to hike, walk through the backwoods, carry a pack across desert canyons. He does go to some beautiful places and I do enjoy time with him, so I decide to try "pushing my limits."

We planned this hike for quite sometime. We even found the other couple to trade cars at each side of the river. We would start in Harris Wash on the west side of the Escalante River. They would start in Silver Falls on the east side of the river. We would hike the 16+ miles across, meeting in the middle. We started putting together the things we would need to take for this over night hike. I overthink every possible scenario, therefore, planning too many clothes for me to pack in my backpack, too much food for two days. I'm nervous for days before. I plan and plan because that is my strength. I don't know my body well enough to know if I will be able to meet the task. I don't know if it gets too hard if I will be able to find what I need to finish. The middle of a sandstone canyon without water and a two hour drive to the nearest town, is not the place you want to find out you don't quite have it. My husband can compensate a bit, slow down, move some of my load to his, but he can't carry me back to the car and he sure doesn't want to hear me cry outloud, the whining is almost more than he can take. The beauty of the places we go and the enjoyment of going together, forces me to take on the challenge. I go, scared to death. I go in search of the limits of this body that would have been so much easier to test 30 years ago. I go to prove to myself that I can do this too. And it is always incredibly beautiful and it is time well spent with the man that I love. And I will go again because I have that thing that helps women forget what having that first baby was like and then we have another. And I will put too much stuff in the backpack, and I will cause my stomach to gurgle with nerves, and I will plan with every possible solution at least for the problems I have planned for, and I will find out the boundaries of this 50+ body. And maybe I will love this body even more than I did when it was young and firm.

Quilts

I'm thinking about quilts today since I'm working with Sheree on trying to put together a video presentation about quilts that will be shown at both the Escalante Heritage Day and the Boulder Heritage Festival. I have collected some pictures of old quilts and taken a lot of pictures of the process of putting together a quilt that I did for my son's wedding. I also have my sister and her husband busy tying one of the quilts they did this winter. The quilt picture I have posted was the camp quilt that I received from my Grandma Roundy for my wedding. I love this quilt because it is so much of the time period it was created. If you looked at it, you would know I was married in the seventies because all the pieces are made of polyester. If you knew my Uncle Claron during that time, you would recognize many of the shirts Aunt Ruby made for him. It is tied with a crowfoot stitch and my Grandpa said that it was so warm you could just put it in the room with you. This tradition of giving a quilt for a marriage is long standing in my family. I'm not much of a quilter (yet) but I still feel compelled to get the quilt done for the wedding. A camp quilt is easier since it doesn't have to be perfect. When babies are born, that's also the time of the quilt. My sister just finished 6 or 7 baby quilts for Haiti children. Her husband is great at the tying. I have one picture of him that says "Real Men Quilt." I love that because he is a real man that has no qualms about quilting. I haven't done baby quilts but I usually crochet around flannel blankets. My grandma made beautiful quilts. I have a beautiful tricot quilt she made and also a pieced quilt that she made for my wedding in addition to the camp quilt. My step mom also gave me one of Grandma's old pieced quilts that I dearly love. The hardest part with quilts is that they are too beautiful to use so they end up in a cedar chest waiting for the next generation to own them. I think I might put them out and enjoy them if I didn't have dogs. Maybe after the dogs are gone, I will enjoy my quilts. I also have a quilt that my Grandma King made that was on my Mom's twin bed when she was growing up. That is an interesting quilt. I always loved quilts my Aunt Ann made for graduations, weddings, and babies. Her quilts were useful and get used. Every quilt has it's own story, I'm sure. Maybe I'll start working on those quilt stories. I'm thinking we will have the quilt display on Friday of the Festival and the Saddles on Saturday, both are so impressive. And then let the stories begin. Tell me your quilt story.

Poetry and Dreams

In this last week, the dreams are battering me, one after another, each strong and filled with potential meaning. As the dreams come, so do the poems. Arriving one after another. So since all my writing is coming in poetry, it probably should appear here as well. (brand new hot off the press)

Boulder Love Poem

This place has always held me,
from the cradle of sandstone to each rock,
each curve on the road, to the tops of towering ledges.
They have witnessed those who came before me,
each generation linking one to another
to culminate in me.
At fourteen, I was drunk with this place.
Overwhelmed by all it possessed,
maybe it was that time of life when I could not control
the effect or I may have chosen
not to ignore it. I was madly in love,
the passion of place consumed me like a fire,
threatening to destroy me with intensity.
I was released from the hold just a little
when I found the one who would become my husband,
sharing my desire between place and man.
I learned moderation of this place,
small doses, a weekend, a week,
creeping up to three weeks and a month.
I would once again be dragged back
to the edge of desire, to sit on a sandstone peak,
wade in Calf Creek or allow the sun
to hike across my body while I leaned on a rock
at the edge of Grass Lake.
As I ride my fifties, I am embolden,
for the children are raised and a retirement check
arrives each month. I have lived a good life.
I return bravely to sleep night after night
on the banks of Boulder Creek.
I invite the beautiful of snow on Maggie’s Ledge,
to burn my eyes. My legs carry me
to each entrance of the Escalante River.
I embrace Upper Falls as winter breaks to spring,
allowing myself to fall so deeply in love
that I should be afraid. I will never escape
something this beautiful.

Next Generation of Mothers

Tonight my only daughter returns to work after having her own little daughter just 3 months ago. I'm so glad she had the three months with her daughter. Her last child was born before she was ready and pushed her to adulthood. This tiny girl came when she wanted her most and was ready with a marriage, health insurance, and a means to support her. Even in this time of preparation, the day comes when Mom returns to work. I remember going back to work when she was just almost 6 months old. I had enjoyed my time with her but I had also made her unwilling to drink from a bottle so I would race to the sitter's house down the street from the school I worked at and feed her at lunch. She also moved to cereals and other foods sooner so she could get through the day. We had a glorious time after school, sitting in the rocker and reconnecting with a little nursing time. I went back to work sooner with my son, but the sitter was his Dad, so that felt like a good time for them. I still raced to where ever he was for the next several months to have a quick feed during the lunch hour. He was so easy because he could eat both sides in a matter of minutes and send me back to work.

My son-in-law has duty tonight with his tiny daughter who is spending her first night without her mom. It will be good for both of them to learn how to meet each others needs. But I know that tonight my daughter is fretting on the 3rd floor of the Medical Center. Wishing she was home with her daughter and wondering if she still knows how to be the nurse those patients on the 3rd floor need. On the news tonight, they talked about the scientific research on the benefits of breastfeeding for 6 months but yet even in the best of circumstances, 3 months is what mom and baby get. In this time of health care debate, I wish we were further along the debate to be talking about getting at least those 6 months that they are finding to be so critical. I hope my daughter can find a way to keep the breastfeeding going beyond this go back to work time. I hope that we can become a nation that can adapt to what we find is most important for babies and for helping mom's to make it work. Good luck my daughter and kisses to Dad and baby tonight!!

Going Political

One of the interesting parts of retiring, especially retiring at 50, is that you really have to think of another half of a life of things to do with yourself. Also knowing that you are on the short end of life, you try to think of things that have meaning, importance, durability, significance to others, and on and on. I had some ideas of what that might be before I retired. I knew that I wanted my tasks on this side of retirement to involved more creativity. I also knew that I wanted to be my own boss. I also wanted to make contributions to the things that matter most to me. I do believe that I am an educator at heart and my mission is education. Even with the Boulder Heritage Foundation and the Festival, I want to learn more and I want others to learn as well. That's why I'm in charge of the educational components of the festival and have added birding and creative writing as additional projects. But I also believe in the importance of public education. All children must have the opportunity for a free, relevant, rigorous education. It is the most important thing that we should spend our tax dollars on. So one other goal in retirement was to find ways to be involved in strengthening public education. I was always interested in the Garfield educational system and conducted inservices in Garfield County every chance I got. Well I'm taking my next step as a resident and have recently filed to run for school board for Garfield County School District. The area this position serves is Boulder, Antimony, Ticaboo, and Hatch, an interesting collection of the smallest of the small. Garfield Co. has struggled recently with some major financial problems and lawsuits. I hope these issues will not get in the way of providing the best possible education for these students. I look forward to this run and getting the chance to hear from parents, students, teachers, and other residents in this area. It will be interesting since I think the last family member that ventured to the political was Aunt Nethella and she served in a democratically dominated house right here in the State of Utah. So it's been a while. But venturing to this new arena should definitely shape my retirement and the goals I have for this new place in the second half of my life.

Girl Friends

Had a wonderful evening Saturday night at Dianne's house where she taught us about making sauces and gave us the opportunity to eat all of the amazing food she was instructing. It was an evening of girlfriends. I am feeling very lucky to be included in a group of amazing girlfriends so soon after moving here. They truly are incredible women. Another added advantage was getting to take my daughter with me as well (Steve may not have seen it as such an advantage since Taylee cried most of the time she was gone). It was great to let her see how important girlfriends can be and also the interesting and creative ways in which you can gather. She left talking about how she should do this - invite her friends over and do something as unusual as cooking great food together and serving it beautifully. I hope it will inspire her connections with other women as much as it has inspired me. When you go to this much trouble in the connecting, it is such a valuing of those friends in your life and a message about how special they are to you. I was also inspired to be more adventurous and bold in the kitchen. I have always felt like a terrible cook but I now have the recipe for Orange Beurre Blanc Sauce. This evening could change my perception of my own adequacy in the kitchen and therefore change my life in small kitchen kind of ways. I'm getting my shopping list together so I can have all necessary ingredients to make Roasted Red Pepper Sauce and Balsamic Syrup. I may even venture to Hollandaise Sauce so I will be ready when those asparagus heads start peeking out of the grass along the creek. (I have plenty of time to practice since there is about two feet of snow down there now.) Once again thanks to Dianne for allowing me to be a part of creative and delicious cooking, beautiful table settings and stemware, and most of all interesting and intelligent women of Boulder.

History Keepers

Why is it that some of us are so fascinated with the past and not just our own past but with the stories and the events of dead great grandmothers and their grandfathers. Women and men that we have never known. Yet we search those black and white photos looking for eyes that resemble our own or the lips of our children. We tell their stories over and over as if we were there or maybe we believe there is a secret message that if we listen closely and often to the story, we will know the answer. What is so interesting about looking through genealogy pages to see how families grew and connected? Like the most amazing jigsaw puzzle we have ever worked.

I am the keeper of the history of my family. A family that includes little diversity with most all family members being brought to Mormonism from Wales, Scotland, or New York. Coming to this new church early as a grandfather Hyrum supporting brother Joseph in this quest or other grandfathers and grandmothers called to travel with Joseph to each new place that would be called Zion for a time. Faith never waivering with moves further and further west until Shadrach helped deliver Brigham and the first group of settlers to Utah. Creating a lineage from Shadrach to Lorenzo to Napoleon to Bert to Otto to Vernon to me, seven generations in this place. Consumed with the stories of Lorenzo's drowning or Napoleon's shooting match.

Now I seek understanding of two friends coming from Millard County to run cows in Boulder. John Black and John King bringing cows here, first someone elses and then their own. Clearing the land of sagebrush, pinon, and juniper to make green fields in the center of a sandstone circle of cliffs. How one man's granddaughter and the other man's grandson found each other for just a moment to make me, the history keeper. The one who will spend retirement looking back and celebrating this incredible history through the Boulder Heritage Foundation. Legitimizing the role of the history keeper. Giving more and more ways to explore and share the past. There must be some reason for it all.