Simple act of kindness

My Angel Face was up and dressed on time this morning. He usually is. He tends to be very conscientious in most matters where he is involved.

I was running a little behind this morning and as I headed out to clean the newest 2" of snow off of my truck before work I asked him if he would make me a Peanut Butter and Honey sandwich. He said yes and walked towards the kitchen without a complaint or even a put-out expression.

It took me a good five minutes to finish clearing the snow. I finished up and headed in to grab my work stuff. Running down my mental list of things to grab, computer bag, i-pod, pocket pc, lunch box, I remembered Angel Face. I walked into the kitchen and there he was putting the final touches on the sandwich. The honey wasn't evenly distributed. The peanut butter was a little too thin. My pride in my boy couldn't have been any stronger.

Normally my wonderful wife has prepared something for me. This morning as I headed off to work I was grateful for a magnificent son, willing to serve without complaint. While I did thank him profusely, words can't convey how a simple act can touch our lives. How service, ungrudgingly given, can alter our perspective. I hope I can follow my Angel Face's example.

Gnocchi Verdi

There are a few times in your life when you do something either for the first time or so different than usual that it sticks out in your mind for years to come.

When I lived in Pisa there was a waffle shop on Corso Italia that was about a quarter of the way between the train station and our apartment on via Lucchese . (We could see the top of the tower from our second story balcony.) We stopped at the waffle shop regularly and treated ourselves if the budget allowed. The waffles were good but I remember the shop, not one particular waffle.

One afternoon when we were out working we arranged to meet someone at a local restaurant just off of the Piazza dei Miracoli. I think it was a member, all I can really tell you is they treated us to lunch. It was an italian food restaurant (in Italy, go figure.) It was just off of the Piazza and it catered to locals and forgeiners alike.

Our host suggested that I try the Gnocchi Verdi. I had no idea what it was. When my plate arrived I was a little overwhelmed by the pungent smell of the gorgonzola in the sauce. Prior to this day blue cheese dressing had never purposefully graced my salad. I took the first bite with some trepidation.

I can remember the first mouthful. A flavor so full that I felt it in my jaw muscles. I wanted more but I had to eat slowly and make it last. I made a fool of myself raving over the dish the entire time I ate it. Since that day I have tried unsuccessfully may times to replicate the meal I had that day. I love to cook, so I'll know I've arrived when I can illicit the same reaction I had that day from whomever the poor schlub is that I've conned into eating my experiment.

Am I nuts? Am I the only person that can remember the best meal I've ever had?

I'll tell you one thing for certain. When I take my wife to Italy, we're planning lunch in Pisa.

Mary Baily

I'm not even sure if I got her last name right. Mary was a marvelous woman. My father and I home taught her and her husband Bill for all of the years I was in High school.

She had arthritis gnarled hands. A constant grin. Wrinkles galore but she never really appeared care-worn... I would say rather that her wrinkles came from always smiling.

When my wife and I were going to get married we went to the Relief Society in Kearny and asked if anyone would let us house sit for the summer while I worked at the mine to save up for college that fall. No one stepped forward. My then Fiance and I went to Mary and Bill and asked them directly. They said that they were expecting us and not surprised by the request. They even let us move in three days before they went on vacation. I have been a little embarrassed about that since then but at the time it was simply a mark of how generous they were.

The Sunday that they were in the house I went to make Gnocchi verdi with gorgonzola for us and them. I don't remember what took me away from the stove for so long but when I came back Mary had begun preparing the potatoes like you would mashed potatoes. It was gross. No one complained. Not even our hosts. That is all that I can remember of them during the time we spent together with them in their house.

Bill was a rock hound. I didn't know it at the time but I would end up getting my geology degree. The only person that knows more about rocks than Bill is my dad. I would love to have spent some time with Bill talking rocks before he passed away.

We moved to Mesa about a month before they returned. When Mary got back she found some knives and wash cloths missing. My wife replaced them with the best we could afford at the time. For the next couple of years when we visited my folks in Kearny we would go to church and Mary would always give us the most warm hugs and ask about us sincerely. There was a real connection.

A few years later she moved to Texas to be closer to some of her children. I think about her often. I am grateful for her sincere generosity. Her compassion on a couple just starting out. Its people like Mary in your life that become mileposts. You look back through the years and celebrate the simple fact that you knew them. You look back at your life and there they are, a point on your timeline and you thank Heavenly Father that you were able to connect with them.

Nintendo DS or "Dumb Stupor"

Its a ritual. Sometime before bed EVERY night, I must turn on our nintendo DS and play a round of Brain Age. We've had this game since about new years and it hasn't gotten too old yet. What I really like about it the most is that once you've run through all of the activities once, it is really easy to turn off. Instead of an obsesive video game addiction, I'm only dealing with about twenty minutes a night. (That kind of reminds me of the New Years cigarette quitters at work..."I only smoke three a day...")

We actually got the DS for Christmas this year and spent the first week in a game induced stupor. Playing Big Brain Academy.

I whole heartily blame this stupor on my older brother Ollie and his lovely wife. They brought their own DSs and Big Brain to Mom and Dad's for Thanksgiving. We should have been in a Turkey stupor but were in a video game stupor instead.

So, if no one answers the phone tonight when you call, you can blame Ollie and Laura. They put me in the stupor. I'll recover once I hit 20...

Pajamas All Day

We spent all day Saturday in our pajamas.

Jack Frost finally delivered the promised accumilation and we were snowed in Saturday morning (eight inches out our front door.)

So when the children went to get dressed that morning I told them all to stay in their pajamas. We were headed outside and they all needed two layers to keep them warm.

We built a snow fort. Bug built a snowman. Miss M turned her into an 'old snow woman' by giving her a nice effeminate hat. Tiny froze out the quickest because while I told them to stay in their pajamas, I didn't explain that it was to help keep their soon to be wet legs a little warmer for a little longer. He was wearing boxer short pajamas.

We walked our sled over to an old mining pit nearby and tried it out. The pit wasn't deep enough so the joy rides lasted about two seconds. At least none of the kids complained about having to tromp through the snow for our fruitless escapade.

Last night when I went to bed there was a dusting on our van. I thought how dissappointed the kids would be in the morning to have to go back to school. I woke up to make breakfast with Bug and found that a new seven inches had fallen through the night. What!!??? This new storm wasn't supposed to do that! Add that to the four that were left from the first storm and we almost had a foot.

They closed the road going to my job but when I called our front gate they let me know that employees were being allowed to come through the barricade. Man I wish DPS would do a better job at protecting the community. There's another hill a little further tromp through the snow I wanted to try out with the kids.

Weather Forcast

We've spent the last few days with a fevered escalation on the news. The weather man cancelled his trip to Hawaii until October because this HUGE storm was about to move in and in his words, "When you're the weatherman, and you have weather, you can't go on vacation." Yeah, good luck with that one.

So, with much excitement We've spent the last 24 hours preparing for this big storm. The worst case scenario has 2 feet falling right on top of us. Don't tell my kids but the best cast scenario has only 1" of fall predicted. Wait... we're already past four. Maybe it wouldn't matter if he did go on vacation. One website has the storm plowing through in 12 hours. Another has the storm staying longer than 48 hours. Some say it will be rain in Silver City. Some have it snowing down into northern Mexico and everything inbetween.

I'm just hoping that by the end of this work day there will be more than six inches still on the ground at home so that we can build a snowman and if the kids aren't frozen when that's done, a snow fort.

Now, to be honest. When I said 2 feet was the "worst" case scenario. I should confess. I honestly think that that would be the best case, and less than 6 inches would be the worst.

Let's hope that the weatherman staying in New Mexico will convince the weather gods that we are serious about our weather, and we want lots of it.

Fill My Lungs

I fill my lungs with you
You've gone hard all day
I know your smell
In the happiest way.

I fill my lungs with our home
The fire just lit
Soft light from its glow
Contended I sit

I fill my lungs with our children
The good and the bad
Happy, just off the trampoline
Or wrestling with dad

I fill my lungs with our animals
Its raining today
One child left the door open
Apollo came to play.

I fill my lungs
I take it all in
let it all mix together
It comes out o'er my grin

I love Dirt!

You may not be aware that I am an amateur gardener. I have been gardening since we lived in Kearny (about six years now), where I learned the magic of composting. My home teaching companion is also a gardener and for the last three years has given me four or five bags of leaves in the late fall to add to my compost pile. In the picture above I have just covered the pile with the third of five bags of leaves and I am hoping to get the other two mixed in by March so that they'll be composted by May. The other crucial ingredient is the rabbit poop from our five rabbits. They about double the volume of the alfalfa pellets we feed them. It's like magic, you put one cup of food in and get two cups of poop out. This whole recipe is topped off by my secret blend of herbs (ha, ha) and spices.

If you can't tell what I am doing in this picture, I am NOT sniffing the compost (though it does smell very nice) I am kissing the little leaves before I put them to bed in the compost. I'm having a secret love affair with my dirt. Nothing kinky...just dirty.

Some nights when I get home from work I will go out and turn the compost pile. Not every day, just enough to keep the process going. This is actually a hybrid compost pile though. It is half composting, half vermiculture. My beautiful red worms live on the periphery of the pile where the compost can no longer reach the high temperatures that it does at the core. When the reaction slows down they move into the whole pile again turning my compost into worm castings. All of which makes my plants VERY happy come planting season.

Gotta love that dirt!

Driving Lessons

I had this exact conversation with my lovely Miss M yesterday. Of course she didn't say that I never let her do anything, but I'm sure she thought it. Actually she said that I'm no fun. (Of course she forgot about that by last night and was telling me just how wonderful she thought I was right before brownie time.)

When she was little I used to let her drive my Nissan Pickup home from church sitting on my lap. I wasn't too concerned because she would be buckled, there wasn't an air bag, and we lived in Kearny, AZ. (Think middle of nowhere... but a wonderful little town.)

Granted, where she was asking to drive was off-road, on the way home. (That's gonna have to be another blog.) But the air bag issue is a huge psycological barrier for me. Am I overblowing the issue? Is this a legitimate concern? Should I just not worry about it since the chance of encountering another car on the way home would be almost nil? I have visions of her poor little head being cocked back like a Miss M PEZ dispenser.

Of course, nerry a qualm letting all of the children ride in the back of the truck down the dirt road.

Singing and Gossiping

I'm going to expand my sermonizing and share two verses with you. I read them both last night.

The first is Psalms 95:1 "O come, let us sing unto the Lord: let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation"

See now, my first thought was about a nice little girl that loves to sing in our ward. She loves to sing and does it with great enthusiasm. Like she's trying to audition for Annie belting it out in voluminous vibrato. Think, "I Know that My Reedeemer Lives" sung to the tune of, "The Sun'll Come Out Tommorrow." She tries hard and I admire her for that. I'm just embarrassed for her. It sounds awful. It does say a JOYFUL noise after all.

Then I read Psalms 101:5 "Whoso privily slandereth his neighbor, him will I cut off: him that hath an high look and a proud heart will not I suffer.

I am generally too proud of how well I sing. The first season we watched American Idol I had Bug in my truck with me and I was singing along to some song at the top of my lungs and he turned to me and said, "Dad, you're going to Hollywood!" I don't sing that well. But I am proud of my capabilities. Then I read that verse last night and realized I need an attitude adjustment. The joyful noise they're talking about isn't about the song being joyful to me, its about it being joyful to the blessed little noise maker. And I have no right to make fun of anything she does.

Plus, I REALLY don't want to find out what "cut off" means.

A Daisy on my (daughter's) toe

My sister Ne-Ne taught me a song once that I love:

There's a daisy on my toe
It is not real
It does not grow
It's just a tattoo of a flower
So I'll look cute
When I'm taking a shower
It's on the second toe
Of my left foot
It has a stem
But there's no root
(Because That wouldn't look right )
My right foot loves My left foot so.

I guess it was originated by the Smother's brothers and the lyrics are slightly different but once you learn a song one way there is no changing it.

So for Christmas Miss M got nail decals. She put one on every one of Lucy's toes. I sang her the song and thought of my sister.

That's the good thing with a song like that. It may have originated with the Smothers brothers, but its mine now.... and maybe it'll be Lucy's too.

Another Psalm for life

Okay, I know that you read the scriptures on your own. I just can't help sharing some of the nuggets I find on my own.

Have you ever been asked to be an usher at Stake Conference? It has always felt like a fairly useless job to me. I know that they are needed to take a head count of the attendees, and I also know they are going to hand out programs where not enough were printed and yet one family has six of them. Still you could get the same results with the program by placing them on a chair by the entrance.

So here is my scriptorial attitude adjustment: Psalms 84:10 "For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness."

Obviously, this applies to more than just the usher at Stake conference. I guess really what this means is that I should be happy no matter what the calling I have because God is letting me in his kingdom.

Okay, I'll be an usher if I am asked...but you're only getting one program.

Moses' Psalm

Did you know that Moses wrote a psalm and it's in the book of psalms? I'm re-reading the psalms and I had forgotten that its not just David that wrote the psalms. Solomon, Asaph (the chief musician), Maschil of Ethan the Ezahite, and I'm sure others also wrote psalms.

Moses' psalm is #90.
My wife just blogged about the futility of sacrament meeting with six young children on the bench with you. She called it "The hour long wrestling match." Last night I read Moses' plea to the Lord and thought, "Man, that's just how I feel about my children." In verse 17, the last verse of the psalm, Moses asks the Lord to, "establish thou the work of our hands upon us; yea, the work of our hands establish thou it."

Angel face follows the music with his finger, which makes it so I can't sing the harmony because he's hiding it. Bug is into singing, but he also is trying to make Lucy follow along and she is too young to read. Bam-bam is constantly trying to decide whose lap he wants to be on. Tiny wants to color right now, even though EVERY WEEK I have to remind him that we don't color or draw until after the sacrament. Miss M will scratch your back for a minute and expect you to reciprocate for a half hour. And in this mix, I'm just hoping and praying that they get a snippet out of it.

Then, at dinner, I am stunned when Bug and Miss M start to discuss what the speakers were talking about. Usually they pick up on a story that was told. Angel Face or Lucy will sing or hum a hymn that isn't taught in primary. Tiny will tell us proudly what Sister Arellano taught him in primary class. Bam-bam is still too young but as I see his older siblings there is a glimmer of hope, and a prayer, "...establish thou the work of our hands ..."