Gratitude Day 6

I am grateful for the Spirit I feel when I attend church each Sunday. More than the lessons and discussions and hymns and talks, it's the Spirit of comfort and truth I feel that keeps me going back.

The Basher's Blessing Day

Asher Basher was fortunate to have sun (!) on his blessing day. We had lots of support from family and friends who came to our church for the blessing, then joined us for brunch at our home afterwards. I was busy with my cinnamon rolls and the rest of the spread, and forgot to take pictures of our guests and the grub. It was delicious. You can take my word for it.

After the celebration and our Sunday afternoon naps, my man and the punk kicked a ball around in the sun (!) while the basher and I sat in the sun (!). Although chilly, it finally felt like spring.

Sunny sun sun (!)

Six Mostly Unrelated Thoughts on Music

1. I love it when my family visits me because we usually end up singing or banging rhythmically on the table or dancing wildly around at some point. Last night my brother David and Little Sis came over for dinner. After we ate, I showed Uncle Davey the piano piece I've recently learned: Linus and Lucy (aka the Peanuts theme song). While I played, he made percussion sounds with his mouth and hands and Little Sis danced with the punk. I'm happy to see that he has musical influences besides his crazy mama.
2. Why is it that when women age, their formerly lovely singing voices begin to sound like men imitating women? (See this video.) The only two women I know of who have avoided this are Dolly Parton (who I'm assuming is injected with age-defying substances) and my Grandma Valeen.
3. Steven Tyler has revitalized my interest in American Idol. I don't even miss Simon and his creepy crawly chest hair.
4. Thanks to a brilliant Christmas gift from the aforementioned Grandma Valeen: an electric guitar that plays several familiar rock excerpts, the punk knows the words to Love Shack. How many of you could sing, "Love shack, Baby!"as a two year-old? It's totally awesome. And slightly disconcerting.
5. Sometimes I wish I lived in a musical.
6. The punk's Kindermusik teacher commented today on his talent for rhythm. Thank goodness for that because it seems he is only capable of monotone singing:

Punk Subtitles:

I am a child of God

And He has sent me here.

Has given me an earthly home

With parents kind and dear.

Lead me, guide me,

Walk beside me.

Help me find the way.

Teach me all that I must do

To live with Him someday.

Sunday Faux Pas

My brother David and I attended our little sister's Young Women Standards Night this evening where we heard an entertaining guest speaker talk about the recently added Young Women value: virtue. She first addressed all the other Young Women values, saying that if only she could be considered a woman of faith, or a woman of divine nature, individual worth, etc, then she would be content. When she came to the value of knowledge, she said, "I would love to be a woman of knowledge. Not only spiritual knowledge, but sexual knowledge."

Huh?

All the heads in the congregation snapped up. She had our attention. We wondered what the next slide would be in her PowerPoint presentation. Images from the Kama Sutra? Are we in the wrong meeting?

Silent pause.

Crickets chirping.

"Excuse me, I meant secular knowledge."

This faux pas was the highlight of my Sunday. That and the fact that my brother brought a fork with him so he could scratch his itchy foot during the meeting. He just carried it right in with him. No wallet, no keys. Just a fork in his hand.

Tent-Induced Crazy

Filthy. Stinky. Grumpy. Prickly. Greasy.

That's what I was when I arrived home yesterday afternoon after 4 days at the ranch followed by 4 days on trek.

My grandpa's ranch is heaven on earth, despite the tent factor. It was cold and slightly uncomfortable, but we do it every 4th of July and I love it. I have never been home for Independence Day. Ever. Although I would much rather tent it than go to "town" (Vernal) at night with some of the others to sleep in a cheap motel, living in a tent gets tiring after a few days. But I do love being in a place where there is no cell phone coverage (no land line either), very few clocks, no TV, no internet. Just grass, trees, wind, rocks, a painfully cold river, solar power, and dozens of cousins.

Directly from the ranch, my man and I left the punk with his grandparents and drove to Middle-Of-Nowhere, Wyoming to meet the teenagers of our stake for pioneer trek. (Tell me, is there anywhere in Wyoming that is not the middle of nowhere? No wonder why no one stopped there in the 1800s on their way to Utah, California, or Oregon!) Unlike the ranch, there were no showers on trek. No sinks, no tubs. Just Camelbaks with which to brush our teeth, and wet wipes for our faces. We walked an easy 6 miles around Martin's Cove on Wednesday, but on Thursday, we pulled our handcarts 14 miles on the Mormon Pioneer Trail, ending at Rock Creek Hollow. The LDS Church has an agreement with the Bureau of Land Management in Wyoming so we can do these treks with our youth; however, the agreement stipulates that we must stay on the designated trail, no matter what. This trail took us through about 7 large mud holes, some up to the waist, and we were not allowed to go around them. We even had two missionary guides on horseback who made sure we stayed on the path. Many people lost their shoes to the hungry muck. My man has quarter-size blisters on both feet. I have one smaller blister; it was pretty much impossible not to get one since we were all walking with wet socks and shoes that were filled with mud and rocks.

After this long hike, everyone was tired and filthy, but happy to have accomplished such a feat. We ate well and had a nice testimony meeting that night. In the morning, we packed up camp and headed home.

At a gas station on the way home, my man picked up two small fountain drinks for us: Diet Cokes. Yum! Now, it's not like I hadn't had any Diet Coke this week. Aunt Cindy had shared her stash at the ranch, and I had joined two other leaders in the back of a trailer for a "discreet" (read: secret) Diet Coke pow wow on the second day of trek. But for some reason, this Diet Coke with ice in a styrofoam cup tasted like love itself. I took a sip and sighed with pleasure. Although my legs were still caked with dried, cracked mud and my hair was a giant glob of grease and dust, I was satisfied.

So when my man reached for my cup because he had finished his, I screamed, "No! No! No! No! No!" and violently grabbed it out of his hands. I think I shocked the teenage boys in the back seat, who started laughing nervously, and I know I shocked my man. He looked at me like I was just a tiny bit crazy. About 60 seconds later, I started giggling. It took me that long to realize that yes, I was crazy indeed.