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On Turning 56 and Leaning In

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The last few months, every time I thought about my birthday, I thought about turning 55. Then, one day I realized–I AM 55. What? I’ve never minded my age, never feared getting older. But this whole nope-you’re-already-55-you’ll-be-56 has thrown me for a loop.  So, what does one do when they feel like they’ve lost a year? How do you celebrate a birthday? What do you do with this year?  I’ve pondered this during the last week, wondering about goals or a theme word for the year. Then, while mindlessly scrolling Instagram reels I saw a clip from an interview with Brene Brown and Oprah. Brene was talking about vulnerability and joy. She told a story about a man who said he was always afraid of the joy-filled moments because he was waiting for something bad to happen. So, he stayed ‘in the middle’, never being too joyful so that if something bad happened, he was ready. If something good happened, it was a nice surprise. Then, in his 60’s he and his wife were in an accident and his wife was
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A Thank You Note to Oregon

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Dear Oregon, Amid the chaos that has gripped our world, we decided to keep our plans and take a much needed break from everyday life. We loaded up van and cars and took a road trip of a life time. And, I'd like to thank you.  Thank you for rocky lakeshores and sandy ocean beaches, breathtaking waterfalls--for trees and rain and sunshine in perfect quantities.  Thank you especially for memories-- -of my granddaughter chasing ocean waves and running across green lawns, splashing in the hot tub and yelling "Papa" down the hall.  -of my grown and almost-grown children talking, laughing, playing in pools and lakes and ocean. -of shopping and souvenirs and seafood -of scary moments that turned out okay and sad-missing-you-moments that turned into surprise arrivals. -of lazy mornings waking when we wanted and unhurried days of exploration and adventure. -of long drives through a canopy of trees--a thousand shades of green speeding past on both sides,  -and an enormous, winding r
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Mothers and Daughters

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Me and Sadie I wrote this poem for a poetry class on Walt Whitman. At the time, my daughter was expecting her first child--a daughter. I decided to share this poem as a Mother's Day gift to my mother, my daughter and all the mothers and daughters. There is a unique and priceless link between mothers and their daughters, it has been that way since the beginning and will always be. My grandmother, Julia, with my sister Heidi, me, and my sister Ellen. Four generation, Me, Sadie, and my mom, Diane, holding Aurora. (Rory) Mothers and Daughters My grandmother died thirteen years ago, at death, not the woman she had been. Julia was a gardener, she grew petunias, raspberries and children. She loved roses and jewelry and my grandfather…not in that order. She was short, petite, fierce. My mother is alive,  a fighter. Diane is a baker, a singer, a gardener. She loves my father, her grandchildren and sewing…in that order. She takes care of others, bef
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What I Would Have Her Know

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I’ve thought about what to write about the world right now. I decided I would write a letter to my granddaughter who is 18 months old. She will only know about this virus and the chaos it brings through stories. She won’t remember the fear of getting sick, or the panic of shoppers clearing the shelves. She is blissfully unaware and happily cocooned in the protection of toddlerhood. Lucky girl. Dear Rory, Today you came to my house for dinner. It’s Sunday and this is what we do. Your hair fell in your face because there was no church and your mom didn’t want to bother you with pulling it back. As usual, when I held out my hands, you fell forward into my arms. This is the best part of my week. Our world is topsy-turvy right now and I wish I had your sense of none-of-it. To you, all is the same. All is well. You are fed and played with and held by so many loving hands. Your uncles fight over who gets to shower you with attention. In the end, Noah wins because he is your favorite.
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On Hopes and Dreams and Plans

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As an *ahem* older person, I have what some call "life experience". It's true. It's one of the best things about getting older. (There are a lot of not-so-great things, but we won't discuss that today.) As part of my experience, here is what I would say to all the 20-somethings out there, with all their hopes and dreams and plans— Your life is not going to turn out like you think. Oh, I’m not saying don’t make plans. Make them. Have dreams and do your darndest to achieve them. And hope, yes, please, have hope. You must have and do all of these things. But, in the end, things will change. And that’s ok. Maybe you’ll dream of having 6 kids, yes, 6 is the right number. And then you have 6. And, then, BAM! you find yourself pregnant with number 7. It wasn’t your plan. Or your dream. But, then you have that 7th child (and he’s not the girl you’d hoped for), but he turns out to be so much more. You sit now, with that baby number seven ready to enter junior high,
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Just One

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I have one New Year's Resolution for this year. One. Because I seriously suck at resolutions. I thought maybe I could do one. Because I'm really good at peer pressure and all the peers have resolutions and they're pressuring me (without even meaning to) to make one. So, OK already. Stop pressuring me. Ready? Here it is- I resolute resolve determine (whatever!) I'm going to write everyday   more.  I know blogs are sort of passe, but this is an easy place for me to write. And, yeah, no one reads them, but it's more about me, you know? Because I'm all selfish like that. (I'm not. Or I try not to be. If I am, will you tell me?) I have about a hundred classes* and I have to write for ALL of them, which you would definitely not want to read,(technical writing-blah.) but I need some creative stuff, so yeah. Here it goes. *I'm the queen of hyperbole. I actually have 5 classes. But it feels like a hundred.
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365 Days

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Sadie just minutes before entering the MTC. Our church is big on preparation. Prepare for your future. Prepare for catastrophes. Prepare for you callings. Be spiritually prepared. We are taught it all our lives. Prepare. Sadie was trying to prepare me. Or Someone was.  From the beginning, my girl was ok to leave me. At the tender age of two, she toddled off, holding my sister Ellen’s hand as she left for a sleepover. No looking back, no tears or requests to ‘come home’. She chatted all the way to Ellen’s house and happily spent time with her, only sad when she was returned to me. At eight, she went to Girl Scout camp. A week with her BFF in the Utah mountains, making boondoggle and singing songs. Still no homesick tears. I have let her go over and over. Girls camp. Youth conference. Scout camp. I should have been prepared. We are all prepared, we Mormon parents. It isn’t like it’s sprung on us. A mission- SURPRISE! We know they’re going. We talk about it as they gro
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