The Coil Family

9/11...

2011-09-11T00:01:00.001-07:00

...a day to remember.

9/11/11 another day to remember and consider how grateful we are for our great country.

...and I think of my grandchildren and pray for a happy future for each of them. I think of Preston, Madison, Abigail and Lukee and the great sacrifices their family has made to keep us all safe.

...and to remember this moment.

Matthew and I plan on watching this together and we will spend the day with our family.

I recently came across this quote by Henry Van Dyke,

“In some realms of nature, shadows or darkness are theplaces of greatest growth. The beautiful Indian corn never grows more rapidlythan in the darkness of a warm summer night. The sun withers and curls theleaves in the scorching light of noon, but once a cloud hides the sun, theyquickly unfold. The shadows provide a service that the sunlight can not.”

Maybe this will sound cliche' or maybe it will sound Miss America'ish, but I'm wishing for world peace today in the shadows of 9/11.

I'm struggling...

2011-09-09T09:05:00.000-07:00

...with this new Blogger layout. I switched over and I'll probably switch back. I'm such a creature of habit that the old style feels more comfortable.

...on the other hand, this one might be OK once I practice it a few more times. I'll give it a week, but then it's back to the "good old" Blogger if this one starts to irritate me much more.

...and on the other, other hand, TODAY is the day!!!!

FAVORITE THINGS DAY

The Bush/Coil annual let's get together and eat our favorite things, watch our favorite movie, and receive everyone's favorite new item for the year, yep, PRESENTS from everyone and for everyone. However, there is a certain sadness that we will have one M.I.A. Shay's not here, but we know a year from now she will be and that makes it easier. In fact, I think next year we will have FAVORITE THINGS at her HOUSE.

YES, I'M CAPITALIZING TODAY BECAUSE TODAY I'M EXCITED THAT IT'S TODAY!!!

...AND I FEEL A SHOUT OUT TO DANIELLE IS IN ORDER...

SHE MADE THE EXECUTIVE DECISION TO RESERVE THE CONDO TWO MONTHS AGO AND THEN TELL EVERYONE....BE THERE!

(just tried to download a picture of her, but Blogger told me I had exceeded my limit of pics) Huh? I've never had that happen before and I have downloaded LOTTSA pics in the past. Is that new? Have any of you had that problem? Ok, ok, I know I download a lot of pics, but really this has never happened. I'm feeling sentimental, I'm switching back.

...oh, and you can see my sweet girl HERE!

Today...

2011-09-08T12:08:00.000-07:00

....I'm choosing to be happy.

I have a loving husband, great children and perfect grandchildren. I am grateful.

I heard a quote in church 2 weeks ago that if you are grateful you will be happy.... being grateful and unhappy cannot co-exist (paraphrasing, of course).

I keep thinking about the wisdom in that statement. It reminds me of the 10 lepers that Christ healed and how only one came back to thank him. I have to believe that that one "stranger" as he is referred to, meaning he didn't know Christ, was happier than all the rest, because he was more grateful than the 9 who went away skipping down the road (or whatever they did back then).

...so I've been trying to be more grateful...and you know what, it works...

...I feel happier today. ...and I'm happy that tomorrow is only a day away, Right Girls!!!!

...more of my "favorite" details to follow (that's code only Bush/Coil women understand)....

And to answer Kathryn's question in her comment, whipping cream...I am a firm believer that bribery is an acceptable form of coercion with small children in special circumstances, such as getting them to not fidget when you are trying to take pictures. "Smile at the camera and you'll get a squirt on the tastebuds"...great idea Erin.

Tea party...

2011-09-07T15:07:00.000-07:00

...with Emry and Amelia in the park...

...and I was invited.

Yes...I know that's a lot of pictures....but seriously, how can you pick one to not post???

Perhaps it's my Kansas roots...

2011-09-03T10:26:00.000-07:00

...that make me a window opener. The first thing in the morning I love to open a window, rain, cold, snow, heat...it doesn't matter, I have to open a window.

In Kansas there is always a breeze and I learned early on you could cool a house down in the evenings quicker by opening a couple of windows than turning up the air conditioner.

...and you could get a head start on the day by cooling the house down early in the morning as the voices of the meadow lark and mourning dove floated in with the breeze.

My grandmother's bedroom was upstairs. I stayed there often. From there the wind blew across the plains and straight across her bed. I would lie next to her in my cotton pajamas letting the cool breeze lull my too tired 8 year old body to sleep...the sheer curtains swaying and dancing in the moonlight as the roller shade gently tapped the window sill making a song in my drifting thoughts.

...and in the morning the veil of fabric softened the light as my eyes fought to take in the next day as the smell of coffee and bacon wafted up the long, narrow, wooden staircase. Mom and uncle Sethie's voices came on the breeze too, with the radio announcer's voice detailing the day's weather report and wheat prices in the background.

At home in my own bed, I was often woken to my mother opening my bedroom windows and raising the shade, the wind tickling my skin and the light reminding me there were weeds to be pulled in the garden. As much as I would have liked sleeping in, I did love the beginning of a new day and the possibility of some grand adventure or the thought that I would get to find out the ending of a book I was too tired to finish before sleep won the night before.

...so when mother was with us I would often open her window for her thinking she needed the fresh air, especially at the end when she became a hostage in her room, unable to safely negotiate the stairs.

After she left I kept her windows closed. I thought opening them would air it out and her scent would leave. The mixture of Estee Lauder and her lotion were specific to her and I needed to hold onto that as long as I could.

...but eventually it was gone.

So today I knew it was OK. I could open the window and not lose any of her. It was good to see her room bright and sunny again. It lifted my spirits. Before leaving her room I stopped and straightened the comforter on her bed, fluffing her pillows. I laughed to myself when I realized her treat drawer and recently been raided by some hungry great-grandchild...

...and I wondered, do they remember that was her idea, to have a treat drawer just for them?

I left her room smiling, thinking this was a big step for me, to bring her room back to life.

...but just now, as I walked past her door with a load of Saturday morning laundry, I had to stop...

...a gentle breeze had blown through her room across her bed, around her rocking chair, to that place she had been...

...and there it was, the scent of Estee Lauder.

Yes, today there was light in her room...

...and she was there.

Last weekend...

2011-09-02T07:32:00.000-07:00

...was Emry's first soccer game. It looks to be a good season. Her team won 12 to 1 and scored 13 goals. That's right, they scored one for the other team too. I think that is so sweet...

Coach Coil giving some advice...

Cheerleaders...

...cooling down in the shade of grandpa's umbrella...

...Aunt Lala looking awesome in her Ragnar Relay shirt.

...high fives down the line. Way to go Green Dragons!

Here's another shout out...

2011-09-01T10:09:00.000-07:00

...to KATHRYN!!!

She knew the line..."our most appalling secrets"...is from one of my top 10 movies, LITTLE WOMEN.

(it's another "shout out", because I think I shouted out about Kathy before but I'm too lazy to go back and look...anyway, she's an awesome Blogger and you should check out her cute kids HERE)

She definitely gets a prize for that...hmmm...it will have to be chocolate, but she lives in Pahrump, NV, so it has to be something that doesn't melt...hmmm...I'll have to mull that over a while...while I have another handful of M & M's.

Sailfish...

2011-08-31T13:36:00.000-07:00

...fastest fish known to man...

Coilfish...

...cutest fish known to man...

...male Coilfish, tends to laugh a lot...

...while the female often comes up for air and to wave at the camera...

...comes in various sizes, with the male variety being tall and bald, while the females are short and much cuter...

...adolescent Coilfish tend to be show off's...

...see what I mean...

...they can be found walking in single file formation...

...and seem to be adrenaline junkies...

...teaching the toddler Coilfish how to fly...

...swimming in groups is preferred...

...some are lighter in color than others and some of them have really funny patches of white with lines of darker pigmentation on their limbs(or is that fins)...

..the older Coilfish like to get a good laugh at the expense of the guppies...

...in general, the Coilfish love adventure...

...and enjoy scaring the elderly Coil's with their crazy stunts...

...but no matter what, no matter where...

...the Coilfish always have an appetite...

..."wanna see how much I LOOOVE you doughtnut"!

...all in all, the day was a hit....but it didn't end there, more pictures to come.

It wasn't unusual...

2011-08-30T16:18:00.000-07:00

...to see Shay's name on my caller ID.

...but as soon as I heard her voice I knew this wasn't the usual "just check'n in" phone call. I said hello then the tears started and between the sobs she told me Grandma Pat had just passed away. Her grandma that had been there for her so many times. The one that Shay had told her secrets to, who would have married Andy if Shay hadn't, one of her two grandma's whom she cherishes.

"What can I do" I ask?

...and before she can answer I tell her I'll come, we'll find a way, I will go to Ohio to stay with the babes while she comes to Utah to be with her family and say goodbye to her grandmother.

"I'll talk to Andy," she said. I finished lunch and hurried back to work to let them know I would be gone for a few days. Andy called me as I walked into the office and said he would buy the ticket if I would come tomorrow. Together we decided I would fly there and Shay and I would drive the four kids back to Utah.

...and so the next morning I found myself on a five hour plane trip to Ohio. After a very short night, Shay woke me at 4:00 a.m.. we hurried and loaded the kids and began the 25 hour drive through 7 states.

Now some of you may groan at the thought, but not me. I was about to spend 2 days held captive by 4 of the most amazing kids ever. Shay, in her normal, obsessive organizational way(and I say that it the kindest way, because she knows I love organization), had everything we could possibly need packed in the car, except for the occasional stop when we would fill the tank and empty the bladders, we would not have to stop until bedtime.

Miss Maren Ruth, strapped into her 5 point harness car seat whined less than I did. Porter, Carlee and Tessa May watched movies, colored pictures, played games, and checked out the many sights along the way....cows, cornfields, more cows, windmills, rivers...and did I mention cows? Of course, the 55 gallon bucket of cheese balls from Target was helpful. If anyone started to act the least bit bored, Shay and I would start tossing back the cheese balls (at this point I need to apologize to Shay about making fun of her for buying a lifetime supply of Cheeto's...Shay, I apologize, you were right, you can never have too many cheeseballs when you are on a 25 hour car trip).

Shay told me a trip to a warm tropical climate with Andy was at the top of her bucket list. We guessed movies by quoting lines from them. We discussed what our dream house would be like(funny how in describing my dream house it sounded familiar...just like our home now). We listed our top 5 movies and books. When we couldn't find change we tried to bribe the toll booth attendant with cheese balls. I told her stories of Andy and she told me stories of Andy...which made us laugh even more. We shared our "most appalling secrets"...do you know what movie that is from? Shay talked about her grandma and we wondered where she was and who she was with...which of course got us thinking about Grandma Great and how much she is missed.

We talked, laughed, cried and sang.

...and we learned to never use the ladies room at the Conoco gas station in Sidney, Nebraska. It's doubtful it has been cleaned since Reagan was in office and it probably wasn't cleaned very well then.

...and it got me to thinking about a promise Andy made to me years ago. He promised he would never marry a woman I couldn't love...

...Andy never breaks a promise.

...and here are a few of the hundreds of pictures I took of Oh in UT.

...my two daughters who chose us. I promised Erin that if the time came that she needed me to drive her to Kansas I would be there for her....and we wouldn't need a GPS to get there.

Our driveway at lunch time.

We managed to squeeze in a girl's night. Emry's first time...

...silly, silly Sam!

Carlee's name in marbles.

...and there will be more pictures tomorrow...or the next day...but they are coming!

10 reasons...

2011-08-26T11:48:00.000-07:00

...I would do it all over again.

#10 He never forgets to put the garbage cans out.

#9 He lets me ramble on about him on the blog without telling me what I should or shouldn't say.

#8 He loves, no, he adores my cooking, even when a very jumpy onion ends up in his bowl and he has to fish it out before he gags on it.

#7 Every morning I wake up and see his bathrobe spooning mine on the hook.

#6 He never complains about my complaining.

#5 He thinks I am the best mom ever.

#4 He laughs at people making fun of him, even the bald jokes, but he never makes fun of others.

#3 He taught me how to start a vacation with 5 children in the car and safely arrive 14 hours later at our destination with the same 5 children, all of them still alive. (However, I have decided the arranging of the suitcases in the back of the suburban is an inborn thing that cannot be taught...still can't do that one)

#2 He will get up at midnight and drive all over the back roads of UT to support one of our children in one of their many activities.

...and the last reason, but not necessarily the most important reason I would do it all over again...

#1 He always gives me a hug and kiss when he comes home at night.

...and that's just 10 of the thousands of reasons I would do 35 years ago today all over again.

Love you...

I am definitely...

2011-08-24T10:17:00.000-07:00

...losing it. I have been slightly under the weather, the blogging weather that is, but hopefully I'm back for awhile...but in coming back I realized I have duplicated two posts. If the picture below seems familiar, it's because I started this post back in May, or was that June (can't remember), but then I forgot about it and did another post with the same picture.

...anyway...

Here's the original post...silly me!

________________

It's a grandmother's prerogative....

...a right, a privilege, yes a prerogative, to feed sugar to the Injun's. (Yes, I had to look up how to spell that. I don't believe I have ever written that word before...'prerogative', not 'Injun'. However, I have used it quite often, 'prerogative', not Injun', but I have used Injun' quite often too, in fact, I used to be called that by my grandmother on a regular basis, as in 'wild little Injun"(probably because she fed me so much sugar), but now back to prerogative...as in, it is my prerogative to buy a new necklace to go with my new sweater, because I say so...or it is my prerogative to drive 72 MPH in a 65 MPH zone, because I say so...or it is Matthew's prerogative to unload the dishwasher, because I say so.)

pre·rog·a·tive/priˈrägətiv/Noun

1. A right or privilege exclusive to a particular individual or class.

2. A faculty or property distinguishing a person or class.

See what I mean, it is Matthew's privilege to unload the dishwasher. Isn't that cool how that worked out?

...anyway, I had visitors Monday night, my favorite kind, short and sweet, two of them, with their mother's beautiful smile and their dad's crazy sense of humor. Visitors that I want to kiss, squeeze and tickle so badly that I don't mind getting sandbox sand in my teeth or popsicle juice in my hair.

While their parents were entertained at Centerpointe Theatre by professional actors, I was entertained by professional grandchildren.

...and I mean professional. Emry and Amelia have it nailed. They have learned how to ask me for anything, I mean anything, and I will give it to them.

...and since I plan on someday attaining the title, "World's Greatest Grandma" or at least, "World's Grandma with the Greatest Number of Treats", I created in my new kitchen a treat cupboard filled with tall and skinny and short and round clear glass jars loaded with Reeses, M and M's, and Tootsie Pops and because I want to be a health conscious grandma, I also have a jar of FRUITY Skittles.

...so while preparing to post these pictures, I noticed Amelia has food on her pretty pink lips. Imagine that, one of my grandkids with food on their face!

...then I was looking through some family pictures and realized most of the pictures of my grandkids include Koolaid stains down their chins, hair gelled in crazy Lady Gaga styles by sucker stickiness and cookie crumbs on their fat little round cheeks.

...and I thought I heard my grandchildren's parent's voices saying, "Mom, stop with the sugar".

...and that's when I decided I like the word "Prerogative" so much.

pre·rog·a·tive/priˈrägətiv/Noun

1. A right or privilege exclusive to a particular individual or class.

2. A faculty or property distinguishing a person or class.

Tomboy...

2011-08-08T11:44:00.000-07:00

...or not, they are gorgeous!

I never know what will happen when Uncle Caleb shows up. He is a kid's dream uncle. He can toss them higher and tickle them longer than anyone. He is also known to paint toe nails, french braid hair and change a muddy diaper now and again.

...so it wasn't a suprise to step outside and find Emry and Amelia in a tree with Uncle Caleb grinning from ear-to-ear watching these two tomboys clamour for his attention.

It brought back great memories of my own tree climbing adventures in the shelter belt around our home. There is just something about being a child and sitting in a tree that makes life seem like a great adventure. I guess I always had a little bit of the Swiss Family Robinson genes in me. Sitting in the mulberry tree when I was 8 years old, I just knew there was more to the world than what I could see from having both feet firmly planted on the Kansas plains.

...but today, if I could climb a tree, I would probably look east toward Kansas and imagine myself standing on the farm.

Dying...

2011-08-02T10:15:00.000-07:00

...I'm dying...

No not that kind of dying...

I'm dying of laughter...

check this out...

HERE!!!!!

It was toward the end...

2011-07-10T18:31:00.000-07:00

...of last year that we found out my nephew, Seth, would be performing again with the drum and bugle corp, the Blue Knights, from Denver.

(If you didn't read this yesterday, go back and read it before continuing on, so that you will know the whole story.)

Grandma Great was excited and proud that he would be doing what she loved to watch him do, playing his trumpet. However, there was the concern that with her deteriorating health she would find it difficult, if not impossible, to attend his performance. I told her that she would be there. I would see to it. I just couldn't imagine life without her. I couldn't think of us living without her.

...but it was not to be.

When she passed away in February I realized Seth's concert was one of the many things she would not be here to witness along with birthdays, two up and coming birth days, and holidays. It was a sad reminder that what we had enjoyed with her would go on with out her.

As the time for this year's performance grew closer the anticipation also grew. Our kids were excited to see their cousin and I couldn't wait to see my nephew. This year they were performing at Ricce Eccles Stadium at the University of Utah, but they stayed at a jr. high in Bountiful, which meant I got to see him practice. Thinking of Seth and knowing he would be missing grandma, I made him a big bowl of roast beef and mashed potatoes with gravy...

...because that's what she would have done.

That evening we were front and center in our seats, in my hands a big yellow sign proclaiming Seth as MY nephew and that he was OUR favorite Blue Knight. On the drive down and then several times through the night comments were made about how much Grandma Great would have loved being there...

...her absence was obvious.

The next morning I drove to Weber State University to watch the corp practice before getting on the bus and heading out to Loveland, CO to perform the following day. Eventually Lauren came to watch and then Aubrey. We spent two hours just listening and watching the hard work it takes for them to compete with other corps from across the United States.

...and again I thought of her and how thrilled she would have been to see him.

Then the storm clouds gathered that afternoon, those of us watching moved up to the top of the stadium huddling together under the box seats to keep dry. The wind blew, the rain came in torrents, but eventually the sun peeked through making the grass sparkle and the sky a beautiful blue.

...it was against that blue sky that we witnessed a tender mercy, a large yellow butterfly, hovering over us, the color of its wings glowing in the moist air.

Not a word was spoken, no one needed to say a thing...

...we just all knew she was there...watching with us...watching over Seth.

...yes, she was with us and we are ever grateful for Grandma Great and yellow butterflies.

(that's Seth in the black shorts with the nice looking tan)

Lauren loves her Seth...then again, everyone loves Seth.

...and to my mother, thanks for being there...love you more.

Some conversations are sacred...

2011-07-09T03:22:00.000-07:00

...and shouldn't be shared.

...but Danielle told me about a talk she had with Grandma Great not long before she died and she gave me permission to share part of it.

.................

Grandma seemed to know she was going to be leaving soon. We all had glimpses of her deterioration and we all tried, especially the girls, to use this opportunity to build a stronger relationship that would provide memories to last the remainder of our own days.

...and it was in the midst of this experience that Danielle asked her one day how she would know if Grandma was thinking of her, watching over her from heaven?

...a butterfly, she told Danielle, watch for a yellow butterfly and think of me and know that I'm thinking of you, loving you...

...so it has been on a regular basis that a large yellow butterfly has become a regular visitor at Dani's home. It flits here and there, lingering for a moment on the lilac bush or dashing between the lilies.

"Come and see," Sammie calls to her mom inside the house, "Come and see the butterfly".

...then this week it happened...the butterfly landed on Sammie, right on her face...

...butterfly kisses, Sammie whispered, butterfly kisses from Grandma Great...

.........................

...but there's more to the story and I'll tell you about that tomorrow...

From cinders...

2011-07-08T15:22:00.000-07:00

...to Cinderella, there is something magical happening.

......................

Cinderella gets her teeth cleaned at my dental office. She is just as sweet as the fairytale says. I recently told her that on more than one occasional I have had to look behind here to see if she is being trailed by little bluebirds carrying her sash. When she arrives, whether in a beautiful ball gown or in a pair of blue jeans after cleaning the castle, there seems to be fairy dust in the air that makes even a grown woman become a believer.

Once she was the guest of honor at a tea party at my house for all of my granddaughters. So when she told me she would be having lunch with all the little princesses of the kingdom, I just knew we had to go...

...and she was gracious as always, autographing Emry's princess book and letting us take her picture.

...and then we had ice cream with all the toppings, and since that wasn't enough sugar, we also had a cookie.

It truly was a magical lunch date.

...and Emry has the autograph to prove it.

This is for the Sheriff...

2011-07-06T23:08:00.000-07:00

...and his sweet wife.

There are those who will say the kids today are undisciplined, selfish, lazy and lack good morals...

...but not this kid.

My nephew, Seth, is amazing.

I couldn't be prouder!

Go Blue Knights!!!

Let freedom ring...

2011-07-04T18:16:00.000-07:00

...from sea to shining sea.

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!

...and in honor of those who have fought for us to have our independence, I would like to quote President Ronald Reagan:

FREEDOM IS NEVER MORE THAN ONE GENERATION AWAY FROM EXTINCTION. WE DID NOT PASS IT TO OUR CHILDREN IN THE BLOODSTREAM. IT MUST BE FOUGHT FOR, PROTECTED, AND HANDED ON FOR THEM TO DO THE SAME.

I attended the Tabernacle Choir's 4th of July performance. It made me proud to be and American. Aubrey taught Relief Society and reminded us that it requires sacrifice on all our parts to keep the blessings of God on our nation.

Our family celebrated by walking/sweating/and dragging bikes decorated with flags and balloons in the children's parade. Saturday morning was the Centerville parade with the fly over and veterans being honored on floats and in cars. Following the color guard, I caught a picture of Cameron still standing at attention long after everyone else had sat back down. I hope he always knows about the brave men and women in our family who have sacrificed for all of us.

...and now we are off to fireworks, the perfect end to a perfect weekend for a beautiful country.

...and just in case you have forgotten the lyrics to my favorite song...here they are...

The Star Spangled Banner Lyrics
By Francis Scott Key 1814

Oh, say can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines in the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country should leave us no more!
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

24498...

2011-06-29T09:49:00.000-07:00

...and counting.

At some point this week my blog will have been viewed 25,000 times. Not much for the big time bloggers, but enough to get me thinking about all of you.

Thanks for taking a minute out of your life to read about a minute of my life.

...and to steal a line from Tiny Tim in The Christmas Carol...

God bless us...one and all!

He was here...

2011-06-27T21:11:00.000-07:00

...and I was a witness to it as I cleaned out his things.

..............................

A couple of times I asked a couple of different people if they would come down and help, but summer is crazy, life is busy, and our schedules just didn't match.

...so I did it alone.

...and it reminded me of a time I did the same job all alone some 7 years ago. It was on one of my many trips home that Mother asked me to help her clean out Daddy's room. She told me she had done some of it, but I saw little difference between that visit and my previous trip to Dodge.

I opened his closet and quickly understood why it was too much for her. His cologne still lingered there...drifting through the room like the dust caught in a ray of sunshine on a summer afternoon. It encircled me and the deeper I reached into his things the more I fell into his memories. His shirts, all crisply ironed, all facing the left, hanging there on the perfectly matched clothes hangers and ,just like when I grew up, the top button and third button down were each buttoned, proof of my mother's finger prints on my dad's clothes...because, as she taught me, "...they hang better and don't get that funny crease in the front"(I can hear her saying that as if she were standing right next to me, right now, head bent over the ironing board).

...and on the shelves above, a box of army letters, pictures of his childhood, a collection of cowboy hats and baseball caps, cassette tapes filled with his guitar music, a matchbook collection...all things that I could remember from my childhood...

...all of them looking back at me saying, "...he was here".

Mother left the room, she couldn't watch.

I gently pulled each of his shirts out and folded them, just as he would want...carefully.

...then I started on his dresser drawers, my hand rests on his pile of crisply ironed handkerchiefs. Handkerchiefs always close by to dry the tears of a 6 year old who has scraped her knee or to wipe the Kansas dust from his glasses after plowing the fields.

...and comes another memory, there was always a handkerchief hanging out his back pant's pocket, and then another memory, our little dog, Cuddies, that would run behind him and jump to grab it out of his pocket and my dad turning and laughing at the little pup with the big jump...and my dad sitting on the back porch, crying, when Cuddies was killed on the road...

...a shiny gold watch still in the box, along with a note in my handwriting, wishing him a happy birthday. Postcards from friends and family from all over, a funny one from me, postmarked in Colorado. The letter I wrote him when Mom(his mother, my grandmother, that we all called "Mom", the one we all cherished) died, telling him what I believed about where she was and who she was with. Golf tees, tie clasps, rings, a silver dollar, his Zippo cigarette lighter, a collection of Father's Day cards from grandchildren and Valentine's cards from my mother...and a picture of her not long after they were married, she's laughing...and she's beautiful...and it was his favorite.

...and I somehow felt like I was intruding, eavesdropping, trespassing on very private memories...and just as I feel like I should stop, I hear my mother in the other room...and I continue cleaning out the proof that he was here.

...and tonight I began the same process...cleaning out proof that she was here...this is hard.

But I'm the daughter, the one and only, and it's my job and I tell myself it's an honor, but it is still hard.

...and I wonder to myself, which of my daughters will do this for me someday? Will they do it together? Will they laugh at a memory of me wearing a skirt they all hated or will they smile at all the black and white in my wardrobe? Will they smell my perfume and remember with fondness my love of little glass bottles with heavenly smells inside?

...stop, I tell myself, focus, work, get this awful, beautiful job done.

...the job, I actually started this several weeks ago, but I didn't get very far. I kept telling myself I would wait for one of the girls to come help, but that just didn't work out...then I was determined to just get it done, even if I was alone. It's silly, I told myself, to let those nice clothes just hang there when there are people who could get good use out of them and I could use the space for other things. Time and again I would march into her room, determination on my face, ready to get the process started and completed.

"It will just take a few minutes", I told myself. But in the end I would open her closet or her drawers and she would be there in my memory, wearing that purple shirt or wrapping baby Lukee in her white sweater, and there is the suit she wore to Dani's wedding...and I would close the closet, safely keeping that memory hanging undisturbed until I had the courage to open it again.

...but tonight I swallowed the tears, faced the memories head on and put a whole-hearted effort into D.I.'ing her things.

A box of garbage bags in my hand, I started by putting on a pair of her socks, putting on my favorite music and opening her closet door again....and here is the proof.

...proof that I did accomplish something, 3 garbage bags of her clothes, and empty space in the closet...

....I was doing really well too, until I reached into her dresser and pulled out a stack of sweaters and found one of Daddy's white undershirts in the middle of it...

...and I worried...did she come across that at some point and cry herself to sleep...was she sad and I didn't comfort her like a good daughter should...did she leave that there, tucking it inside her things, knowing eventually I would find it...is it her reminder that he was here, too?

...and it was just too much...or maybe it was just enough...

...either way...I know...

...I know they both really lived and they were both really here.

25 years...

2011-06-25T10:20:00.000-07:00

...of helping to make eternal families.

...and it all began with a call from President Hinckley.

...................

Matthew had been in Dallas on a business trip and arrived back in Denver just in time to take the boys to Montana for a fishing trip. I was headed to Kansas with the girls for some long needed face time with my mom and dad.

I don't remember the exact timing, but somehow President Hinckley's secretary called me and wanted to set up an appointment for Matthew to meet with President Hinckley in Salt Lake(that was a surreal phone call...not one you take lightly when you are LDS and the prophet's secretary calls to invite you to his office). I called Matthew's dad and he went out onto the river to chase Matthew down.

Mind you, this was 25 years ago and cell phones were something of the future still...so the closest place for Matthew to call President Hinckley's office in Salt Lake City was at the Blue Moon Saloon out in the middle of Nowhere, Montana.

...anyway, the phone call was made (I think he had to ask them to turn down the jukebox), and the appointment was arranged. Matthew and I flew to Salt Lake together on the day we were to meet with the man that we reverence as much as Moses, Abraham, Isaac, Noah, etc., etc...I mean, he talks with God on a regular basis and God gives him instructions for us and then he tells us what we can do to become more like God...pretty cool.

We arrived at the office and the butterflies in our stomach quickly turned into a hornet's nest. I remember his secretary telling us to go on in. We stepped up to this massive, beautifully carved door and confidently...stopped...we both just stood there...like, really, just open the door and walk in. She said, "Go on, he's expecting you"....again, we just stood there...eventually, I don't remember who, someone finally reached out and turned the knob, but it felt like we stood there for an eternity...then the door was open and we entered a very large office with him sitting behind a very large desk...he welcomed us and indicated we should sit in the chairs across from him.

As it turned out, Matthew was called to be the recorder of the still under construction, Denver Temple.

However, there was more to that meeting than Matthew being asked if he was worthy and prepared for what was expected as temple recorder...it was somewhere toward the end of that discussion that President Hinckley suddenly grew quiet, looked up toward the ceiling behind us and then back at Matthew...(what's happening??? I remember thinking this is a little unusual, I mean meeting with President Hinckley was uncommon enough for us to be completely speechless, which is pretty amazing in and of itself, but the silence was deafening) then he looked back behind us again, briefly, before turning to Matthew and asking, "How old are you?"...Matthew, also sensing something unusual, was able to squeak out the words, "thirty three" then he cleared his throat(relax I thought, relax, breath) "thirty three" he said again, with a little more force...

"I am to call you to be a temple sealer, as well as recorder. That will make you the youngest sealer in the world," said President Hinckley.

...and so he was set apart by President Hinckley to work for the Lord in the House of the Lord...and Matthew has never looked back. Most weeks he is in the temple 3-4 times. It has required sacrifices of our family time and of Matthew's personal time...but the Lord always blesses those who give of their time so willingly. Our children know he is gone a lot, but they can testify of the blessings it has brought to our family, the sweet spirit that abides in our home, which we believe to be a direct result of Matthew's sacrifice.

Today is the 25th anniversary of the phone call from the Blue Moon Saloon...and it has been a crazy adventure. One that Matthew didn't see coming, but in looking back, it has been better than we could have imagined.

Matthew went camping with the Boy Scouts last night. He came home early this morning and will spend the entire afternoon in the temple performing eternal marriages. I know where he is and I know what he is doing.

It gives me joy.

Happy Anniversary, Matthew!

Love you more....

I can't remember...

2011-06-24T06:23:00.000-07:00

...the last time I had to sew on a button.

It was always her job to do that. She loved helping out, so I would take my latest button incident into her and hand it off.

"When you have time", I would say. "No rush", and then I would thank her for helping me.

...and then I would leave for work or church or some other activity and come home to find my blouse neatly folded on my bed, the button stitched in exactly the right place, sewn with a matching double thread. Perfect!

...so when I had a button pop off my white shirt this week, I stood there for a second and just looked at it in my hand...Oh no, I thought, I'm going to have to take care of this myself...

...big sigh...I miss her...bigger sigh!

Comments...

2011-06-23T07:43:00.000-07:00

...anyone?

I've been thinking about this for some time now (literally a long, long time, because I started this post in April and haven't quite had the desire to finish it, but it's still on my mind so here it is) and I guess I will try to write the different thoughts I have had and we'll see how this all ends up when I get through.

First of all...

...a big "THANK YOU" to Matthew's niece Kathryn. She recently commented on one of my posts about how she feels guilty for not commenting on my blog more often and I was like...

.... "Yeeesss", a comment!!! and you can see how SUPER CUTE Kathy is in her new glasses HERE and read about her so cute family of red heads(we are more than a little partial to red heads in our family).

...and her comment got me to thinking about comments in general and how I have posted a lot of my thoughts and not gotten any comments...

...and that's OK...really...

I mean I love the comments when they come, but I don't blog just to have my self-worth elevated by the attention that comes from putting myself out there and then finding out that people like me, REALLY like me.

...at least not now...

...but that hasn't always been the case. When I first started blogging I was always checking for comments on my posts. Heaven forbid I should post something and not have multiple comments within the first 24 hours...and if I didn't, I would start to question myself. A couple of times I became desperate for the recognition and called one of the girls asking if they had read my post and if so why they hadn't commented yet? I mean, seriously, isn't it a daughter's responsibility to comment on her mother's blog?

...and then I would start to question myself...was it the subject matter....did I not make it entertaining...did I offend...or maybe I used the wrong adverb in describing how horrible the smell was from the backseat.

...and then, over time, I became a "stogger" or maybe it's a "blalkster", as in a blog stalker.

For example, I follow several blogs, including Kathryn's. She does an awesome job writing about her life and her family. It's fun! She makes me laugh!

...and so I read her blog...

...but I am not good at commenting.

...and that can make me feel guilty.

There it is in black and white, I confess, I am a loyal follower to many, but a poor commenter to all.

...but I do want to thank those random few who occasionally take the time to give me pats on the back.

.......................

I'll always remember the day I overheard Lala telling D. about a blog she read and how it made her cry and then D. said she had just read the latest update and she had cried too.

...and like all good 50 year old non-techie women, I asked...

"What is a blog"?

...then they showed me the "Nienie Dialogues" and I was hooked.

...and I just knew I had to give it a try.

So for the most part, my blog is about our family with a little bit of my personal thoughts sprinkled here and there and though I don't have thousands of people looking at my blog on a daily basis like Stephanie Nielsen does, I do like the thought that a few people enjoy sharing in our story. I can tell by the counter on my page that people are looking. I know most of them are family (Hello to Preston and Maddie) and a few close friends and a few people who I have no clue who they are and they are all welcome(unless any of them start to get weird and then I'm going private).

...occasionally I wonder what are all those people who are reading my story thinking? But mostly, I don't really care, because this story is for me, this moment, sitting in front of my keyboard, this word is mine, this phrase came to me, this thought is part of who I am...all of them, they are mine and I don't have to have comments to feel I have fulfilled a purpose in this post.

...and I love the thought that somewhere down the generational lines one of my great-grandchildren will take the time to look at a day in my life and find something good in it, something that will help them know they come from a sometimes over-the-top, over-reactive, OCD family...

...but also a family who loved each other beyond measure.

......................

...and now, back to why I started this post...

...COMMENTS, anyone...

I guess the comments are kind of like the cherry on top of a hot fudge sundae. I eat a hot fudge sundae for the chocolate rush, not the cherry on top...

...but the cherry on top sure makes it pretty.

(as a side note, I called Christine last night to thank her for being an awesome sister and guess who answered the phone...Yep, Katherine...she's visiting her mom for 2 weeks...and we had a great time talking about the whole blog thing and how it's not what it used to be at the beginning, but how it's better now, because we are doing it for the right reason...comments or not)

I kept thinking...

2011-06-22T14:14:00.000-07:00

...Debbie would love this.

...............................

To say it was a surprise to find Bonnie at my front door is an understatement. It was one of those moments that everything stops and you have to take a deep breath to make sure this is really happening.

It was Bonnie...on my doorstep...with her three adorable children...

...and I couldn't have been happier.

Bonnie has always been special, she reminds me of Andy, with her gutsy determination and level headed thinking, and of course, always ready to laugh.

...and I had a precious afternoon talking with her, hugging her three babes and reconnecting.

Bonnie's mother is Debbie, the one and only best buddy to Matthew during his childhood. Debbie, Matthew's best friend, the one Matthew always felt a special connection to...

Matthew would have loved being there to open the door. He would have loved looking in Bonnie's eyes and seeing a piece of Debbie. When I heard her in the next room talking with Kenya I thought to myself .... "that could be Debbie", with her gentle tone, so sweet, so kind...so Debbie. The way she tips her head and then glances up at you, the way she kneels as she talks to her children, all reminders of who we miss and how grateful we are to have a piece of Debbie living on, now in the next generation.

Even now, as I think about those precious minute we had together, I tear up a little to think how close I felt to Deb while Bonnie was here. Oh, how I want these sweet children to know how wonderful their grandmother is...

...Xander loving life...what a giggler.

...and the girls, not bashful at all, Kenya, the mature, calm, peaceful one and Mara, wanting to try everything and follow her big sister. I loved time with them, to talk with them and get to know them. Kenya, the reader, Mara, looking like her mother at that age...I just wanted to squeeze them.

We had ice cream cones, played with the trains, jumped on the tramp, and hopscotched on the sidewalk...yes, Debbie would have loved every second of it.

....thank you, Bonnie, for the gift of your visit.

It's an appropriate title...

2011-06-20T16:00:00.000-07:00

...for Shay's "latest post..."..."Giving credit where credit is deserved".

One of the things I have missed about not having my mom here is that it's harder to talk about my kids without feeling like I'm bragging.

Don't misunderstand that, I mean, my friends are always ready to lend me an ear and applaud the amazingness (I know that's not a word, but it should be) of my children.

I think most of the time our lives, the Coil family happenings, are pretty ordinary, run of the mill, not a "15 minutes of fame" kind of thing, but occasionally...every once in awhile...I want to brag.

...and that's where it gets sticky.

...because a grandmother is always, ALWAYS, sure that her grandchildren are the MOST amazing kids ever and that anything their children tell them about their grandchildren is ALWAYS the MOST amazing, life changing, should be president, kind of thing...

...at least that's the way it was with my mom.

She loved our children, nearly as much as Matthew and I do. She was proud of their accomplishments, but even more than that, she was quite certain that they were perfect. She didn't just love them because she was their grandmother, she truly liked them. She got it, she got them...and when I did brag to her, which was quite often, she would not turn around and tell me about how amazing her other grandchildren were, or what someone else's kid did, she just soaked it all in and glowed in the joy of being my children's grandmother. Usually, after telling her about their newest accomplishment, she would call them and tell them I had told her, thereby confirming that we are good news spreaders(I like that phrase, I just thought that one up on my own...good news spreaders...do you like that one?).

...but she's not here, so the rest of you have to listen to me...

...or better yet, go to Shay's blog(bookmarked above for the ease of our readers) and see how the dad of our amazing grandchildren is doing.

...and you can see pictures of him intubating, inserting a chest tube and saving a life as the doctor on Life Flight.

Check it out HERE. Scroll down to "Motorcyclist critical after crash" then click on Photo Gallery at the bottom of his post to see pictures of Dr. Coil at work.

The moon over the Wasatch Back...

2011-06-19T19:41:00.000-07:00

...rose in almost perfect roundness as Matthew and I left home Friday night at 11:45...

...headed off to do what he does best...

...love and support our kids. This time it was Lauren.

.........................

When he suggested we get up at 11:45 PM to drive to Coalville and cheer her on in the...

Ragnar Wasatch Back

I seriously considered saying, "Great idea, you go dad and I'll stay here to keep the sheets warm."

...but then I would have missed this...the smile on her face when she saw her dad.

...at this moment right here...I was reminded again why I married him.

...because he will get up at any time of any night and drive any amount of miles to give any of his children anything they need and a lot of things they don't need, but mostly to give them the love they are so deserving of.

...sweet girl was surprised, but not shocked. If there is one thing our children know, if it is at all possible, their dad will be there to hug, cheer and love them at the moments in life when they need him the most.

...and you always run faster with "HOT" pink shoes...and if you know Lala at all, you know it is all about "pink" and "shoes", so when you put the words pink and shoes together...Lala will be at her best.

Coach Coil giving pointers, making observations and giving Lauren an emotional high five.

Combine a bad case of nerves with 36* and you have the shivers. Matthew wrapped his heavy coat around Lauren's shoulders, doing what every good dad does...helping.

Check out her number and just below it is their team name, "Hot Stuff".

Shortly after my dad died Lauren had a major race at school. She was a sophomore and was asked to run with 3 seniors in a relay. She was scared. I gave her one of Daddy's guitar picks and told her to put it in her shoe for good luck, knowing that just remembering him would bring her peace and encourage her to do her best. They set a new record that was only recently broken at Viewmont.

It was the same guitar pick that I carried with me each time I went home following his death to take care of Mother after she was diagnosed with cancer. I would pull it out of my pocket and rub it between my fingers and think of him and I would feel less vulnerable. It was as if he wrapped his arms around me, telling me it would be OK.

There is something about a dad telling you that you can do it that makes a girl believe it.

We waited 3 hours for this moment...the hand off occurred at exactly 3:30 a.m.

...and then she was gone...running into the darkness...

...but I like to think that as she ran off, into the night out of sight, she took with her something a little extra special that the other runners didn't have...the knowledge that her daddy was running right there with her, in her heart, giving her the courage she needed to take the next step.

Happy Father's Day to the best dad ever!

Fishing...

2011-06-18T11:35:00.000-07:00

...finally.

Spring may finally have relented and given Summer her chance to make an entrance, at least long enough for Emry to reel in a couple of big ones at Strawberry Reservoir.

Catching the big one must run in the female side of the family.

Way to go girlfriend!

So this is my girl...

2011-06-17T19:07:00.000-07:00

...my baby, my angel.

...no, no, no...not that one, the one with the lipstick and pearly whites...that's my Lala,

...and she totally rocks!

...cause right now she is somewhere just outside of Morgan, UT(according to my smartest phone ever), running the Ragnar Wasatch Back race and totally kicking it in her totally awesome hot pink, I mean "can't touch them magic slippers", totally hotsie tootsie shoes...TOTALLY!

...cause she started the race at like 4:30 this morning and ran the first leg of the 191 mile race for her team of twelve HOT STUFF ladies(including her best friend from high school, Jessie, with the most gorgeous hair ever), doing her 7 miles in under 53 minutes, beating the van to the exchange point!!!!!

TOTALLY AWESOME baby girl!!!!!!

Love you more...

Making up...

2011-06-17T18:43:00.000-07:00

...for lost time.

The past few weeks at church I have sensed real concern from some of my friends that I haven't posted for awhile.

...and so this is a make-up post. I really meant to blog all of these events separately. Hopefully you can get a feel for them even though some of them are weeks old.

...remember the last blog, about time marching on?

...and there are always those jumbled paragraphs full of adjectives and adverbs tumbling through my head when I haven't sat down in front of a keyboard for awhile. I start to feel like my brain is drowning and I can't breath until I have put them down into a sentence structure that would make my 6th grade English teacher proud...rest in peace Mrs. Snyder.

I'm sure a lot of what I write really doesn't matter to the world....but it matters to me and that's really who all this is for anyway...me. Not in the sense that it's all about me, but in the sense I need to write, kind of like Matthew needs to fish, Andy needs to sew some one's head up or D. has to have sauce with that...any sauce on any food, it doesn't matter, just dump a boat load of ranch, salsa or barbecue on anything and she's good to go.

...and then there is this...I do love the back space key, with its straight little arrow pointing backwards to let me re-state my thoughts or state my re-thoughts, whichever and whatever. I probably hit the backspace key more than any other key.

...my life would be so much sweeter if I had a backspace key that would allow me to take back what I have said as easily as it allows me to erase my written thoughts. I probably write 3 time the amount that ever gets published on my blog. In fact, in the 4-5 minutes I have been typing this post, I have spent half that time erasing what I have already written.

...and there you go...I did it again...way off course from where I thought this was headed when I first sat down.

...and now, back to the regularly schedule blog post.

Here we have Miss Amelia looking all fancy in her mom's big sunglasses...

...and you know how Spring has been wet and cold, actually it has been drenching and freezing, but the Tyler's are a hardy crew and still managed to do extremely well at their swim meets.

Here we are headed to Logan to sit under umbrellas with our winter coats and gloves on, cowering in blankets and drinking hot cocoa as we cheered on the swim team.

...don't be fooled by the green grass on the side of the road. Just a few feet away was another patch of snow...

...goofballs...I love little girls who love to giggle.

...food...it's all about the food.

...this is my favorite picture...Preston owning his lane, arms reaching from here all the way to there...I can't wait to see him at age 18 and the best on the Roy High swim team...Go Royals!

...Madison showing what she's made of...

...waiting for time results...

...and that's the end of the swim meet.

Now I'm off to Sam's pre-school graduation. Cameron is a sweetheart, always just going along for the ride, willing to do whatever the girls tell him to do. He is a doll!

...hiding behind his motorcycles...

...and then the big moment when our princess enters the room and she is bashful suddenly...only willing to make a quick glance at her mom and dad, who are beaming proudly.

...drumroll...she did it...she is a pre-school graduate with the highest of honors.

...and flowers from her daddy

...and the queen size doughnut, slathered with chocolate frosting...from Grandma LeAnn.

...followed by lunch at Zuppa's with her favorite cousin Emry.

...and that's that.

...and now we are back home again, playing with the silly goose in the family...Miss Amelia.

...and our Southern Belle...

...twirling...

...and now a picture of Amelia...

...oops, the next one will be Amelia...

...still trying to get a picture of Amelia...

...and finally there she is...as the Southern Belle is sent to the sidelines...

...silly goose...

I grew up going to the cemetery on Memorial Day. It was our tradition to honor not just the military, but a time to remember all those who have gone before. It has been an honor to lay flowers at the graves of T.J. and Maddie Jo Hickman for years. Matthew and I love their parents and feel it an honor to do what they would if they were living in Utah. I feel, in some small way, perhaps we can ease the sorrow for Mike and Debbie and it makes me feel a little closer to my family back home in Kansas.

...the back of their headstone has a beautiful saying that reminds me I often take life for granted.

...and just a short distance away is Caleb's brother, Paul. There is a reverence in this hallowed place that makes heaven, and the ones we love, feel closer.

This post seems a little discombobulated...which it is...which is how my life has felt. But I'm thinking things are going to change and I will soon be back to sharing the life and times of the Coil Clan on a regular basis.

...thanks to all those who have encouraged me to get back to the blogging world. This feels really good again...!

I felt so old...

2011-06-08T14:58:00.000-07:00

...like a big girl, as I sat on the kitchen floor tying my shoes by myself for the first time, my dad overseeing the tangle of 4 year old fingers and worn laces. Perhaps my first memory of me with Daddy, but certainly not the last experience with his gentle urging to learn something new.

There are moments I remember as if they were just yesterday...moments when I felt so old. The first time I rode a 2 wheeler...the day I was big enough to turn the kitchen sink on without climbing onto the counter...shaving my legs(hate shaving, but my OCD'ness urges me to do it...daily)...driving to town alone...

...I was so old...

Funny how we mark time as a child, a new pair of shoes for the first day back to school, our first loose tooth, a prom date, and how we recognize the passage of years as an adult, the birth of our first grandchild, the death of our parents, an empty next, a quiet home. For the most part, time does its own thing and we do ours, each of us taking care of life, but not really acknowledging one another often.

....then something like this sparks a memory...

...and I become aware of the passage of time...

...marked with pencil...

...on our garage wall...

...where the best ever Scout Master marked the heighth of his troopers...

...and little D. was there too, standing tall, stretching to look bigger, wanting to be so old...

...and then I looked outside at "Alice" roaming through Wonderland and realized Sam is the same age Dani was when we moved to Centerville.

...pulling Grandpa Great's little red tractor with a broom...

...content to just be a 4 year old in an old Halloween costume, eating black raspberry ice cream in a crunchy cone...

...hanging out with grandma while I painted the garage...

...and I realized there are definite blessings to getting old...

...even if I do have to shave my legs.

Her advice...

2011-05-22T12:10:00.000-07:00

...was truly heartfelt. I knew she had our best interest at heart.

I knew what she meant...I think. I mean, we've all heard the jokes about the mother-in-law. Watch any late night comedian and they will tell you about how annoying, frustrating and rude their mother-in-law is and the audience laughs and applauds as if they all know exactly what he's talking about. My friends and I have commiserated together on more than one occasion about the difficulties of dealing with our moms and our mothers-in-law as they get older (or maybe it's as we get older and, actually, my mother-in-law is a sweetheart).

...but her advice made me stop and think. What if she was right? What if having my mom live with us created such tension between me and Matthew that it affected our relationship?

She told me that she had not allowed her mom to move in with her, choosing instead to put her into a nursing facility. She knew it wouldn't work for her and I think she truly believed it wouldn't work for us either.

...but she didn't know what I knew.

I knew the quality of man I was married to. Though she knew him well, all his life in fact, she hadn't been close to him for years. She was basing her opinion on what she thought he was. I was basing my decision on who I knew he was.

I fell in love with Matthew for many reasons. And through the years, those reasons had multiplied, rewarding me over and over again for my decision to marry him at a very young, naive time of my life.

As it turned out, having mother with us was actually easier on Matthew than me. She and I would butt heads frequently...which drawer to put the kitchen towels in, which laundry soap was best, how wide to cut homemade noodles...funny now, when I think about how insignificant those things were...are...yet it was something we had to work through.

...but not Matthew. He would come into the house at the end of the day like a shining knight on his trusty steed bringing her doughnuts, or the latest funny story he had cut out of the newspaper for her, or telling her a story about his day. He would always hug me first, but his next stop was her room, just to let her know he was home.

Over time they became good friends. They shared common interests...the grandkids, food, the weather......me.

The day after she died we walked to church. At one point Matthew turned around and looked back at our house, her window, and in a melancholy voice said, "It's hard to think she's not going to be there when we get home."

...and so it was.

...and I guess that has been another one of the surprises. How much he has missed her. I have learned that he wasn't simply enduring the presence of his mother-in-law, he was enjoying it. Their games of Rummikub or Uno after the supper dishes were cleared, the oatmeal cookies she made adding extra raisins just for him, discussing the price of wheat and the lack of moisture on the farm...

...he listened to her, really listened, and she knew it. She ended up not just loving Matthew she really liked him.

There was not a day during her 8 years with us that he didn't perform at least one kind act for her.

...she loved it...

...she loved him...

How lucky am I.

The rain...

2011-05-19T05:24:00.000-07:00

...has left me feeling moody...well, not really moody, but introspective. The quiet of the clouds seems to soften the noise of the city, the grayness dulls the bright, hot sun and then, yesterday, as the clouds parted for a few minutes, a layer of steam rose all around me. As the mist enveloped me I began to think back on the past few months.

There are still things I am surprised about...even the thought that she died can sneak up behind me and tap me on the shoulder just when I am least expecting it. However, I think I may be slowly recognizing the finality of the situation. My consciousness is more aware of her absence than even a week ago...and I wonder, was she surprised at her leaving?

I leave a light on in her room. It makes it easy to walk in and sit in her chair, even in the middle of the night, when I need to feel her close.

Yesterday I carried a sleepy-eyed Logan up the stairs and rocked him in her room. Holding the little boy she loved so much I took in all the things that are her. I haven't changed it much. The coffee pot still sits there, waiting for the morning and a fresh Krispy Kreme to be dunked. Her small pillow she placed under her neck when the headaches became intense...and that brings another memory, a painful thought, she probably had a brain tumor and I did so little to help her through those terrible times. Her treat's drawer that she kept stocked for all her great-grandchildren and pictures of the ones she loves the most, scattered here and there. She spent most of her time sitting in that chair, enjoying life in the center of our large family.

The memories, like the rain, sometimes come in huge waves, filling my mind with thoughts that, like the gutter running over its banks, takes me hours to wade my way through. Sometimes the memories are soft, like the drops that fall causing you to have to look out the window to see. The gentle rain that you can only notice by looking at the puddles and the rhythm of waves, ever expanding from the power of a small drop. Some memories are small, but carry a large impact, filling my heart, my mind, my very soul.

Is it possible to miss someone so much it hurts and still be happy? It is, given the knowledge I have of where she is and who she is with.

...missing her will probably always be difficult, but after the memories come, they are followed by the mist that follows a beautiful spring rain...

...a mist of joy that cocoons me in a safe place of happiness.

It isn't any of my business...

2011-05-18T13:28:00.000-07:00

...right?

I shouldn't get involved. Right?

I mean, just because they are each amazing people doesn't mean I should play the role of Yente in "Fiddler on the Roof". Right?

...but really, they are amazing...and if you heard what this amazing man said, well...we all know what they should do. Right?

...and shouldn't we all do our part in supporting our brothers and sisters in following our wonderful church leaders? Shouldn't we be there to sustain them in their time of need? They are just two cute people who are educated, have great jobs, have even better testimonies...wouldn't they be perfect for each other?

I mean, it's not like I'm asking them to get married, right? Just go on a date, have fun, laugh, eat, talk and then talk about how amazingly inspired I was in uniting the two of them.

I would ask you all your opinions about trying to match people up on dates, but first of all, most of you never comment and second of all, if you don't agree with me, I don't want to know. Well, actually I do want to know, but please be kind about it.

...all I ask of them is to go on one date and have a good time...

...and if they decide to name their first born child after me...well, that's OK too.

Right?

I don't know why...

2011-05-17T08:01:00.000-07:00

...I feel comfortable sharing my hidden shame with my blog readers out there. Some of you are complete strangers(at least you are strangers to me, but you actually know way too much about me and my fam, anyway, thanks for taking the time to read), but most of you are people I admire and love. People I admire so much that I would be embarrassed to make these confessions to you in person, yet I feel so at ease in spilling the beans on the internet. I think there must be a sick psychological reason for that, but if you know what it is...don't tell me. I enjoy thinking I am sane and I would prefer to spend my remaining years thinking it's everyone else that is crazy(but not any of you...no...I know you are completely as sane as I am).

...but here I go again, telling you about another one of my secrets, another confession that Martha Stewart would have a hay day with.

It actually began almost 8 years ago when mother moved in. She brought some of her things with her, including her china hutch filled with her things and her grandmother's china. Since she moved in with us, I have removed everything several times a year from her china hutch, dusted and then put everything back. She and I usually did this chore together...because it is a BIG chore. I meant to do it at Christmas time, but I was too busy taking care of her to think about tackling such a big job.

...so as spring fever hit, I knew it was time. I got up Saturday morning with a "Can do" attitude.

...so I jumped right in.

...as in jumped right in after Saturday morning soccer games and Saturday cleaning chores. I put it off until I had gone shopping, swept the front porch, played on the internet, read the Church News, had lunch, made Sunday dinner and stowed it away in the fridge, told my sweetheart what a great job he did mowing and edging the lawn(I try to make a big deal out of this because the psychologists tell you to encourage good behavior, WAY TO GO HONEY) washed, folded and put away 2 loads of laundry and had my day's helping of chocolate.

...and then I jumped right in!

Obviously the semi-annual cleaning of the china hutch is something that is easy to procrastinate.

I pulled everything out...well...pulled is probably not the right word. I, ever so delicately, removed everything before dusting the shelves. I cleaned out the cobwebs, kitchen remodel dust and stuff that has been placed in the china hutch until I found a better place for it(and for some of it, I filed it away in the garbage can).

...and then the fun started. Yes, it was fun to touch and clean the things that my mother cherished, and now I cherish. Her grandmother's pin cushion, the door knob to the original homestead, a dog shaped, glass medicine bottle that sat in my grandmother's window, my maternal grandmother's high school graduation vase and the beautiful China that I remember using at the dinner table as I sat next to my great grandmother eating her pickled beets.

...and now I have begun adding my own cherished treasures. In the back is the commemorative plate from Dodge City that Erin and her mom purchased for me and the green platter D. got me for favorite things, which is sitting behind the navy blue plate Shay bought me on one of our grand adventures in Maine. Of course, my collection of marbles is front and center, divided by color, because I love the rainbow effect.

You can see my grandmother's china. They are the plates that we used for holiday meals in her home. These are probably my favorite...love the yellow edge circling the shafts of wheat.

I spent about 4 hours removing everything, dusting and wiping and placing everything back. Each piece reminded me of family, especially the women, their faces woven in my memory and their laughter echoing in my mind. The navy blue ceramic pitcher would have been filled with the cold sweet water from the windmill and the serving bowls held more than my grandmother's butter laden mashed potatoes. They are imprinted with the faith of my ancestors who believed a family meal was a joyful time.

As a child, I don't remember every seeing a pan on the kitchen table. For each meal, even a simple family breakfast, my mother and my grandmothers brought out their platters and serving bowls. Then we did something that a lot of families don't seem to do any more, we passed the bowls around the table(I'm ashamed to admit that I have been known to make Matthew fill his plate from the pans still on the stove, rather than dirty another dish). And since this was before the dishwasher era, each piece then had to be hand washed and dried with brightly embroidered kitchen towels. There was no such thing as Tupperware, plastic wrap or paper cups.

...and again I marveled at the honor I feel having stewardship over these objects, which are of little value to the world, but, oh so treasured in my life.

I will pull out one of the sets of china for Father's Day dinner in a few weeks and then carefully place them back having created more memories for my grandchildren and my daughters, who will one day inherit what remains from my life.

...so I ended the weekend feeling p-r-e-t-t-y proud of myself.

Yep, jumped right in and got'r done.

..................

...now all I have to do is clean the curio cabinet(big sigh)...

...so I'll jump right into that job next Saturday...

...or next fall.

Saturday...

2011-05-16T10:21:00.000-07:00

...at the soccer field in the shadows of the everlasting SNOWY hills.

Madison is #9. She's easy to pick out of the line up, she always has the best hair!

Preston and Lukee helping me pass levels on Angry Birds. What would I do without grandkids?

These were the two fastest soccer players on the field Saturday. Maybe it has to do with their tongues?

A day in the life...

2011-05-15T06:20:00.000-07:00

...of our OH kids...

As I mentioned before, Carlee has mastered the art of riding a two wheeler. I drew a figure 8 on the drive way with sidewalk chalk and she and Tessa laughed as they tried to stay on the line without crashing into each other.

Due to THIS, I had instructions from Grandpa to buy Tessa a new trike. As you can see, the pink and purple won out over the red flyer. I agree Tessa, this one matches your pink Barbie helmet much better.

As usual, I learn a few new words when I spend time with my grandchildren. This trip I learned about "Squinkies" and "Ninjagos". Abbie showed me her Squinkies once, but it wasn't until I went shopping at Toys-R-Us that I realized the world of Squinkies covers Troll like hair all the way to Belle's dog(or was that Ariel's dog). Carlee and Tessa had Squinkies and their little round plastic cases spread all over the house. When the Beast got lost at the mall I thought we might have a real melt down.

...and then there is the world of "Ninjago". Porter taught me how to do battle with the little warriors by spinning their bases until their swords bop off the head of their opponent. I was improving, but I had to leave before I ever won the battle.

...next time Porter, you better look out!

These pictures downloaded in a random order. I'm sure it Blogger's fault...it couldn't be my problem.

...and then there was ballet. Carlee is mastering the art of the arabesque. I don't know who was more excited, me watching Carlee, or Carlee having me watch her. She is a gorgeous little girl and it was fun to see her practice for her dance recital.

Tessa showing me how to play Angry Birds...really...she knew more about it than I did.

...of course, I had to do something to help Andy while I was there.

...and with all the great helpers I had it was fun to take care of the yard work. Carlee and Porter learned what it means to be on the Sanitation Crew as we donned gloves and began scooping poop. Next we got busy cutting up the branches blown down in the wind storm. I'm not sure we did a lot of good, but we sure had fun trying.

It's not a visit if we don't have chocolate everyday. It doesn't matter what form it comes in...even licking the bowl of brownie batter will give us the fix we need for our chocolate addiction.

Porter was really missing Andy. He became so desperate for wrestling time that he went after Marin. He would lay next to her, roll her on top of himself and then roll back on top of her. Marin was squealing with laughter the whole time.

(No children were injured in taking this picture)

...and finally, all four of them face up and smiling at the same time.

...the brother teasing his sisters at dinner...

...the sister being teased...

...the mom watching the brother tease the sister...

...the sister seeing the brother get in trouble for teasing the sister...

...the other sister adding her own thoughts...

...and finally...

...mom getting the brother back for all the teasing...

Porter's soccer matches have been rained out every weekend. They finally had a practice game while I was there. They were all covered with mud by the time it was over, but with the spring fever they've been experiencing, they weren't complaining.

Here's a picture of Carlee enjoying the soccer game. Huh? What game? If there's a puddle, Carlee's in it.

Walking Porter to the bus brought back fun memories of my school years. Picking him up at the end of his day at the bus stop was even better though.

A French bakery smorgasbord. We finally just told them we wanted one of everything.

The sun was shining for about 2 hours one afternoon, the rest of the time it rained. It didn't take long for us to bust out the sunglasses and lay out a picnic in the backyard to soak up some rays.

...riding bikes...

Porter rode to the stop sign and back in under a minute...I guess that means he wins.

...making wishes...

...mixing up a batch of mud pies...

...just hanging out...

...swinging so high...

...then jumping even higher...

...then we went to Porter's first grade music performance...

...where I met Porter's best friend, J.P....

...and for the grand finale...

...Superman ice cream and hot fudge sundae's at Malley's (don't tell anyone, but we went to Malley's.... TWICE).

...and that concludes the OH pictures....

...but the memories will never end.

I could tell...

2011-05-14T08:12:00.000-07:00

...she was worn out by her shopping trip.

I estimated the woman in line ahead of me at the cash register was in her 80's. Her clothes were not fashionable, but were clean and pressed. She wore a simple gold band on her left hand. Is he still alive, I wondered? Her hands were shaking and her back was bent with the years. She was struggling with taking things out of her cart and setting them on the counter. I knew she would struggle even more to have to take her groceries home and put them away and I hoped there would be someone there to help her. I felt compassion for her...

...so I stepped around my cart and started helping her.

"Thank you", she said, as I picked up her jar of jam.

"Apricot", I said. "My mother's favorite".

"My mother used to make apricot jam every spring", she said, smiling.

I pick up a box of oatmeal and ask, "How long has she been gone"?

"Over twenty years now", was her reply.

"Do you still miss her?", I asked.

"Everyday", she said, "Everyday".

Yes...I thought

...everyday.

There is one blessing...

2011-05-13T11:22:00.000-07:00

...that comes from having Andy and Shay in OH.

...when I go to visit, I stay with them. I'm there when they eat breakfast, when Porter does his homework, as Carlee practices riding a two wheeler...

...and I'm there when the are snuggled into their post-bath pajamas, wrapped in their favorite quilt and ready for a bed time story. Porter and I read every night and I was impressed with his ability as a 1st grader to read and comprehend such big words...

...but my favorite thing about staying in their home is this...

...it's being there in the early morning as their eyes open to a new day. It's being there as they remember Grandma is visiting and she is ready to play all day. It's having them cuddle and nestle into my lap, their warm little bodies, melting against mine, as we begin to breath in harmony. It's their hair, crazy hair, and their sleepy eyes, just slits to guard against the bright light of morning sun. It's their soft pajamas and their favorite blanket wrapped around them. It's a book in their hand as I read to them, "Oh, The Places You Will Go"...

...and it's their sweetness, their purity, an honor to start the day out with a hug from Carlee and a smile from Marin.

No, there aren't many things I like about Andy and Shay living so far away from home...

...but there is a certain reward for going to visit them...

...and I treasure those first few moments of their day as I witness the happiness of a child ready to embrace the joy of another day.

The many faces...

2011-05-09T19:37:00.000-07:00

...of Tessa May!

It was Caleb and Lauren that first noticed the variety of facial expressions that Tessa May is able to produce. Lauren was so surprised by the raised eyebrows, curved and poutie lips and scrunched nose that she did THIS.

...and once she pointed out Tessa's gift of grimace...I too started seeing it.

...and it reminds me of the Olan Mills experience we had when Andy was 6 years old. After about 30 different pictures the photographer finally turned to Andy and asked him if he would please keep his tongue inside his mouth for the next picture.

It wasn't until the proofs came back that I realized we had a plethora of Andy's different mug shots.

...genetics are a powerful force...

...Aaah, the memories...

Today....

2011-04-27T09:12:00.000-07:00

...she would be 87 and we would have a party.

I remember once in elementary school coming home and finding my mom more emotional than usual. I finally asked her what was wrong and she told me it was her birthday and no one had done anything for her.

I still remember desperately wanting to fix it and vowing to myself that I would always, ALWAYS, remember her birthday and there would always be a celebration. My dad may not have been a big party guy, but I would make up for it and she would never again wonder if she was loved.

...and I like to think I did it. I succeeded in celebrating every birthday of hers from that point on.

I think some children can be self-centered and I know I was the queen of "Me". I was tender hearted enough and had compassion for classmates when they were picked on or baby birds that blew out of their spring time nests...but I had never really thought about my own mother's emotional needs before this experience.

...even today I feel a need to take care of and protect her. I know mom's are supposed to be the protectors, but she was different, more fragile and I began to learn at a young age that she would be happy if I was happy(usually).

Her childhood, like so many of her generation, was difficult. Though she said little, I have good reason to doubt her parents ever acknowledged her birthday.

Then she married my dad...who was always ready to go dancing on Saturday night, but was not the type to stop and buy his wife a birthday card. He did try, once...once he brought her a heart shaped box with chocolates for her birthday. Thankfully he removed the discount sticker from the Valentine's Day sale before he gave it to her. She knew. She laughed and I believe in his own way he did the best he knew how. That became a great joke that she told up until the end of her life, that she was only deserving of Valentine's Day sale candy. Matthew bought her a box of heart shaped Valentine's Day chocolates every year that she lived with us, but for Valentine's Day, not for her birthday.

...but her birthday was up to me. A cake would be nice, but she loved pie more, so I always made her pie on her birthday, with cards and presents, everything necessary to let her know she was loved.

Matthew asked me recently if I thought they celebrate birthdays in heaven? I don't know? Maybe...or maybe time has little meaning there. I've thought about it a little, but I still haven't come to a conclusion.

...but I can bet you that if they do celebrate birthdays in heaven.

...my mom and dad are still laughing about that heart shaped box of chocolates.

Easter in UT...

2011-04-26T13:47:00.000-07:00

...with glorious sunshine on Saturday...

...and snow on my tulips on Monday!

(poor little things hanging their heads in frustration at tricky Mother Nature)

I promise....

2011-04-24T10:48:00.000-07:00

...that they will be there next year on the Easter dinner table.

...but not this year. It was always Mother's responsibility to make the deviled eggs. I got up yesterday fully planning to devil some eggs for Erin(she loves them).

...but every time I went to get the carton from the ice box...

...well...

not this year...

...but next year Erin and I will make them together. Deal Erin?

Ask any woman...

2011-04-22T12:20:00.000-07:00

...who's a seamstress, I mean an honest to goodness, pin biting, needle threading woman if you could have her scrap box in exchange for its weight in gold...

...and she will have to think about it a while, then she will take the gold.

...but in her next breath she will ask if she can, PLEASE, buy back that little blue checked gingham that is a left-over from her first child's baby quilt. You can tell a lot about a woman by the rags she saved in her bag.

I have been feeling the spring cleaning itch and it really got to me when I went into my sewing room earlier this week. Organza was dripping off the shelves, like frosting from a wedding cake, buttons were rolling around under my sewing table and there was dust UNDER my sewing machine???

...and I couldn't take it any more.

So I began like I begin every deep cleaning project...I dump it all out on the floor, all of it, a clean sweep of the shelves, heave it all into a big pile of stuff in the middle of the room...

...and then the magic begins.

It's like going shopping in my own private sewing room. Unfinished projects, the instructions long since missing, patterns, the delicate tissue spewing out the end making me wonder if all those pieces really fit in that envelope and rolls of ribbon, like rising bread dough in a pan, threaten to explode and leave tell-tale signs of pink, green and Christmas red on everything it touches.

I found squares of brown felt from a school project, white beaded lace from a blessing dress and flannel with brown bears dressed in pink ballet slippers. Little strips, big squares and misshaped pieces of cotton wait to be put to use. I even found a small scrap of fabric that was used in a doll quilt I watched my grandmother sew on her treadle machine...and, yes, I still have the quilt.

...isn't that awesome!

I unfolded and refolded each piece, straightening the selvage and smoothing out the wrinkles, before placing them back on the shelf.

...but at my feet, an ever growing pile of scraps, pieces of fabric too small to be folded, but to precious to discard...

...so off to the rag box it is.

My great-grandmother, grandmother and mother all had them, rag boxes, that were actually wicker baskets. When my grandmother died, I found 2 inch wide strips of cotton rolled into 6 inch balls waiting to be braided into a rug that she would stand on while making supper. She was thrifty up to the end of her life.

...and if you look at the postage stamp quilt my great-grandmother made, you can see in the 1 inch squares a story of her life. Squares from her husband's old shirt, strips of lavender from her "going to Sunday meetin's" dress, and one of her children's baby dresses with long eared bunnies have all been salvaged, hidden away to be kept safe until the time came that she had enough to actually make something.

Today, if I make a quilt, I run to the store and stew and fret over what color and pattern will match the best to make the loveliest quilt. But none of those quilts I have spent so much money on have kept me any warmer than the rag quilts my female ancestors made. In fact, I treasure those old quilts much more than the newer ones.

Do you have rag bag? Did you have a vision of something you would make and then halfway through, life got in the way and the project dropped down the priority list? If you answered "Yes" to those questions then you will understand this, Carlee's unfinished dress...

...and it got me to thinking about how women want to create. They want to take something into their hands and make it better. They want to make life more pleasant. Whether they were in a soddy on the prairies of Kansas in the 1800's where there was little color to be found in doors or out, or are living next to Joanne's in the twenty first century, women want to bring something new into their world by making something beautiful.

I guess it isn't really about the fabric, new or old, it's about making life better for her family and in the process she may make something that will be handed down from generation to generation. Chances are some woman in her family will someday wrap their child in one of those quilts and think about her.

...another happy thought brought to you by one of the finest quilters I have ever known, my Grandma Great, Nellie Keith Martin.

...and speaking of my great grandma, this was her pin cushion. One of my treasures that I love.

He has an air about him...

2011-04-20T14:08:00.000-07:00

...as he enters a room that tells everyone he is someone...

...not in arrogance, but in sureness. He is confident he can help anyone and everyone, or at least he will try. It's his responsibility through election, but it's his choice by selection. He has chosen to be a public servant.

I love to watch the reaction of people when I tell them my brother is the sheriff of Dodge City, Kansas. They immediately ask how Matt Dillon is doing?

...and then I get to brag that my brother's picture hangs in the Ford County court house next to Bat Masterson, Wyatt Earp and all the other famous cowboy/Sheriff's of Dodge, you know, the ones that died with their boots on.

Dean serves in an elected position and we all know in today's political climate what that means...one bad newpaper report and you are out on your keester, or keyster, or k'ster, or keestar (how ever you spell that).

I have been known to complain that I didn't grow up with a sister...but I've learned something. You can always find a sister(don't misunderstand that statement, because a good, really good, adopted sister is hard to come by)...women naturally bond and love each other. For example, my brother's wife, Debbie, is a saint (I'm not just saying that, she's Catholic, so she really could be a saint someday), and Matthew's sister, Christine, also a saint (as in latter-day saint). They have rallyed around me when I needed it most the past few months.

...but a brother is a little harder to come by. By nature, men don't go around looking for someone to bond with and become siblings with. You have to be born as a brother to be a brother. (I'm not trying to dish men, I just have an opinion on this and you all know I love men, well certain men, anyway, but I believe God made men and women different, fortunately, so women are bonders, men, not so much). However, I did watch my dad when he saw his fellow soldiers at army reunions and they were as much brothers as any man could be.

(Dean and I in the middle with our mom's brothers on each side, Uncle Howard on the left and Uncle Fred on the right, great men all of them and the only place I feel short)

As a child, I always felt safe when Dean was with me and I knew if anyone picked on me he would take them down. Actually, Dean is a great negotiator so he probably would have just talked to them, but one good talking to by Dean and you won't cause trouble again.

...to say I'm proud of Dean is an understatement. I'm proud and honored to call him my big brother. He has given me far greater love than I ever earned and help me feel safe when I really needed it.

People have told me how their families have broken up over wills and trusts when their parents died. Not us...no way...nothing is more important than Dean to me and I believe he feels the same way about me. It feels good to know he is watching over the farm, taking care of my half as if it is his own.

We are the only two left now that mother is gone, certain memories that only he and I share. Over time those memories will only grow and our time together will become more precious.

Dean has an attitude that tells me I am the most important thing to him when we are together...

...and I cherish that.

...and I can't wait to see him again.

We all have something...

2011-04-19T10:58:00.000-07:00

...some memory of Grandma Great that means more to us than others. Something that when we see, hear, taste or smell it, we think of her.

...for Aubrey, it is a new box of crayons with their points still in tact.

I asked Aubrey if she wanted to say something at the cemetery service. She said no, but she did have something she was working on. She wanted to keep it a secret until we were all gathered together.

...so when she hid out in the basement at the farm for several hours, I knew she was doing something important to her that would impact us all.

At the end of the service, Aubrey asked to say something and then she explained that Grandma Great had always told her that as a child her older sister always got the new crayons and she got the left-overs, you know the ones that are broken, paper ripped, points long gone.

That's why Grandma bought herself a box of brand new crayons when she moved to Utah. Crayola crayons, with the pointiest points ever, and that box of crayons is still sitting on her shelf, the cellophane wrapping carefully guarding every Razzmatazz pink all the way to the brightest Blue Violet and Caribbean Green to Electric Lime, even the Fuchsia and Fuzzy Wuzzy are still standing at attention with their wrappers still in tact.

At the conclusion of mother's service, Aubrey brought out a wreath brightly colored with beautiful, pointy crayons glued to the yellow ribbon.

...and she explained how she always thinks of Grandma when she sees a new box of crayons.

Yes...we all have something that reminds us of her and for Aubrey it's brand new crayons, for Lauren it's Monday nights and The Bachelor and who doesn't think of her when they taste fried chicken.

She may have left us to be with daddy, but there is still a lot of her right here with us...

...and that's another happy thought.

We celebrate...

2011-04-17T15:20:00.000-07:00

a lot in our family...

We love to be together and cheer one another along. We have celebrated each birth of our grandchildren with a flurry of quilts, food and love, but when Emry was born, there was even more to celebrate....

Mike and Erin had made a decision. It was a big one, an important, life changing decision. After years of heartache, blessings and prayers their attempts to have a baby had failed and they decided to adopt. We were excited they had made this decision. We didn't care how our grandchildren came into the family...they were ours to be celebrated forever.

...then the plan changed...

Matthew and I had taken several family members to Smith-Moorehouse for a camp out. Mike called that afternoon and casually mentioned he and Erin wanted to come up for s'mores, but wouldn't be spending the night. I was excited to have them come, even if it was just for dessert.

...and so it was as the moon rose over the glistening lake, nestled among the pines and quakies, the campfire giving a beautiful glow to our faces...

...that they shared the news...

...on the day they were to give their $1000 non-refundable deposit to the adoption agency, Erin and Mike had their first ultra-sound, confirming their news...

...Emry was coming to be with us.

...so on the day of her birth, there was not just a sigh of relief that she was healthy and beautiful, there was gratitude our prayers had been answered in the form of a little pink bundle with Erin's beautiful smile and Mike's cute freckles scattered across her nose(actually the freckles came later, but the first time I held her I just knew she would have sunshine kisses on her rosy cheeks someday).

Sitting around the campfire as they told us the news, Matthew had to hush me. He was concerned the other campers would think we were being attacked by the way I was screaming...and so I got it under control. It wasn't until dawn the next morning I realized I had s'mores smeared on my face and throughout my hair from the excitement the night before.

Yes, Emry, it took years for you to make your appearance...

...but you were definitely worth the wait.

I love you more!

As the sun descended...

2011-04-11T17:56:00.001-07:00

...rising into someone else's dawn, I sat at the water's edge and marveled at the beauty of a prairie sunset. The willow remembered the wind as it swayed and the waves chased across the pond.

The day had seen the fulfillment of a promised made many years ago to Daddy. I had watched over Mother, cared for her, loved her and now I had brought her home to him.

Dean commented at the cemetery that she had often mentioned how much she missed Daddy's touch. It was important, he felt, for her to be close as possible to him. So when Dean and Matthew went to the cemetery in the early morning to open the earth for her, they dug until they hit the top of Daddy's vault...

...as close as possible.

...and sitting there at the end of the day, a surprise, a wonderful, unexpected gift...

...it suddenly dawned on me that they were together, watching the same sunset as I, on the hill from which you can pick out the farm they both loved on the horizon...

...together again for the first time in over eight years...

...and then it happened, I pictured Daddy taking Mother's hand and I heard, as clearly as if they were sitting right there beside me...

...giggling...

...they were both happy.

...love you more.

I started...

2011-04-06T10:37:00.000-07:00

...to blog several times lately...

...but nothing...

...not a thought...

...just nothing. I guess sometimes even I have thoughts and words too private to share.

...then yesterday I carried her downstairs and set her on the kitchen table with all the other "stuff" I'm taking to KS.

As I took her down from the shelf in her room, I realized it was the last time she would be in our home, the last time she would be present, even if she was just in an urn.

...and it kind of messed me up.

Yesterday was bad and today there are still side effects, but I'm excited to see Dean...

...and that's a happy thought.

Just in case...

2011-03-25T13:17:00.000-07:00

...you were wondering...

check out the forsythia...

...amidst all the snow today, I had sunshine on my dining room table.

I just couldn't do it...

2011-03-24T07:50:00.000-07:00

...yesterday. I just didn't feel like blogging....blah! No good reason, really, just a blah day.

There was frost on my windshield yesterday, which was a bad way to start the day.

....and the frost on the windshield reminded me that I still can't park my car in the garage, which reminded me I need to clean the rest of the kitchen stuff out of the garage, which reminded me I need to clean out my mother's stuff in her bathroom, which reminded me I HAVE to take care of farm stuff and send out a dozen death certificates...

...which reminded me that she is dead...

...yep, yesterday was a blah day.

...but it's today and I'm going to fight the blahs, beat them down to within an inch of their lives, smack them up the side of the head, show them who's the boss by being...

...happy...

...at least I'm going to try.

Blah-humbug!

Oh, yeah...a shout out to Don Eric, Matthew's cousin...he knew the picture was taken at the funeral home. I need to spend a little face time with him...I think he is someone I would enjoy getting to know better...kind face, soft voice, nice man. Thanks Don Eric for your love and support!

Plus he always tells me I smell nice...yep, kind man.

It felt good...

2011-03-22T05:47:00.000-07:00

...to work a full 8 hours yesterday.

It felt good to have the "same old" back, sitting at my desk, working with the people I care about and enjoy.

...and when I came home, this is what I saw...

Maybe you can't see a difference between Monday's picture and yesterday's, but I think I can. My cuttings seem a little greener, just like my life seemed a little brighter.

They say you can't force Mother Nature to do anything, but I'm sure trying to help my forsythia and lilacs along with a little warm water and sunlight.

They say you can't rush the healing after losing someone, but it sure seemed a little better when I saw hope for yellow and lavender blossoms in the near future.

Lilacs in mason jars...

2011-03-21T04:55:00.000-07:00

...filled my grandmother's home with spring every April in Kansas. The wind through the window screens swished in filling the air with the fresh scent of spring like a princess enters the grand ballroom to take away everyone's breath with her beauty.

I love little girls dressed in lavender. Mother did too. She would have loved this scene.

(photo courtesy of Shana Whipple, check her out here at Shanawhipplephotography.com to see more of her amazing work and if you know where this picture was taken, comment or email me, because the first one that knows the answer will get something good from me...and you know what that means... the family is excluded from this contest and cannot participate, OK yes you can and a prize will be coming your way!!!)

At my grandmother's home I was allowed to pick as many lilacs as I wanted. Then I would go down into the storm cellar and bring out blue tinged mason jars and stand the clipped limbs, dripping with the lavender blossoms, into the water filled glass. The heavenly smell would fill every room, making one feel as if life itself had just begun in her picket fenced flower garden. I think the Garden of Eden could not have had a sweeter bouquet. In fact, when Eve was forced to leave the garden, I imagine one of the first things she did was to pick some flowers and place them where she could admire their beauty.

I noticed this week my Mother's Day lilac bush from the the first year we moved in is beginning to show some green buds....and the yellow forsythia will not be far behind.

Tomorrow it will rain again...

...but today...

...today I am forcing Mother Nature to make herself at home.

11:47 P.M...

2011-03-19T23:42:00.000-07:00

...(sigh) and I am totally awake (deep, tired sigh). What's up with my body. I feel so weird....and what do I do when I feel weird...or happy...or anxious...or sad...or ornery...or blessed...or just feel like it?????

...I blog, therefore...I am...

I am a blogger.

...and...

I found this quote...

....from Jeffrey Holland, a man I love and admire.

Brother Holland said the following:

If in matters of faith and belief children are at risk of being swept downstream by this intellectual current or that cultural rapid, we as their parents must be more certain than ever to hold to anchored, unmistakable moorings clearly recognizable to those of our own household. It won't help anyone if we go over the edge with them, explaining through the roar of the falls all the way down that we really did know the Church was true and that the keys of the priesthood really were lodged there but we just didn't want to stifle any one's freedom to think otherwise. No, we can hardly expect the children to get to shore safely if the parents don't seem to know where to anchor their own boat.

...and since everything I touch or am touched by recently has led me to thoughts of my parents, this quote has had me thinking about them more than ever.

I didn't grow up in the LDS faith, but I grew up in a household of faith. Faith in mankind. Faith in country. Faith in family. Knowing that when all around us the world was spinning dizzily out of control with this voice saying that and that voice saying this, there were certain things that would never change, mainly family.

I knew things, not because it was really ever talked about, but because it was lived. My dad's handshake meant his word was signed by the grasp of his very large strong fingers. His broad shoulders allowed him to physically sustain his home, his family, his farm, and his country in WW II. His love for the flag, the banner for his country, caused him to carry the red, white and blue in the color guard every Memorial Day at Minneola's cemetery.

For years he proudly raised a flag in front of our home everyday...

On one of our many visits home, we happened to be there for Memorial Day. It was near the end of Daddy's life and we could all see him winding down. I asked him if he felt he could be in the color guard one more time, so that our children could see him as I had seen him every year of my youth. He did so, carrying the flag in a 60 mile an hour wind, walking up the only hill in southwest KS, which just happens to be where the cemetery was created. I looked at his picture after we got home and realized how old he really looked, his once straight back was bent into the wind, determination showing on his face to carry his flag with the respect it deserved.

...he looked old...

...but mostly he looked brave.

He has given me pride for my country that causes me to draw a quick breath when the National Anthem is sung (and to cringe when someone sings it at the Super Bowl and doesn't know the words).

....and while I am proud of him for all of that, there is also an appreciation for what my mother gave me that really came as a quiet unspoken gift, the gift to see the down-hearted, lonely, old and young alike, anyone who is less fortunate and to see in myself the ability to make a difference.

...even if it is just to smile at them, knowing I may be the only one who has done that for them in their life that day. I told my seminary students that I loved them everyday...and loved them I did and that love was returned 10 fold (and though I'm glad I don't have to get up at 4:30 any more, I sure do miss those mornings with my kids).

I remember sitting in the car in line at a fast food restaurant one day. I heard my mother take a deep breath and then sigh. I asked her what was wrong. She said, while pointing at a little sparrow on the parking lot next to us, "that little bird just ate a french fry...I'm so glad he found some food today."

...compassion, a Christ-like quality:

Matthew 10:29:

Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father.

Another time, at the Dairy Queen in Dodge City, mother observed a young boy counting his pennies trying to decide if he had money to buy something for lunch. My mother, tears in her eyes, handed him $10 and told him to buy himself a really good meal.

...and so it was, compassion for the less fortunate and respect for the world around us, that were the anchors my parents gave me.

...and while they weren't ever the type to boast or to draw glory to themselves, I am extremely proud of where I came from.

Like Jeffrey Holland said, "....we as their parents must be more certain than ever to hold to anchored, unmistakable moorings clearly recognizable to those of our own household."

...another happy thought.

Matthew and I will do our best to give these same strong values to our children and grandchildren.

The thought...

2011-03-19T20:12:00.000-07:00

...keeps going through my mind...

...I don't know how to do this? How do I live without her? I have spent 7 years with her in my life, everyday, every meal, every thought...

...and now, I'm having to re-think everything.

Going up the stairs this morning, I heard someone say, "My mother is dead." It's really odd when you hear your own voice and not recognize it was you saying the words.

I'm adjusting, but there are moments of complete disbelief. I wonder if she is going through the same thing? But, no, I tell myself, she has a far better understanding now than I do.

I hear myself saying, "My mother is dead". Yes, I tell myself, she is dead, but she will always be with me in my thoughts and in my heart(does that sound corny????...I don't care...it's getting me through). I'm hoping I will always feel her as near to me as I do now. I hope that as the smell of her perfume wears off and as I become more adjusted to the thought that my mother is dead, that I will still feel her presence in my life.

...and I really hope that she is as aware of me now as I am of what our life together was like...

...before my mother was dead...

Love you more...

Lookee at Lukee...

2011-03-18T13:28:00.000-07:00

...here for a visit.

It's kind of funny how there is a new normal around here. Everyone comes and looks for her, knowing all the while she's not here.

...so when Lukee came by this afternoon, he brought in Sadie. Sadie went straight up the stairs and headed into Grandma Great's room. Sadie remembers spending time with GG while the Tyler family took vacations out of town. Sadie just knew where to go for a good ear scratching, belly rubbing, dog loving snack.

...I guess I'm not the only one missing her.

D. did it...

2011-03-17T09:09:00.000-07:00

...she found a picture from her wedding of me with mother in "Fancy Nancy" clothes. Although it was the hottest day in the history of the world, making me look like I had fake baked extensively, I don't care. It's her and I'm with her. Lucky me!

Thanks D.

...and lucky me that Sam came for a visit.

and today is a special day for this guy too.

Our lucky little shamrock, who will always have a school party on his birthday.

There has never been a happier baby. I can't remember ever hearing him cry...

...not that he doesn't express himself on a regular basis (like constantly). In fact, he has perfected his yell to the point that you wish he would cry for a while just to change it up a little bit. D and I ran errands yesterday and this little guy had an opinion on everything. I've never heard a 364 day old child have such a large vocabulary. Not that he's saying words, mind you, just that you can tell from the yelling that what he is saying is VERY important.

Matthew will tell you I have an opinion on everything...except sports...well OK I have an opinion on those too, but Logan has me beat...

...and he's willing to share it with you.

He makes us all laugh...except D, who sometimes wants to use the "S" word with him...as in "shut it" for just a minute....and then she will laugh too.

Check out this video to get a vision of how much personality is contained in such a little body....be sure to turn up the volume for the full effect.

BUBBLE HEADS....

...watching this I realized how lucky Logan is...no matter how old he is, he will always have a best friend just a year older to be right beside him.

Lucky little leprechaun!

While sitting at work...

2011-03-16T10:17:00.000-07:00

...I could remember pictures of her with everyone...

...everyone, but me.

....not one picture of us together.

I have taken thousands of pictures of our family in the past 7 years since mother moved in with us. Hundreds of pictures of my children and grandchildren with my mom, but I couldn't remember seeing one picture of me with her since she moved in...

...not one.

As soon as I got home from work, I headed for the computer room and started searching through bins, boxes and photo books...

Stacks and falling stacks of pictures...Cameron resting his head against her chest, Mike and mother huddled together over a jigsaw puzzle, Porter and her watching TV, Aubrey sitting next to her, Lauren and mother hamming it up for the camera that she didn't think was on, both of them laughing, even her with Max...but me with mother...

...nothing.

How could I have missed that? Didn't anyone ever take a picture of me with her? Did I never once hand the camera to someone and ask them to take a picture of us together?

...nothing.

How could I have missed that?

What was I thinking?

...and now it's too late.

No regrets, I tell myself, no regrets. If I start opening that door, wishing for a do-over...no, I can't even think about it.

...no regrets.

Diane Sawyer...

2011-03-15T05:00:00.000-07:00

...was broadcasting from some where in Japan, devastation surrounded her.

Her words caught my attention, the potato masher in my hand stopped, the steam from the pan warming my face.

...the daughter, about 30 years old, searching the faces of a rescue center, looking at each person, the pleading tone obvious though her words were foreign to me, asking...

...do you know my mother?

...have you seen her?

...then a cry, then another...

...mother and daughter embrace...

...the lost is found...

...mother and daughter reunited.

Suddenly I was so very, very grateful that I didn't have to wonder, didn't have to think about her suffering or worry that she had been scared....suddenly, I was just very grateful that I was with her when she left...

...and I know exactly where she is...

...and who she's with.

Dolls, guns...

2011-03-14T06:35:00.000-07:00

...and lots of surprise.

For several weeks, long before I knew how seriously ill mother was, I had wondered how to keep her memory alive after she was gone. Matthew and I have always tried to talk about family experiences that we feel are important for our children to remember, even at the risk of being told, "We've already heard that one, dad", knowing that time has a way of stealing away those important memories.

For example, the day we moved into our home in Aurora, CO, as we were setting up the bunk beds, Andy, who was playing underneath, suddenly jumped up and ran across the room. Seconds later the top bed, heavy wood and mattress crashed down onto the lower bunk.

Andy yelled, "Did you hear that?"

"What," Matthew and I asked?

His reply has echoed for years through our family as we have told and retold the story. "The voice," he said, "the voice that told me to move".

The voice of the Holy Ghost had spoken loud and clear. He had obeyed and been kept safe.

...so it was during my pondering of how to keep Grandma Great's memory alive for her young great-grandchildren that the Holy Ghost told me what I should do. Buy each of the little girls an American Girl doll from Grandma Great and each of the boys a rifle or B-B gun from Grandpa Great. Then instruct their parents to remind them of the loving great grandparents those gifts came from every time they play with them. Proceeds from the family farm that my parents had worked so hard to care for paid for those gifts. It is a fitting memorial to my mother, who loved dolls and her great-granddaughters, and to my dad, a WW II veteran and avid pheasant hunter.

I love the pictures of Amelia, peeking out to see what all the excitement was about, and Tessa May trying to help her be surprised.

These pictures will also be viewed by future generations and then they will hear the stories and mother and daddy will live on.

...they would be pleased.

We brought Grandma Great...

2011-03-13T04:35:00.000-07:00

...home in her urn and set her in her room on the two week anniversary of her death. It just seems like the right place for her to be until it's time to take her home to Kansas to be with daddy.

There's something surreal about picking up a shoebox size urn knowing that all that is left of her is in a 7" X 10" wooden box. It's beautiful, a dark cherry wood with a high gloss finish. She would have loved it...

...but it's hard.

I was grateful Matthew went with me. I didn't know how I would feel. I think I was a little angry that she was gone. I don't know why, just missing her I guess.

It has rained off and on today with rays of sun in between. It is rather like my emotions, always changing.

Her shoes are still in the corner in her room. For some reason I just haven't been able to move them. She was the one that put them there. I want her to be the one to move them. Silly, I know, but true nevertheless.

Each of the children who spoke at her service talked about how she was always dressed to the nines when she was going anywhere, even the golden arches always saw her looking fabulous.

I know she loved seeing the boys dressed in their suits and matching ties. She always taught me to look my best knowing that I would feel better if I felt better about how I looked. I know some people think that's worldly, but she was right. They don't have to be expensive, but put on clean, pressed clothes and then put on a smile...

...then the people you meet will smile with you.

She was right....

My 7th grade...

2011-03-12T10:39:00.000-08:00

...P.E. teacher never, not ever, looked this dang cute!

Notice the boys all gathering around!!!

Porter has been involved with a basketball club in Bay Village for 2 years now. He performed at half time for the Harlem Globe Trotters and Lauren invited him to do a little show for her PE class. He wasn't at all shy about dribbling in front of several hundred jr. high kids. Matthew and I were extremely proud.

Not...Carlee was not picking her nose, she had an itch, promise.

"Make me a child again...

2011-03-11T14:05:00.000-08:00

...just for tonight!"

Just before the visitation began our family gathered around one another at the mortuary. The adults were still discussing plans and arrangements, but the children found a way to find joy in one of the darkest of times. At one point, the little girls in their matching lavender and cream dresses held hands and danced to music unheard by the adults. Their laughter echoed through the halls of a building that has seen so much sadness. Eventually their parents hushed them, but not before I had a chance to envision my dad and mom seeing their great-granddaughters finding joy by just being a family.

For just a moment, I wished to be a child again, to dance and laugh in the face of death. But then I realized I was smiling and that in my own way, I was doing just that, finding joy when death was around me...thanks to my granddaughters.

There are those who don't believe in an after-life. I do. I also believe in a pre-mortal life where we were as a family then too. We did not come into this family by chance. We did not come into this world without attachments. Those family bonds created in the pre-mortal existence are simply added upon by our mortal experience. Matthew and I find such joy in watching our grandchildren, some whom have never even met in this life, loving each other instantly, as though they are simply reuniting after a long absence.

More children will be added to our family in this life in their own due time. Between now and then, those spirits, while waiting for a mortal body, will be with family who have been through this life already. My mother and daddy are their teachers, preparing them for what is to come, telling them about how lucky they are to be coming to us and we talk about how lucky we are to have them.

We look forward to the day we will hold them in our arms...

...and welcome them into our family circle.

...into our arms to dance with us.

Perhaps no poem more eloquently expresses the yearning I have to once again be young with my mother watching over me than the following poem. One cannot read it and not think lovingly of their own mother.

Rock Me to Sleep

by Elizabeth Akers Allen

Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight,

Make me a child again just for tonight!

Mother, come back from the echoless shore,

Take me again to your heart as of yore;

Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,

Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;

Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;—

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!

I am so weary of toil and of tears,—

Toil without recompense, tears all in vain,—

Take them, and give me my childhood again!

I have grown weary of dust and decay,—

Weary of flinging my soul-wealth away;

Weary of sowing for others to reap;—

Rock me to sleep, mother – rock me to sleep!

Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue,

Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!

Many a summer the grass has grown green,

Blossomed and faded, our faces between:

Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain,

Long I tonight for your presence again.

Come from the silence so long and so deep;—

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Over my heart, in the days that are flown,

No love like mother-love ever has shone;

No other worship abides and endures,—

Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours:

None like a mother can charm away pain

From the sick soul and the world-weary brain.

Slumber’s soft calms o’er my heavy lids creep;—

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold,

Fall on your shoulders again as of old;

Let it drop over my forehead tonight,

Shading my faint eyes away from the light;

For with its sunny-edged shadows once more

Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore;

Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;—

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

Mother, dear mother, the years have been long

Since I last listened your lullaby song:

Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem

Womanhood’s years have been only a dream.

Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace,

With your light lashes just sweeping my face,

Never hereafter to wake or to weep;—

Rock me to sleep, mother, – rock me to sleep!

A time...

2011-03-10T14:50:00.000-08:00

...to mourn and a time to fly kites. I know I will continue with this mourning process that at times almost feels like an out of body experience, but...

...today was not a time for mourning...

...it was a time for letting the wind blow away the sadness...

...a time for flying kites, one of Grandma Great's favorite activities.

Sammie's pre-school teach told Danielle that Sam is the best jumper they have ever had. Sammie was quite proud of herself and more than willing to show me her Show-and-Tell talent.

Grandma Great would have loved sitting on the porch and watching the fun.

...or maybe I should say it this way.

...today Grandma Great sat on a cloud and watched the fun.

...another happy thought.

Do they celebrate...

2011-03-09T16:39:00.000-08:00

...birthdays in heaven?

If so, my dad celebrated his with my mom today.

That thought has made me smile more than once today.

...Happy Birthday Daddy.

How courageous...

2011-03-09T11:37:00.000-08:00

...can I be?

The jury is out now. Everyone has returned to their respective abodes and their normal routines.

Aubrey has the children back in school. Andy flew back to Ohio taking Shay and their 4 little Coil's with him. Michael has a big project due at work today and Erin is home with Emry and Amelia. D. is back to juggling 3 toddlers and being pregnant while Jake starts his summer work schedule. Lauren is P.E.'ing again with several hundred jr. high kids. Matthew was in the temple last night and will be at work all day today. I arranged to have the day off from work today, knowing I would be cleaning up from another Bush-Coil family party.

...tomorrow, even I will be back to the "same old, same old", answering phones and dealing with insurance companies.

By all outward appearances, life will be much the same, except...

...it is not.

People kept commenting on how brave I was. Even I was surprised and impressed with how tough I was the past 2 weeks. When mother really started to fail, I knew I had to focus on her and not take time to check out my own feelings. Then, when she was gone, I had to take care of everyone else and make plans to give her the best going away party I could.

...but all that's over now.

The beautiful flower arrangements are starting to droop and drop petals, another reminder of how finite time is...

The wonderful food provided by my sweet Relief Society friends and neighbors has maxed out it's shelf life in the fridge...

Our "heart attacks" are falling off the door...

...the house is quiet...very quiet.

It was easy to be brave when I had everyone around to distract me and keep me focused on the living, but I'm not sure how courageous I will be when I'm home alone and I know her room sits empty? Right now I may only be getting through this for the sake of everyone else.

...only time will tell how brave I truly am.

Then again, perhaps courage doesn't come because of how brave we are...

Maybe true courage comes from greeting sorrow and fear with joy and hope, because of prayers offered, food provided, hugs given and thoughts sent and if so, then I have no reason to fear my future.

...my only question is...

...how do I ever thank my family and friends for giving me something I never expected?

...the courage to keep on laughing, living and loving...

...for a time I was courageous for everyone else...

...now is the time to be brave because of everyone else.

...thank you to all my sisters for the many gifts of love.