tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87571107538189406032024-03-05T00:11:36.000-07:00Yvonne Says....Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.comBlogger698125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-73363251519994414502021-07-25T17:41:00.001-06:002021-07-26T12:40:14.127-06:00On the Mountains High <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiselwOEj7aYD-_3Ab47BBh4vu5INs6qWufjNlaYv_HefcWUa_Td6z4nJ1MLXzFynVFc_HkvO2p7tgEgrHS6M4vLsVzzDITV-DgXYWJM3a2jZNZEzPhHY3jPx7Uog-5fhTRwsL6Bjex0Ms/s4160/20180528_160318.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="2340" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiselwOEj7aYD-_3Ab47BBh4vu5INs6qWufjNlaYv_HefcWUa_Td6z4nJ1MLXzFynVFc_HkvO2p7tgEgrHS6M4vLsVzzDITV-DgXYWJM3a2jZNZEzPhHY3jPx7Uog-5fhTRwsL6Bjex0Ms/s320/20180528_160318.jpg" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: #d9d2e9; color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">The day we drove into the mountains was a surprise for us. We could see the approach to the high mountains. It seemed that we had driven from breakfast to lunch. We were getting hungry. As we drove over the high pass we saw a great huge plain spread out before us. Somewhere near the middle, there was a crossroad. We turned onto the road and found ourselves in the middle of a town. It might take us till mid-afternoon to find somewhere to eat that would be better than what we had seen so far. </span><p></p><p><span style="background-color: #d9d2e9; color: #351c75; font-size: medium;">By our figuring it would take up a bit more than one hour to find Vail. We drove on. </span><span style="background-color: #d9d2e9;"><span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: medium;">When we reached Vail
we had no idea where we should go. There were a lot of houses and apartments. We
drove from the West end of Vail to the East end. There were big hotels. None of
them had the name of our hotel on the front. Eventually, we asked someone who did
not know where the hotel was, but he knew where the Welcome Center was and we
were almost found. We parked, we ate, we drove to the hotel and discovered that
our room was ready, so we went in. Our
room was the smallest one in the hotel.
It had a king-sized bed, a relatively new TV some furniture arranged around
next to the walls, and there was a bathroom as well a tiny closet. When we
checked out they charged us $40 a day to park our car. Everything in Vail costs
more than anywhere else. The scenery was beautiful. On the 7<sup>th</sup>
day of July, after we spent time out in the countryside we drove home.</span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="background-color: #d9d2e9;"><span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="background-color: #d9d2e9;"><span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: medium;">On
Tuesday we drove to Aspen Colorado where we thought things would cost less. We
drove up to Independence point that is right at the top of a mountain. It was
beautiful when we started down the other side. The road got narrower and
narrower. We thought we might have a collision or fall of the side of the
cliff. When we reached the bottom the road became wide again and houses started
to appear. Traffic got heavier and we could not find a place to park or see any
places to eat. </span></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="background-color: #d9d2e9;"><span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: medium;">Aspen is a town. It has beautiful yards and lots of parks we
found a place to eat and parked right in front of it. We found a visitor's
welcome office where we were given a map. We discovered the section
where the shopping and eating took up several blocks. We discovered that Aspen
was just as expensive as Vail. When we got tired we decided to drive to
Glenwood Springs. We drove out of town past the airport. It was full. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="background-color: #d9d2e9;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">At
Glenwood Springs, we saw a Wendys. It was the first one we had seen on our trip.
When we got to route 70 we noticed the interstate was almost part of the town. We
decided to park and walk around for a while as we waited for dinner. </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="background-color: #d9d2e9;"><span style="color: #674ea7; font-size: medium;">The
road that crossed above the interstate had an area underneath it where there
were restaurants and an outdoor market as well as an area set up for
entertainment. I sat down. It was then I noticed the table where we sat was right
next to band instruments that we were being set up. The musicians were testing for
sound. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpLast" style="line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="background-color: #d9d2e9;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: #674ea7;">We
listened to them play for about fifteen minutes. Then between numbers, my professional musician husband stood
up and walked over to the place where they had put out a colorless bottle.
Someone had put money in it. So My Man put $20 in the bottle and said thank you.
Then we went back to the car. We found a
place to eat before we drove up the Glenwood canyon to Vail. Our time under the
road was the best part of our vacation.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: #d9d2e9;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent" style="line-height: 115%; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><o:p></o:p></p>Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-15919172135832107692021-04-16T11:21:00.001-06:002021-04-16T11:35:27.865-06:00Suspending Disbelief<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlze9VxFk4DwFJp7iJ-Zl4RjtlkAe69RY3d0LAol9HDGCZbF4IgZx0wPHTZl3CA_EZAhttMJ0CMhhj5XD6JE5CDmjtASIGlH7wajWOeN68SoYxzbU8kl44GVrfexOgJGp6jHXVAMUWqyw/s4160/20140822_090108.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwSGLujBGvSJw4IKgtSvw3_nUMunoFIbqkZfloV7EK-Yj_yFs89JFlTq-volpj02i3V98xCuN7FZewS9yQfCQhdL9bZzyUgy7Sk-o02evPGjEpKqD9cdS6h9AUXtSMYIHXCcPZLf5gJF8/s4160/20180815_130759.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="2340" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwSGLujBGvSJw4IKgtSvw3_nUMunoFIbqkZfloV7EK-Yj_yFs89JFlTq-volpj02i3V98xCuN7FZewS9yQfCQhdL9bZzyUgy7Sk-o02evPGjEpKqD9cdS6h9AUXtSMYIHXCcPZLf5gJF8/s320/20180815_130759.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlze9VxFk4DwFJp7iJ-Zl4RjtlkAe69RY3d0LAol9HDGCZbF4IgZx0wPHTZl3CA_EZAhttMJ0CMhhj5XD6JE5CDmjtASIGlH7wajWOeN68SoYxzbU8kl44GVrfexOgJGp6jHXVAMUWqyw/s4160/20140822_090108.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br /><br /></div><br /> <p></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpFirst" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">On Wednesday evening we went to see a Disney Movie. It was
titled <i>Raya and the Last Dragon. </i>It used cartoon characters that I
believe they have used before. The animation was excellent. In order to fully
appreciate this movie one had to suspend disbelief. There was much to
disbelieve. It was a complicated story. There were five different groups of
Asian people who had once lived together in peace. One day a plague came on the
land and it did not like water. The Dragons that were Gods stopped the plague,
but the dragons were all turned to stone (like Lot’s wife) except one. The fertile
land turned into a dry wasteland and one family was given the task of
protecting a stone. The five lands lived for five hundred years. Then the man
whose job it was to protect the stone decided he wanted to make peace. He invited
all the people in the Asian world to come to a conference. Two girls from rival
countries went into the place where the treasure was kept and one of them
dropped it. It broke into pieces and the plague came back and began turning
everyone into stones (like Lot’s wife). When everyone had escaped Raya ended up
with one piece of the stone. She goes on a quest to find the other four pieces
of the stone so she can put it back together and bring her father and all the
other human statues back to life. For five years she travels in the desolate
wasteland trying to find some water. One day she finds a wrecked ship on a
stream where she goes and gets the stone wet and wala a Dragon comes out.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">She has many adventures and gathers at least one person
from each group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They go with her and in
the end, after all, unbelievable things have been forgotten there is at last rain
and statues are all living people again. The dragons have all come back to
life. Asia is once again united.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">There is a movie about Godzilla and King Kong. It was made
in Japan after WW2 ended. The two giants represented the atomic bombs that had
been dropped on Japan to end the war. There are things that need to be
forgotten because they are too horrible to think about or to believe. The
Japanese have no nuclear weapons. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpLast" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;">Disney made the Dragons kind and friendly. The people in
the story worship them. The message was one must trust others before one can
love them. Godzilla's story can be told with only him. and King Kong is a story that gets retold every few years. Sometimes it is a story with both giant monsters together. The story changes, but the two giants never learn to trust anyone.<o:p></o:p></p>Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-87458326901946962102021-03-11T10:32:00.000-07:002021-03-11T10:32:01.319-07:00 Long Ago and Far Away and Forgery<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">Early
in the 1980’s I lived in a suburb distant from Washington, D.C. It was a
bedroom community that was in a food desert. In 1984, Ronald Regen defeated Walter
Mondale for the office of President of the United States, where he served for 8
years. During that time, we often talked with our friends about things we
heard about the goings-on in Utah. Topics often came up in Sunday School
class that most of us were not familiar with. Some people were disappointed to learn that the
document people heard was part of the lost 116 pages of the <i>Book of Mormon </i>contained
information about Lehi’s daughters; was a forgery. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GPYvJBj9F3liMeDsnOddY7UlcgG_kicCHxAL6b__xrJlcEUioAyFqpoATm_YYkzBJd_LdOlhErCLtBQ2NP3cU0F6ikCbucxrs5WPFg6bZV6quNSVi0du2jcKdB9CXF5wHhQlgxQmz9o/s465/MormonHero_0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="287" data-original-width="465" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0GPYvJBj9F3liMeDsnOddY7UlcgG_kicCHxAL6b__xrJlcEUioAyFqpoATm_YYkzBJd_LdOlhErCLtBQ2NP3cU0F6ikCbucxrs5WPFg6bZV6quNSVi0du2jcKdB9CXF5wHhQlgxQmz9o/w389-h251/MormonHero_0.jpg" width="389" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">People
wondered how Gordon B. Hinkley decided to buy documents that changed things
that happened in the early days of the church. He made the announcements that
the church had bought the documents and then the furor died down. We heard
parts of the story that told of Hofmann’s confession. We heard the stories
about how he managed to forge papers which he sold at fairs and even went
so far as to try to sell documents that were said to be from the early days of
the United States. He is said to have taken in some $2,000,000. Everything he
sold or offered for sale was forged. He made his own ink. He cut blank pages out
of old books so everyone would believe his documents were authentic. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">When
Mr. Hofmann’s deceit was discovered the extent of his forgery shocked the experts
who had said they were authentic. And that was the best experts in the USA. He
fooled everyone. Hofmann killed two people and then Hofmann bombed and burned
his own car so the authorities would believe he was dead. Mark Hofmann was found
and arrested. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">I
suppose there may have been some people in Utah who really wanted to believe in
the documents he claimed he had found. Sometime in 1987 Mark Hofmann plead guilty and was sentenced to life in prison. One day my Man came home and told
me one of his friends told him that Hofmann was trying to sell an ancient
document to the Library of Congress. My Man’s friend’s wife, who worked for the
Library of Congress had been waiting for the authentication that would never
come. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Charles Hamilton who had authenticated Hofmann’s
forgeries told the New York Times that the two deaths were <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>“<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Georgia",serif;">pedestrian crimes. But to fool me, to fool Ken Rendell, to fool
the whole world, requires not only forgery but a packaging of himself. He
packaged himself as a bespectacled, sweet, unobtrusive, hard-working, highly
intelligent scholar dedicated to the uncovering of history. Now we know he's
more than he appeared to be.''<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Georgia",serif;">The greatest forger is still in jail. No one talks about him
anymore. He will fade away from my memory and the history of the Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints will remain as it was before he sold his
forgeries to the Church library.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="css-axufdj" style="background: white; margin: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: .5in; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-21368142394842850012021-02-08T15:51:00.002-07:002021-02-08T15:56:41.813-07:0049 Years<p> </p><p class="MsoTitle">49 Years<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Bradley Hand ITC";">I
remember the 50<sup>th</sup> wedding anniversary of my parents. The party was
held in Michigan just outside of Detroit. That day, my mother asked me if I thought I
could live long enough to reach my 50<sup>th</sup> Anniversary. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Bradley Hand ITC";">I was still
young and I thought, of course, I would. Over the last years sometimes I have wondered.
As I have looked at this picture if I could ever be so old. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Bradley Hand ITC";">today I am waiting for just one more year. I
still believe I will be able to make it. My life is good just as it was on the
day of my marriage. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Bradley Hand ITC";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCe0AoNi-bMBzjqqo3c4_5fz3i8NlV8LBrWWg_XelNZTyxqmAmdRxusV7YaAaJGYvWqkI3pJGQTwelSCBn6qOu7flrawbE7d9ku5alC1G_r8qo4nkduZoYQPaKCtjonWkGt3MA12ZnL5w/s709/319974_2485928184749_1098110896_n+loranandyvonne+wedding.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="709" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCe0AoNi-bMBzjqqo3c4_5fz3i8NlV8LBrWWg_XelNZTyxqmAmdRxusV7YaAaJGYvWqkI3pJGQTwelSCBn6qOu7flrawbE7d9ku5alC1G_r8qo4nkduZoYQPaKCtjonWkGt3MA12ZnL5w/s320/319974_2485928184749_1098110896_n+loranandyvonne+wedding.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />This photo was taken outside after the marriage. The man on the left side who is not as close to the others does not know anyone in the family. He looks like he might be lost. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoTitle"><br /></p>Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-28432893606231235632021-01-02T14:51:00.001-07:002021-01-02T15:00:12.072-07:00Wonder Woman 1984 the Movie<p> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 21.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style", serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Last night I went to a movie titled
Wonder Woman 1984. It was made in 2020. There were a lot of backstories that tried
to catch the audience up. The movie lasted for about two- and one-half hours.
If they had left most of those stories out it would have been a better movie. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpFirst" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The original Wonder Woman was based on a comic book that came
out in 1941. She was a woman with the power of the Greek gods. She flew in an
invisible plane and fought with a woman who had turned into a tiger. The first
book written about her cost 10¢. She has changed some since then. But not very
much. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Comic books printed in the 1040s were considered trashy. I
can remember my brother reading comic books in the garage. My mother would not
let them in the house. Of course, the ones he liked were crime stories. They
were ugly and dark. Mother had no problem with Archi Comics. They had love
stories and people who went to Junior High. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;">When Wonder Woman was made into a TV series the heroine was played by
Lynda Carter. Her name was Diana Prince when she went out into public and did
not want anyone to know who she was. The woman who is presently playing Wonder
Woman was beautiful her character was smart, strong, and willing to help anyone
in need. She was the kind of person that could just put one to sleep. The villain
in the story was bad enough to keep everyone awake. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpLast" style="mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto;"><span style="font-size: medium;">In the opening of the movie Wonder Woman is about 10. She
is in a race with her sister Amazonian women. She loses and one of her teachers
tells her it was not her day she was too young. She was not ready. When she was
ready, she would know. During the middle of the movie, she meets a girl who
works at a museum. She is a klutz. She wishes that she could be just like Diana
Prince. Suddenly she is stronger, smarter and yes, she is a much-improved
dresser. She is not kinder. Toward the end, she and Wonder Woman have a fight.
The look on Diana’s face is one of empathy and concern that she might hurt this
awful woman. I wondered if that was the place where she knew she was ready to
win.</span><o:p></o:p></p>Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-77629237126920632672020-12-24T14:36:00.000-07:002020-12-24T14:36:39.446-07:00You Better Watch Out. You Better Not Pout. You Better Not Cry.<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25bpmWpDRl5H00tcocb4zQ3_PRKyv0BvCB3WRDenmlJU4xojfecTtluecJNbdGlbUnviY-391wk9ZZd4yM5SecfcMKDEenwtJzKf5JkL-oqA9iTUEn2aGpjYSPABqpEjEaWXpUsMoujc/s4160/20151130_135345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4160" data-original-width="2340" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25bpmWpDRl5H00tcocb4zQ3_PRKyv0BvCB3WRDenmlJU4xojfecTtluecJNbdGlbUnviY-391wk9ZZd4yM5SecfcMKDEenwtJzKf5JkL-oqA9iTUEn2aGpjYSPABqpEjEaWXpUsMoujc/s320/20151130_135345.jpg" /></a></div>Tonight is Christmas Eve. When I was in Austria Christmas took a whole month to celebrate. Early in the month, December 5, to be exact we celebrated Krampus night. Saint Nicholas walked the streets and talked to the kids. He passed out good gifts and smiles. Children loved to see him.<p></p><p>When he was around there was always another guy. He was an ugly person dressed all in black. He walked the streets and watched the kids. He was called Krampus. Since I could find no translation other than Krampus I will call him a devil. If he asked a child if he had been bad or good and the child decided to lie and try to cover up misdeeds Krampus would always know. He would whip them with a little stick. He would tell them they would not be visited by Saint Nicholas. There would be no gifts that year. </p><p>The last Christmas I spent in Austria there was talk of outlawing Krampus. He was scaring the children. </p><p>I have not thought of this Christmas tradition for a long time. Then one day I heard someone talking to a child telling all sorts of outlandish things about Santa Claus. They even said Santa was just a fantasy. Well, it seems that way now but there was once a man named Saint Nicholas. He was a very kind priest who had compassion for the poor people in his country. He went around on Christmas Eve and he gave children in his community gifts that he left in their shoes. He would go into their homes when the children were asleep. He left the gifts and expected that the children would never know who he was. </p><p>Those who lived in the northern countries where there was snow all winter long built their houses with a door on the roof so they could get in and out when the snow was high. That is where the idea that Santa would come down the chimney came from. It is my opinion that the sleigh would slide over the snow as if it were flying and that is where the idea that he flew all over the world comes from.</p><p>When people of Europe immigrated to the United States they brought their Christmas traditions with them. Saint Nicholas was called Santa Claus. People have added all kinds of things to the stories about the tradition and today Santa must drive a super-fast plane. He eats M & Ms and is married to a woman who is now thin. </p><p>I grew up a long time ago. I know the truth about the man who started the Saint Nicholas traditions. He was a man who knew the story of Jesus's birth. He understood the teachings of the man the babe in Bethlehem grew up to be. To this day I believe that every person can be a Santa Claus. </p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: x-large;">Merry Christmas!!</span></p>Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-40231660652260823492020-10-13T15:36:00.000-06:002020-10-13T15:36:32.385-06:00The Last Man in Russia and American Oligarchs: two book reviews<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiiOg0vm-iqD5vWNJvY0f80yWGtnOWCwAP4FXR75TEfDo1RJ5MVTLmFvkSoTS4MfbOtBTjj3KbrsNZyktmbLhyphenhyphenXmGYK5odHEEVm_c-e76MlPWPmCWcsDjl0UH4GtRVfnmmUavHfOMe90Y/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="120" data-original-width="79" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiiOg0vm-iqD5vWNJvY0f80yWGtnOWCwAP4FXR75TEfDo1RJ5MVTLmFvkSoTS4MfbOtBTjj3KbrsNZyktmbLhyphenhyphenXmGYK5odHEEVm_c-e76MlPWPmCWcsDjl0UH4GtRVfnmmUavHfOMe90Y/" width="158" /></a><img alt="" data-original-height="120" data-original-width="81" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhusa_kaQaScvDdZRajVN5MPXS-ZpqmBbyn8HdHYb16m7zhqcbG97By7mHa6PaJToZBB5A7_xHPD6Hi_ELf50PXbwlVquzaP4uQZfIF7rlgb5q_lEai2NOwKwYo55U0K1wnr2GRBYmLQPc/" width="162" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><p></p><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent">The last several months have been difficult. My husband had planned
surgery that seemed a small thing and life looked like all would go well. It
was to be sometime in February, he would be well shortly after that. At least
that is what we thought. We had heard a story on the news about someone who
came from out of town to ski and shortly after his arrival he checked himself
into a hospital because he felt like he might have a virus. He wanted to
protect the other skiers. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent">The weekend after my Man came home from the hospital we went to a store
where I felt dizzy. The next day he took me to the hospital where they decided
I had experienced a minor stroke. The second day I was there our Governor
closed everything down. They sent me home where life changed and things got
bad. It was during the time period when everything was out of control that I
read two new books. The first was <i>The Last Man in Russia </i>by Oliver
Bullough, an award-winning journalist. He grew up in Wales, studied at
Oxford and moved to Russia in 1999. He lived in that part of the world for
seven years. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent">His book, The<i> Last Man in Russia </i>is 255 pages of history and travel.
It is followed by pages that contain sources and bibliography,
acknowledgments, and an index. The introduction is a picture of the life that
keeps all Russians happy. It tells us that Russia drinks more alcohol than any
other country in the world. It means more to them than marriage or children. It
is the alcohol that is going to bring Russia down.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent">The author explains that he has gone searching for a priest called Father
Dimitri. It is a terribly sad story. The story shows just how the Russians
treated the poor who lived there. It is a story of rebellion and betrayal.
Father Dimitri reminds one of the book <i>1984. </i>But maybe Russia will not
die. Maybe it will become like new. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><i>The American Oligarchs the Kushners, the Trumps, and the Marriage of Money
and Power, </i>by Andrea Bernstein, is the story of two families and how they
started out poor and ended up where they are today. The most interesting part
of the book is about the Kushner family. It was worth reading just to learn
about how they came to America from Poland. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent">The next most interesting part is learning about Ivanka Trump Kushner and
how the couple fits into the family and what they are likely to do if things
continue the way they are. It is an interesting book.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent">These two books helped me to get through the lockdown period of about
six months. During that time my Man forgot how to deal with insomnia. Sometimes
at night he would get up and call the medics to come and take him to the
hospital. One afternoon, when he had not slept through the night, he told me he
felt worthless and he was thinking about cutting his wrists. This was the day
that all of his drama ended. At the emergence room, the Doctor told him he could not
take any more medicine to help him sleep. He needed to learn how to put himself
back to sleep when he woke up. So, that is what he did. Our life is better now.
All is well, all is well.<o:p></o:p></p></div></div><p><br /></p>Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-29229505139108095422020-04-28T14:28:00.000-06:002020-04-28T14:28:46.684-06:00Life Can Be As a Dry Creek<div>
<b> </b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNcDCcBA6NZHJxVjNAJOgE8sE1z_fSyQjrE4LloDrdrckOOlKd1UBC2Jx3p67MttsVY9yBaiU5xgrm4r9z3mus9ALhbvCSkGY5j4_H1JY2CqssvFQjVDlqcBzXcCWnlfCcZu1LV3b20o/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="960" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSNcDCcBA6NZHJxVjNAJOgE8sE1z_fSyQjrE4LloDrdrckOOlKd1UBC2Jx3p67MttsVY9yBaiU5xgrm4r9z3mus9ALhbvCSkGY5j4_H1JY2CqssvFQjVDlqcBzXcCWnlfCcZu1LV3b20o/w640-h234/thomas_std_t1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
<b> Over the last several years or so I have read the book of Job. In some ways, it has up to this point been the most poignant and emotional experience for me. I have understood his sorrow at the loss of all his material wealth, cattle, sheep, flocks, and herds as well as his crops and his house. I have identified with his grief at the loss of his sons. I have admired Job his ability to bless the name of God during his overwhelming tribulations. </b></div>
<div>
<b> One day as I was reading his response to the first of his friends who had taken it upon himself to comfort Job by pointing out that life is suffering, and in the words of the man in black in the Princess Bride, anyone who tells you different is trying to sell something. He tells him there is nothing to be done but accept that everything happens for a reason and to be corrected by God is a blessing. He should exercise his faith and accept what God has meted out to him. It will be for his good. When He does this, he will have all the wealth he needs. He will have children and grandchildren and will live to a ripe old age. </b></div>
<div>
<b> Job curses the day he was conceived and laments the day he was born. He points out to his friend that even the animals don’t complain when they have their needs met. He continues by saying he doesn’t want to live to be old when living brings only pain. He wants God to grant his wish and either let him die or kill him. He then tells his friend to come back when he has some words of compassion and instruction that he can give him. He tells him that he and his companions are deceptive like a creek fed by smaller streams that are black with ice. When the weather warms, the ice disappears. When the weather gets hot, the streams and the creek dry up and their beds are obliterated. The travelers who come there are disappointed and those who counted on them for sustenance are embarrassed. </b></div>
<div>
<b> I felt sadness as I read and understood this passage. I thought about the relationships that have been like streams black with ice that has melted and evaporated. I thought about the probability that my failure to recognize my own culpability in doing what Job’s friend did. I offered advice that wasn’t asked for and not directed at the actual problem. I was a reactor and not an actor. I felt sorrow and a flash of insight I had never had before. It is not that I didn’t know that people mostly want someone to listen and not try to fix things. That they want to be heard and have their hand-held during times of trouble. I have known that for a long time. But the depth of knowledge I had in that moment of how that applies to my circumstances was totally new. </b></div>
<div>
<b> I have read the book of Job several times, but I have never gained any personal insight until that day. </b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-71405532574082325032020-04-12T12:21:00.000-06:002020-04-12T12:21:15.761-06:00Living in Lockdown<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_K_MhadG_nyGO5l5ZKSYKZFANtn3u3Z973HiyzMpxIs19zaybpwWnRqjZbIgED6Pv4jymIqZdSA3X9WfhvrbwPV12q95xU_uDbV08dK5IkvBo0RIPgc1HDlnfgFuOFJVUdFiWaZcCM4/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="186" data-original-width="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju_K_MhadG_nyGO5l5ZKSYKZFANtn3u3Z973HiyzMpxIs19zaybpwWnRqjZbIgED6Pv4jymIqZdSA3X9WfhvrbwPV12q95xU_uDbV08dK5IkvBo0RIPgc1HDlnfgFuOFJVUdFiWaZcCM4/" /></a> </div><p class="MsoBodyTextIndent">Early in March or about the middle of the month my
Man was preparing to have surgery. It seemed like a small thing, at least
nothing to worry about. But I needed to make a trip to the store where I could
have my hearing aids cleaned out. It would only take about five minutes. We
parked and got out of the car. I stepped over one of the parking bumpers and it
caused me to stumble just a little and even though my mind told my feet to go
right they turned left. I tried to turn them right but they headed toward the
baskets and I fell on them. It was then my Man took my arm and we walked into
the store where we got the hearing aids cleaned.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">By the time we got back home, I felt fine. In the middle of the week my
Man had his surgery and came home. Sometime during the week, we heard that a
skier had been diagnosed with COVID-19 and was in the hospital at the sight
where symptoms began to show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People
started buying everything in the stores. We decided to wait for a while. When we
went to the grocery store the shelves were starting to look empty. The store
was crowded but otherwise, things felt normal.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoBodyTextIndent"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Sunday, I
felt a bit dizzy. I explained my dizziness to my Man and he decided he should
take me to the Emergency room. They gave me an MRI and declared I had had a stroke
in my cerebellum. The place that controls my ability to have stability was
affected. I stayed all day Sunday and all-day Monday in the hospital and came
home that evening. On that day the hospital announced that no visitors would be
allowed after six o’clock in the evening and the doors would be locked. Our
trip home was quick for the roads were nearly empty. That was the day the
Governor declared that our state was going into a lockdown. Since that day we
have had kind friends bring us groceries and we have stayed home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">A lot of people don’t know what to do at home. I read a
book titled <i>Worry.</i> It was written by a practicing psychologist who
treats people who worry way too much. I read a short book titled <i>The Temple
of Promise. </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was written a long
time ago but is quite interesting. I read several articles in the <i>Atlantic</i>.
One day I opened up my email and found a message from someone who lives in
Australia. He had been given my name by one of my cousins. He wanted information
about my great grandmother. I wrote him an answer. Then I read the message from
my cousin who did not know much about our great grandmother and was surprised
to learn that I was the mother of a daughter who teaches elementary music in
the schools. It was wonderful to get my cousins information. I have played solitaire
on the computer. I have taken an interest in YouTube. Some of it I like some
of it is junk. I spend time writing in my journal and in my memoir.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;">Last week or so the Governor extended the lockdown to the
end of April. I put my walker against the wall and started using my walking
stick. I have learned how to do a few things I thought I might never do again.
Life is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="color: #c00000; font-family: "Monotype Corsiva"; font-size: 16.0pt;">Happy Easter!<o:p></o:p></span></p>Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-15753343105400650362020-02-24T15:21:00.002-07:002020-04-29T09:50:42.129-06:00This Is My Country<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1UpbzihNBdtrtF9PAk8ff2pxtzhEg6WkL7YAcBVdScRaDBmMq2UbxjGzsbx1M26k0f9RcReIhFzk8yMw_-6wXY0x2eOBNyc-H47TXBdB7-zRybghYthnJMwbocjvI7ydqc6o_vjbAyEM/s1600/13_Voices_of_Revolution_1280x720.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="950" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1UpbzihNBdtrtF9PAk8ff2pxtzhEg6WkL7YAcBVdScRaDBmMq2UbxjGzsbx1M26k0f9RcReIhFzk8yMw_-6wXY0x2eOBNyc-H47TXBdB7-zRybghYthnJMwbocjvI7ydqc6o_vjbAyEM/s320/13_Voices_of_Revolution_1280x720.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The United States Colonial Flag</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpFirst" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I remember sitting in a German History class
listening to the professor tell about an experience he had when he was sailing across
the Atlantic Ocean. <span> </span>He said he met an
elderly German man who was traveling west. My Professor opened a conversation
about what life had been like during World War Two. The older man told the
professor that he had been married to a Jewish woman. One day a notice came in
the mail, asking them to come to the City Building<i>.</i> They rode their
bikes to the office building and walked in the front door entering a long wide
hall with benches long enough to seat as many as four people. The two of them
sat together in the hall outside the room to which they had been summoned. They
waited in the long quiet hall. Someone from inside opened the door and asked
his wife to follow him. She went in, the door closed and she disappeared. He
sat silently outside the door waiting for her return. The rest of the day slowly
ended. He never saw his wife again. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Then our professor told the class that the most the important thing a History student can learn from their studies is that the USA
is unique in the world.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span> </span>That
statement was forgotten as learning about the time between the middle ages and
the modern era kept me busy. There were great leaders Popes and noblemen that
were powerful. There were some men who went to battle and others who ruled the
Holy Roman Empire with an iron hand. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Time passed until on October 31, 1517, in
Wittenberg, Martin Luther posted ninety-five thesis on the Church door. Luther
wanted to invite discussions about the things he saw that he believed were
abuses within the Catholic Church. The Holy Roman Emperor did nothing until all
of Europa was involved in wars over what could be done to silence all the
commotion and set the Catholic peace back in its place. The reformation had begun.<span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After I graduated, I spent two years teaching
school and then went to Austria where I lived for two years.<span> </span>The second world war had been over for more
than twenty years. Yet, there were still piles of rubble stacked on street corners.
Jewish cemeteries looked abandoned. Everyone knew they were not Christian
cemeteries because there was no one there to take care of them. The headstones
were not all facing the same way. Weeds grew tall. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
On November first, the day called All Saints Day, a
group of perhaps as many as four young men went into a cemetery to talk to the
people. They had not been there long before the police came to the cemetery and
arrested them. They spent most of the afternoon in jail.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The next day, the stores opened at six o’clock A.M.
The women did laundry, cleaned, and cooked dinner so it could be served at
mid-day. They leaned on their kitchen windows to watch the passersby. If one
asked what they were doing they would say they were busy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yes, they ate with their knife in their right hand
and their fork in their left. Only poor farmers ate with their right hand. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After dinner, the family took a rest. They napped or
did quiet things. Sometimes stores closed. In smaller cities, that meant
everyone had one free day. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Only families with two children were considered correct
German families. The children were polite and obedient. Most Austrian adults
thought American children were wild and disobedient. <span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Learning a new way to live was difficult. Their
culture is not like our society. Still, the words my Professor had said about
our culture being unique in the world, was sleeping somewhere in the recesses
of my brain. I can remember using it once long ago; then the other night when
my husband and I were watching a television program allegedly based on facts, the
person stating her opinion kept saying that she could not understand the things
she was reporting. The statement came into my mind. The United States is unique
in all the world. Her inability to understand people who thought differently
than she, made her uncomfortable. She only understood that the path our present
leadership is taking will destroy our country.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Indeed, a good many people in our country believe
that our country will throw off all of the customs that have held our country
together since it began. If that should happen the United States of America
would end in the chaos of different states. We would again be like squabbling
colonies. I do not think it would happen. Now I am going to tell you why. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The USA is different from every other country in
the world because we have different origins. The people who came here to
settle from the old world came because they were people who wanted something
different than their home country could give them. They came to Virginia for
commercial gains. Living was hard for the first year. It was so hard that more than
half of the settlers died during the first year. One man ate the body of his
dead wife in order to survive. They stayed and those born in this country
developed the immunities that helped them stay alive. Before those children
grew to adulthood the Virginia legislature made a law that gave their property
to their children should their father die. The Catholics in Maryland came to
practice freedom of religion as did those who settled in New England. The
British were happy to see them go. The Dutch came and settled New York and
later gave that city to the English. Each state was settled by groups of
settlers with people who agreed with each other. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In 1763 the treaty of Paris was signed and the
French and Indian War ended. Many of the colonists wanted to be free of the
British Empire. They wanted to make their own laws, trade openly and build
their own country. <span> </span>They did not want a
King to lead them, tell them what to do, call them into their army or do
anything else the way they had been forced to do.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span> </span>In 1775 the
red coats, called the lobsterbacks, were sent to Lexington and Concord where
their intent was to collect all the firearms the colonist’s militia was
storing. The colonists were waiting for them and someone fired a shot, the shot
heard round the world, and the revolution was started. The lobsterbacks
continued the attack before they ran. The British soldiers were in nice
straight lines and the militia was hidden in the woods. There were no nice neat
lines. Suffice it to say the war raged on until 1783 when Cornwallis
surrendered to George Washington on the shore at York Town Virginia. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was after the Articles of Confederation proved
to be unworkable that the continental congress sat down to write a Constitution.
James Madison wrote the original document. His preparation included studies of
the great constitutions that failed. He learned that none of them lasted very
long because there were always people around who abused their constitution. There
were those who took advantage of items they did not like. There were those who
convinced the masses that they had a better idea. There were demigods who took power.
Madison’s goal was to craft a constitution that would be stronger and better
than any ever written. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Madison was a man without a plan until he began to
work on the constitution. Some wanted slavery abolished. Others did not so two
men worked out a plan, presented it, and made it work. Then when making
decisions about the length of terms and other matters regarding the executive who
they wanted to walk back into the society from which he came they talked about
impeachment.<span> </span>When it was finished it almost
did not pass so they decided on a bill of rights. He put in freedom of religion
and believed that there was no need for religions in the military. Otherwise, it
would not have the freedom of religion they had fought for. Recognizing that
the future would surely change they put in rules for amending the constitution.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span> </span>The work of
writing the constitution took ten months. It required nine states to ratify it
before it would be accepted. It was finished and sent out to be ratified. Delaware
was the first state to ratify the Constitution on December 7,1787. No other
country in the world has a constitution like the United States of America. It
is the only country where the government belongs to the people. Other countries
are places where people belong to the government. The USA is the only place
where citizens’ rights matter.<span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Since this country belongs to all of us what can we
do about the problems which presently beset us? We can pay attention to all that goes on in our country. We can learn who tells the truth and who lies. We can
help the poor and disabled citizens as well as have compassion toward those
migrants who are in great need. We can ignore those who set about to destroy
our freedoms and we can vote. We must always remember that without the
Constitution there would be no United States.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpMiddle" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoBodyTextIndentCxSpLast" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-35971756771358709672020-02-04T13:28:00.001-07:002020-06-10T05:38:33.258-06:00If You Were Not My Child<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3SnfRMZ1o1hH1p_OhLtz2jvAYmNnwK6_6vFjhgscZl0euNrMR5FFC_4UftSh8ZMzVFPVZ90buJni1aCcu3Zoj75KPfRT5dLYdZZfLEiwbAPs3NQPjC08bxgjdxV5KVFCjpL4PJUmrOW4/s1600/330px-Common_or_Ox-eye_Daisy_%2528NGM_XXXI_p512%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="330" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3SnfRMZ1o1hH1p_OhLtz2jvAYmNnwK6_6vFjhgscZl0euNrMR5FFC_4UftSh8ZMzVFPVZ90buJni1aCcu3Zoj75KPfRT5dLYdZZfLEiwbAPs3NQPjC08bxgjdxV5KVFCjpL4PJUmrOW4/s400/330px-Common_or_Ox-eye_Daisy_%2528NGM_XXXI_p512%2529.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
<b>If You Were Not My Child</b><br /><br />
<br />
I would see you in public and you would smile.<br />
You would sit by me in church and tell me about your week.<br />
You would come to lunch at my house and I would<br />
Visit you at yours. You would tell about the books<br />
You have read and I would ask you questions about<br />
Your life and the things you like to do.<br />
You would come to my house and talk to me.<br />
You wouldn’t read magazines or nap on the sofa, while<br />
I take care of your kids. You would tell them not to<br />
Yell in the old lady’s ear, or tip over her plants.<br />
When it was time to leave you would help them clean up so<br />
I wouldn’t have to do it myself.<br />
<br />
If you were not my child you would accept my gifts,<br />
Cherish them and take care of them.<br />
You would answer my questions and not<br />
Think they were meant to trick or force you into<br />
Doing something you don’t want to do. You would keep<br />
Commitments and respect my confidence.<br />
You would overlook my foibles as I would overlook yours:<br />
Because we would know all humans are flawed.<br />
<br />
If you were not my child, I would not think about you every day.<br />
I would not be afraid I might never again hear your laughter or look<br />
Into your eyes. If you were not my child, I would see you on the street<br />
And feel a little nervous because you might not recognize me.<br />
I would think you might be shy and not know exactly what to do.<br />
I might walk by with my eyes down and pretend I didn’t see you. If<br />
You were not my child; I would admire you for the person<br />
I know you to be.<br />
<br />
If you were not my child and I was not your parent we would<br />
Meet somewhere and we would love each other as equals and<br />
I could believe what I believe and you could believe what<br />
You believe. We would become friends who worry about<br />
Each other’s well being and talk to each other.<br />
We would become friends who share each other’s burdens.<br />
We would be glad each time we meet.<br />
If you were not my child, we would sing<br />
Hymns together. I would sing the high part, that’s the only part I know.<br />
You would sing the low part and we would blend and feel safe in<br />
Each other's presence.<br />
<br />
by Yvonne Stephenson ©<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-5340424227569169642020-01-03T17:15:00.001-07:002020-04-11T13:20:23.626-06:00Falling into the Pit of Despair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDAhhS0P5pV5ogcR9UFzjEarqfYtBlmZv7iOhjlvyBzf2b63zRl2fdJrJeAGuHR5TbFKWmBqZpDgel172aAj3OhT6UiOajmAMI-iCjTcPUMXwEj8o6yUbBYmTtr8yF7PMb0BDSR4pAhY/s1600/Jolly+Roger.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="112" data-original-width="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlDAhhS0P5pV5ogcR9UFzjEarqfYtBlmZv7iOhjlvyBzf2b63zRl2fdJrJeAGuHR5TbFKWmBqZpDgel172aAj3OhT6UiOajmAMI-iCjTcPUMXwEj8o6yUbBYmTtr8yF7PMb0BDSR4pAhY/s1600/Jolly+Roger.jpg" /></a></div>
Once when my family had moved, I decided it was time to make a greater effort to get outside myself, reach out, make friends and overcome my fear. I wanted to be close to a woman. I invited an outgoing young woman, who seemed compatible, to lunch. She couldn’t get away so we ate at her place.<br />
We met at noon, ate homemade soup and talked about courtship, marriage, and children. She played records and told me of plans for a ward musical. By three o’clock I had run out of things to say. Still, her reservoir of words, thoughts, and experiences was full. Since the kids were coming home from school, I took myself to the car and started home.<br />
It was then, sitting at a stoplight, that I was overcome by anxiety, stress, or perhaps it is better to say a vulnerability attack. I felt that somehow, I had overexposed myself. Suddenly I feared that the person who I had just met, who had shared her resentment at being denied ballet lessons, her hasty and ill-conceived decision to marry, her husband's cruel methods of child-rearing and the truth that the only good part of their relationship was intimacy, knew too much about me.<br />
Not only did I feel she could see the true naked me, I believed the drivers who passed my car could see into my soul and my nerve endings were hanging out.<br />
As time passed, we grew closer and the feelings of exposure lessened but they never went away until I finally decided I could be happy without being close. I decided I am alone, except for my family, people I met at the book group, women I go to lunch with and people I do volunteer work with, because I like it that way and that is a valid choice.<br />
Maybe I’m wrong but my nerve endings are buried back inside, perhaps not as deeply as before, but deep enough for protection.<br />
I have learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-45517379761076445282019-12-18T11:29:00.000-07:002019-12-18T11:29:22.089-07:00Something I Wrote in 1980<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcCdqXnihYvBytBSR230DCdItD3tI7clgNaa1zcgsDTJynx-A3d1NsQoYMwlAAOFX5LbrzhcN-90t7cVzTOWiMdVoA1dWVLNinD4KHVo_tEixuKttBDcG2JTwiZg8_9LjDj4UOd2sE5I/s1600/IMG_0200_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="752" data-original-width="1081" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUcCdqXnihYvBytBSR230DCdItD3tI7clgNaa1zcgsDTJynx-A3d1NsQoYMwlAAOFX5LbrzhcN-90t7cVzTOWiMdVoA1dWVLNinD4KHVo_tEixuKttBDcG2JTwiZg8_9LjDj4UOd2sE5I/s320/IMG_0200_edited.jpg" width="320" /></a>This year we planted a garden. Out in the dirt we planted lettuce, tomatoes, peas, beans, carrots, radishes, and marigolds as well as sunflowers.<br />
<br />
Inside we planted more patience, understanding, and respect for individual rights and needs.<br />
<br />
Outside we watered and mulched and from time to time pulled a few weeds.<br />
<br />
Inside we planned for daily family prayer, organized family work, read books, went out together, learned how to listen and how to talk together meaning not talk at each other. From time to time we saw beams in our eyes and tried to cast them out.<br />
<br />
Outside we harvested more lettuce than we could eat, enjoyed fresh peas in June, tomatoes in July, green beans in August and pulled half inch-long carrots out of the clay in October. The birds ruined the marigolds but the sunflowers were a great success.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSV83PWPaVASdvANws5-qneE-IgQLcTnq5PryuXio_SRtNrmha0KtdQsoE5riCPkHhMbKyFCmJTmQ8uZHaLUz6tmB-H6M7ASxuzkshKhriUAfMGlNe2ydrCgijPe9lNVJ7t6j-7KGHio/s1600/IMG_0231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="941" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSV83PWPaVASdvANws5-qneE-IgQLcTnq5PryuXio_SRtNrmha0KtdQsoE5riCPkHhMbKyFCmJTmQ8uZHaLUz6tmB-H6M7ASxuzkshKhriUAfMGlNe2ydrCgijPe9lNVJ7t6j-7KGHio/s200/IMG_0231.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNr0gobhk_cpkMa7XrLwh6x6EicJBuIa61aN2roYuM6fTYxEFBqMbrC-cZgzjx1h7oHobxJdve0Oe8GNp3xAJvs0xmzpRdDqg-MmS3qqHLR9Lm1BVTB_HyNtYlDLS3HLRt7UusjxDpUCc/s1600/IMG_0202_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="521" data-original-width="696" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNr0gobhk_cpkMa7XrLwh6x6EicJBuIa61aN2roYuM6fTYxEFBqMbrC-cZgzjx1h7oHobxJdve0Oe8GNp3xAJvs0xmzpRdDqg-MmS3qqHLR9Lm1BVTB_HyNtYlDLS3HLRt7UusjxDpUCc/s200/IMG_0202_edited.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Inside we discovered Narnia, read about Adam, Abraham, Moses, Joshua, David, Solomon and the rest. We learned how to work together and even had family outings that were a joy. Eddie learned to ride the bike and after some weeks of struggle decided not to play the piano. Angie learned to follow directions. Evan learned to use the toilet and Brent learned to walk and climb and play with anything he could reach.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYeLO296xCwMY2iNJRjCwIfgIxtNq5NmyWnofkHH7UmfDhVVAy3sOItPe21zCl9rARbirrhn-Axme-i42OKlLgwMxSwdqa0TK_zrnN6_Ua6uKAJe48K5GFAxWYC98qshKg94gOv2cA7I/s1600/Top_edited-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="417" data-original-width="287" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOYeLO296xCwMY2iNJRjCwIfgIxtNq5NmyWnofkHH7UmfDhVVAy3sOItPe21zCl9rARbirrhn-Axme-i42OKlLgwMxSwdqa0TK_zrnN6_Ua6uKAJe48K5GFAxWYC98qshKg94gOv2cA7I/s200/Top_edited-1.jpg" width="137" /></a></div>
<br />
Loran learned that family is more important than being number one. Yvonne learned that being a leader is being a servant, not a master.<br />
<br />
All in our gardening was a success. Each year we have fewer weeds and grow stronger in ways that count.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAU9j5uyHbwFyUWvhvMDE1cH5dIsap25qCGDjSkuRLVJz7-YEPF28QmpsQKaBu8-8gp0ns1_54fd_UmzssbJZE9XyzE8p9y-ePSZo_lgQtN8Jg2X27DMC687jml9BVN7rt6Okqs8zrfc/s1600/Heather+%2526+Angela.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="347" data-original-width="316" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnAU9j5uyHbwFyUWvhvMDE1cH5dIsap25qCGDjSkuRLVJz7-YEPF28QmpsQKaBu8-8gp0ns1_54fd_UmzssbJZE9XyzE8p9y-ePSZo_lgQtN8Jg2X27DMC687jml9BVN7rt6Okqs8zrfc/s200/Heather+%2526+Angela.jpg" width="181" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<h2>
<span style="color: #cc0000;">Merry Christmas</span></h2>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqTB4luc59IAlhXTxAgO6dwr8ypjFem8EHoLFvuOHf-M0t6WftRfZfeDDCfq_0lvxh1Rw78jvhyQnAPVQ7WQSeE5iv6d3xArYs5LXrHzy5UpUfLlgVDxf_1_qcwHamS46MgALhIA2z0E/s1600/13043564_10207778623717456_3774380768513471581_n+Parents+and+5+children.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="960" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXqTB4luc59IAlhXTxAgO6dwr8ypjFem8EHoLFvuOHf-M0t6WftRfZfeDDCfq_0lvxh1Rw78jvhyQnAPVQ7WQSeE5iv6d3xArYs5LXrHzy5UpUfLlgVDxf_1_qcwHamS46MgALhIA2z0E/s320/13043564_10207778623717456_3774380768513471581_n+Parents+and+5+children.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-19597704520106340752019-11-27T15:32:00.000-07:002019-11-27T15:32:21.809-07:00How Sweet It Was<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBys48i-1l1Gviz6jro6o8V-sDa2WykkbCh37-52PY3SCpPZsofkjuyDCEG_kSB-Dorx3YkzMcPSvLPDbIeooP9yzpmYhdef5L-Vdb0xN7uSAdNIyDCgem1oeeoHnm00gxk5UccKIc540/s1600/Eddie+Rice+and+Margaret+Isabelle+Berrett.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1033" data-original-width="1432" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBys48i-1l1Gviz6jro6o8V-sDa2WykkbCh37-52PY3SCpPZsofkjuyDCEG_kSB-Dorx3YkzMcPSvLPDbIeooP9yzpmYhdef5L-Vdb0xN7uSAdNIyDCgem1oeeoHnm00gxk5UccKIc540/s320/Eddie+Rice+and+Margaret+Isabelle+Berrett.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It is difficult
to find the words to express the thoughts that have been with me for the last
several weeks. Difficulties came upon us when my Man’s sister, the one that was
closest to him in the family constellation, who played the violin and taught
students to play passed away. In the early days of her adult life when she was
thinking about marriage, she used to ride in a male friend’s car to the Temple
in Washington, D.C. One day while they were in the Temple, he asked her to
marry him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was surprised. But she
said yes. Then she went into the lady's room and cried. She did not want to
marry him, but she thought the question being asked in the Temple meant that
the Lord wanted her to marry him. According to her once he died, she was able
to do what she wanted to do for the first time in her life. She had lots of
plans, then she died in October. Twelve days after the memorial service was held
for her, my father-in-law died. Last week he was buried in Wendell, Idaho. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It was a lovely
funeral, things went well and everyone, as far as we know, was happy. The cloud
that had been around us was lifted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The after
effects of the funeral went with us as we started to drive home. We stopped in
Blackfoot to spend some time with my sister. She is the oldest of my siblings.
Lately, she has been thinking about the woman my Father married after my mother
died. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">She was a woman who wanted to find a way to make sure all of what he had, namely
his house and his car went to her. She had no interest in his family except my
older sister who lived closer than the rest of us. My sister and her husband
had been trying to find her so they could have a visit. Unfortunately, they
could not find out where she had gone. I knew that she was no longer living as
she passed away in 2015. I told them what I knew and what I had done. My sister
tried to take all the blame for what had happened at the Care Center but she
did not know what I knew about what happened. Before we left her husband got
out his journal and read what he had written on the day my dad left the world.
They finally believed the bossy woman was the one bad person in Dad’s life. His
late wife and my cousin's husband got all the blame. After eighteen years my
sister and I were united.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I learned that
families do stay together. No matter how long they are apart they can know that
the love still lingers and they will be united once more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Century Schoolbook",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Knowing what I
learned while we were away has given me comfort and great hope for whatever the
future might bring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-39750009528858382732019-09-24T16:20:00.001-06:002020-10-26T14:44:22.743-06:00The Lake<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5D7vIxsQMEDz15c-8VKiqACFibjsD64XOonwktoxB6rX-Au6UmAt6N_uxjnFvtUCdnXs_D5qUuTUBLL-rwxywEHDSeLEE-vG3XNE7WXuDJwuwKMSOgRmRUJFJpEaS8fjVKqZIo1dm2M/s1600/ap-lassenandlakealmanor-sm+almanor.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="223" data-original-width="356" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX5D7vIxsQMEDz15c-8VKiqACFibjsD64XOonwktoxB6rX-Au6UmAt6N_uxjnFvtUCdnXs_D5qUuTUBLL-rwxywEHDSeLEE-vG3XNE7WXuDJwuwKMSOgRmRUJFJpEaS8fjVKqZIo1dm2M/s400/ap-lassenandlakealmanor-sm+almanor.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I run through the
underbrush. My breath comes hard. The stacks of plunder in the knapsack over my
shoulder coupled with the burden in the brown burlap bag cause my muscles to
burn and my back to sweat. The battered car hidden under the Pines behind a large
Manzanita will look like countless other derelicts stopped in their headlong rush
down the mountain around dead man’s curve. There for a second Lake Almanor lies
dark, inviting as far as the eye can see. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I have seen this body
of water before. From glimpses revealed by its forested approach, it appears to
be no more than an overgrown mill pong. In the waters, I am impressed by the
enormity of what man has made of this ancient chasm. My waiting boat thrashes impatiently
against the muddy shore. Pushing off I see no refection, feel no bottom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Lying out of sight,
flat against the cold metal, I let the current carry me away from beachfront
properties and designated swimming areas as I wait for my body to return to
normal absolving me of responsibility for its pain. Seeking rest, I accept the
blackness under the crown of my gray felt hat. Closing sleepless eyes, I watch
streaks of light and shooting stars till my face tightens, my eyebrows knit.
There is tingling. My mouth begins to twitch. I itch where I feel the beard
growing out from my chin. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Suddenly the boat is
jolted. Loose bark, brown pine boughs, and dark-edged yellow leaves splash wildly
sending out ripples. I wonder how long it will take for them to lap the shore.
I watch. The burlap bag, heavy with tools sinks out of sight. My heart in my
ears. I am drifting landward along with the leaves, twigs and a large log
stretched motionless in the water. Its grotesque face washed smooth by the
current. The branches are gone, knocked of by-passing debris, beaten by rocks,
ripped by circulating water. A few stubby naked limbs remain protruding from
the decay, bumping and rubbing against the boat. I am being swept away from the
openness toward a dark finger overhung with weeping, swaying trees. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Drifting into the
shroud of green I welcome the gloom. Here and there an insect floats. Leaves
drop silently without effect. From beneath the placid green surface, roots
reach out to grab me, pull me under. The air heavy with moisture hardly moves. Fly’s
bite and burn my flesh. I can hardly breathe. My lungs, heavy against my ribs, feel
as though they will burst. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My oars drag through
the water coagulating around me. I strain toward the mouth of the inlet. Small
waves, white at the crest confront me. Dark clouds explode. My heart races as I
struggle against the gusting wind beating me about the head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I feel the knot of
people on the beach watching. I fear their outstretched arms. They will see.
They will know. My muscles ache. I row faster, harder. My teeth grind, perhaps
they already know. Speeding on toward a deserted wharf, I wave triumphantly. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Book Antiqua",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I feel the ground under
my feet, and with my last strength kick the boat over. Lying spent in the mud,
my head protected by my arms, I wait for the rain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-51586160438062756862019-09-05T18:21:00.000-06:002019-09-06T08:46:39.235-06:00A Laugh is the Best Medicine<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmWMs-Cy5PdEzrEvbH6IGfDCBGB5c8YH39eV4CIaY63sy2g7Ac4YU-SMBjP2bTvCp2ylTPCQiuo9A-JANtp-a0CZcMkF0oRPiftckN-Lkzv6X3DSlP2D0olOpkRZUUXH0SZKEHwtEx0c8/s1600/20150518_145709.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmWMs-Cy5PdEzrEvbH6IGfDCBGB5c8YH39eV4CIaY63sy2g7Ac4YU-SMBjP2bTvCp2ylTPCQiuo9A-JANtp-a0CZcMkF0oRPiftckN-Lkzv6X3DSlP2D0olOpkRZUUXH0SZKEHwtEx0c8/s320/20150518_145709.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I went downhill from my
apartment house to the place where the people who offer services work. Each
person rents out space where they can set themselves up to do hair or run their
own business doing Mani pedis. My intent was to get a pedicure. Part of the
things that go with the foot soaking and foot rubbing and other things that
feel good is a pleasant conversation with the woman who provides the service. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I walked through the
park and found it empty. I thought it must have been the rain that had chased all
the homeless people away, but I learned that they had been gone for several
days. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wanted to talk about
accidents and how kids are today. It seems just two days before our appointment
she had hurt the back of her knee. I don’t how she hurt it but she rubbed and soaked
it in cold water and the next day she stayed home from work. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The next morning, she
talked to her daughter on the phone and told her she was going back to work
that day. Her daughter’s response was to tell her she hoped she got better
because if she didn’t, she would not be able to leave her little grandson with
her anymore. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It must have been the
way she said it that made me laugh. I guess it was because it led me to think
of some of my children. I had wonderful little children. Every one of them was
beautiful in their infancy. They brought joy into my life. They were a total
delight until the day they changed. One of them had type one diabetes. One of
them wanted to have a power struggle and he wanted to win. One had problems in
school. One was too smart for his own good and could not stand to make mistakes.
It is true some of the things they learned they learned from their parents. Most
of the learning came from them to their parents. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My sister-in- law Linda is
dying. She has pancreatic cancer that has spread from her pancreas to her liver
and from her liver which will not work, to her stomach which is totally blocked
and the cancer has spread into her spine. She did not believe in doctors she
believed in chiropractic medicine. She most likely will not live throughout the
year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "bradley hand itc"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It has been a difficult
week. I wish I could call my children and talk to each one of them. I wish we
could hear each other’s problems and then together we would laugh.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-14804882761140592592019-08-15T11:09:00.000-06:002019-08-15T11:09:32.448-06:001939 A New Beginning<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3mihh2m44WN-S7ixU_0SuewI7T_ONSrZFmjQNd6uaVrfXHPr6DWfR9LYbZijPqro4q2M2JYONqGZ0EamL5nqtr1QeNemLK3qsLSlploP0uDy2vJvAQGrxMsdWgE-Wi3xmhoN1d6CxeI/s1600/Eddie+and+Isabelle+001_edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="932" data-original-width="1196" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn3mihh2m44WN-S7ixU_0SuewI7T_ONSrZFmjQNd6uaVrfXHPr6DWfR9LYbZijPqro4q2M2JYONqGZ0EamL5nqtr1QeNemLK3qsLSlploP0uDy2vJvAQGrxMsdWgE-Wi3xmhoN1d6CxeI/s320/Eddie+and+Isabelle+001_edited.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This story is simple.
Both my parents were born of pioneer stock, their roots go back to Nauvoo as
well as immigration to the United States. Though they were both baptized at the
age of eight they had chosen a broader path. Buck Welker was Dad’s friend. When
they were still young men they learned the manly arts of fist fighting, drinking
and gambling. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together they met two young
attractive sisters. Buck married his sweetheart Ruth and when her little sister
Isabelle grew up she married his friend, my dad. One day they were out riding
his horse when he asked her for the third or fourth time if she would marry
him. She said yes. They borrowed $10.00 for the expenses and went to Rigby at
supper time. The Bishop came from his table and said the things that they
agreed to and left as a married couple. She went home to pick up her things and
said, “Guess what.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Buck and my aunt
Ruth are together again after more than forty years. They are still waiting
for their miracle to happen. But, this isn’t their story. It is the story of
close friends that lived near each other sharing the good and the bad. In the
middle of the great depression, looking for jobs, they moved their families
from the hungry farmland of Idaho to the booming mountains of northern
California. Dad was there first and every day he went to the personnel office
and sought work. Eventually he was hired. He told Buck about his job. Buck moved
to town. They found trees and plenty of work harvesting them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Westwood in Lassen
County, CA, boasted that it was the largest sawmill in the world. It was there
that Dad and Buck worked together on the green chain moving the fresh cut
lumber to the kilns on hand loaded cars that were guided by teams of men as
they traveled on rails from cutting saws to drying beds. Because, it paid more the
friends chose the graveyard shift from midnight to 8 a.m., sleeping all day and
working while the rest of the world slumbered. It was at the sawmill that the
accident happened on a cold rainy December night the year before I was born.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A cold had kept my
father at home that night. Buck was working alone. By himself he loaded the
little car as high as possible. As he was nearly finished the lumber started to
slip. There was no one there to help balance the load and it<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>toppled over and crushed Buck under its
weight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The sole
difference that Dad’s being there would have made is that he would have been a
witness to the toppling load of lumber and his best friend’s last moments as he
lay beneath the whole of it. Instead he experienced the vague uneasiness inside
that came from the impression that something was wrong. After the phone call,
came the deep grief of so great a loss. He sat alone at the kitchen table pondering
what had happened. It was difficult to believe that Buck might not come back.
It was<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>then he saw Buck standing in doorway.
He did not speak, he looked at his friend and smiled. Then he was gone. Dad
never saw Buck again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">That is where the
story ended. At least that is what I always thought. It was after the funeral
when my aunt had gone back to her hometown to live that the miracle happened.
It was a miracle of love and fellowship and faith brought about by the members
of the Westwood Branch who barely knew the sorrowing family. My dad decided he
should visit the Latter-day Saint’s Sunday meeting just to say thank you for
all the kind help his sorrowing sister-in-law had received. He was going to go
inside, attend the priesthood meeting and never go back again. In that early
morning meeting the Elders Quorum took him in. One of them gave him a <i>Book
of Mormon.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Elder asked
him if he would read it. “Sure I’ll read it.” Dad said. And he did. Before the
reading was finished the knowledge that the book was true came to him. Out of
the words in the <i>Book of Mormon </i>the promise came true. It changed life
for my father. He helped build more than one church building, served a Stake Mission,
served as a counselor in the Bishopric, replaced the drinking, smoking and late-night
gambling. As for the family, there were no more Sundays spent exploring the
canyons and forests surrounding the drab little company town. Worship of the
Lord left no time for such pursuits. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The day my aunt
Ruth died they said she talked about her sweetheart, Buck. She was looking
forward to seeing him again. Though I never met Buck thoughts of him take me
back to the moment frozen in time on a black and white print in the family
album. My mother is there wearing a soft print dress, her blond hair pulled
back behind her ears where she stands next to Dad clad in his Sunday uniform of
suit and tie, his ever present felt hat shading his broad smile. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two children in the foreground, a girl of
seven and mischievous looking boy of five, complete the group<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>posed before the trees and flowers around the
granite walls of the Salt Lake Temple. It was the April day my parents were sealed together and we children
were sealed to them. We never talked of that day without mentioning how long it
was from the day that Buck died.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Some people will
say that building a chapel, serving a stake mission, acting as the Sunday
School Superintendent or simply spending time in church or at home rather than the
forests and canyon is no miracle. They will say rearing six children was no miracle.
They will that those of his children who went to college or gave him
grandchildren was not a miracle. They would wonder why he went to church every
Sunday and paid tithing all those years. To me it is marvelous to see the
fruits of his life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As I was growing
into adulthood I watched my father. One of the first jobs I had was ironing my
dad’s big white handkerchiefs. I learned to iron his work clothes, the ones he
packed away inside his overflowing bag as he prepared for the place his next
trip would take him. I watched<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>this
man with an eighth-grade education who wanted to farm move into town and learn
to love books. He read the newspaper and the comic stripe as well as<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>books by Zane Grey and the encyclopedia no
matter what else he took with him he always made room for his <i>Book of
Mormon.</i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">I can remember
when he read it the fifth time and the seventh. As the years of continual study
passed the count of each successive reading has been lost. Nevertheless, its
newness remains and the miracle is repeated over and over again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-19175935483155943642019-08-10T14:03:00.000-06:002019-09-06T12:27:57.682-06:00A Moment of Faith<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsTE50HXjQJC1RNP-URyzvl2Wb-9LndBuZBreVOcUslV1vnIwVrcRZR3GhvjCFDRcb5APXQpxngdut3WoXrRlREt1QU7IoZ4Vb7EtxMsL0RmAf5Pjjw-A6ouHKm6vhzXx57mmK0Wz66Jo/s1600/2009-04-19-2209-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1412" data-original-width="993" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsTE50HXjQJC1RNP-URyzvl2Wb-9LndBuZBreVOcUslV1vnIwVrcRZR3GhvjCFDRcb5APXQpxngdut3WoXrRlREt1QU7IoZ4Vb7EtxMsL0RmAf5Pjjw-A6ouHKm6vhzXx57mmK0Wz66Jo/s320/2009-04-19-2209-18.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My
youngest child who I will call Mary, was my helper and constant companion. When
I mopped the floor she was there waiting to have her turn with the warm soapy
water and sponge mop. She was always ready to stir cakes and taste meat loaf.
She even liked to put toothpaste on my toothbrush for me. She had her very own
comb and lipstick which she knew how to use all by herself. Her favorite words were, “I
can do it myself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
Loved her being with me. At three years old she was already learning to be a
grown up. It’s not that I looked for opportunities to teach. It is that she was
full of life and ready to learn, and she was always nearby. Because she wanted
so much to be like me I learned a valuable lesson from her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
few weeks after her six-year-old brother had been diagnosed a diabetic my life
turned cold. I grieved. As I passed through anger I wondered how God could be
called just and require one so young to daily endure the pain of fingers pricked
three times and insulin injection twice every day in order to insure his
continued survival. Indignation gave way to heart crippling guilt for my part in contributing
an imperfect gene to his heredity. Unable to tell him when he would be well or
to hold back unwanted tears, I was sinking numbly into despair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One
morning, with Mary close behind, as I was preparing to bathe, my husband took
her by the hand. “Let’s give Mommy some privacy,” he said, led her from the
room and locked the door behind them before he went on his way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Almost
at once, I heard a frantic banging on the door and her distraught voice
calling, “Let me in. Let me in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My
calm, “I’ll be out in a minute,” intended to sooth her was no more than an unfulfilled
promise. The crying began a long crescendo and the banging increased in
intensity. Without opening the door, I turned the button on the nob, released
the lock and called to her to come in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I
can’t,” came the tearful reply. “The door is locked.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Because
I have never believed in doing for children what they can do for themselves and
because I didn’t want to encourage future tantrums I said again, “The door is
unlocked. You can come in.” In spite of this assurance she would not touch the
doorknob. My peaceful persuasive words were drowned out by the din raised as her feet kicked the floor in anger and frustration. Nothing I could say would convince
her to reach up and turn the knob.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I know what you are thinking. You would have opened the door. It was my belief that she would learn something important if she would only open the door. Upon
reflection, I was dismayed to see myself mirrored in the behavior of an
emotional, frenzied three-year-old. Suddenly I realized the Lord had left open
the door to the solace my soul craved. At last I understood only my impassioned
demands stood in my way. Though I wanted a miracle my true need was a quiet moment
of faith to reach out in prayer and accept the comfort of his love. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-59017837417177811702019-07-16T09:57:00.001-06:002020-01-07T15:09:25.147-07:00 Different Yet The Same<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmvLePQOH7F_woHAks9kngSd-A1yBdy_IGBwOzKJRjQXqwBQzr8af0sxXV-s5t8Rirf_2J19VbyCAtaM7rVqzsqEoUyGnAw5izXiD51_r4mBhsvreVKbyAWZ4bNHugRg-zUjp25ZY7mE/s1600/Ededie%2527s+80th+birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1121" data-original-width="1600" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmvLePQOH7F_woHAks9kngSd-A1yBdy_IGBwOzKJRjQXqwBQzr8af0sxXV-s5t8Rirf_2J19VbyCAtaM7rVqzsqEoUyGnAw5izXiD51_r4mBhsvreVKbyAWZ4bNHugRg-zUjp25ZY7mE/s320/Ededie%2527s+80th+birthday.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "adobe garamond pro" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">1993 was the
year our family began to change. In 1992 my oldest son graduated from high
school and went off to college. In December my Man had surgery on his neck to
get rid of the pain that was interfering with his work. In January he rested
and came close to healing. We planned a trip for the two of us. It would be
part of the celebration of our wedding anniversary. I was directing a short little
play done in Relief Society a few weeks away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "adobe garamond pro" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">February
of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>’93 was going to be a busy month. My
Father would have his eightieth birthday. A week later Mother would turn seventy-nine.
We had plans to celebrate the way we always had. We would make phone calls and
send cards. Approximately one or two weeks before Dad’s birthday my sister
called to tell me about the 80<sup>th</sup> birthday party my siblings were
planning. I thought she was calling to ask when would be a good time for me to
drop everything and head west. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "adobe garamond pro" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I asked her to
try and hold it on a different weekend. A few days later my older sister
called. She could not change it I had to come the very next week. I told her about my
problems and said I could not be there. My oldest brother called. My sister was
trying to convince him to buy me a plane ticket. I explained my circumstances
and told him I could not come. Eventually, I learned the truth about the date. I
was not free. I was<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>invited, sort of but
I stayed in Virginia. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "adobe garamond pro" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I made a video
tape that ran for about half an hour. Each of us who were still living together did
something they wanted to do. My Man and my oldest daughter played a cello,
viola duet, my youngest son played the violin, my youngest daughter sang and
number three showed off one of his Karate moves, I read the little monologue I
had written. When it was finished, I sent it off so it would be there on time. I
thought they would like it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "adobe garamond pro" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sometime later
someone sent me the video tape we had made. I put it away and thought about it
once in a while. I could never find it and decided it had been lost. On Sunday my
Man asked what was on the tape in a box that said <i>It’s A Wonderful Life </i>on
it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "adobe garamond pro" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We took the video out of the box and put in our VHS player; there we were as
though it had only been a few days since we made the tape. Someone had edited the end of our tape. Some of it was gone and the rest of
it was a recording of the party I had missed. My oldest son played the cello, my
Sister sang, my niece played Chopin on the piano and just before the end the
MC, my oldest brother, said Dad wanted to sing a song to Mother. <i>Stay as
Sweet as You Are</i> filled the room. It was the most beautiful song I have
ever heard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "adobe garamond pro" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I was the only
one who missed the anniversary party. I am the only one who has a tape with the program and it was just the same as if I had been there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-90240738256089211372019-06-21T11:12:00.000-06:002019-06-21T11:12:13.511-06:00Always remember I Love You<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVWwIWRjtWKpkdXj51x3DqTTw9kBGYcBNQj9qeGv6N9QnATx5vzB-XHCrzcDKZueDLZEsnlt6RBh7Re_XEm7kzqKD02bmE1pONJwixv0hKL1HrPrg6U4Rx8z_fkRPEwjeRJrhfDqxtxU/s1600/natalie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1111" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIVWwIWRjtWKpkdXj51x3DqTTw9kBGYcBNQj9qeGv6N9QnATx5vzB-XHCrzcDKZueDLZEsnlt6RBh7Re_XEm7kzqKD02bmE1pONJwixv0hKL1HrPrg6U4Rx8z_fkRPEwjeRJrhfDqxtxU/s320/natalie.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">On Wednesday, June 5,
my oldest granddaughter graduated from High School. She is eighteen and will be
going to college at James Madison University where she plans to study early
childhood education. She invited everyone in the family to come to the ceremony. Not all those who had been invited came. Those who did had a sweet and wonderful experience.<br /> The time together brought the memory of my granddaughter's first year of life back to mind. Sometime in her short life her mother sent her to the babysitter all day almost everyday to be taken care of while both of the babies parents worked. They asked me to tend her one day a week. So on Wednesday morning's she came to my place where in the partially quiet house she practiced all the things she needed to learn. I came to lover her with my whole heart. She was always welcome. Now she is forging into adulthood. I wish her well. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;"> I found a poem written to me for Mother's Day a long time age. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">Mother, Mother,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">Talk with me forever;</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">Midst the rain and thunder</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">Walk with me till death!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Bookman Old Style, serif;">Mother, when my heart, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
From sorrow's burden sigh, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<u>You</u> relieve it's cry,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Cover thou my head. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Mother, Mother, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Talk with me forever;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Midst the rain and thunder, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Stay with me through death. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Angela S.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Happy Mothers Day!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Always remember I love you.</div>
<br />Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-20614106021360153792019-05-07T12:42:00.000-06:002019-05-07T12:44:13.289-06:00Before the Summer Ends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyexPEk9nWYGfjWNkJNvr0mojLJE-ZXHnpcyH53fXfCUhDa_o87zOetYlWZe1Hmm8bEDR_oUPMHUYGvk6sC0AdZrQFFXSUd91IVVySia8uQa0YXEFo6_Ffhb5yeG2q3e5a8SF2BXDO1I/s1600/800px-Pink-dogwood-04242008_-_West_Virginia_-_ForestWander.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFyexPEk9nWYGfjWNkJNvr0mojLJE-ZXHnpcyH53fXfCUhDa_o87zOetYlWZe1Hmm8bEDR_oUPMHUYGvk6sC0AdZrQFFXSUd91IVVySia8uQa0YXEFo6_Ffhb5yeG2q3e5a8SF2BXDO1I/s320/800px-Pink-dogwood-04242008_-_West_Virginia_-_ForestWander.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>November 26, 1993</b>: Once upon a time when the world was new―well, it wasn’t really new like there had never been anything like it before, but new like the piece of marble Michelangelo carved that statue of David from. It was newly quarried and had never been used for a statue before. It was new like a car bought at used car dealers is new. It has been worked on and reconditioned, even vacuumed out and made supper clean but, it was used by someone else before.<br />
Someone left a Christmas gift under the front seat. The gift of course was meant for someone else, but you found it and thought it was meant for you. You thought it was a part of the car that had been put there at the factory. It was a gift you thought might tell you something about the car and where it was built and how long ago and who did it; sort of like dinosaur bones and fossils are kept in museums and scientific laboratories to be debated about and studied. No one ever really knew how the gift got there, who it was for and who it was from unless someone who actually in fact knows comes along and tells them. ―Anyway, that is how the earth was new, once upon a time.<br />
Back then everything was perfect. Well, you couldn’t say everything was absolutely perfect, without any flaws or imperfections. The bodies of the humans that lived on the flawed globe were as perfect as they could be, except for one thing of course and that was they had blood. Because they had blood they could die.<br />
That of course meant they could be cut; they could bleed and they could get infections. On the other hand, the DNA carried no defective chromosomes. There weren’t any downs syndrome babies, or babies with hereditary diseases like Tay-Sachs Disease, hemophilia or anything like that.<br />
It didn’t matter that there weren’t a whole lot of humans around. The ones that were there could intermarry and have children, who at least for the time being would have children without worry about exaggerated negative traits from recessive genes that would come out if people too close in kinship married. Of course it would take a long time before the world would become really old and humans would do a lot of things before the globe would explode and someone else would come along and start everything over again. The story called <i>The Fourth Creation </i>will be out before the summer ends.Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-59297263474234992602019-04-12T13:54:00.000-06:002019-04-12T13:54:16.760-06:00Turning Over A New Leaf<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAetvMMu7LVglAn2NK_DRNkCxU4BshZpGnewEl2ec2AMwf3eEfSI5eJsC42qFrXww4aRg1Luu7UFYOR21OInVjPPX4eMbo4NfAVf0HCAIHIzDSWthz9YJAhrLP1eUaSosMFiq_l2QubOo/s1600/20180118_165757Cranberry+Condoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAetvMMu7LVglAn2NK_DRNkCxU4BshZpGnewEl2ec2AMwf3eEfSI5eJsC42qFrXww4aRg1Luu7UFYOR21OInVjPPX4eMbo4NfAVf0HCAIHIzDSWthz9YJAhrLP1eUaSosMFiq_l2QubOo/s640/20180118_165757Cranberry+Condoes.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A community in Laural Maryland outside the window</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Yesterday, here in the Rocky
Mountains, it snowed. Two days before that we drove through Wyoming where we
read the lighted signs that warned of high winds that would gust up to 60 miles
per hour. Before we left the state, we read the big lighted warnings of snow
that would blow across the state beginning in the morning and continue all
night. It warned all travelers to stay put.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">The one good thing about that
day was looking forward to the settlement on the condo we sold in Laurel, Md. The
memory of the last time I put my coat on before walking out the door slipped
away as we drove down the road on the way to our destination. We slept in
Virginia and woke just before the sun came up. It seems odd that I cannot
remember how far south we drove that first day but I do remember we drove
through Tennessee. We crossed the Mississippi at Memphis. Oklahoma was American
Indian territory. The only place labeled as the state of Oklahoma was the city
named Oklahoma City. We stopped there, visited with my Man’s youngest brother
and slept before we continued on to Texas, New Mexico and Colorado. Once we
reached our new place the snow began to fall. <span style="color: red;">Today</span>
<span style="color: red;">we are no longer residents of Maryland. Our CONDO IS
NOW SOLD.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">As I have been going through things,
I have saved from my old life I have found interesting stuff. Our family all
went to church together. Sometimes I took a pencil and a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sparco reporter notebook </i>to scribble in. I have one with some notes
on Seminary. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: had been given reports
by the Seminary teacher: “This is a 9-week report—if you missed only 1 day each
week you will have 9 absences.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “I didn’t miss one day
each week.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “If you miss zero days
some weeks and more the one on others it still can be an average of one day a
week.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “I am not late that
often.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “There was at least one
week when both of you only went on Friday.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “Last week I missed two
days not four.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “What about the other
weeks. By my calculations you are both tardy every day as you don’t start the
car till 6 a.m. which is the time seminary starts. . .. You are late.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “My Brother is the one
to talk to about that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “You must be willing to
take responsibility for your own actions. Dad told you if your Brother is not
ready by ten minutes to six and you are, he will give you a ride. How often has
that happened?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “Almost every day. The problem
is that if I get dad, he is about ready to go at five before six, which is the
time I need to go. If my Brother knows I am waking up dad he will go really
fast so he will be ready by the time dad is supposed to take me. If I do not
get dad he doodles. I don’t know if he is going to be ready. I ask him if he
will be ready and he says yes and then he is late.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “How many times have you
asked Dad for a ride?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “Twice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “How many times have you
been late?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “Almost every day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “Who is responsible for
you being late when you don’t ask for a ride so you can be on time?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “My Brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “Who needs to ask Dad
for a ride?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “Me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “Who can tell time?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “My Brother and me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “At 5:50 who must decide
to wait for your Brother or to ask for a ride?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “Me. If I ask dad, my
Brother goes really fast so he is ready and I don’t need dad. But if I don’t my
Brother doodles.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “Then who is responsible
when you are late?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “My Brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “Who chooses to wait for
your Brother?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “Me</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif;">→</span><span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">because I have tried really hard to trust him (a
decision I regret.)”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “It is within your power
to be on time. You don’t have to depend on you Brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “I always ask my
Brother in the morning if he is going to ready by five before six and if he
says yes, I wait for him because I think we are going to be on time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “Has he ever been on
time?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “Every once in a while.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “Then why do you believe
him?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “Because he’s my
brother and I am supposed to forgive and forget.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “Then don’t complain
about being late.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “Why not? I trust him
and he lets me down.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “You can’t have it both
ways. You either must support him with out complaining or take care of yourself
regardless of him. (Be a light not a judge.)”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “That’s mean.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “Not as mean as being a
judge and blaming someone else for you own choices, i.e. consequences of your
choices.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Student: “And you’re not judging
me now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Adobe Garamond Pro",serif;">Mother: “No, I’m helping you
think through your position in a logical way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Over & Out<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">!”<o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 115%; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<br />Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-30713104141705036562019-02-22T10:00:00.000-07:002019-02-22T11:38:25.821-07:00Alone in the Desert and Sand in My Shoes<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVyh-DoB2CeyjILrSdSJD3AWT70mKYY-kn6zjCI0tKDkWekhvuy37fbRnCKxqy1RlBKAzxMz9AuIGwenh8dWPvRAjCKupiI-eGPaSHCCzw4RBqw2KEmS8yNXcwDry8cN3UVL5N10bjIlw/s1600/IMG_0561.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVyh-DoB2CeyjILrSdSJD3AWT70mKYY-kn6zjCI0tKDkWekhvuy37fbRnCKxqy1RlBKAzxMz9AuIGwenh8dWPvRAjCKupiI-eGPaSHCCzw4RBqw2KEmS8yNXcwDry8cN3UVL5N10bjIlw/s320/IMG_0561.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Over nine years I gave birth to five children. They were all beautiful and smart. I read to them and taught them things I thought it important for them to know. One of the important things I taught them was that it was important to think for the themselves and to make their own decisions. Life with all five of my children at home was
noisy. Well not all the time because there was homework that needed to be done,
there were musical instruments that needed to be practiced there were tons of
thing always waiting at the door. One day in October of 1993 the house erupted in a row, </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">it’s influence hung over our house and
upon my heart like a black cloud of radioactive fallout or a cloud of burning
oil sagging over the Middle East after the gulf war. I have found that of the many
goodbyes that must be said in life the most onerous one is the one we
must say to the sweet little children that love and accept our guidance as apresence in their lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems that
the leave taking is so harsh as to be almost surgical in its effects, by its suddenness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">There
was a story on the news about a man named Aron Ralston who cut off his own arm. It was caught beneath a boulder while he was out alone in the desert, the only way he could free himself
was to cut off the trapped member of his body. Without benefit of anesthesiat he used a little pocket knife. In his desperation he was able to
cut off part of his own limb. By the time he reached civilization the
paramedics recovered the severed arm. It was too late to reattach it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">That
is the way it felt to watch my children grow up and away from me. They, like me,
are the ones desperate to be free. The ties that bound us tightly and lovingly must
be the boulder that holds them in the precipice. It prevents them from reaching
the heights they see to be possible if only we were not there. Without benefit
of tenderness, kindness or understanding of that which they will someday
experience they use the dull painful tools of anger, hash words or silence</span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; text-indent: 0.5in;"> even sometimes deceit to cut us off and hurry on their way.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Our
only hope is that they will notice before they have gone too far for a
reattachment that they without us are no longer whole. Their friends can bond
to them and later their spouses and perhaps those relationships will be better
than the battered ones left behind, but they will never be as<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>good as they could have been had the surgery
not been so brutal and the time of separation short enough to allow the connecting
nerves and life giving blood vessels to bring a new joyous connection.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Sometimes
I long for the times when they were small and I could pick them up, hold<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>then on my lap and sing them a song, give
them a kiss and make the world right for each of us. I long for the time when
our fondest wish was to please each other, and love flowed freely and sincerely
between us</span>. <span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">To say goodbye to
those days when one felt useful and needed and productive is difficult<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>indeed and perhaps can only be endured
because of the hope that when the parent child relationship<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>has been dissolved and disposed of, like a
lizard that discards the old and grows a new tail, a friendship a relationship
might grow in its place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">When
one of my children was ten-years-old my child asked me how old I would be when that
person would turn 100 years old. Would I be 400 years old. “No,” I said, “I
will about 143 years old.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">The
wonderful young person smiled and said, “</span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That sounds good.”</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The child then went on to plan how we both would live to a ripe
old age, perhaps not 142, and then die peacefully in our sleep on the same day.</span><span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">I
have burned with indignation at the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and I have dreamt to have the power to change the world.</span> <span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif;">Over the nearly forty years I have learned I will always love each of my children but each will have make their own personal choices.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-75739192115093808082019-01-28T16:35:00.003-07:002020-02-25T11:52:15.274-07:00Teaching One's Self<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkCLXZlRqWk6ndVxnwM1jJ26CuJjXz-LuD-UJvmjmCx8_Z78ouGJ2OhvKAJOUO0bfxdENaA1NgxKX0RZtodR_4gDT6xVablvq88qCK_ju68ziuDe6_KPJWtrLPFpW0Ov6zwJ0GS_0ZlTY/s1600/elephant10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="864" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkCLXZlRqWk6ndVxnwM1jJ26CuJjXz-LuD-UJvmjmCx8_Z78ouGJ2OhvKAJOUO0bfxdENaA1NgxKX0RZtodR_4gDT6xVablvq88qCK_ju68ziuDe6_KPJWtrLPFpW0Ov6zwJ0GS_0ZlTY/s320/elephant10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">In India, where elephants are domesticated and used as beasts
of burden they are hunted and brought in from the wild. As part of the taming
process, they are tightly tethered with chains around their ankles and secured
to trees. At first, the elephants struggle to free themselves. Eventually, the thrashing
stops. The elephant, convinced there is no escape, is restrained by one chain secured
to a stake in the ground, and the chain could easily be broken and the stake pulled
free. Since there were no consequences, the struggle is over the animal will not
try again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">There are parallels in human beings which immediately come to
mind. They are bad habits, totalitarian states and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>self-defeating behaviors, but the idea that
intrigues me is the one related to operant conditioning. The elephant gives up
because his attempts are never successful even once. If he were to <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>be rewarded every once in a while, he would
not give up. At first the rewards would be close together in time. As time
passed the reward would be enough. The animal would continue to try, believing,
expecting, hoping, maybe this time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">We learn how to behave socially by those things<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>that reward us in our relationships. We do
not set out to learn and continue persistently in behaviors that have worked to
meet our goals enough times in the past that we expect maybe this time something will
reward us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Like the docile elephant we continue to be fettered by our
own perception of what is possible, good or not. We carry a strange amalgam of
positive and negative behaviors and traits through life with us because we
believe they will help us over the rough spots.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sometimes these perceived virtues may be the source of conflict and personal pain, still we persist in believing we can make it work. I am
simply a victim of my own expectations and all<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>the times those approaches which have not been working lately I expect will
work again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8757110753818940603.post-53293519821973095862019-01-16T16:46:00.000-07:002019-01-16T16:46:01.753-07:00We Are Home<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZgjwtxPsmjE3VYSUBd75RVB1haIXOZ7_N9_3LLHjYClQZGKyRMb1qyfYahWRA1869vMuDXO2tmZ7m8BuG5fLwhGxO133U7t2dvDMwWEDvvI5jMnIZCM4V2jOGtfpmNTMkI9IyzCTanXo/s1600/20180528_154722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZgjwtxPsmjE3VYSUBd75RVB1haIXOZ7_N9_3LLHjYClQZGKyRMb1qyfYahWRA1869vMuDXO2tmZ7m8BuG5fLwhGxO133U7t2dvDMwWEDvvI5jMnIZCM4V2jOGtfpmNTMkI9IyzCTanXo/s320/20180528_154722.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: Garamond, serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">T</span></b><span style="font-size: 12pt;">here was a little girl
who had a little curl right in the middle of her forehead. When she was good,
she was very, very good, but when she was bad, she was horrid. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> When I
was a bigger girl, I read Barbara Tuchman’s study </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">The March of folly. </i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It is about failed policy on the highest levels
of government and the</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> continued pursuit
of those policies even after the abject failure has been revealed. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I suppose it is possible
to attribute such persistence to perseverance and the positive belief in the
future and ones own judgment and goals. Yet, according to Mrs. Tuchman, true
folly is only present in the face of ample evidence and good council. It is a
resistance to learning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">If there is folly to be
found in the highest levels of government it can only be the extension of that
which exists in the individual, the community, the neighborhood, the
family<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the schools and all institutions
of society. In fact I believe it is likely a thorough study of the subject
might lead to the conclusion that man―the most intelligent of all creatures on
the earth―is bent on self-destruction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The most obvious examples
of such a corrupt course begins with the arms race. Then comes the suicidal war
in the Middle East, then comes the thoughtless destruction of the environment,
the extinction of wild life, strip mining, air and water pollution. Closer to
home we must look toward the failed uses of corporal punishment in the home. To
look into the personal struggle to let go of the hurt and anger of rejection. It
should be easy and soothing to rejoice in the many friends who outnumber the
hurtful acquaintances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, it is the
thorn that nags; poisons will not be removed. They remain to spoil and dampen
all that is left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">We have been taught <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“The natural man is an enemy to God.”</i>
Perhaps it would be equally valid to assert the natural man is an enemy to
himself. While we have always been aware, we need the spirit to overcome the
world how often do we articulate the need to overcome the tendencies within ourselves
to pursue a course which is not for our own good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">It must be impossible to
please God or to make correct decisions most of the time without faith and the
influence of the spirit. For we are but infants in our eternal growth. We hurry
here and there trying to discover everything for ourselves and in so doing we stumble
over rakes, burn our hands, cut our fingers and fall down stairs only to cry in
anguish, rise and hurry on to the next hazard. Along the way we experience much
and learn a little, but if we are to be preserved, we must listen to those who know
the way. We must listen and follow in order to tame the natural man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Yvonne Stephensonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14604335434167862809noreply@blogger.com0