Ross Park

The sun was shining and warm for November so we went to the park. Clara had a great time siding down the coolest rock ever. John impressed me by doing the monkey bars on his own. Margaret mostly just sat and ate but did make it out to swing on the swings.  

Painting and Playdough

 

Pull Toys

Naomi, Emily, and Edgar

Famous

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.

I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.

By Naomi Shihab Nye


I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They'd banish us, you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public like a frog
To tell one's name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!

By Emily Dickinson

Success

I hold no dream of fortune vast,
Nor seek undying fame.
I do not ask when life is past
That many know my name.

I may not own the skill to rise
To glory's topmost height,
Nor win a place among the wise,
But I can keep the right.

And I can live my life on earth
Contented to the end,
If but a few shall know my worth
And proudly call me friend.

By Edgar A Guest

Nice Things About Margaret

Sweet girl. She watches Clara and John like a hawk. Last night I got some ice-cream out for dessert and she yelled "YAA!" I feel like she had a subtle way that is hard to read at times but she is a delight. She climbs up on Kelly's lap and asks for "ideos" and Kelly is kind and indulgent.
She is also really into "You Can't Take a Balloon into the Museum of Fine Art." She says "ba-oon." In it there is a painting called "Watson and the Shark." She comes back to it again and again. Check it out and I think you will know why she is intrigued and maybe a little shocked.

It Takes a Heap of Living

It talks a heap o'livin' in a house t'make it home
A heap o’ sun an’ shadder, an’ ye sometimes have t’ roam
Afore ye really ’preciate the things ye lef’ behind,
An’ hunger fer ’em somehow, with ’em allus on yer mind.
It don’t make any differunce how rich ye get t’ be,
How much yer chairs an’ tables cost, how great yer luxury;
It ain’t home t’ ye, though it be the palace of a king,
Until somehow yer soul is sort o’ wrapped round everything.

 Home ain’t a place that gold can buy or get up in a minute;

Afore it’s home there’s got t’ be a heap o’ livin’ in it;
Within the walls there’s got t’ be some babies born, and then
Right there ye’ve got t’ bring ‘em up t’ women good, an’ men;
And gradjerly, as time goes on, ye find ye wouldn’t part
With anything they ever used—they’ve grown into yer heart:
The old high chairs, the playthings, too, the little shoes they wore
Ye hoard; an’ if ye could ye’d keep the thumbmarks on the door.

Ye’ve got t’ weep t’ make it home, ye’ve got t’ sit an’ sigh

An’ watch beside a loved one’s bed, an’ know that Death is nigh;
An’ in the stillness o’ the night t’ see Death’s angel come,
An’ close the eyes o’ her that smiled, an’ leave her sweet voice dumb.
Fer these are scenes that grip the heart, an’ when yer tears are dried,
Ye find the home is dearer than it was, an’ sanctified;
An’ tuggin’ at ye always are the pleasant memories
O’ her that was an’ is no more—ye can’t escape from these.

Ye’ve got t’ sing an’ dance fer years, ye’ve got t’ romp an’ play,

An’ learn t’ love the things ye have by usin’ ’em each day;
Even the roses ’round the porch must blossom year by year
Afore they ’come a part o’ ye, suggestin’ someone dear
Who used t’ love ’em long ago, an’ trained ’em jes’ t’ run
The way they do, so’s they would get the early mornin’ sun;
Ye’ve got t’ love each brick an’ stone from cellar up t’ dome:
It takes a heap o’ livin’ in a house t’ make it home.

By Edgar A. Guest

 

Each time I read this poem, different lines call to me. My favorite line (this time) is from the fourth stanza—learning to love the things you have, by using them each day. I often feel like I love the different people in my life more and more because of the things that I have around me.

My home is full of hand me downs—the table is from Mark and Carol, the couch from Carl and Julie, the piano from Michelle and Tyler, the dresser from my grandma...  I could go on and on, but I will stop. I am grateful for all the people in our family’s life that have lifted us and strengthened us through both interactions and material possessions.

(These photos are from my parent’s home, lovely inside and out.)

A Baby Sardine

 A baby Sardine

Saw her first submarine:

She was scared and watched through a peephole.

'Oh come, come, come,'

Said the Sardine's mum,

'It's only a tin full of people.'

By Spike Milligan

There is no correlation between the photos and the poem. Just things I like.

A Dad Visit

 We made a quick trip to Utah. Kelly is working down there so we wanted to visit him. (It is silly that he is not pictured since that is why we went down.) He really was there. We scheduled dinner with the Hickenloopers Friday night and had a good time talking. Saturday was yard work. I didn't contribute as much as I wanted, but Clara and John had a great time helping Dad chop up the leaves. Before we left we visited the goats at the neighbors house.

Stuck

It was fun to notice this leaf stuck in a Purple Cone flower seed head.

Nice Things about John

John is a hard worker and really kind. He watches, no more like studies, Kelly and other men. I have had two other people comment on how much he talks about his dad. He saw his Dad shoveling the garden so when there was a shovel handy at grandpa's, he knew what to do.
John was sick for a little while this last week. This photo reminds me of last year.
 The other morning when I was cleaning John got down the music maker and played songs for about an hour and a half. I heard "Bring a Torch Janette Isabella", "Baa Baa Black Sheep" and "I am a Child of God." It was obvious he couldn't really tell what he was playing but I could and I loved it.  I love John and think he is the bomb.

A Poem for Emily

Small fact and fingers and farthest one from me,
a hand's width and two generations away,
in this still present I am fifty-three.
You are not yet a full day.

 

When I am sixty-three, when you are ten,
and you are neither closer nor as far,
your arms will fill with what you know by then,
the arithmetic and love we do and are.

 

When I by blood and luck am eighty-six
and you are someplace else and thirty-three
believing in sex and god and politics
with children who look not at all like me,

 

sometime I know you will have read them this
so they will know I love them and say so
and love their mother. Child, whatever is
is always or never was. Long ago,

 

a day I watched awhile beside your bed,
I wrote this down, a thing that might be kept
awhile, to tell you what I would have said
when you were who knows what and I was dead
which is I stood and loved you while you slept.

By Miller Williams

Isn't that lovely! The saddest part to me is when he says "someplace else and thirty-three." It pricks me to think that maybe that is me right now.

Three Portraits

John making a design then using the base as a gun.
Margaret playing with play dough.
Clara posing.

Gray Sky

The top is a Honey Locust tree. All it's leaves are gone but the pods are hanging on. It was fun to photograph it because the wind would rattle the pods and it sounded like our rain stick. I brought some of the pods home and I was expecting them to be smooth but they were really velvety. John touched some, shook it and said "Ooh, are these maracas?!"
The bottom is our neighbors maple posted here in spring and the third one in Yellow and Blue.

Family Home Evening

Monday we have Family Home Evening like so many other people. This time was a bit of a cop out but, it was so good non the less. Plus like Elder Bednar says,"it is also about consistency."  We decided we would watched some of our favorite Mormon Messages and Bible Videos.  I particularly love Forgive 70 Times 7. It is so well done and I feel like I have gained new incites watching it in addition to reading it.

Nice Things About Clara

 Clara is so helpful and capable. If I ask her to do something, she does it. No asking twice (please last forever!) She does little things that first graders do like tie her jacket around her waist and this little finger twist wiggle. She writes notes and leaves them places. She writes sentences about how the family is doing like Mom is sweet. Dad is working. Margaret is walking. Clara is writing.  She sings "Miss Mary Mack," "K-I-S-S-I-N-G"song and a darling haunnakka song they will perform for the Christmas program. She is always excited to go somewhere and do whatever we are going to do.  I hear good things from her teachers and aides. More importantly she has kind thoughts and does good acts. She thinks things through, is perceptive and communicative. I love to be around her. She makes Kelly and me proud! 

Primary Activity

 We had a party for all the teachers and leaders (plus families) in the Primary. We missed the people that couldn't come, but still had a great time. We ate pulled pork, salads, and deserts. We had buggy rides, swung on barn swings, and pressed apple cider.