Graduating the Granddaughter

From May 22 to Jun 4 we were in Utah attending Dayna’s seminary graduation and high school graduation. This was Salem Hills high school’s second graduating class and the second time the graduation ceremonies were held at the high school stadium. The invitation informed everyone that the event would go forward no matter what the weather. The day before the ceremonies, it snowed – 2 inches in Orem. But on May 25, the sun came out and welcomed us to a glorious day.

I had only been to one outdoor graduation before – for my oldest son in Phoenix. And that was going be a hard program to beat because during the opening prayer (they actually had prayers back then, and it wasn’t even an LDS town) there was a streaker who ran full-katilt, stark raving nude across the end zone. I missed the whole thing, however, because being the devoutly religious person I am, I had my eyes closed in prayer. Although the entire crowd was hooting and cheering, I kept my eyes closed and wondered disgustedly about the manners of the irreverent crowd.

But Dayna’s graduation did out-do that one of 1976. The graduates marched around the entire football field. It was fun to watch the senior girls wobble around the track in their spiked heels of bright yellows, pinks, and purples. Dayna was two people behind the bright yellow spiked heels, so she was easy to find. (Dayna chose to wear purple comfortable flat shoes.)

Skydivers presented the American Flag, sailing through the air, then down onto the field where a Boy Scout ran it over to the flag pole and a waiting honor guard raised it up, then gave it a 4-gun salute. The speeches were even great - the principal talked of Alice in Wonderland and likened her adventures to those the graduating students were likely to face. And told the kids that they could actually have their “cake and eat it, too,” and pointed to a table that was laden with cupcakes for each student, and each cupcake held a picture of a graduating student.

The show was great – watching the back-flips and inane gesturing of the kids as they received their diplomas. No sooner had the last graduate received his diploma than a cannon blast rent the air, followed by 4 others in quick succession! I had to search under the bleachers for my heart! What a day! What a great event to honor the graduates! It was fun to be there – Thank you, Dayna, for inviting us.

Worldly Path vs Godly Path

Today in Relief Society our instructor was encouraging us to be the person God wants you to be. She asked if we could think of a time when we had had to choose between the worldly path and the Godly path. I thought of at least 4 zillion times – duh! But there was a time, that I came very close to veering . . .

I was writing a romance novel. I joined the Romance Writers of America and was attending their meetings. Several of these ladies were published with Harlequin and Avon and it was quite exciting to be included in their group – they knew so much, had been through all the ropes. They had various ways to seclude themselves from the everyday world so they could write and they invited me participate in these methods with them. Most of them, when they were on deadline, would go away to a cabin or hotel where they would not be disturbed with normal life. Since I had a family I felt quite obligated to, I always declined. At one time they were all into a method that was probably a self-hypnosis thing. They all met at a cabin and attempted to get into a trance-like state where they could actually meet their characters. I didn’t much feel like I wanted to be a zombie in company with a bunch of grown ladies (and since I had a family I felt quite obligated to), I declined. These things were not a great temptation to me. However, we all have our weak spot. And mine was that I did want to have my novel published, and my goal was to be published with Harlequin. I wanted it bad!

At the annual Romance Writers conference, I was able to meet with an editor from Harlequin and she read my sample chapters and outline and told me that she was impressed. She told me that she would be interested in working with me, but I would need to change my style to come up to Harlequin standards. What this meant was that I needed to add some steamy sex to my book. And not all that much steam, either, just a little sizzle. So I agreed to give it a try.

I began to rewrite my book, including all the editor’s suggestions. It was coming along nicely, until my son asked me if he could read it. Oops! Also, at this time, I was serving as a counselor in the Young Women’s organization. Oops! What would happen if one of my young women were to read this novel (as they surely would, because they all knew I was struggling to write one.) Oops!

The new version came to a screeching halt as did my career with Harlequin.

Screech Owl Stake Out

Before I move on to other subjects, I have one more note to add about our drippy ash tree:
I had gotten used to scanning that buggy tree every few minutes to see what new birds I might find dining there. Then on May 21 the birds were suddenly scarce. I thought I had found the cause when I saw perched on a high limb a gray cat. What was a cat doing up there so high? I grabbed the binocs and was flabbergasted to see that it wasn’t a cat at all, but a little Western Screech Owl! He (just guessing on that) stayed there all day posing for photographs, and then in the early evening he flew off.

Ash Trees, Aphids, and Songbirds

In May when the weather turns cold, wet, and gray, and the big ash tree in the backyard starts to drip sap and aphids – the migrating songbirds arrive. What a feat of planning the seasons are – to have even the tiniest bugs ready for the thousands of nest- building birds to feast on – to have the nectar-rich flowers beginning to bloom just as the hummingbirds arrive from their wintering in Peru. I thank God and his various committees for this beautiful earth they have provided for us.

Here are the birds we have in our yard this very day:

MacGillivray’s Warbler
Yellow-rumped Warbler
Yellow Warbler
Wilson's Warbler
Ruby Crowned Kinglet
Western Tanager
Lazuli Bunting
Black-headed Grosbeak
Red-breasted Nuthatch
Black chinned Hummingbird
Gray flycatcher
Mourning Dove
House sparrow
House Finch
Robin
Mallard Duck

A Tribute to My Mother by My Sister

I was not going to write anything about Mother's Day; but as the day went on, I found myself thinking about my mother and what she might have been like. I didn't get the opportunity to know her -- she died of a blood clot that went to her lungs the month after I turned five. The only things I know are the anecdotes passed on by my brothers and sisters.

I thought I would like to share with you this tribute to my mother written by my oldest sister:

"I would like to add a little personal note about our mother, Ellen Murdock Patten.
Mom was a fun-loving individual – remember the parties for us and all the neighboring kids? On a Saturday night, or holidays, all the kids would come to our house because Mom enjoyed frying chicken and making salads and cake. We would sit around the dining room table and play games and eat.

"I cannot ever remember our mother not being there for us when we got home from school. She was always there at night, hardly ever leaving us alone. Mother never went anywhere to speak of unless she took all of us with her. Every holiday she always made us new clothes – dresses for the girls, shirts and sometimes jackets for the boys. For Valentine’s day she would spend a day or two making different kinds of candy and making Valentine Candy boxes for us, which Dad would then take out at night on Valentines and leave them on the door step, knocking at the door and running – a treasured treat.

"I cannot remember ever of having to cook a meal for the family in her stead, we mainly learned by watching. We did have to help with the housework, and outside chores.

"Mother was always happy with what Dad provided for her and never complained – though I think she would have been happier with indoor plumbing.

"Mother never seemed to complain about anything, she was always cheerful and full of song. This song, or poem, she carried in her purse during World War II, and would pull it out and read it to anyone who claimed they hadn’t heard it:

The Sonna The Beach

I sella da fish and I sella da crab
I notta so goot and I notta so bad
I live on the shore var da eagle he screech
I be Dago Peroni a sonna da beach

Dey say to me Toni vy for you stay here
You maak a more mon if you sella da beer
And I say to dem, Toni no want to be reech
He rather be chust a poor sonna da beach

One day I hear two feller talk on da sand
Bout a feller call Adolph – a big Nazi man
I no hear so goot what de say in da speech
But it sound like he to be a sonna da beach

Now I don’t think he be feller like me
Cause he don’t live here on the beach by the sea.
So as I think dat maybe heem and me each
Be two different kinda of a sonna the beach.

I chust Dago Peroni and dam glad I am
I glad I not what you call beeg Nazi Man
Cause when I die and when heaven I reach
Dey vill say “Come een Toni, you Sonna Da Beach."

May Day

May Day is Lei Day in Hawaii
Garlands of flowers everywhere
All of the colors in the rainbow
Maidens with blossoms in their hair

Flowers that mean we should be happy
Throwing aside a load of care
Oh, May Day is Lei Day in Hawaii
May Day is happy days out there
(by Leonard Hawk)

In 1949, when I was in the second grade the entire school rehearsed for weeks for the May Day program. That year's extravaganza was "May Day in Hawaii." We learned the song: May Day is Lei Day in Hawaii, and we made beautiful tissue paper leis -- not just a tissue flower here and then 4 inches further on, another; but full thick ruffly leis -- to my 7-year-old heart and eyes, they were beautiful. On the night of the performance (which was in the church nearby because our school did not have a rec hall) the stage was decorated exquisitely to resemble a tropical island. When I came on stage, wearing my beautiful lei, with the full cast (all the students in the school) to sing the song, I was in awe of the beauty of the night, and I knew there was no place on earth I would rather see than beautiful Hawaii.

Over the years I jokingly told people, when I die, don't look around the room, hoping to see my spirit lingering over my casket -- I'll be in Hawaii! There was no way I would ever be able to go to Hawaii.

But In 1986, my husband surprised me with a trip to Hawaii! I couldn't believe I was finally going to my dream island -- and I wasn't even dead!

When we got off the plane, we were presented with beautiful leis of perfumed flowers. We snorkeled in crystal blue water, we floated lazily in the black nightime waters of the Pacific Ocean, we visited vast pineapple fields, the LDS temple grounds, the Polynesian Cultural Center, the Pearl Harbor memorial, and even the Boy Scout Office. We saw tropical gardens and tropical birds. But do you know, nothing was as beautiful as the tropical paradise that had ingrained itself into my heart and mind on that night when I was seven years old on the stage of the Edgemont Church house in Provo, Utah.

A Round-a-bout Way to Get to the Point:

Within a couple of hours after Leah’s birth I had the privilege of holding her in my arms and I was overwhelmed with the bonding I felt with her. It was instantaneous. I was hers to do with as she pleased. I felt fortunate to be able to tend her from the beginning; to watch her growth every day; to be with her for each milestone – smile, tooth, sit up, crawl, talk, walk, kindergarten.

I was not prepared last August when her parents announced they were moving – away! I felt the earth quiver and shake. Surely this couldn’t be happening! Some miracle would occur . . . But no. Within weeks she was gone and I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand the pain. I cried - no sobbed - for weeks. I woke up in the middle of each night sobbing.

The pain is intense seven months later and I’m not sure it will ever go away. I pass by a lost Polly Pocket shoe and still I cry.

I am getting nearer to the point I want to make . . .

This morning was stake conference. Dale couldn’t go with me because he had meetings to attend in the Boise Idaho University Stake. And I was strongly tempted to stay home. I decided I was capable of attending a meeting by myself (good grief!). But I knew what I was afraid of . . . I drove up to the Columbia Village meetinghouse, into the parking lot, got out of the car and started walking toward the front door. I automatically turned around to look, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. No Leah running from her car in her Sunday dress to greet me! No Leah inside the hall saving a chair for me! And I started to cry.

I feel that I have been given the opportunity (I can’t think of another word) to feel a tiny bit of the grief that a parent feels when a child dies, or that a wife feels when her soulmate dies. Just a smidgen. Just enough, I think, to keep me humble. Just enough to help me realize how precious our relationships are, how precious our time with our loved ones is. I see Leah often. She comes to visit for a few days. I go there to visit for a few days. But I know that our close relationship is over. It is so hard not to grab on to her and sob and cry. I know that a bereaved parent, or spouse has no hope of any consolation – No hope for any spring-break visit. My heart aches for their loneliness.

Point: I’m scared - really scared because of the taste I have had of it. And knowing that when the real test comes, I might not have the faith and courage to live with it..