Totally Dominated!

Growing up Stuart and Camille were always the best of friends, but that didn't prevent a little friendly competition! When they were about 8-years-old Stuart started soccer and Camille started competition cheerleading. I have a friend who always remarked on my little children how sturdily built they were (hmm, sorry guys!)

It didn't take long before Camille was recognized as a great base! She routinely lifted the flyers above her head, and as the name implies, pitched them into the air and caught them again. This kind of exercise builds incredible arm strength!

Now, enter their dad, ever ready to pair people up in an arm wrestling match**. Much to Stuart's dismay Camille could beat him arm wrestling until they were 13!

Don't ask me what started this last night, but for some reason Camille and Stuart decided to give it a try again... 13 years later!



Let's put it this way... she was totally dominated!




** OK so now for the back stories on arm wrestling. When Gordon and I first met and then married he was impressed with my arm strength. I'd lived rurally all my life, rode horses, picked bales of hay, and, most importantly, had spent the last few years taking out my frustrations on the wood pile (AKA splitting wood with a heavy splitting maul).

The first contest he orchestrated was between me and some poor whimpy unsuspecting missionary that lived with him before we were married. I wasted the poor guy and I've felt bad about it ever since.

The second one was much more satisfying... we were in Hawai'i visiting Gordon's children. Erik, his oldest, was 13.5; the setting- Pizza Hut. Gordon told Erik he thought Mom could beat him and Erik, being taller than me, thought he had it made-in-the-shade! The whole dining area erupted in applause when I beat him. I told Erik he'd never get a rematch; I knew it would be all downhill for me from there.

Daddy's Girl

Daddy’s Girl… I suppose that would be a good description of me. Although that may seem strange to some who knew the particulars of my growing up.
I was born when my Daddy was 55! Yes, unbelievable as it is, I am finally older than my Daddy was when I was born. My Mom was 16 years his junior. My parents lived in a remote mountain town without many employment opportunities so when my Daddy’s business failed and then other avenues of employment dried up Daddy left Greenville, and his family, to work. I don’t ever remember living with my parents together, but Daddy came to visit occasionally and I was always so excited when he did.
I recognize now Mom’s herculean effort not to let any of the frustration she felt at being a single parent and raising 3 girls alone affect us, but never made me feel that I came from a “broken home”. We weren’t broken; we just didn’t live together; that’s how I saw it.
I can’t explain why, given these circumstances, I felt so close to my Daddy as a child. I do, however, have some explanations for why I can feel that closeness now even though he has been gone for over 38 years. I never doubted my parents’ unconditionally love for me and death has not removed that knowledge! I’ve been blessed with the gifts of faith and discerning of Spirits (see 1 Corinthians 12:1, 4-11) and I feel his love and presence through the veil that separates us.
Then there are more tangible reminders that I am Jake’s daughter: fair, sensitive skin, a pronounced nose and high cholesterol, just to name a few. Two of the three (sorry, the nose is just there!) have been dealt with in amazing ways (well, maybe some would disagree, but I think they are amazing!)
I got a call this morning from the doctor’s office to tell me that my cholesterol was down to 132 (wee-haw, hip-hip-hurray and thank goodness for modern medicine!!)! I’ve been struggling to get this number under 200 since 2003. It finally took a Rx for Lipitor (insert commercial here) to get this amazing number because oatmeal everyday and other things just weren’t getting anywhere.
The other solution to my fair, sensitive skin has been solved in a less dramatic way, eventually. I’ve been going to a dermatologist this year with very sad results; most Rx just aggravates rather than alleviates the problem. About a month ago Gordon brought home some Sunbreeze Healing Balm that has helped the dry patches on my face, but hasn’t totally gotten rid of them. Anytime I try to use any lotions, even those for sensitive skin, it makes those patches worse. So a couple of days ago I thought, “what can I use to moisturize my skin without aggravating it?” The thought popped into my head, “Go natural… try olive oil!” So for the last two days I’ve tried that and hey, it’s working! The redness is going away and my face doesn’t feel shrink-wrapped!
It is funny how these simple physical characteristics remind me that, yes; I am my Daddy’s girl, in so many ways!

Stories

I wanted to share a wonderful FREE class with everyone. I recently finished a Type+Writer class over at JS.com but now she is offering this class.

What a fun thing to do. I love stories. My daddy was a skilled story-teller, my mom used to tell me stories about "Tell me about when I was born." or "Tell me about when I was two!"

I suppose that because of that start stories speak to my heart. I love the shared stories from other people's families: like Edna and her friend bring home a wringer washer on the trolley (with their husbands hiding and watching, scoundrels!!)

What a wonderful opportunity to record those stories that only we can tell.

Spinach Salad Drama

This post may very well end up being a vent more than anything else, but, hey, that's what you all read this for, right? Real life with some comic relief thrown in on the side.

I've been working on the ward cookbook editing recipes, combining recipes (hence, the drama) and working on the cover. And all of this is mixed in with the everyday trials of what my brother-in-law calls "the school of earth life" (or something like that!)

So, why spinach salad drama? I have 7 (count them SEVEN) spinach salad recipes all called (you guessed it) Spinach Salad (well, two are Strawberry & Spinach salad). Why drama? I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings because I've combined her recipe with some other sister's recipe that only has a couple of different ingredients. BUT I also don't want to have 7 recipes all called Spinach Salad.

Isn't it funny/interesting how we sometimes become so over-protective of things like a recipe. Why do you suppose that is? I've come to the conclusion that it really isn't the recipe at all... it's something else that we think defines who we are or perhaps is a facade to hide one of our scabs that we wish other people would leave alone.

I've had a couple of those LEAVE-MY-SCABS-ALONE weeks. You know the little things that jump out of the dark (or in my case out of the water) and threaten my tender scabby-spot created by having two of my children drown almost 27 years ago. I think I have gotten stronger, that the scab has healed more this time but then someone starts picking at my scab (LEAVE IT ALONE! I want to scream.) Telling me about drownings (he DROWNED AND DIED, well, they revived him and he's perfectly fine now. Or... my friend's baby drowned and, yes, really is dead and buried) I always think, yes, I can listen and be objective... but alas, I can't. At some point, usually after I've started weeping, I have to say, "You'll have to talk to someone else about this. It is just too close to home for me. (When it is the actual person that has had this tragedy, I can listen empathetically and do just fine. It is the 2nd, 3rd, 4th hand drama that hits home at my little scabby-spot) Then I get to deal with the grief all over again. Do I lack faith? No, I have complete faith in a glorious resurrection and the fact that I will be with my Tony and Amanda again. But that faith doesn't negate the fact that I miss them.

So back to the Spinach Salad (or the cake or pie or cinnamon rolls). I just don't think it is about that recipe (or whatever). It is the "I am upset about all of the adversity I have in my life right now that most people have no idea I deal with on a daily basis" that is the crux of the matter. But most of us guard that little tender scabby-spot... it's just too hard to even look at it. So we will be upset about that recipe instead. I've learned that I just don't react to those things any more (truly, it isn't all about me!!), but I say. "I know she has something going on and I can just love her anyway" and let her have her way. Wouldn't it be a happier place if we could all remember this?

So now for the comic relief (must... have... comic... relief). I think (hope) that most of my friends and family will want to have one of these dandy cookbooks loaded with wonderful (and sometimes closely guarded) recipes and, well, that fact that I have designed the cover is just an extra bonus!~

So I said to my bestest-friend, Pauline (who does NOT cook). "I was going to get you a cookbook but I don't think you would use it."

P queried, "How much will the cost?" I told her $10-11 a piece.

Without even missing a beat she replied, "Then just send me the money!!"

My View from here... daughter & friend

The NWR class is wrapping up this weekend. I am a little sad to already be at the end. But today's challenge sparked this layout.

It was several years ago that Bek and I were chatting on the phone and she said, "You know, Mom, just after Caden was born and we started hanging out."

It was said in such a casual way but it had a very profound impact on my heart. In those few short words was all the meaning - You are my friend, you are my buddy, you aren't just my mom! (and if computers could show tear-stains you would see them here!)

As a mother I've worked so hard to let my kids know that I love them so very much while still being the "heavy" and teaching them to do the right things. One of my favorite quotes is, "You teach your kids to grow-up and lead independent, responsible, adult lives... and then darned if they just don't go and DO IT!"

I am so grateful to call Rebekah my daughter, but more importantly, my friend.