The date was May 18, 1971; a day to live on in our memories. I realize many of you were not even born at that time. But surely, you must have looked down from heaven with excitement and angelic shouts! This was the day that the Utah Stars won the ABA Championship title. I knew...that you knew...this historic date! I have it written down in my Happiness Calendar.
I got the idea of a Happiness Calendar years and years ago from an article in the Readers Digest. You construct a twelve month calendar containing blank squares. In each square you note a few keywords and the year to remind you of a happy event. By the end of your life, you have hundreds and hundreds of wonderful memories.
Since I am doing the writing here, let me share some of my squares with you. February 1, 1985 was the Dale Murphy fireside at Weber State and February 18, 1996 was the Steve Young fireside. February 27, 1974 I received my patriarchal blessing from Grandpa Bennett. March 15, 1979 I attended the rededication of the Logan Temple, even with the cast on my broken leg and crutches. March 30, 1984 was my first date with Jim Robinson (the love of my life...at that time). April 4, 1975 found me in the Salt Lake Tabernacle, just a few feet away from Pres. Kimball as the USU Institute Chorale sang in a session of General Conference. On May 30, 1991 Mom, Dad and I ventured out on our vacation to the church sites around Nauvoo. June 11, 1994 was the Michael Bolton concert. July 16, 1989 I was set apart as a German extraction worker in our stake.
I still remember, like it was yesterday, July 25, 1970 when my sisters took me and a friend to a Bobby Sherman concert. I thought I had died and gone to heaven! Probably the happiest day of my life came on August 2, 1982 when I received notice that I had passed the CPA exam, FINALLY! September 10, 1982 was the day Pres. Reagan came to Hooper and I along with thousands of others crowded the Weber County streets...for what? November 18, 1975 was a royal day. I was crowned Miss Rich Hall. I still have the diamond tiara I wore...worth all of $4.57. And finally the girls' team from Clearfield High beat the boys' team on the Inquiring Editor television program on December 8, 1973.
There were other dates to note, but I realized the "home movie" syndrome might be setting in and you are bored with my slide show. But let me add just one more. July 17, 2010. As of this moment, it is 6:58 a.m. and already I have a happy moment. I was out walking this morning. The blanket of clouds must have been an electric blanket with the temperature turned up to eighty. It was hot. Most of the sky was overcast, but towards the mountains, the clouds were wispy. The sun was attempting to shine through and managed a pink glow around those yellow clouds. It was a beautiful sight. And I realized I have another day on this earth to enjoy. Because...
Yesterday I had a three month checkup. The lab work did not include the tumor marker test, but all other procedures indicated good health. It was an "attitude of gratitude" kind of day. It probably won't be entered on my happiness calendar; nor will this morning's walk. But they were good moments, nonetheless.
And I've had my share of not-so-good days. It is in those times I try to remember Pres. Packer's counsel: "Teach our members that if they have a good, miserable day once in awhile, or several in a row, to stand steady and face them. Things will straighten out." I wonder if maintaining an Unhappiness Calendar would help me see how silly some of my bad days were, and that things really did straighten out just like Pres. Packer said? (By the way, I have one, only one, entry in January! Watch out for that month!)
So may I challenge you to start your own happiness calendar. You can go back and fill in the spaces from your journals or personal history. Or you can go forward from today. If you don't have access to an exact date, print off a few months with miscellaneous squares. Just write in the memory. Start a calendar and maintain it for Family Home Evening each week. Strolls down memory lane can be so wonderful. "Recall it as often as you wish, a happy memory never wears out."
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
Our Relay Team
I'm not having much luck with the American Cancer Society's Relay For Life events. Last year, I didn't have the physical stamina to put together a team. This year I was prepared to participate with the Cancer Busters, a team comprised of members of my Stake. But the event got rained out. Perhaps next year. Regardless, I would like to borrow the catch phrase Relay For Life for this week's Grace Note. Today's editorial may sound familiar to some of you because it is similar to one I wrote over a year ago...one that didn't get widely circulated.
The previous Grace Note was entitled The Sign Up Sheet. After sitting in 1,680 Relief Society meetings (48 meetings annually for 35 years), I can now say I understand why we're here on earth. It all has to do with sign up sheets. Relief Societies are notorious for wanting your signature. We put our names to lists for cannery assignments, casseroles to the sick and the afflicted, window washing at the church building, ward socials and gatherings, feeding the missionaries, substitute teaching in Primary or performing in the ward karaoke night. Week after week we sign up for an assignment here or an activity there and often we feel guilty if we pass the obligatory clipboard on to our neighbor without our "Ann Singleton" attached.
Consider this statement from Pres. Henry B. Eyring. "Not everyone shouted for joy [in the premortal councils]. One third of the children of Heavenly Father saw danger in the plan He offered us. The risks seemed too great. It would be too hard, it seemed to them, to keep God's commandments perfectly with all the weaknesses of a mortal body." (Henry B. Eyring, Church News, April 18, 2009). Knowing how I shy away from hard things, I can't image that I had courage to "sign up" for the mortal experience activity. But apparently, I did. So did you. Our ancestors before us and our descendants belows us did. Therefore, this chain of spiritual brothers and sisters agreeing to take the risk of agency is a type of Relay For Life...each team member taking their respective turn and running the race of mortal life.
Someone has to begin the race when the official gun is sounded. If we had enough lines and spaces, and of course the written records, we could trace our ancestral roots back to Grandpa Adam and Grandma Eve. They volunteered for the first leg of the relay. After nine hundred or so laps, Grandpa Noah and Grandma Mrs. Noah picked up the relay. What I wouldn't give to be able to trace our genealogy from there, down through 3018 BC, to 1657 BC, to 398 AD? Who were those people? Where did they live? Were they good, honest people, or "dirty, rotten, scoundrels"? It isn't until the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries that names emerge to give identity to our specific team. Such relayers as James Bennett, Nelson Arave, Sarah Singleton, Phoebe Webster, Enoch King, Nancy Melvina Taylor, Nancy Ann Shaffer and thousands of others consented to run their own leg, often during some very difficult and challenging times.
We are now in the final stages of the relay. The baton has been passed to our generation and the few generations yet to come. I find it fascinating that Kathleen and Alan are at this very moment walking the footsteps of our ancestors in England. And at the same time, we are anticipating three new recruits to our team in the coming months. Do you think Daxson's little sister is chatting with great-great-grandma Susan Arrenia Perry right now and getting the lowdown on this Singleton bunch? Is Jessie being instructed by great-great-grandpa William Andrews on what is expected of her? Is Sam's sibling being coached on how to run the race by another Samuel, even Samuel Thurgood? I've got just enough hope to say "why not"?
Amy and Shannon can testify there is no such thing as a one-person relay. That would be called a marathon. A relay takes a team effort. No wonder we spend precious time in the temple and sing "...families can be together forever..." July is wonderful month to focus on our relay for life. We honor our pioneer and unknown ancient ancestors with gratitude and with an anxiousness to meet and greet them. We appreciate their legacy and good names. We endeavor to leave the world a better place when our lap is completed for those who will finish the race for us...the great-great grandchildren to come. I'm so glad you all grabbed the clipboard in the premortal councils and signed up for this assignment, as hard as some of our trials may be. We knew it would be hard, but we also knew it would be worth the effort to stay on "track"...in this our Relay For Life.
The previous Grace Note was entitled The Sign Up Sheet. After sitting in 1,680 Relief Society meetings (48 meetings annually for 35 years), I can now say I understand why we're here on earth. It all has to do with sign up sheets. Relief Societies are notorious for wanting your signature. We put our names to lists for cannery assignments, casseroles to the sick and the afflicted, window washing at the church building, ward socials and gatherings, feeding the missionaries, substitute teaching in Primary or performing in the ward karaoke night. Week after week we sign up for an assignment here or an activity there and often we feel guilty if we pass the obligatory clipboard on to our neighbor without our "Ann Singleton" attached.
Consider this statement from Pres. Henry B. Eyring. "Not everyone shouted for joy [in the premortal councils]. One third of the children of Heavenly Father saw danger in the plan He offered us. The risks seemed too great. It would be too hard, it seemed to them, to keep God's commandments perfectly with all the weaknesses of a mortal body." (Henry B. Eyring, Church News, April 18, 2009). Knowing how I shy away from hard things, I can't image that I had courage to "sign up" for the mortal experience activity. But apparently, I did. So did you. Our ancestors before us and our descendants belows us did. Therefore, this chain of spiritual brothers and sisters agreeing to take the risk of agency is a type of Relay For Life...each team member taking their respective turn and running the race of mortal life.
Someone has to begin the race when the official gun is sounded. If we had enough lines and spaces, and of course the written records, we could trace our ancestral roots back to Grandpa Adam and Grandma Eve. They volunteered for the first leg of the relay. After nine hundred or so laps, Grandpa Noah and Grandma Mrs. Noah picked up the relay. What I wouldn't give to be able to trace our genealogy from there, down through 3018 BC, to 1657 BC, to 398 AD? Who were those people? Where did they live? Were they good, honest people, or "dirty, rotten, scoundrels"? It isn't until the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries that names emerge to give identity to our specific team. Such relayers as James Bennett, Nelson Arave, Sarah Singleton, Phoebe Webster, Enoch King, Nancy Melvina Taylor, Nancy Ann Shaffer and thousands of others consented to run their own leg, often during some very difficult and challenging times.
We are now in the final stages of the relay. The baton has been passed to our generation and the few generations yet to come. I find it fascinating that Kathleen and Alan are at this very moment walking the footsteps of our ancestors in England. And at the same time, we are anticipating three new recruits to our team in the coming months. Do you think Daxson's little sister is chatting with great-great-grandma Susan Arrenia Perry right now and getting the lowdown on this Singleton bunch? Is Jessie being instructed by great-great-grandpa William Andrews on what is expected of her? Is Sam's sibling being coached on how to run the race by another Samuel, even Samuel Thurgood? I've got just enough hope to say "why not"?
Amy and Shannon can testify there is no such thing as a one-person relay. That would be called a marathon. A relay takes a team effort. No wonder we spend precious time in the temple and sing "...families can be together forever..." July is wonderful month to focus on our relay for life. We honor our pioneer and unknown ancient ancestors with gratitude and with an anxiousness to meet and greet them. We appreciate their legacy and good names. We endeavor to leave the world a better place when our lap is completed for those who will finish the race for us...the great-great grandchildren to come. I'm so glad you all grabbed the clipboard in the premortal councils and signed up for this assignment, as hard as some of our trials may be. We knew it would be hard, but we also knew it would be worth the effort to stay on "track"...in this our Relay For Life.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
T-Shirts
I've been thinking about T-shirts lately. For my morning walks, I usually pull on one of the several T-shirts I've received the last few years as a cancer survivor. There's the purple one from my first Relay For Life. Sometimes I wear the bright pink from the Race For the Cure. If I don't feel like being too bold, I put on the white Race For the Cure. But there are other T-shirts that can be worn for everyday use. I still have two shirts that Ryan brought from Hawaii: LDS Church Relief Team (Hurricane Iniki).
How boring were clothes closets before the invention of the T-shirt? I researched a little of their history. They came on the scene before the 1900's as union worker underclothes...mine workers, industrial laborers, etc. Then during war times, soldiers wore them for extra warmth in cold weather. But because they were not really considered underwear, a military shirt could be taken off in hot weather and the man could still be considered "clothed" for service. According to the source I read, it was Marlon Brando that spiked the interest in everyday wear of the T-shirt in his movie "A Streetcar Named Desire".
I admit I have never seen Marlon's movie. But I can imagine his shirt was white, and plain, and had rolled up sleeves...pretty cool for 1950. It was not too long after this that Walt Disney caught the vision with printed T's adorned with images of Mickey Mouse and other "Goofy" characters. It didn't take long for businesses to realize "human billboarding" could pay off in effective marketing. Because of the fact that I didn't really pay for my survivor T-shirts, I am obliged to accept the printed advertisements of those who actually did pay, namely the sponsors that expended tax-deductible dollars: FM 100.3, Pepsi, Yoplait, UPS, Ford, Bank of America, and a host of drug companies who names I cannot pronounce.
Very seldom do you find a plain T-shirt in today's fashion world. Sometimes we proudly wear a shirt that helps the gross margin of Nike. But most often our choice of apparel makes a statement of our emotions, our devotion, our humor or our political passion. We declare our commitment to the Utah Jazz, USU, Atlanta Braves or another favorite sports team. Onlookers can immediately determine where we spent our summer vacation by our donning of shirts from Yellowstone, Grand Canyon or Disney World. Mass production of shirts creates a bond with those who wear them, such as our Race For the Cure. The whole point is that the T-shirt is an avenue for personal expression. The term "human billboard" extends beyond our personal agreement to advertise Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Awareness. What we wear advertises who we are and what we represent as a person.
Do we need catchy logos and Fruit of the Loom cotton to do this? Can someone look into my face and determine what I stand for? Do my actions speak louder than my T-shirt? I hope so. It would be wonderful if those who see me in the grocery store could read the feelings of my soul rather than the words printed on my chest. I would hope that my life's T-shirt advertises what is really dear to me: faith in God, hope for a sunny day, the love of family, a sense of belonging, willingness to serve and a commitment to work.
On the lighter side, if I ever start my own T-shirt business, here are some favorite sayings that I think would make for great reading:
"Some days you are the bug; some days you are the windshield."
"I went to the 30th reunion of my preschool. I didn't want to go, because I've put on like a hundred pounds."
"I hate housework! You make the beds, do the dishes -- and six months later you have to start all over again."
But for now, I will stick to my survivor shirts that remind me to: "Take charge of your health!", "Imagine a world without breast cancer", and "Celebrate, Remember, Fight Back".
How boring were clothes closets before the invention of the T-shirt? I researched a little of their history. They came on the scene before the 1900's as union worker underclothes...mine workers, industrial laborers, etc. Then during war times, soldiers wore them for extra warmth in cold weather. But because they were not really considered underwear, a military shirt could be taken off in hot weather and the man could still be considered "clothed" for service. According to the source I read, it was Marlon Brando that spiked the interest in everyday wear of the T-shirt in his movie "A Streetcar Named Desire".
I admit I have never seen Marlon's movie. But I can imagine his shirt was white, and plain, and had rolled up sleeves...pretty cool for 1950. It was not too long after this that Walt Disney caught the vision with printed T's adorned with images of Mickey Mouse and other "Goofy" characters. It didn't take long for businesses to realize "human billboarding" could pay off in effective marketing. Because of the fact that I didn't really pay for my survivor T-shirts, I am obliged to accept the printed advertisements of those who actually did pay, namely the sponsors that expended tax-deductible dollars: FM 100.3, Pepsi, Yoplait, UPS, Ford, Bank of America, and a host of drug companies who names I cannot pronounce.
Very seldom do you find a plain T-shirt in today's fashion world. Sometimes we proudly wear a shirt that helps the gross margin of Nike. But most often our choice of apparel makes a statement of our emotions, our devotion, our humor or our political passion. We declare our commitment to the Utah Jazz, USU, Atlanta Braves or another favorite sports team. Onlookers can immediately determine where we spent our summer vacation by our donning of shirts from Yellowstone, Grand Canyon or Disney World. Mass production of shirts creates a bond with those who wear them, such as our Race For the Cure. The whole point is that the T-shirt is an avenue for personal expression. The term "human billboard" extends beyond our personal agreement to advertise Susan G. Komen Breast Cancer Awareness. What we wear advertises who we are and what we represent as a person.
Do we need catchy logos and Fruit of the Loom cotton to do this? Can someone look into my face and determine what I stand for? Do my actions speak louder than my T-shirt? I hope so. It would be wonderful if those who see me in the grocery store could read the feelings of my soul rather than the words printed on my chest. I would hope that my life's T-shirt advertises what is really dear to me: faith in God, hope for a sunny day, the love of family, a sense of belonging, willingness to serve and a commitment to work.
On the lighter side, if I ever start my own T-shirt business, here are some favorite sayings that I think would make for great reading:
"Some days you are the bug; some days you are the windshield."
"I went to the 30th reunion of my preschool. I didn't want to go, because I've put on like a hundred pounds."
"I hate housework! You make the beds, do the dishes -- and six months later you have to start all over again."
But for now, I will stick to my survivor shirts that remind me to: "Take charge of your health!", "Imagine a world without breast cancer", and "Celebrate, Remember, Fight Back".
Sunday, June 13, 2010
The Two Dollar Dilemma
I never thought an early morning walk in the neighborhood could result in difficult moral dilemmas! Such was the case this last week. One of my walking routes includes going straight down 6000 South to my church, around the parking lot and back up the road to home. Last Tuesday morning I opted for this route. I had been walking about ten minutes and was ready to cross the street to the church, when I noticed two one-dollar bills laying folded on the sidewalk at my feet. It's amazing how quickly the mind can process facts in a split second. By the time I stopped my forward motion, my brain had already considered several possible courses of action.
Option 1: I wore pants with pockets. Two dollars could easily fit in either pocket to be later spent on one package of Peanut M&M's and a Snickers bar, with pennies left over for my piggy bank. Option 2: I could take the money home and later deliver it to the Roy City Police Department. Let them try to find the owner of pocket change. Option 3: It may be reasonable to take the money and deliver it to a favorite charity. Option 4: I could appoint myself as the legal guardian of the funds and come back to the spot sometime later with a sign requesting the "loser" to call 801-776-4286 to claim their money. Option 5: I could ignore the whole situation. "What money? I didn't see any money!" Option 6 was to continue walking, hoping that divine inspiration would come as I walked around the perimeter of the church. If the money was still there on my way back up the sidewalk, I would know what to do then.
Leaving the dollars where they were, I walked...my conscience debating back and forth. I really hoped the money would miraculously disappear by the time I made my way back. Then I wouldn't have to decide. But, alas, to my disappointment, there was George Washington and his twin brother George Washington staring up at me from the cement. Again, my mind went over the options. Option 1 was never really an option. I am honest enough that I would never pocket the money. Option 2: Realistically, would anyone think to go to the police to see if two dollars had been turned in? No, I don't think so. Besides, I was taught in Seminary to "avoid the appearance of evil" What if someone drove by and saw me pocket the money. They would see me take it but never see me deliver it. Option 3: I had no right to decide whether the Salvation Army or the Make A Wish Foundation deserved the use of someone else's money. Option 4: Probably not smart to publish my telephone number in such a manner. Option 5: If all else fails, do nothing. And that's what I did. I left the money where I first discovered it and went on my way up the road. I will admit, I arrived at this conclusion because I was "chicken" rather than from a sense of moral duty.
The story doesn't end here. As I proceeded up the sidewalk, I had to move over into the grass to let a jogger pass by going the opposite direction. I wondered what he would do when he most assuredly would see where the money was left behind. I gave him ten seconds to reach the spot and then I turned around. Just then, he stopped, bent down, picked up the money and was on his way again. Did he have the same thought process as I? Or did he immediately know the right, or the wrong, thing to do? I'll never know. Now that's the end of the story.
Whether I did right or wrong...it's hard for me to say. I am disappointed in myslef that I couldn't come up with one positive, no-doubt-about-it solution to the two dollar dilemma. The tests of integrity and honesty are sometimes in the gray area, neither black or white. I wonder if I could have made a quicker and better decision if the amount of money was $1,000, or $100, or even $10? But for two dollars...I hope I haven't lost celestial brownie points simply because I couldn't decide!
This would be a great discussion question for Family Home Evening this week. If the Primary children can think of Options 7, 8 or 9, please let me know. Then I will know what to do next time I see a penny in the parking lot!
Option 1: I wore pants with pockets. Two dollars could easily fit in either pocket to be later spent on one package of Peanut M&M's and a Snickers bar, with pennies left over for my piggy bank. Option 2: I could take the money home and later deliver it to the Roy City Police Department. Let them try to find the owner of pocket change. Option 3: It may be reasonable to take the money and deliver it to a favorite charity. Option 4: I could appoint myself as the legal guardian of the funds and come back to the spot sometime later with a sign requesting the "loser" to call 801-776-4286 to claim their money. Option 5: I could ignore the whole situation. "What money? I didn't see any money!" Option 6 was to continue walking, hoping that divine inspiration would come as I walked around the perimeter of the church. If the money was still there on my way back up the sidewalk, I would know what to do then.
Leaving the dollars where they were, I walked...my conscience debating back and forth. I really hoped the money would miraculously disappear by the time I made my way back. Then I wouldn't have to decide. But, alas, to my disappointment, there was George Washington and his twin brother George Washington staring up at me from the cement. Again, my mind went over the options. Option 1 was never really an option. I am honest enough that I would never pocket the money. Option 2: Realistically, would anyone think to go to the police to see if two dollars had been turned in? No, I don't think so. Besides, I was taught in Seminary to "avoid the appearance of evil" What if someone drove by and saw me pocket the money. They would see me take it but never see me deliver it. Option 3: I had no right to decide whether the Salvation Army or the Make A Wish Foundation deserved the use of someone else's money. Option 4: Probably not smart to publish my telephone number in such a manner. Option 5: If all else fails, do nothing. And that's what I did. I left the money where I first discovered it and went on my way up the road. I will admit, I arrived at this conclusion because I was "chicken" rather than from a sense of moral duty.
The story doesn't end here. As I proceeded up the sidewalk, I had to move over into the grass to let a jogger pass by going the opposite direction. I wondered what he would do when he most assuredly would see where the money was left behind. I gave him ten seconds to reach the spot and then I turned around. Just then, he stopped, bent down, picked up the money and was on his way again. Did he have the same thought process as I? Or did he immediately know the right, or the wrong, thing to do? I'll never know. Now that's the end of the story.
Whether I did right or wrong...it's hard for me to say. I am disappointed in myslef that I couldn't come up with one positive, no-doubt-about-it solution to the two dollar dilemma. The tests of integrity and honesty are sometimes in the gray area, neither black or white. I wonder if I could have made a quicker and better decision if the amount of money was $1,000, or $100, or even $10? But for two dollars...I hope I haven't lost celestial brownie points simply because I couldn't decide!
This would be a great discussion question for Family Home Evening this week. If the Primary children can think of Options 7, 8 or 9, please let me know. Then I will know what to do next time I see a penny in the parking lot!
Sunday, June 6, 2010
All Creatures Great and Small
I've been trying to be diligent in my quest for 10,000 steps a day. In a two week period, I've succeeded three times, two of those days being Saturdays. It's amazing how many steps are involved in wandering through the grocery story and mowing the lawn! On the other days, I average around 8,000 steps. But that is with a conscientious effort in going on an early morning walk through the neighborhood and a vigorous session on the treadmill at night.
I love the early morning walks. Right now, it is light enough to feel secure and safe in the journey. Because, you know, there are dangers out there...speeding cars, ferocious dogs, criminals, and cracks in the sidewalk! I will probably be accused by neighbors and friends of not waving to them as they drive by on their way to work. The truth is: I do not have my head down to avoid eye to eye contact with every worker heading to HAFB at 6:00 a.m. I am really needing to make eye to eye contact with the uneven segments of cement below my feet. One second of false security and I go "splat" on the sidewalk. I don't want to find out which would hurt more, my ego or the fragile bones of my body?
Another reason I keep focused on the ground below me: critters...creepy, crawling critters. Side note: do any of you remember the Creepy Crawlers toy? Take one little baking device...fill a spider or bug mold with colored goo...bake for a specified minute...and voila...you have rubbery, creepy crawlers to hide in sister's bed! Okay, back to my dialogue. If I don't pay attention, I could be the means of destruction for many crawlers who are going about their business on their sidewalk of life. Ants, worms, bugs, spiders, millipedes...you name it. They all think they will make it back home after their jaunt to "wherever" they may be going. Lo and behold, here comes a heavy Nike foot to "squash" their hopes.
Perhaps those of you who are smarter than me will know the answer. Do bugs think? Is there some kind of tiny brain cell in the body of a mosquito, or a lady bug, or a grasshopper? Do they have beating hearts? Or what exactly is in their physical makeup that triggers an instinct to move four legs and then another four legs, or to create a hive? I am the first to admit, I do not understand the hows and whys of all of God's creations. But I have enough respect for them that I don't want to destroy those creatures. Well, all except the ants. I can walk on a pile of ants without even thinking. But I try to step around the potato bugs and the worms each morning. Besides, I really don't like the sight of smeared centipede juice, or the sound of cracking cricket carcasses.
What has all of this to do with my Grace Notes this week? A few weeks ago, Mom was kind enough to attend Cancer Survivor's Day with me at McKay Dee Hospital. Some celebrations throughout the world involve magnanimous service projects or days at an amusement park. But Ogden, Utah...we are very low key. Our celebration day includes a guitar player, a few speakers and lunch. If you are really adventurous, you can participate in Wi golf in the adjoining room. It's not a celebration that makes news, but it is something I want to be involved in...simply because I did survive and want to celebrate that accomplishment. This year's theme was The Chain of Survival. As we went in, I was asked to put my name on a paper cutout of a person. I also put Mom's name on a different colored person. Physicians were another color, and volunteers in the health community were yet another. They pasted all these paper dolls side by side, hand in hand down the hallway. The idea is we all work together to survive...not just in cancer, but in life.
Mrs. Daddy Long Legs has no clue that my decision yesterday morning to walk around, or over her, allowed her to survive another day. As human beings, we have been given dominion over "every living thing that moveth upon the earth" (Moses 2:28) There's a certain level of responsibility with that command. However, I don't want anyone to feel guilty about the fly swatter that is hanging on the hook in the kitchen closet. And don't even think about the voices you may be hearing from Mr. Fly ("Help me, help me...") I've done my share of nuking a swarm of wasps with RAID. What I am saying is...wow...what a wonderful world with such diversity of life.
Spring is a time of destroying the weeds, but planting the garden. We eradicate the ant hill erected at the bottom of the steps, but rejoice in hanging a bird feeder from the porch. We build the deluxe Marriott-style coop for the chickens and then we have them for dinner. It's all part of the plan of survival. In the pecking order of animal life, I am grateful I'm at the top of the food chain and not at the bottom with the eensy weensy spider. The next time you are out for a walk, be aware of the variety of life all around you and wonder at the miracle of God's creations, all creatures great and small.
I love the early morning walks. Right now, it is light enough to feel secure and safe in the journey. Because, you know, there are dangers out there...speeding cars, ferocious dogs, criminals, and cracks in the sidewalk! I will probably be accused by neighbors and friends of not waving to them as they drive by on their way to work. The truth is: I do not have my head down to avoid eye to eye contact with every worker heading to HAFB at 6:00 a.m. I am really needing to make eye to eye contact with the uneven segments of cement below my feet. One second of false security and I go "splat" on the sidewalk. I don't want to find out which would hurt more, my ego or the fragile bones of my body?
Another reason I keep focused on the ground below me: critters...creepy, crawling critters. Side note: do any of you remember the Creepy Crawlers toy? Take one little baking device...fill a spider or bug mold with colored goo...bake for a specified minute...and voila...you have rubbery, creepy crawlers to hide in sister's bed! Okay, back to my dialogue. If I don't pay attention, I could be the means of destruction for many crawlers who are going about their business on their sidewalk of life. Ants, worms, bugs, spiders, millipedes...you name it. They all think they will make it back home after their jaunt to "wherever" they may be going. Lo and behold, here comes a heavy Nike foot to "squash" their hopes.
Perhaps those of you who are smarter than me will know the answer. Do bugs think? Is there some kind of tiny brain cell in the body of a mosquito, or a lady bug, or a grasshopper? Do they have beating hearts? Or what exactly is in their physical makeup that triggers an instinct to move four legs and then another four legs, or to create a hive? I am the first to admit, I do not understand the hows and whys of all of God's creations. But I have enough respect for them that I don't want to destroy those creatures. Well, all except the ants. I can walk on a pile of ants without even thinking. But I try to step around the potato bugs and the worms each morning. Besides, I really don't like the sight of smeared centipede juice, or the sound of cracking cricket carcasses.
What has all of this to do with my Grace Notes this week? A few weeks ago, Mom was kind enough to attend Cancer Survivor's Day with me at McKay Dee Hospital. Some celebrations throughout the world involve magnanimous service projects or days at an amusement park. But Ogden, Utah...we are very low key. Our celebration day includes a guitar player, a few speakers and lunch. If you are really adventurous, you can participate in Wi golf in the adjoining room. It's not a celebration that makes news, but it is something I want to be involved in...simply because I did survive and want to celebrate that accomplishment. This year's theme was The Chain of Survival. As we went in, I was asked to put my name on a paper cutout of a person. I also put Mom's name on a different colored person. Physicians were another color, and volunteers in the health community were yet another. They pasted all these paper dolls side by side, hand in hand down the hallway. The idea is we all work together to survive...not just in cancer, but in life.
Mrs. Daddy Long Legs has no clue that my decision yesterday morning to walk around, or over her, allowed her to survive another day. As human beings, we have been given dominion over "every living thing that moveth upon the earth" (Moses 2:28) There's a certain level of responsibility with that command. However, I don't want anyone to feel guilty about the fly swatter that is hanging on the hook in the kitchen closet. And don't even think about the voices you may be hearing from Mr. Fly ("Help me, help me...") I've done my share of nuking a swarm of wasps with RAID. What I am saying is...wow...what a wonderful world with such diversity of life.
Spring is a time of destroying the weeds, but planting the garden. We eradicate the ant hill erected at the bottom of the steps, but rejoice in hanging a bird feeder from the porch. We build the deluxe Marriott-style coop for the chickens and then we have them for dinner. It's all part of the plan of survival. In the pecking order of animal life, I am grateful I'm at the top of the food chain and not at the bottom with the eensy weensy spider. The next time you are out for a walk, be aware of the variety of life all around you and wonder at the miracle of God's creations, all creatures great and small.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
10,000 Steps
Memorial Day weekend, May 30, 2010. It is a holiday set apart to honor those who have gone before. First and foremost are those that gave their lives for the freedoms we usually take for granted in America. I was probably in junior high school, but I still remember the day we received word that cousin Renee's husband had been killed in Vietnam. It was a tragic time. In our country's short life, millions have lost the battle in our defense. Millions have fought and returned home safely. In my ward lives a man who serves in the military. Each Memorial Day, 4th of July, Veterans Day, and any other patriotic holiday, he wears his uniform to church. It is an awesome sight. I appreciate his constant reminder of how blessed we are to be living here in the United States...problems and all. I remember a thought that is inscribed on a memorial at the Utah State Capitol Building. "For those who fought for it, freedom has a flavor the protected will never know."
Second, we honor our pioneer heritage. Our entire Singleton/Bennett ancestry came to Utah as Mormon pioneers. Some came by ship from England. Others migrated west from New England and Canada. A few encountered tragic situations as they came across the Midwest plains. But for the most part, their trek was uneventful. My mind reflects on the words to our Primary song. "Pioneer children sang as they walked, and walked, and walked...and walked." The same routine day after day; the same scenery; the same food, the same people, the same tiredness when the sun set. I would wager that many of our great-great grandparents complained about the journey and the monotony of each day. They were just human like you and me. But they also kept going with "faith in every footstep".
That's my focus today: footsteps. With a year and a half of cancer treatments and recovery, I haven't been diligent in keeping up a physical fitness program. I decided NOW was the time to start over. I bought a pedometer and challenged myself to walk 10,000 steps a day. The first day was embarrassing. Let's see. It's about ten steps to the copy machine and twenty steps to the ladies' room. Another fifty steps in and out of the office building and maybe twenty five steps in and around the kitchen for dinner. I was lucky to have recorded over 200 steps. So my goal of walking 10,000 steps a day seemed as daunting as crossing Nebraska for James Bennett. This last week I made a conscientious effort to go the "extra mile". I went out walking in the mornings (weather permitting) and spent time on the treadmill at night. The highest recorded number reached 8,500...until yesterday.
Saturday was a good day. I clocked 4,000 steps on my morning walk; another 1,000 at the grocery story; about 3,000 mowing the lawn and doing yard work. The remaining 2,000 came with chores, errands and activities of the day. I celebrated my first day of reaching the goal of 10,000 steps. Hurray!
I acknowledge the blessing of being able to walk. I humbly recognize that some people cannot. Some of us take baby steps. Some steps are slower than in years before. Some steps are painful and are limited. But regardless of the number of steps we take each day, Great-Grandma Phoebe showed us that it is the amount of faith in each one that matters and the direction we are going.
So this Memorial Day as we honor the footsteps of those tramping on the muddy battlefields or along the dusty Mormon Trail, I hope the footsteps of today are lasting legacies for generations to come. One day Chloe, Daxsen and McKean will relate to their grandchildren the tales of how we "sang as we walked, and walked, and walked....and walked" in faith.
Second, we honor our pioneer heritage. Our entire Singleton/Bennett ancestry came to Utah as Mormon pioneers. Some came by ship from England. Others migrated west from New England and Canada. A few encountered tragic situations as they came across the Midwest plains. But for the most part, their trek was uneventful. My mind reflects on the words to our Primary song. "Pioneer children sang as they walked, and walked, and walked...and walked." The same routine day after day; the same scenery; the same food, the same people, the same tiredness when the sun set. I would wager that many of our great-great grandparents complained about the journey and the monotony of each day. They were just human like you and me. But they also kept going with "faith in every footstep".
That's my focus today: footsteps. With a year and a half of cancer treatments and recovery, I haven't been diligent in keeping up a physical fitness program. I decided NOW was the time to start over. I bought a pedometer and challenged myself to walk 10,000 steps a day. The first day was embarrassing. Let's see. It's about ten steps to the copy machine and twenty steps to the ladies' room. Another fifty steps in and out of the office building and maybe twenty five steps in and around the kitchen for dinner. I was lucky to have recorded over 200 steps. So my goal of walking 10,000 steps a day seemed as daunting as crossing Nebraska for James Bennett. This last week I made a conscientious effort to go the "extra mile". I went out walking in the mornings (weather permitting) and spent time on the treadmill at night. The highest recorded number reached 8,500...until yesterday.
Saturday was a good day. I clocked 4,000 steps on my morning walk; another 1,000 at the grocery story; about 3,000 mowing the lawn and doing yard work. The remaining 2,000 came with chores, errands and activities of the day. I celebrated my first day of reaching the goal of 10,000 steps. Hurray!
I acknowledge the blessing of being able to walk. I humbly recognize that some people cannot. Some of us take baby steps. Some steps are slower than in years before. Some steps are painful and are limited. But regardless of the number of steps we take each day, Great-Grandma Phoebe showed us that it is the amount of faith in each one that matters and the direction we are going.
So this Memorial Day as we honor the footsteps of those tramping on the muddy battlefields or along the dusty Mormon Trail, I hope the footsteps of today are lasting legacies for generations to come. One day Chloe, Daxsen and McKean will relate to their grandchildren the tales of how we "sang as we walked, and walked, and walked....and walked" in faith.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Synergy
I first learned about synergy at the Epcot Center inside Disney World many years ago. It had something to do with the whole producing more energy than the sum of the parts...or was it the other way around? Per Wikipedia, synergy is where different entities cooperate advantageously for a final outcome. Teamwork will produce an overall better result than if each person was working toward the same goal individually.
There have been times in my life when I have been part of a synergistic team. As students at Utah State, Shauna and I volunteered to be part of the relief efforts during the Teton Dam cleanup. There was a feeling among the participants that urged everyone to work a little harder. We fed off each other's energy. In a weird way, I also feel this concept at the Gear Up Seminars we attend each year for work. There are thousands attending for the same purpose of learning all we can about the new tax laws for the upcoming season. Each person could study on their own, but synergy of the combined whole is more conducive to learning.
I can imagine that Amy feels synergy in running her marathons. The individual runners add to the determination to finish. Synergy can be experienced in presidencies and councils, families, employees, neighborhoods, countries, congregations...you name it. Did we feel it after 9-11? Do we feel it in organized service projects or when we attend the Temple? I feel it at Education Week when 30,000 are gathered for the purpose of learning. What about an exciting Jazz game? There is some truth to the idea of "home court advantage".
One of my latest experiences was at the Salt Lake City's Susan G. Komen Race For the Cure. Ryan's work was competing in the fundraiser and got us involved. The synergy was tangible as 16,738 participants gathered in front of West High School...all wearing pink and white...all emotionally attached to a common cause. This was not really a race. Linda, Russ, Chloe and I opted for the one mile Fun Walk. About a hundred yards into the race, the Fun Walkers turned left while the other 3 to 5k runners went on ahead. Our pace was...let's just say the pace was an average between "snail" and "turtle". At one point we even stopped to watch the other participants from the sidelines.
On the other hand, Shannon, Ryan, Hayley and Cooper ventured out with the runners. At first their gait was slow because of the sheer number of people. But as the distance spread, so did the room to run. From our perspective as the runners advanced ahead of us, it appeared to be a mass of white shirts bobbing up and down. Hours later, everyone crossed the finish line...wherever that imaginary line was drawn in the crowd of people congregating at the Gateway Plaza!! (May I say that cell phones were a necessity. Otherwise, two weeks later, we would still be looking for each other in downtown Salt Lake City!)
It was just a sea of pink and white T-shirts. I felt we were actors on the set of Rawhide...head em up, move em out! Linda suggested our experience was much like Moses leading the children of Israel out of Egypt. And we all wondered what they did for potty breaks in the wilderness!! Survivor participants wore bright pink T-shirts. There were celebrations and congratulations spoken from pink shirt to pink shirt. Some white shirt participants wore tags on their backs indicating they were running in memory of Aunt Clara, or Mom, or Matilda the neighbor... because some don't survive. It was emotional and I was so grateful to be a pink shirter and not a name tag.
In the Wikipedia definition of synergy, they gave the example of two people wanting an apple from a tree. Neither person is tall enough to reach the juicy red apple. But if person A stands on the shoulders of person B, together they can not only pick one apple, but maybe a bushel of apples. I could have participated in the Race For the Cure alone. Ryan and Hayley could have done it without involving the rest of the family. But being there together and with the support of those of you with other responsbilities at home that morning, we combined our energy to make a difference and to create a wonderful memory.
I don't think any of us are tall enough to pick the apples from our trees in life. Figuratively, we have to stand on each others' shoulders. You have certainly allowed me to stand on yours for strength and courage and to stretch a little higher. Hopefully I can be strong when you need someone to stand on to reach your apple. Either way, together we stand very tall...not just in surviving cancer, but in all the concerns of our family. Another word for synergy is LOVE!
There have been times in my life when I have been part of a synergistic team. As students at Utah State, Shauna and I volunteered to be part of the relief efforts during the Teton Dam cleanup. There was a feeling among the participants that urged everyone to work a little harder. We fed off each other's energy. In a weird way, I also feel this concept at the Gear Up Seminars we attend each year for work. There are thousands attending for the same purpose of learning all we can about the new tax laws for the upcoming season. Each person could study on their own, but synergy of the combined whole is more conducive to learning.
I can imagine that Amy feels synergy in running her marathons. The individual runners add to the determination to finish. Synergy can be experienced in presidencies and councils, families, employees, neighborhoods, countries, congregations...you name it. Did we feel it after 9-11? Do we feel it in organized service projects or when we attend the Temple? I feel it at Education Week when 30,000 are gathered for the purpose of learning. What about an exciting Jazz game? There is some truth to the idea of "home court advantage".
One of my latest experiences was at the Salt Lake City's Susan G. Komen Race For the Cure. Ryan's work was competing in the fundraiser and got us involved. The synergy was tangible as 16,738 participants gathered in front of West High School...all wearing pink and white...all emotionally attached to a common cause. This was not really a race. Linda, Russ, Chloe and I opted for the one mile Fun Walk. About a hundred yards into the race, the Fun Walkers turned left while the other 3 to 5k runners went on ahead. Our pace was...let's just say the pace was an average between "snail" and "turtle". At one point we even stopped to watch the other participants from the sidelines.
On the other hand, Shannon, Ryan, Hayley and Cooper ventured out with the runners. At first their gait was slow because of the sheer number of people. But as the distance spread, so did the room to run. From our perspective as the runners advanced ahead of us, it appeared to be a mass of white shirts bobbing up and down. Hours later, everyone crossed the finish line...wherever that imaginary line was drawn in the crowd of people congregating at the Gateway Plaza!! (May I say that cell phones were a necessity. Otherwise, two weeks later, we would still be looking for each other in downtown Salt Lake City!)
It was just a sea of pink and white T-shirts. I felt we were actors on the set of Rawhide...head em up, move em out! Linda suggested our experience was much like Moses leading the children of Israel out of Egypt. And we all wondered what they did for potty breaks in the wilderness!! Survivor participants wore bright pink T-shirts. There were celebrations and congratulations spoken from pink shirt to pink shirt. Some white shirt participants wore tags on their backs indicating they were running in memory of Aunt Clara, or Mom, or Matilda the neighbor... because some don't survive. It was emotional and I was so grateful to be a pink shirter and not a name tag.
In the Wikipedia definition of synergy, they gave the example of two people wanting an apple from a tree. Neither person is tall enough to reach the juicy red apple. But if person A stands on the shoulders of person B, together they can not only pick one apple, but maybe a bushel of apples. I could have participated in the Race For the Cure alone. Ryan and Hayley could have done it without involving the rest of the family. But being there together and with the support of those of you with other responsbilities at home that morning, we combined our energy to make a difference and to create a wonderful memory.
I don't think any of us are tall enough to pick the apples from our trees in life. Figuratively, we have to stand on each others' shoulders. You have certainly allowed me to stand on yours for strength and courage and to stretch a little higher. Hopefully I can be strong when you need someone to stand on to reach your apple. Either way, together we stand very tall...not just in surviving cancer, but in all the concerns of our family. Another word for synergy is LOVE!
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