Oh What Fun!

Merry Christmas, everyone! May I wish you that retroactively and also extend all my hope for a glorious new year to come. As I reflect back on Christmas 2019, for us just three days ago because we celebrated on the 26th, I feel only joy. Not everything went as planned; it never does. Still, oh what fun!

Christmas Eve (for us, Dec. 25th), Gerald and I ate a late lunch at Macaroni Grill. We sat in Amanda's section, where we could see Eli nearby on the expo line. It was a lovely dinner, parmesan crusted chicken salad for me and pizza for Gerald. When we finished and I was thanking the manager Krissa for comping our entire meal, she hugged me and whispered, "Merry Christmas! Thank you for sacrificing your family to us on Christmas and moving your celebration to the next day." I really don't mind; 25 is just a number, but it was still so kind of her to say.

That evening, we ate our traditional Chinese food. Because it was technically Christmas Day, lines at Joy Luck were out the door for both seating and takeout, so Shulamith and I drove to Asian Potato instead. It was busy there too, but we were able to get our takeout order in about 20 minutes. After dinner, it was time to open our one Christmas Eve gift. Sadly, Eli and Amanda were still stuck at Mac. Grill and wouldn't be home until near midnight, so we had to do it without them. That stuff about not everything going as planned is never my favorite, but it is certainly reality. Isaiah and Mathew abstain from the matching Christmas pajamas, so Isaiah opened a sherpa/fleece blanket, and Matt opened slippers while the rest of us opened our new matching PJs. We didn't get a picture of everyone together because we were waiting for Eli and Amanda. We said we'd do it the next day "Christmas Day" for sure, but then we didn't. So you'll have to look at these pictures and imagine Amanda in her dress, and Eli and Shulamith's sons in their navy pants with Christmas lights, all dressed up cute right along with us:

The next day, I awoke to snow flurries. It was as if Heaven was trying to send us a white Christmas, but the temperature was a bit too warm to allow the snow to stick. It was pretty, though! We began our gift opening rotation, one at a time, youngest to oldest, at around 10:00 a.m. Here are some of my favorite surprises:

Yeah, Shulamith and I gave each other nearly identical gifts, new church coats. This happens often for her and me. We have similar tastes and styles and know each other very well. (Side note: We both loved wearing these coats to our church meetings this morning, commenting, "We're at church. And we're warm. This is amazing!")

Here is Amanda opening her weighted blanket, something she has wanted for a long time but wasn't expecting. Yep, I think I surprised her good. Oh what fun!

Isaiah was recovering from serious jet lag, after a 2-week trip to Asia, where he visited Cambodia, Singapore, and Vietnam. He's extremely hard to shop for because he's a true minimalist and wants nothing, but I think he was actually excited by Shulamith's gift of socks from Donovan Mitchell's new store:

Sometime in the middle of all this delightful chaos, my phone rang. I had been waiting and hoping for a tiny miracle that would make it so Seth could video chat with us. He's serving this week in a remote area, where technology is challenging. As of last Monday, the WiFi was completely down, and no one seemed to know when it might be restored. I tried hard to have faith to believe that one way or another, we would hear from him, and LOOK!!!

It happened. Our own Christmas miracle. The connection was better than we've had in months. Seth was able to chat with everyone one at a time, and even open the presents I had shipped, right there where we could see. He was so crazy excited over simple candy, and he nearly jumped out of his chair when he opened the new watch he had asked for. With the recent change in policy relaxing communication restrictions between missionaries and their families, we get to talk to Seth way more often than we ever did our other two missionaries; still, it was as wonderful as ever to "be" with him on Christmas. He stayed connected for about 90 minutes and watched us each open a gift. My heart. My baby. Next Christmas, you'll be home.

The best surprise of the day came after all the gifts were opened. We open our stockings last BECAUSE THAT IS THE CORRECT WAY TO DO IT, AND IF YOU DON'T OPEN Y0URS LAST, YOU PROBABLY NEED TO REPENT AND CHANGE YOUR WAYS. Again, one by one, in order of age, we opened our stockings. When it was Eli's turn, I told him there was one more thing that I failed to get into his stocking, and I went into the bedroom and brought out a big box, all carefully wrapped. He seemed unsure at first whether to believe it. "Wait, I get to open another present? That's mine?"

Santa brought Eli a hover board, something he's wanted for many years, all the way back to when the technology was new and they cost $600. I think he was completely surprised, and few things bring me more joy than surprising one of my kids with a gift he or she wants. It was perfect, and I think he likes it.

Oh what fun!!!

We are off to St. George this week to ring in the new year. May our 20/20 vision show us all our blessings, and together may we seek to show greater love one to another.

Let's just read books and watch TV all the time.

Me: Let's not teach any more classes. Let's just read books and watch TV all the time.
Shulamith: Done.

Shulamith and I both teach a couple English classes at Salt Lake Community College, and we recently completed fall semester, giving us four full weeks of break. Needless to say, we really like it.  Break, that is. So much so that this afternoon as I finished the book I was reading, The Woman in the Window, I texted Shulamith, which resulted in the above conversation. Honestly, I think I would be perfectly content to read books and watch TV all my days. And eat good food, of course. And walk. Don't worry, Emily, I won't stop walking. I have walked for so long, I think my body would rebel in a big way if I ever stopped.

With the year end approaching, friends have been posting their favorites of 2019: books, TV shows, movies, memes, etc. In addition, I've seen a few "least favorite" posts, including two about least favorite Christmas carols. I decided I needed in on the action, so here goes:

I didn't see enough movies to make much of a list, but hands down, the best one I saw this year was Rocketman, the biographical musical drama based on the life of Elton John. It doesn't hurt that I crazy love his music (and him!), but seriously, this film is so well done. Pure delight. Isaiah and I sang every song. Later in the year, Isaiah surprised me with not only the best concert I saw in 2019 (okay, it was the only concert I saw in 2019), but the best concert I've seen in my whole life. Highlights here!

Honorable mention goes to the documentary Won't You Be My Neighbor? based on the legacy of Fred Rogers, creator and host of Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. 

Moving from big screen to small, I like a lot of shows, all pretty much the same genre. We've already established that I'm a reality TV failure, and I'm not that good at comedy either. I can count on one hand the number of comedies I've really loved, and none of those aired this past year. So sorry JoJo Siwa, but I'm definitely not gonna "Hold the Drama." It's all I like to watch! I've narrowed my faves of 2019 down to three, in this order:

#3 Almost Family. I know, I know, it seems like the stupidest plot ever, so stupid that I'm not even gonna tell you about it. You just have to watch. The strength of this show are its characters. All of them. They're quirky and complicated just like the rest of us, and endearing right down to their souls.

#2 A Million Little Things. This one hooked me from the first episode, when the most influential character of the series dies. After that, he appears in occasional flashbacks, but really, his presence is felt most deeply through the impact he had on all the other characters, through whom the writers explore and interrogate the most basic meanings of friendship.

#1 This is Us. Despite the glaring grammatical error in its title (Ugh!), this show easily wins first place in my heart. With nothing short of brilliance, these writers move us back and forth in time. Maybe I'm just fond of dead characters (and no, I never watched The Walking Dead - way too violent!), but the hero Jack Pearson, alive only in flashbacks, breathes life into this show in a way few can equal. The story's essence is Jack: his wife, his kids, their kids, and then back the other way to his dad, mom, and brother. I'm captivated every single episode by how the show presents parallel plot lines, as it moves seamlessly and effortlessly through time. Watch it. You won't be disappointed.

Honorable mention goes to Jane the Virgin, a telenovela that explores the strength of women, the strength of family, and the vulnerability that always accompanies genuine love. It's a fun one, and a little bit comedy to prove that I don't totally suck at comedy.

Way more challenging than movies, concerts, or TV shows is to figure out my favorite books. I read so, so many. So many stories. So many characters. So much angst. So much joy. It's hard to remember. I have four lovely suggestions, but I can't guarantee they are my for sure favorites of 2019, because I could be forgetting something wonderful. If so, my apologies.

#4 Where the Crawdads Sing. I always say that all good literature is true, because it speaks of life, and in doing so, communicates to readers what it is to be alive and human. By this definition, Crawdads, though obviously fiction, is true in every way. As we read, we live and breathe right alongside Kya, the marsh girl, abandoned by everyone, yet strong and resilient, and that's enough right there. Don't want to spoil anything for those of you who haven't yet had the pleasure.

#3 Small Great Things. Through the story of Ruth Jefferson, an African American labor and delivery nurse, we are smacked square in the face with the uncomfortable topics of racial injustice, prejudice, and hate, in a way that makes us squirm mightily. And squirm we should.

#2 Just Mercy. Disclaimer: I've only read 30%. I started it too late because I was finishing another book for my book group, and then my loan expired. It's back on my Kindle queue, but it's popular, so I'm still waiting. But even with just 30%, it finds its way to #2 on my list. It's that good. The only non-fiction on my list (remember, all good literature is true, but this story actually happened), this book is like a train wreck. It's so awful, but I couldn't stop reading, and when it disappeared, I felt simultaneously relieved for the break and desperate to have it back.

#1 The Things We Cannot Say. While all story elements are important: plot, characters, setting, point of view; for me, it's all about voice. I yearn to hear a genuine, honest voice, and this book delivers exactly that. Woven beautifully between WWII Poland and modern day, this story threw me head-over-heels in love with both protagonists, Alina, the young girl in worn-torn Poland, and Alice, the woman plagued by her quest to uncover a family secret. The story causes us to reflect on secrets, indeed the things unsaid, those that protect as well as those that do harm, and the brave souls who fight to know the difference.

Honorable mentions include The Silent Patient; Little Fires Everywhere; Where'd You Go, Bernadette?; and Every Note Played.

Finally, for the fun of it, let's talk about crappy Christmas carols (oooh, gotta love that alliteration). I've heard numerous rants about the song "Baby It's Cold Outside." Is it promoting date rape, with lines such as "Say, what's in this drink?" and "I like to think of it as opportunistic"? Okay, yeah, I can see that inference. I can. But I don't think this was the song's intent really; maybe I'm naive? I actually sort of like the song, truth be told. Sorry to those who hate it.

Then there's debate over "Mary, Did You Know?" citing Luke 1:26-35, where the angel appears to Mary and foretells the coming of the Savior and his mission. Again, I get it. But I'm okay suspending reality just a bit. After all, we set up manger scenes with both shepherds and wise men, who in reality, visited the babe years apart, and as Gerald noted in a post, we sing about how He never cried, which is incredulous considering he was a human baby. So maybe it's okay if we sing a pretty song that asks Mary if she knew.

Another favorite to hate on is "Grandma Got Ran Over By A Reindeer." My biggest issue with this one is, again, GRAMMAR! Come on, people. Otherwise, the song kind of makes me laugh. I guess I just don't take it seriously enough, and also, I have this fond memory my mom carrying Luke (Born Dec. 4th) around the house, singing this song to him to sooth his newborn cries.

So what songs don't I like, you are dying to know? Counting down the three crappiest Christmas carols. Second disclaimer: I still sing numbers 3 and 2, because they're as old as dirt and everyone sings them. I just don't care for the meaning in the lyrics.

#3 "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." This song presents a terrible example of bullying and shunning a poor reindeer because of his appearance, then loving him only when he's desperately needed. Blah.

#2 "Santa Claus Is Coming to Town." And this one promotes the false belief that children can be "bad," and that if they are, Santa (who creeps on them night and day) won't bring them any presents. The worst line in this one: "You better not cry." Double blah.

Last, and this one I DO NOT sing. I get mad when it comes on the radio. Guys, I really loathe this song.

#1 "Santa Baby." Some girl with a sexy voice petitions Santa to "hurry down the chimney" and bring her everything under the sun, including a sable, a light blue convertible, a duplex, and the deed to a platinum mine! How utterly materialistic! And the only way she'll be a "very good girl" next year is if he brings her all this stuff. I really might throw up.

There you have it, my favorite movies, concert, TV shows, and books. And my least fave Christmas carols.

Also, if you're looking for Shulamith and me, we are reading books and watching TV all the time. For the rest our lives.

It's fine.

I think you should make a crossword puzzle!

"Ooooh, that is such a good idea!" (My response when Shulamith suggested a crossword puzzle.)

You see, every year since Gerald and I were married, we've sent out a Christmas letter/card/greeting of some kind. In the early years, our letters were more traditional, but I quickly tired of those, so for the last 15-ish years, I've sought newer, more creative ideas. The problem is, I'm running out of those.

I've written an acrostic poem, using the all the letter of our two last names. I've made a multiple choice test. I've done a "thumbs up / thumbs down" format, to highlight the highs and lows of the year. I've done an award show theme, giving everyone his or her own award. One time I asked everyone the same three questions and wrote their answers. Another year I did "The 12 Days of Erichsen-Webster Christmas." Another year I did "Quotable Quotes," citing a memorable quote from each of us. Some of these ideas I stole from my friend, Trudy. Others I found online. Still others I thought up myself.

My absolute favorite Christmas letter, the one I try to equal every year but never succeed, is from 2014 when I rewrote the poem "Twas The Night Before Christmas" to reflect our family. Here it is, if you'd like to read it again.

This year's letter doesn't even come close to that one, but it was fun to write nonetheless. I was totally stumped trying to come up with a new idea when Shulamith came to the rescue with the crossword puzzle suggestion. It's not a live link, so you'll need to highlight/copy/paste it into your browser, but that should work fine. So here it is:

...drum roll...

CrosswordHobbyist.com/708062/Erichsen-Webster-Family-Puzzle





SPOILER ALERT!!!

Next, I'm going to post the answers, so if you'd like to try to solve the puzzle first, STOP SCROLLING NOW.





Puzzle Answers:

Across
4 Waffles
5 Gerald
6 Theodore
7 Shulamith
8 ElderErichsen
13 Mathew
14 Luke
16 Kennedy

Down
1 Amanda
2 Terrianne
3 MrWebster
9 Desiree
10 Ramsay
11 Isaiah
12 Swen
15 Evelyn

Thanks for letting us crash on your Disney vacay!

Quite a while ago, perhaps as much as a couple of years, my niece Carley mentioned that she and her sister Leslie planned to take their kids, Finn (Carley) and Sydney (Leslie), to Disneyland in December of 2019 when both kids would be five years old. "You should come!" she said. It was such a kind invitation, but in that moment, I doubt either of us thought I really would.

Then, time creeped on us; you know how creepy time can be. Leslie sent out a group text to everyone who had ever expressed any interest in joining this family trip, including me. "Hmmm?" I thought. "Maybe I would love to go. Maybe Shulamith would love to go. It would be so fun." And just like that, the plans began to take form. Shulamith decided to take just her two older kids and leave two-year-old Theodore at home with Matt. The last time I was at a Disney resort without a baby or toddler was in 2008, when our family went to Walt Disney World in Florida. Seth was eight, so able to ride every ride. It was (and remains) the most wonderful vacation of my life.

So, yes, I was excited for a Disney trip with no babies to slow us down. By July, we had booked our flights and hotel, and all we had to do was wait for it to be December. No worries. Time was creepy once again. Last Friday we boarded a Jet Blue airplane for our Disney adventure (or should I say our vacation-crashing adventure)? My nice family reassured me we weren't crashing and they were happy we were there. I believe them.

As for the trip, let's divide it into two categories: "Awesome" and "Not So Awesome." Fortunately, the "Awesome" category wins hands down.

AWESOME
1. Off season in the parks. Seriously, I will never again go to a Disney resort when school is not in session. Crowds were minimal, especially in the mornings. We arrived at opening all three days and strolled down the streets.

2. MaxPass - $10/day and worth every penny. If the simple fast pass wasn't enough, now there is this new thing (well, new to me) called MaxPass where you can access fast passes electronically on your phone. Say what?? Yep, Shulamith organized this thing like a boss, and we ride junkies rode a big attraction pretty much every hour. I got to ride Space Mountain, my favorite ride in all of Disneyland, three times! We also rode Thunder Mountain three times, Star Tours and the Haunted Mansion twice each, as well as Pirates, Small World, Matterhorn, Teacups, Dumbo, and the new Star Wars ride. Shulamith and Swen rode Indiana Jones; Kennedy was a tad too short, and I don't ride that one because it's Rated "S."

In California Adventure, we rode Guardians (formerly Tower of Terror) twice, Soarin' twice, and Incredicoaster (formerly Screamin') almost twice (we had fast passes for a second time but had to leave to meet my lovely family for dinner). Oooh, but that one time was magnificent!

3. Food. We have some food traditions at Disneyland, and we managed to eat every one of them. The first is a giant turkey leg with corn on the cob. Mmmmm! Second (for me) is a sourdough bread bowl filled with piping hot clam chowder. Shulamith doesn't eat this one because she doesn't always appreciate good food. And we now have a third tradition, discovered this trip: churro toffee! Oh. My. Goodness. It's toffee covered in white chocolate, then sprinkled with cinnamon sugar all around. Not even kidding.

4. Kind TSA agents at Long Beach Airport. You know how TSA agents are usually jerks? As in they need to take a writing class from me and learn about tone? Well, this time, instead of flying into LAX, we opted to use the Long Beach Airport, and for real, the TSA agents were amazing. They didn't yell at us. They didn't act like police posers, who, given the tiniest bit of authority, treat others like garbage. They spoke at a normal volume. They smiled. They said "please"! Unable to restrain myself, I said to one of them, "Thank you so very much for not yelling at me and for being polite and respectful." Pretty sure he thought I was nuts, but I don't care.

5. Uber/Lyft. The heck with expensive, inconvenient shuttle vans or taxis: go Uber! We were just a bit over a mile from the parks, but decided to reserve our energy for riding rides (reputation as ride junkies to maintain and all that), so we used either Uber or Lyft to and from. It was only around $6.00 each way and so perfectly convenient. The drivers had diverse personalities, some chatty and some reserved, but all were just fine.

6. Bipbbidi Bobbidi nearly breaks the bank. But then, I suppose the making of a princess doesn't come cheap. Shulamith's daughter, Kennedy, and my niece Leslie's daughter, Sydney, were transformed from regular five-year-old girls into sparkling Disney princesses right before our eyes, courtesy of their own personal fairy godmothers at the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique.

7. The weather. Shulamith kept close tabs on the forecast before we left, and ooooh, it was not great. As most of you know, about 99% of the time, I prefer rain to any other type of weather. The 1%? A Disneyland vacation. So when rain was predicted two of our three days in the parks, we packed ponchos and umbrellas for everyone, determined not to let a little wetness dampen our fun. The day we arrived, it poured "Paraguay style" all afternoon, but that was literally the only rain we saw. Our days in the park were around 60 degrees and partly sunny. Perfect.

8. My Portland family (or some of them, anyway). Again, thanks for the invite! I love you all.

NOT SO AWESOME
1. New Rated "S" rides. Why???? Apparently, they redo Small World and the Haunted Mansion just for Christmas, which would be fine EXCEPT the holiday versions both feature those horrible creatures, and really big ones! I will be forever grateful to Shulamith's seven-year-old son, Swen, who had my back all the way: "Her! Close your eyes now," he directed. Then he carefully watched and told me when it was safe to look.

2. Splash Mountain. We were determined to ride this, even in winter, so we donned our rain ponchos and headed over there, but just as we were about to scan our passes and jump in the fast pass line, the ride shut down. It was only temporary, but by the time it was back up and running, it was late, dark, and we were tired. The possibility of getting soaked was no longer appealing. Next time.

3. Lost credit card and missed fireworks. Okay, don't worry. It could have been so much worse. On our final day, Shulamith took my credit card to buy us some donuts, and after that, I couldn't find it. She thinks she gave it back to me, and maybe she did, but it didn't make it back into my wallet and was nowhere to be found. We didn't discover it missing until nighttime, just before the fireworks, so I left Shulamith and her kids strategically positioned (we thought) to watch the display and went to find a quiet place to call the bank and cancel my card. That process, though successful, took quite a long time, so I was just grateful the three of them were watching the beautiful fireworks I could hear exploding in the distance. Except they weren't. Sadly, the spot we selected was too far to the right of the castle, which blocked the whole display. Ah, well, now we know.

As you can see, it was way more awesome than not awesome. We returned last night, exhausted but happy, to real life and full-on Christmas prep. May we remember, as we prepare, the reason for all the joy:

"Come to Bethlehem and see
Him whose birth the angel sing;
Come, adore on bended knee
Christ the Lord, the newborn King."

Do you ever move the day?

Growing up as the daughter of a fire fighter, I thought everyone moved holidays to whichever day worked best. At our house, regular family discussion included the question, "What day will we celebrate Christmas [or Thanksgiving or Easter] this year?" It was far more important to have my dad with us than to celebrate on any certain day.

In my adult life, no one in my immediate family is a first responder, but Gerald worked many years for newspapers that published 365 days a year. Once again, we moved holidays to when we could all be together.

For the past 10 years, we've had kids working at Macaroni Grill, and yes, it's open all the major holidays, including Christmas. So yes, we continue to move the day in order to celebrate with everyone.

This has always been my "normal." I'm often surprised to hear about families that always celebrate Christmas on Dec. 25th or Thanksgiving on the fourth Thursday in November. Like every year? Really? What if someone can't come?

That said, not everyone likes the idea of moving the day. Seth, for example, is not a fan. Here's a post about that from four years ago. But I'm guessing once he comes home after two Christmases without his family, he'll be thrilled to celebrate on whatever day works.

This year, Gerald, Amanda, and Eli all worked on Thanksgiving. Our solution was to prepare and eat the Thanksgiving feast the Sunday prior, and then to go to Mac. Grill for dinner on the "real" day. It worked great! That Sunday we feasted on the traditional roast turkey, stuffing, smashed potatoes and gravy, glazed carrots, and deviled eggs. For dessert, both pumpkin and chocolate pies and my own personal chocolate-dipped pecan tart. Everything was delicious. Isaiah flew home just in time for dinner, so aside from Luke, who lives in Maryland, and Seth, who is all the way in Paraguay (sigh!), we were all here.

Thursday, those of us not working went to Mac. Grill for dinner. We got to hang out with Amanda, who served us, and see Eli from afar, as he worked the expo position, calling food orders and putting together plates to be delivered to tables. Eli no longer works there regularly (He teaches 5th grade), but he agreed to work Thanksgiving, and now they've convinced him to come back and work Christmas Eve and Christmas Day also.

...which means, once again, we get to move the day. I believe we will do our Christmas Eve traditions the night of the 25th, once everyone is back from work; our full-on Christmas celebration will be all day on the 26th!

Perfect.

What will I do during the day on the 25th? Chill. Go to a movie. Probably eat and hang out at Mac. Grill with Eli and Amanda.

Moving the day is as natural as breathing. I've been doing it all my life. How about you? Do you ever move the day?

"Ask, and it shall be given you..."

This verse from Matthew 7:7 took on new meaning to Amanda and me yesterday.

Backstory. Our family celebrated the first half of Thanksgiving yesterday, with a huge feast of turkey, stuffing, smashed potatoes, glazed carrots, rolls, and pie. The second half of our celebration will be Thursday, when we go to Macaroni Grill to eat and watch Amanda and Eli work. Thanksgiving is a big money day for Amanda, and somehow they convinced Eli to expo for them that day as well.

Confession. Because I had a crap load of cooking to do in order to prepare this feast, I decided to dip out of relief society and go home right after Sacrament Meeting. (Honestly, I never do this, but desperate times and all.) So I asked Amanda if she wanted to go home with me, and she was all in. But just before we left, we both lamented on how much we wished we could attend Elders' Quorum, so we could see Eli teach:

Me: Dang, I just wish we could go watch Eli. It looks like he prepared a great lesson. I just want to see him teach.
Amanda: Me too! Maybe next time we could dress up as men.
Me: Do you think anyone would notice?
Amanda: I'm sure no one would.
Me: It's a plan then.

Irony. So we left right after the meeting and headed home. Amanda went straight downstairs to change clothes, and I went straight to the oven to baste the turkey. Hourly basting is what makes it juicy, after all. Not 10 seconds later, she was back up the stairs, half dressed, to report that Eli just called her. The Relief Society teacher didn't show up, so they invited all the women to attend Elders' Quorum. My first thought....why didn't they just ask me to teach? I'd be happy to teach, even last minute. My second thought (and Amanda's).... we need to race right back there. And so we did.

Conclusion. As I said in my last post, you can't make this stuff up. We asked. And it was given us. We got to see Eli teach a wonderful lesson on how our word should be our bond, from a conference talk by Elder Ronald A. Rasband. Eli did such a lovely job, with a huge class! I was one proud mama.

Moral. Ask, and it shall be given you. (And maybe don't leave church early.)

The Christmas Letter: Cool or annoying?

Do you send out a Christmas letter? Or just a card? Or nothing? Or does it depend on the year? Do you have a strong opinion on the subject? As I began the process of crafting this year's greeting from the Erichsen-Websters, I pondered these questions. And the memories came.

Growing up, my grandma received many, many Christmas cards and letters. My grandpa was the president of the International Woodworkers of America, a labor union that spanned the U.S. and Canada, and in that role, he met many famous people, especially political figures. The two of them attended presidential inaugurations and the inaugural balls for both Presidents Kennedy and Johnson, and my grandpa knew many senators, congressmen, and governors personally. As a result, they received a crap load of Christmas cards, and even after he passed away, she continued to receive these for the 20 years she outlived him.

One in particular came from a lady named Maude Ballard. Her husband, Claude (yep, Maude and Claude; you can't make this stuff up) worked with my grandpa at the IWA, so they were all close friends. But Maude's Christmas letter!! Oh. My. Goodness.

First, it was between five and seven seven pages long, single spaced. Need I say more?

Okay, I'll say more. Second, every year, the letter included a detailed report of their health. From a little sniffle to annoying hemorrhoids to (eventually) Claude's dementia, it was all there, raw and real. Page after page, paragraph after paragraph, we learned every single minutiae of their medical history for the year.

And it was so funny. At least to a little kid. It became tradition for my grandma, my mom, and me to gather as soon as possible after the letter arrived. Grandma would call us to report: "The Maude Ballard letter is here!" I had the honor of reading it aloud to the two of them as we sat in Grandma's bedroom, and we'd laugh to the point of crying. It would take at least an hour to get through it because of the many pauses for hysterical, belly-busting laughter.

I remember thinking to myself, "When I grow up, I'll send out a Christmas letter, but it won't be this long, and it definitely won't be this embarrassing!"

Then I grew up. And kept that promise.

I have sent out a Christmas greeting with some sort of letter every year since Gerald and I were married. In the early days, before word processing was a thing, I typed it on an electric typewriter. Much harder to revise, these letters were mostly reports of our year, what the kids were up to, and our lives as parents. As time progressed, I grew more creative. With the advent of modern technology, revision became pleasure rather than punishment, and playing with the Christmas letter became my passion.

I can't begin to remember all the different formats I've used, and I worry that one year I'll run out of new ideas, but you can breathe. I've already drafted the 2019 letter, so we're okay this time around.

My very favorite one was in 2014, when I rewrote the poem "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" with the story of our year. Remember? Would you like to see it again? Here it is!

Some people have strong feelings about Christmas letters, both pro and con. I've heard comments such as "I detest those stupid letters. They're just an excuse to brag about your kids." But then I've also heard, "What I hate most is when people just send a dumb card, with 'Merry Christmas' and their names and no other information. What a waste of postage."

Haha. I guess you can't please all the people...

As for me, I'll continue to send a Christmas letter each year. Some traditions can't be broken. My thanks to Maude Ballard and my grandma, who are partyin' hard in heaven. I wonder if Maude still writes those five-page letters. And if Grandma still reads them.

Wear a cardigan for Fred

Once upon at time, four times each day, I set up a nebulizer machine in order to give our oldest son, Luke, his breathing treatments. Luke had severe childhood asthma, beginning when he was only a couple months old and lasting through elementary school. When he was a little baby, we would turn on the machine, hold the device in our hand, and spray the mist in his face, hoping at least some of that good medicine would make it into his tiny lungs. But once he was old enough to reason with (Can you ever truly reason with a toddler?), we set him up in a little red chair and put a mask over his face to administer the treatments. It took 30-40 minutes to finish a treatment, and we needed Luke to sit still with the mask, connected to the nebulizer machine, over his nose and mouth.

This was no easy task for a toddler, even one as docile and cooperative as Luke. The only way we were able to accomplish it with consistent success (read: the only way to keep our child breathing) was to turn on his favorite TV show, Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. Back then, there wasn't instant access to TV shows like there is today; we used our VCR to record one episode after another onto several tapes, so we could just pop one in for every breathing treatment. Of course Luke had his favorites, so oftentimes we had to search (fast forward, then rewind, then fast forward again) to find "Windstorm in Bubbleland," an opera sung by characters in the neighborhood, in which a windstorm threatens to destroy all the bubbles. As always with the show, there is a moral, a principle founded on love and concern for others. In this case, we learned that by working together, we can overcome even the hardest obstacles.

Do I love Mister Rogers? Oh yes I do! He helped me keep my precious little boy breathing.

...and that would be quite enough all by itself, but more than that, he taught Luke (and all of us) valuable lessons about what it means to be human. He tackled scary topics like death and divorce and windstorms in ways children could comprehend. He helped them feel safe, even in uncertain circumstances, even when a little kid with asthma had to sit still for breathing treatments four times a day.

The characters in the "neighborhood" weren't perfect. They displayed the gamut of human emotion, even though only a few of them were actually human (most were puppets). They got angry. They felt sad. They were lonely sometimes. Like all of us, they has strengths and weaknesses, good days and not so good. King Friday XIII was arrogant and often rude, but also kind and good at his core. Lady Elaine Fairchilde was brash and sometimes offensive, but on the inside, just as insecure as all the rest of us. Daniel Tiger was scared of everything (!) but learned to be brave when he needed to be.

Through story and song and puppetry, Mister Rogers taught us about what really matters--each other. He showed us our worth as human souls and asked us to act accordingly. He showed us how to love each other with the pure love of Christ. No, the show was not overtly religious, even though Fred Rogers was an ordained Presbyterian minister. But it taught the gospel right there; oh yes it did!

One time, during one of Luke's many hospital stays, I climbed up into his big metal crib, sat under the oxygen tent, held him in my lap, and together we watched Mister Rogers' Neighborhood. It gave me hope through one of the most challenging periods of my life.

Tomorrow is being dubbed "World Kindness Day" or "Mister Rogers Cardigan Day." People are encouraged to wear a cardigan in honor of Fred Rogers, and to spread kindness. I don't really wear cardigans much, but I dug this one out and will proudly wear it tomorrow.

For now, that will be my tribute to a man whose vision and talent impacted the world. And my small life.

But one day! One day in heaven, I will thank him personally for the peace he offered to one scared mama and one sick little boy.

I will wear a cardigan for Fred.

The Boys in the Middle

When you have five kids, there's always someone to worry about. In the middle of a dark, scary night, I've been known to say "Moms with anxiety this bad should not have five children!"

I never really mean that. I'm so grateful I was blessed with five, but yes, I do spend quite a lot of time worrying about them.

That said, I spend even more time being proud of them, and today, I'm especially proud of the two in the middle. I've found that in large families (Does a family of seven qualify as large??), kids tend to be grouped, usually by age, into categories with names. Our family is no exception. Until Seth was born, we had two groups: "The Big Kids" and "The Little Boys." Luke and Shulamith were the "big kids," and Isaiah and Eli were the "little boys." When Seth was born, that changed slightly. We suddenly had three groups: The Big Kids, The Middle Boys, and Seth.

And so it is, still today.

Those "middle boys" have awed me recently with their effort, skill, and dedication to their respective jobs, so this proud mama needs to brag just a little.

First, Isaiah. His team of software engineers had a competition last week, a "hack-a-thon." They divided into five teams, each with a team leader, whose responsibility it was to come up with an original coding idea and then guide his team to write it in just three days. Isaiah was the leader of his team. I knew something was up because suddenly, he was going to work at 7:00 in the morning and not coming home until after 6:00. On the final day, he came home and told me what was going on, and guess what? His team won first place! The prize, a $100 Amazon gift card for each member of his team, but in his words, "It's really just the bragging rights. Respect." Go, Isaiah!

Then, Eli. As many of you know, he started his first teaching job this fall, at Park Lane Elementary School in Sandy. Fifth graders can be challenging to manage, so Eli works the greatest share of every Saturday doing his prep work for the upcoming week, so he's fully prepared and can focus on management when he's in the classroom. It hasn't been an easy start, but he is making such great progress, and the kids are responding. Last week, he and Amanda and I went to a student council fundraiser dinner at Zupa's, and my heart might have broken just a little as I heard so many children's voices shouting, "Hi Mr. Webster!"

I have five wonderful children, and I also have an anxiety disorder, so I can't even begin to calculate the hours I've wasted worrying about these people when they are perfectly fine. But I'm so proud of each of them.

...and this week, I'm especially proud of my "little boys," turned "middle boys," who have grown into such hardworking, responsible, caring young men.

I never have (get?) to do this again.

This afternoon I stood outside in a long line of missionary parents, all holding packages of wrapped Christmas gifts to be sent to South America through the courier service LDSXpress. It occurred to me that maybe I have it all wrong. As most of you know, this missionary mom gig has been challenging for me. On more than one occasion, I've uttered the words, "I never have to do this again."

But this morning, those words felt empty. Sad, even. Because you see, even with the pain of the two-year separation and the thick longing with which I miss my baby, there's just a crap load of joy that comes alongside this experience.

I have grieved every single "last" with Seth. Every. Single. One. Last choir concert. Last piano recital. Last high school musical. Last parent-teacher conference. Last trip through the parent pickup line. Last homecoming dance. Last prom. It goes on. Truth is I hardly know how to define myself outside my role as a parent of kids and teenagers. I'm not sure what comes next or what's left for me.

With Seth's mission thus far, I've mostly just wished the time away, counting the days until these two years could be over and he would come home. Now, though, as I find myself on the downside of this whole deal, I sense a change. With just nine months to go, I'm beginning to grieve the "last missionary." Never again will I nurse a kid through wisdom teeth removal, schedule medical appointments, assist with application forms, or wait so impatiently for that call to arrive in the mailbox. (Seth's was one of the last ones to come by snail mail.)

Never again will I wait anxiously for Monday, P-day, wondering if technology in Paraguay will be our friend today, or if we'll have to settle for a text chat. Never again will I see the pure joy on the face of a young elder as he tells me about someone he has come to know and love, someone he has taught and who has taught him, someone whom he now considers a friend, someone who has made the choice to follow Christ into the waters of baptism.

And never again will I put together a missionary Christmas package, packed full with so much hope and love and pride. This past week, Shulamith and I shopped for just the right things: his favorite gummy candies, the shiny green tie he requested, a watch, solid sunscreen sticks, G2 pens, more candy, and the most anticipated item: a 20 oz. bottle of Mtn. Dew Code Red. As I tracked down Dad and all the local sibs to sign the Christmas card, it hit me: This is yet another "last."

I might have cried.

Motherhood is not for the weak.

Join me if you will, with crossed fingers for this little package. May it travel all the way to Paraguay intact, with no soda bottle leaks or explosions, and into the hands and heart of my brave, faithful missionary.

Meanwhile, my rhetoric has shifted. "I never have to do this again" has been replaced with "I never get to do this again."

...which is far more accurate.

I like humans best!

I also really like dogs. Dogs are fiercely loyal, and loyalty is the most important characteristic in a creature, if you ask me. Loyalty is my personal "love language," even though it's not technically one of the five. Indeed, dogs are wonderful, but this past week, I had some experiences with humans, and my faith in humanity has been restored. Humans are funny and kind, and (sometimes) even genuine.

First, there's this octogenarian (maybe he's even 90?) gentleman in our ward. I don't know his name, but the other day he and I were waiting outside the clerk's office for our temple recommend interviews. His wife was inside meeting with a bishopric counselor, and he and I were chatting. He noticed that I was carrying my quad (a large book of scriptures). In an effort to help me out, he asked me if I was aware that I could get the scriptures on my phone with an app called "Gospel Library." Bahahaha! Yep, I actually have that app as a matter of fact. It's just that on the Sundays I teach Gospel Doctrine, I prefer to use my physical scriptures that have years of annotations. This whole encounter made me laugh, but seriously, what a nice guy.

Second, there is my lovely family. Missing Luke and Seth, the rest of us gathered this past Sunday to celebrate my birthday. Well, just look how cute my kids are:

These four people standing next to me are not only adorable on the outside; they are equally wonderful on the inside. They are generous and loving. I've been assembling items for Seth's Christmas package, and yesterday, I put everything together and weighed the thing. I was expecting it to be maybe 3 lbs. so was woefully disheartened when the scale said 5.5 lbs. and I hadn't even added the 20 oz bottle of Mtn. Dew Code Red! It costs around $20/pound to ship with the courier I'm using. I began to consider what I might leave out, but the heavier items are the candy, which Seth really, really wants. (Apparently, they have no decent candy in Paraguay.)

Desperate, I sent out a text on our family thread, asking if anyone would like to donate to help get this stuff shipped to Paraguay, so our favorite missionary would have a great package without breaking my Christmas budget. Within seconds, I had replies from everyone. Gerald texted, "I'll send you cash via Venmo tomorrow." Amanda (on behalf of her and Eli): "We are definitely in!" Next, Shulamith: "I'll Venmo you on Tuesday when we get paid. Seth needs candy. And soda!" And then, Isaiah: "Take whatever you need from my account."

Have I mentioned how much I love these people?

Finally, after reading what feels like hundreds of boring narrative essays, on occasion a student actually gives you some genuine voice:

"So there I was, foot in a boot and ass in a wheelchair, on a cocktail of drugs sufficient to put a small elephant to sleep."

Okay, possible you need to be a writing instructor to appreciate the joy of honest voice, but trust me; it made my day. Do ya feel me, John, Chris, Jay, Lizzie (who is no longer with us, but I know she's reading from heaven because she always read my blog)?

Anyway, dogs are the coolest.

But after this past week, I like humans best.

A Moment with Emma

I have written about the town of Rexburg, Idaho before. Probably several times, so I won't bore you with more of the same, but right here is the best account, so feel free to click, open, and read. I actually love that post.

Now, I rarely go to Rexburg. Eli and Amanda have both graduated and moved home with us. Only Lindsey and her family are still there. I had been missing her a lot, like really a lot, so this fall I decided too long had passed since we were together. Her life mirrors mine from 19 years ago, with four children ages 15 down to 7 (except I also had a newborn baby). I know just how much time she spends in her car: driving, waiting, more driving. Now I long to be back there. I long to be waiting in the parent drop-off line at the high school. I miss such things with a longing I can barely describe. My hope is that at least some of this angst, this absolute terror over moving forward to a life with no kids at home, is because I miss Seth so much. I can only hope.

Anyway, it's far more problematic (read: nearly impossible) for Lindsey to break away from her many responsibilities of mom to four busy kids and come to me. So I decided to go to her, to return to Rexburg, a little town in Southern Idaho with such big memories. And that I did last weekend.

So many "moments" occurred in the 43 hours I was there. Lindsey and I sat in McDonald's with no kids. Why would two grown women go to McDonald's with no kids? I could say it's nostalgia, and that would be absolutely true, but honestly, we both really like the food there. So yeah.

We also went to Idaho Falls for an evening of dinner, shopping, and a movie. Hanna's birthday was the 17th, so we shopped for 11-year-old girl presents, including a Squishmallow plush turtle, a mermaid blanket, earrings from Claire's, and other things that just announce: Hanna! It was pure delight, only paralleled later by the sights and sounds of Downton Abbey.

Both nights, I knelt in family prayer, with Lindsey and David and their four precious babies (none of whom is technically a baby anymore). Both nights, as Emma, then Jase, offered the prayer, they expressed gratitude that I could be with them. Because they remember. They remember a time years ago when we lived across the street from one another and saw each other nearly every day. I first met Jase when he was a baby in his mommy's arms, sitting in a Gospel Doctrine class in our beloved Metra Ward in Billings, Montana. My "baby" was already six, so when I looked back with such obvious empty arms at Lindsey in the row behind me, she graciously handed me her little Jase. And that was that. We were bonded.

Sunday morning, I watched a way too grown-up Hanna prepare scrambled eggs for breakfast, as David made blueberry muffins. While Lindsey got ready for church, I enjoyed a lovely visit with David about all things politics and all things religion, and the interesting combination of the two. David is smart and kind, intuitive and funny, and one of my favorite conversationalists.

But the best moment of the whole 43 hours was when I sat on the couch in the living room with Emma, her head on my shoulder, and my arm around hers. Dang, this girl is incredible. The night before, I watched her dance with her partner, in what (I learned) is called "Cabaret Ballroom." She is a beautiful dancer, and when her very tall partner lifts her way up overhead, well, it's breathtaking. Still, the very best moment was the next day sitting on the couch, no words, just feelings. A moment with Emma.

Then, all too soon yet not soon enough, I was on the road back home. I would love to be there longer (Why is it we can't live across the street from each other anymore???), but I also missed my family. And here it is a week later and back to life as usual...

...until next time I decide I need some Lindsey time and return to the little town in Southern Idaho with such big memories.

Becoming Holy; Finding Joy! Post-General Conference Musings

"Arriba Juntos!" sang a group of 30ish former full-time missionaries, all who served in the Paraguay Asuncion Mission, under President and Sister Hansen. They gathered Friday evening of Conference weekend at a church building in Orem, and I once again felt the spirit unique to mission reunions. It reminded me of the last one I attended back in July of 2014, four months after Eli returned from his mission to Arkansas/Tennessee. When missionaries gather, especially those who served side by side, well, There's just a lot of love goin' on here!

I was privileged to attend this reunion even though Seth is still in the field, because it was hosted by a missionary couple, who recently returned from Paraguay, Elder Kevin and Sister Linda Westover. Linda graciously invited everyone associated with the mission, even us parents with kids still there. Thank you, Linda! So many smiles, so many hugs, so much good food, but nothing compares to the sound of angelic voices raised in song and praise: "Vamos! Arriba Juntos!" (tune of "Called to Serve"). What a glorious start to Conference weekend!

Saturday and Sunday were equally lovely, despite this twisted ankle. I was at Harmon's Saturday morning buying General Conference snacks and lost track of time. Racing home so I wouldn't miss even one second of the first session, I stepped off the curb awkwardly, twisted my ankle, and fell right down. Fortunately, I was able to get up and continue, arriving home just as the choir was singing the opening hymn, but my poor ankle! That said, if it's going to happen, what better weekend than one in which I'm planning to sit in a chair and watch 10 hours of TV. That I did, foot iced and elevated.

When I heard Jefferey R. Holland announced as the first speaker, my heart and mind were instantly engaged. He is always my favorite and definitely my hero and role model when I'm drafting my own talks. This one did not disappoint. He totally crushed it with a brilliant rhetorical masterpiece. His eloquent diction and perfectly arranged ideas, combined with heartfelt delivery, left me cheering "Amen!" He taught me that if I direct my inquires of faith to those who have faith, I will find the healing Christ promised. If I look past the commotion, I can eliminate the confusion and darkness of the world and  find the love of Heavenly Parents. Indeed, I was inspired. And after the :"amens," when he looked right at me and said "Welcome to General Conference!" I felt truly welcomed, and so grateful to be a member of this church.

I felt that same welcome and gratitude at many other times during Conference weekend. I felt it when Elder L. Todd Budge of the Seventy taught me that if I surrender to God, I can find peace to my soul and when I give up control and trust in the Lord, adversity changes to joy, and faith deepens. I felt it when Sister Reyna I. Aburto spoke so directly and honestly about mental illness and those who suffer from various types including anxiety: "When it comes to healing, don't we all need Him desperately. Are we not all beggars?" Not surprisingly, I felt it again when Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf invited me to set aside my comfort and go on an adventure with Jesus Christ, reminding me that discipleship is not about doing things perfectly; it's about doing things intentionally.

Usually when Conference is over, I feel a little sad, a little let down. I anticipate it for so long, and then it goes by so quickly. This time, though I definitely felt some of that, I was also so excited to be able to say "Three down; one to go!" You see, I am counting General Conferences, as I wait for Seth to come home from Paraguay. Just 10 more months and ONE more General Conference.

Following a long-standing tradition, we decorated for Halloween between sessions on Saturday, but since I was resting my ankle, I mostly directed others as they decorated. Here is a small sample of that undertaking:

It was such a nice weekend in every way, and my favorite season is now in full swing with one good thing after another: General Conference, my birthday, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Black Friday, and yes, you know the rest of this awesome story.

Happy Fall, Everyone!

Going the Wrong Direction: Pre-General Conference Musings

I am directionally challenged. Most of the time I have little idea where I am in relationship to other places, even places I've been multiple times. This deficiency has presented itself in brand new ways since I've been using the UTA Trax and Frontrunner systems. First, let me just say how much I love these trains. Like way too much. I get so excited whenever I get to ride one; it never gets old. Of course it feels good to do even a tiny bit to reduce greenhouse gases and slow global warming, but mostly, riding the Trax/Frontrunner is just so much fun.

That is, if I manage to board the correct train. Going the right direction. Oh my goodness, this is hard! It takes all the concentration I can muster to figure out which way to go. Here's what I have to do: First, I stand up at the UTA station and face the big mountains. I've been told that the big mountains are to the east. Next, I visualize the assembly room from my days as a Rainbow Girl, in order to tell which way is north and which way is south. I literally stand there, head in hands, and think, "Okay, big mountains are east. Facing east, Hope (Rainbow officer) is to the south, and Charity (Rainbow officer) is to the north. Orem is south, so I want go toward Hope."

This works most of the time, but not always. I can't tell you the number of times I've boarded the wrong train, going the wrong direction. When Shulamith drops me off at a UTA station, she literally points her finger the way I need to go: "Go THIS way," she instructs, pointing her finger. I nod in compliance. And it helps too, quite often! Still, there are times when I have to text her and admit, "Yeah, I kinda got on the wrong train. Going the wrong direction."

All this is obviously hilarious, a grown woman unable to tell which way is north and which way is south, but it recently caused me to think about the gospel, about the Savior, and about our Heavenly Parents, especially in light of our church's upcoming semiannual General Conference next weekend. You know, we all get on the wrong train sometimes, the one going the wrong direction. It's so easy to do. If we're even a little bit distracted or if we lose our focus for just a second, we can suddenly find ourselves on the wrong train.

But here's the good news. No, here's the excellent news! Here's the most awesome news ever to influence and affect humankind. We can always change trains. For real. Whenever I text Shulamith to confess that I'm headed to Salt Lake City when I'm supposed to be going to Sandy, she shakes her head (okay, I don't actually see her shake her head, but I assume she does), and texts back, "Really? Are you kidding me? I told you the right way to go. I pointed in the right direction!" Yep, she did. But I managed to board the wrong train anyway.

I always reassure her that I'm okay and that all will be well. Now that I've recognized my mistake, all I have to do is get right off at the next stop and then wait to board the correct train, the one going the right direction. And that's exactly what I do. One time I went all the way to Draper before I noticed my error; I was distracted by my phone and failed to listen to the warnings over the loudspeaker telling me I was headed south. Nevertheless, once I got off, a new train came right away, one headed north, and I hopped right on.

It's the same with life. The scriptures point us in the right direction. The road map is clear, even for someone directionally challenged like me. The Holy Ghost whispers through the loudspeaker in our heads, which direction we're headed and whether or not it's the right one. For those times when we still get lost, the Savior always provides a new train, and His always travels in the right direction, toward a glorious reunion with our Heavenly Parents.

Next weekend, we'll be blessed with yet another opportunity to sharpen our skills in determining which train to ride. Humble servants of the Lord, regular folks called to a divine purpose, will speak to us and provide inspired counsel about how to stay on the right train. None of these speakers will be perfect. Every one of them will have at one time in his or her life boarded the wrong train. Elder Holland's words come to mind: "So be kind regarding human frailty--your own as well as that of those who serve with you in a Church led by volunteer, mortal men and women. Except in the case of His only perfect Begotten Son, imperfect people are all God has ever had to work with."

And yet, here they are, sacrificing their time, effort, and energy on our behalf. Volunteer, mortal men and women? Yes. Divinely appointed and inspired to provide heavenly counsel unique to our time. Without a doubt. You won't want to miss it!

Most of us will view General Conference either on TV or through the Internet. However, here's a tip: If you happen to be here in Sandy, Utah next weekend and have tickets to attend one of the five sessions, you want to go north. North! On the Blue Line train toward Salt Lake City. That means if you face the big mountains to the east, you want to go left.

You're welcome.

And Happy General Conference Weekend, Everyone!

Broken Clouds Give Rain

A popular Kenneth Cope song "Broken" came to mind this past weekend as I visited my family in Oregon. My favorite line from the song titles this post: "Broken clouds give rain." Most of you regular readers already know how I feel about rain. In my three days in Portland, I got only a little; it rained briefly Thursday night and then again Sunday morning before I left for the airport. I think I embarrassed my friend Lorrie when I twirled around in the Shari's parking lot, arms extended, celebrating those beautiful broken clouds, as we exited the restaurant. Good thing I've known Lorrie since I was 13, and she loves me regardless.

Other broken things this weekend were not so worthy of celebration. Gracious!

The trip seemed ill fated from the very start. Amanda dropped me off at the airport, and I quickly passed through security (TSA pre-check this time, so I must not look like a terrorist). Walking to my gate, I decided to grab a quick hot chocolate because, you know, I was on vacation, so calories didn't count. Only about two delicious sips in, I spilled the entire cup on the floor of the airport. Lovely. Almost my whole cup of hot chocolate...broken.

Next, I boarded the plane and ASAP, ordered a Diet Coke because what else would I do? And you guessed it; I promptly spilled that cup of perfection right on my feet. At that point, my anxiety was spiraling out of control, and if we weren't already over 30,000 feet in the air, I might have gotten right off that airplane and come back home.

Life improved markedly when I sat at Sayer's Old Country Kitchen with my mom; my brother, Tom; his daughter, Leslie; her husband, Silas; their daughter, Sydney; and a different niece's son, Finn. You can read about this place in the above link, but suffice it to say, I rolled right outta there like a beach ball, and didn't regret one bite.

The following day I awoke to a broken laptop. Yep, it fried and died. Overnight. I have no idea what happened, but it was dunzo. Cope's song asks, "Could it be that God loves broken things?" Well, maybe, but not this one. Dang. That PC was under two years old, and I NEED it! Seriously, I can't go even one day without a computer; both my college jobs require one, not to mention my little online side job with VIPKID. I borrowed my mom's computer to respond to student email (Remember the days when students had to wait until class to ask questions? Yeah, me too), and to review essay drafts. Thanks, Mom!

Friday my mom and I spent at the ocean, in the town of Seaside. Dozens of memories surround that place, way too many to share. My favorite might be when Tom and I were children, maybe around eight and ten, and we were left at the top of an amusement park ride, the octopus, because the ride attendant forgot we were up there when he closed the ride. I can't remember how this story ended; it was late at night, and somehow someone found us, I guess? Perhaps our parents?

Anyway, the ocean was so pretty. It's hard for me to live in a landlocked state with so little rain. I ran right down and touched the water! Here's the selfie; it's a horrible picture, but my only one of the ocean, so I'm sucking it up and posting.

Next, we discovered my niece, Katie, and her boyfriend, Josh. I wish we had remembered to take a picture because they are the cutest! We played Fascination, browsed gift shops, and admired Christmas decorations that were way too expensive but so beautiful. We ate yummy food, including a veggie egg scramble, and then brought back fresh clam chowder for dinner. I don't think anything broke on Friday.

Saturday, while my mom cooked dinner for the family, Tom and I went computer shopping at Best Buy. I went in thinking I'd get another PC, similar to the one that died prematurely, but I left with a new MacBook Air. How'd that happen? Um, not sure? We looked at PCs, but I'm really tired of their quirkiness, flipping around all over the place without warning, updating at the most inconvenient times, and (of course) dying out of the blue at less than two years old. Tom switched to Apple years ago and says he's "never looked back," so in the end, that's what I did. So far, I'm super groovin' on this sweet, ultra thin, rose gold Mac.

That evening, as we ate a delicious dinner of fried chicken and smashed potatoes (Eli's name for them), Leslie's daughter Sydney noticed a large bird out on my mom's deck. We thought it was a statue because she likes decorations like that, but then it moved! A live bird was right out there on the deck, obviously hurt and unable to fly, at least not very far. A broken bird. We all felt bad for him, all except Grandma, who wanted him OFF her deck, so Leslie wrapped him in a towel and brought him to the front yard. He was gone by the following day, but Tom noticed a smear on his living room window, where the poor bird had apparently crashed and fallen onto the deck below. I know God loves broken things, and I really hope he loves this poor bird and is keeping it safe somehow.

The evening, and my visit, ended with S'More's around the fire pit.

Early Sunday morning, I met Lorrie at Shari's for breakfast on my way to the airport. We talked too long (and not nearly long enough), so I worried I wouldn't make my flight. She offered to follow me to my rental car place and then drive me to the airport to save time. We were literally "racing in the rain" though there was no dog involved. When the rental car guy told me to "Just go! I'll email you if we need anything," I replied "I love you!" as I ran to Lorrie's car, once again embarrassing my poor friend. "Did you just tell that guy you loved him?" "Yep, because right now, I do."

I left my Portland family and returned to my SLC family. Wish it didn't have to be one or the other, but that is life.

Broken clouds give rain. Thank goodness.

Farewell, Sir Elton John - Thank you, Ruth Ann and Isaiah

When I was 13, I joined a girls' service organization called The International Order of Rainbow for Girls. This organization has many officers, but the five top ones progress through what is called "the line," and once a girl starts through that "line" holding the office of "Faith," she continues through, holding the offices of "Hope," "Charity," "Worthy Associate Adviser," consecutively, and ultimately becomes the "Worthy Adviser," who leads the assembly for four months.

Our assembly, Kellogg #92 was brand new, so they had to find all five line officers at the same time, rather than just electing a "Faith," and letting her progress through. From the same high school, they found the top four, all girls who were between their junior and senior years. But I guess they couldn't find a fifth, so eventually, they asked me to be "Faith." I was headed to 8th grade and ridiculously excited about Rainbow, but if that wasn't enough, getting to hang out with these four "older" and incredibly cool girls was almost more than I could handle. They were so nice to me.

I became especially close to one of them, Ruth Ann, who held the office of "Charity" in the "line." She was so beautiful! She had perfect hair and makeup and, well, everything! She would come pick me up to do stuff, because she could drive and even had her own car. it was the first time I ever rode around with a teenager. I wanted to be just like her, so when she introduced me to the music of a rock & roll singer named Elton John, I was all in. Looking back now, I can't tell you whether I truly loved Elton John from the start or if I just loved him because Ruth Ann did, but somewhere along the line, that passion became my own.

Fast forward a few years till now, and Sir Elton John remains one of my favorite artists. When he first announced his final tour "Farewell Yellow Brick Road," I immediately thought, "Well this is it. I have to go. If I don't, I'll never get another chance."

Then I checked the price of tickets...

...and quickly convinced myself that it might be okay if I didn't see him.

His performance here in Salt Lake City was two nights ago, and yes, I was there, thanks to my favorite third-born child ever, Isaiah. In many ways, Isaiah and I see life through a similar lens. We're both passionate about politics and social justice. We both love to travel and eat Asian food (he just gets to do it way, way more than I do). He has turned me into an over-the-top Utah Jazz fan.

And we both love Elton John.

So Wednesday, while I was in class at SLCC, he texted me: "If I buy them, will you go? Consider it a combined birthday and Christmas present?"

What???????????????? Of course I'll go!

We rode Trax downtown to the Vivant Smart Home Arena, where we've gone many times to see Jazz games, but this felt so different. I was crazy excited, but not one bit nervous. Usually, my nerves are completely on edge, hoping so desperately for a Jazz win. Instead, I could just relax and enjoy the anticipation with no fear.

I struggle to put into words what we experienced. I've seen Neil Diamond three times, Barry Manilow twice, and other outstanding live concerts, including Celine Dion, Bon Jovi, and Donny & Marie.

But there is no contest. This performance Wednesday night was in a league all its own. For three solid hours, with just two five-minute breaks to change his clothes, Elton John played the piano and sang song after song after song, holding the entire audience in the palm of his unbelievably talented hands. Isaiah and I were squarely centered in one of those palms. We kept looking at each other in awe, as if to say, "Can you even believe this is happening to us?"

With only three songs we didn't recognize, we sang right along. Every time I thought I'd heard every famous hit, he began playing another, and we'd look at each other and mouth, "Oh yeah. I forgot about this one!" We knew he'd close with "Yellow Brick Road," and sure enough, after three hours, that time came. I might have been a little sad to see it end, but when he explained why this would be his final tour, he said,

"I never thought I would have a family of my own. And now I do."

And that's enough for me.

So thank you, Ruth Ann, for introducing me to such talent. Thank you, my dear Isaiah, for a night I will never forget. And thank you, Sir Elton John, for the magic.