Kilter and off-kilter mean the same thing. I checked. I thought perhaps it was one of those "whelmed" things - like the movie says, '"I know you can be overwhelmed, or underwhelmed - but can you be just "whelmed?"'
akimbo is also a good word, though I always think of its secondary meaning before its primary (hands on hips, elbows out). it brings to mind weird modern flat style paintings, or ugly "art" sculptures in museums.
Wednesday, June 7, 2017
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
moon phases
the moon has eight official light phases
of which I find the most elegant-sounding to be "waxing crescent"
probably because I fancy straightforward meaning, and
when combined with an abundance of consonants
which I find comforting from a linguistic perspective
it imbues an illogical feeling that when I say it
"waxing crescent' - do it with me
that my brain is waxing in its knowledge crescent, too.
of course the most romantic is "full"
"full" does not sound romantic at all
it conjures mental feelings of distressed bladders, overstuffed bellies,
visuals of cups that are about to spill over if you look at them sideways,
people crying in gratitude, and
calendars that have lots of writing in the margin.
"full" does not accurately describe at all my feelings when I am under a moon at its largest
rapt, ethereal, cavorting, faerie, content, unafraid, bold, barefoot
these are words and feelings for the generous curve I see in the sky,
or things I want to be "more" or "full" of when I am under its soft beam of precious light.
life has phases, too.
suffice it to say, my children, my husband and I are each in phases of life.
Sometimes we are in the same phase - that one of eight -
and in that moment, peace reigns, time stops, and hearts are - well - full.
Sometimes, our cycle is off, and then our family becomes like an unbalanced washer drum
annoying, clanging, cacophony of emotions and tears that needs to be redistributed somehow
by the master launderer.
lately, the patience with the irregularities is waning, not waxing,
and lack of sync of our moon cycles is especially irritating.
one face of the moon jokes and smiles while another mopes about the sky
one face waxes in passion and irrationality; another is tired and drowning
the thing is, you never know when the cycle is going to stop spinning
so you've got to make the best of it - even if there's no soap - and use the light you've got
to make it through to the next full moon.
of which I find the most elegant-sounding to be "waxing crescent"
probably because I fancy straightforward meaning, and
when combined with an abundance of consonants
which I find comforting from a linguistic perspective
it imbues an illogical feeling that when I say it
"waxing crescent' - do it with me
that my brain is waxing in its knowledge crescent, too.
of course the most romantic is "full"
"full" does not sound romantic at all
it conjures mental feelings of distressed bladders, overstuffed bellies,
visuals of cups that are about to spill over if you look at them sideways,
people crying in gratitude, and
calendars that have lots of writing in the margin.
"full" does not accurately describe at all my feelings when I am under a moon at its largest
rapt, ethereal, cavorting, faerie, content, unafraid, bold, barefoot
these are words and feelings for the generous curve I see in the sky,
or things I want to be "more" or "full" of when I am under its soft beam of precious light.
life has phases, too.
suffice it to say, my children, my husband and I are each in phases of life.
Sometimes we are in the same phase - that one of eight -
and in that moment, peace reigns, time stops, and hearts are - well - full.
Sometimes, our cycle is off, and then our family becomes like an unbalanced washer drum
annoying, clanging, cacophony of emotions and tears that needs to be redistributed somehow
by the master launderer.
lately, the patience with the irregularities is waning, not waxing,
and lack of sync of our moon cycles is especially irritating.
one face of the moon jokes and smiles while another mopes about the sky
one face waxes in passion and irrationality; another is tired and drowning
the thing is, you never know when the cycle is going to stop spinning
so you've got to make the best of it - even if there's no soap - and use the light you've got
to make it through to the next full moon.
Friday, March 24, 2017
random and updates
I'm mad because I had a procedure done at the beginning of April last year and they just billed me for it last week. The amount is several hundred dollars, which would have changed my taxes considerably. I'm ridiculously peeved -- it's bad business, it represents Big Bad Healthcare in my mind, it's irritating to receive a bill so long after, and it's tied to a source of major stress in my life - a condition I have been spending hundreds of dollars and tens of hours on trying to get assessed, only to come up with a big fat nothing.
I'm going to try and remedy that situation next week, because the pain is becoming nigh on unbearable, but the combination of taxes, big money, and being tied to something else I'm already frazzled and frayed about is making an already bad situation worse.
I have a very thoughtful sister who went to Grandma's house and picked a few things for me to have as keepsakes. She asked very excellent questions and was most helpful and kind, as of course, is Grandma, who is making many hard decisions and is letting go of her house.
It's interesting how we need things and how we can get attached to them, and have so many feelings over them. I try not to get overly invested in things, but sometimes it's really hard. There is a box that I have tried to go through several times with my husband to decide what I want to keep from my "former" life and each time I just get frustrated and the box goes back in the eaves. Maybe I should just donate the whole thing without even looking inside next time I am tempted to go through it.
I won two haircuts at a service auction, which will both be used to trim N3's surfer hair. I can't call them locks, as that implies curls or wave in my mind. His hair is stick-straight, as is his father's. It's very unforgiving hair to cut, and he is like me in that he is afraid of going to new hairstylists. I have decided that the person who cuts both our hair gives satisfactory but not great cuts and that I will just not care as much about how my hair looks now that I have landed myself a HH. It's taken a long time to even start to get me convinced, but now I am well on my way. I never knew that I liked the "frills" part of a haircut so much - the consultation time, the shampoo, the blowout. Maybe someday when I have more disposable income I'll go back to it.
I had a neurological problem in my left thigh but I changed a few things and now it is doing much better, though my lower back is still really bothering me.
I started watching Poldark and have exclaimed to HH at least seven times, "I'm not sure I can keep watching this!" but yet I love the camera work and the lighting and the story is so gripping that I don't really want to stop. I have only seen through Season 1, but I'm telling you now, if Demelza dies, I'm out. (Don't tell me if she does. I don't want to know.) What kind of name is Demelza, anyway? I wonder if she ever got called "Melza." Her brothers probably called her "Smelza" just to bug her. (If I were a brother, I would probably stoop to such low levels, but maybe her brothers are better men than I am.)
Thursday, March 23, 2017
3Ds
Recently, our van was out of commission for about 3 weeks, so we have ridden in my car everywhere. I am much more sensitive to what is on in my car now that I have kids in it most of the time, and so in order to keep them from listening to the ridiculousness that is Top 40 music (I swear, even three years ago, it wasn't so bad, but now it's five-word lyrics repeated over and over again about sex, which is annoying.). The 3Ds CD was in the disc slot, and one day I turned it on in desperation. I didn't actually think they would like it at all, but they have really enjoyed listening to the 3Ds poems. They have asked me to
interpret each song. We are working on lyric interpretation, as most of their listening is top 40 pop (which they get from a source that is not me) or electronic music (their dad) or classical (me), so they have not had a lot of experience doing such. I never realized that listening to Simon & Garfunkel or the Beatles or Tom Petty or even Fleetwood Mac and understanding the lyrics could be difficult. But to some people, poems are really hard to interpret. So for now, I am lending my interpretation skills.
Their favorite, by far, is the Jabberwocky. They love to do the high pitched "whiffle, whiffle!" with me. I used to quote it and they had no idea what I was talking about. But now they love it!
They needed explanation on "The Crayon Box" and "Gunga Din" multiple times. They sang them over and over again. N3 often sings parts of "Vinegar Man" randomly about the house. "Let's hear it again!" they say, and "Don't listen to it without me!"
I didn't remember that so many of the poems were about people dying. My kids are very sensitive, so I was afraid that it would make them emotional or ask awkward questions, but it was actually a really good discussion base. I have found that as a parent, if you go into answering any question with the mindset of "how can I be a good educator, and give them the full picture, with the least amount of bias possible and so they can understand it" instead of being at all worried about my own feelings, it goes a long way to having productive and really actually non-embarrassing conversations about a lot of things.
As I listened to the poems again, I thought about how different my perspective is now that I am an adult and a parent. As a kid, I thought that the Charge of the Light Brigade was saying, "Happily, happily, happily onward!" not "half a league". And I didn't realize that so many of them died...I just focused on the fact that I liked how the song was produced.
If you haven't listened lately, you should. It's a great record, for a lot of reasons.
http://www.phoenixrecords.org/inalbums.php
Their favorite, by far, is the Jabberwocky. They love to do the high pitched "whiffle, whiffle!" with me. I used to quote it and they had no idea what I was talking about. But now they love it!
They needed explanation on "The Crayon Box" and "Gunga Din" multiple times. They sang them over and over again. N3 often sings parts of "Vinegar Man" randomly about the house. "Let's hear it again!" they say, and "Don't listen to it without me!"
I didn't remember that so many of the poems were about people dying. My kids are very sensitive, so I was afraid that it would make them emotional or ask awkward questions, but it was actually a really good discussion base. I have found that as a parent, if you go into answering any question with the mindset of "how can I be a good educator, and give them the full picture, with the least amount of bias possible and so they can understand it" instead of being at all worried about my own feelings, it goes a long way to having productive and really actually non-embarrassing conversations about a lot of things.
As I listened to the poems again, I thought about how different my perspective is now that I am an adult and a parent. As a kid, I thought that the Charge of the Light Brigade was saying, "Happily, happily, happily onward!" not "half a league". And I didn't realize that so many of them died...I just focused on the fact that I liked how the song was produced.
If you haven't listened lately, you should. It's a great record, for a lot of reasons.
http://www.phoenixrecords.org/inalbums.php
Sunday, March 12, 2017
crepes
Tonight I made my family crepes for the first time. The boys had never had them before. I explained to them that this was a treat my mom used to make for my family sometimes on Sunday evenings. (We had our dinner early, thus prompting the occasion, even though we had a lovely roast and potatoes and veggies, all courtesy of HH, who makes Sunday dinner >90% of the time. He is so nice and lovely that way.)
They weren't sure about them at first, but N3 quickly got into the swing of things. I made a peach blend I wanted them to try; L balked at it most strenuously, which I thought was a little sad, considering how much he likes peaches and everything else that was in there. In the end, he did try it, but rejected it in future crepes in favor of other fillings, and ended up eating the maximum amount I allowed (a very generous six. What can I say? Sometimes I'm a softie.).
I have been introducing more new things to the boys that I had when I was younger: my siblings might remember carrot-and-pineapple salad, marshmallow banana pineapple slaw, turkey tetrazzini, and hamburger bean bake, to name a few. Some of them are better left in the past, but I have enjoyed telling the boys about the recipes and times we ate them when I was kids. I tell the kids stories of my past as often as I can so they can feel close to me and remember that I am not just a parent, but I was once a kid, too. Sometimes I found it rather hard to believe my parents were ever children. ;) Maybe that's true of everyone? I wish I knew more about the childhood years of each of my parents. I would probably relate even more if I did.
I found a new crepe favorite: honey butter. A friend of ours made some and gave Tyler a jar as a thank-you for favor he did her. We have used most of the jar on fresh bread, but there was just a bit left and we used it as a treat. Sadly, we had no whipped cream or fresh bananas. Perhaps that's just as well, as it kept my crepe consumption down.
I am so grateful for the love and appreciation my family shows me and that they are more grateful now than they ever have been for all the efforts I put into feeding them treats and balanced meals. Something that has really helped is having them mostly make dinner (especially simple dishes). Knowing the work it takes to make dinner happen has made them even more grateful for each night they don't have to do it - a sentiment I am familiar with. I do enjoy cooking, but when I was single I didn't have to do it every single night, as there were often leftovers. Now, I estimate I spend approximately 25 hours a week preparing and managing my family's food. If I didn't work, I would probably spend a lot more than that. It's a task that is time-consuming and sometimes seems thankless, repetitive, and (sometimes) frustrating, but I am grateful I learned so much about how to manage food resources when I was small. I hope I can teach my kids that lesson, too - but, for now, it's one lesson at a time, and tonight, the lesson was that eating treats together on Sunday night can be a boon for all in both bonding time and pleased tastebuds/tummies.
They weren't sure about them at first, but N3 quickly got into the swing of things. I made a peach blend I wanted them to try; L balked at it most strenuously, which I thought was a little sad, considering how much he likes peaches and everything else that was in there. In the end, he did try it, but rejected it in future crepes in favor of other fillings, and ended up eating the maximum amount I allowed (a very generous six. What can I say? Sometimes I'm a softie.).
I have been introducing more new things to the boys that I had when I was younger: my siblings might remember carrot-and-pineapple salad, marshmallow banana pineapple slaw, turkey tetrazzini, and hamburger bean bake, to name a few. Some of them are better left in the past, but I have enjoyed telling the boys about the recipes and times we ate them when I was kids. I tell the kids stories of my past as often as I can so they can feel close to me and remember that I am not just a parent, but I was once a kid, too. Sometimes I found it rather hard to believe my parents were ever children. ;) Maybe that's true of everyone? I wish I knew more about the childhood years of each of my parents. I would probably relate even more if I did.
I found a new crepe favorite: honey butter. A friend of ours made some and gave Tyler a jar as a thank-you for favor he did her. We have used most of the jar on fresh bread, but there was just a bit left and we used it as a treat. Sadly, we had no whipped cream or fresh bananas. Perhaps that's just as well, as it kept my crepe consumption down.
I am so grateful for the love and appreciation my family shows me and that they are more grateful now than they ever have been for all the efforts I put into feeding them treats and balanced meals. Something that has really helped is having them mostly make dinner (especially simple dishes). Knowing the work it takes to make dinner happen has made them even more grateful for each night they don't have to do it - a sentiment I am familiar with. I do enjoy cooking, but when I was single I didn't have to do it every single night, as there were often leftovers. Now, I estimate I spend approximately 25 hours a week preparing and managing my family's food. If I didn't work, I would probably spend a lot more than that. It's a task that is time-consuming and sometimes seems thankless, repetitive, and (sometimes) frustrating, but I am grateful I learned so much about how to manage food resources when I was small. I hope I can teach my kids that lesson, too - but, for now, it's one lesson at a time, and tonight, the lesson was that eating treats together on Sunday night can be a boon for all in both bonding time and pleased tastebuds/tummies.
Thursday, March 9, 2017
planting and little birds
I'm working on our garden. Farming, even on a very small scale, is more difficult than it would seem to be. Finding a configuration of where to plant where everything is companionable and without discord is tough stuff. Then, actually finding time to plant is also an issue, because I am busy planting other things - violin lessons for N3, homework projects, dinner every night, six hours a day at work, helping boys become men, attempting to exercise more to eradicate some unwanted inches as a result of stress, and attempting to have a measure of fun in each day before Mr. Sandman (who, I have found, has never had wavy hair like Liberacci), is the garden of my life.
I have harvests - small moments of bliss with my boys, calm moments in the shower, and a full belly after a stressful afternoon. Sometimes it feels like the planting is all there is, with nary a bean (magical or otherwise) of harvest. But that's not true.
A few weeks ago I taught a group of about 40 women a lesson on peace of mind and joy. I'm not really sure I was qualified, as I can be very anxious and worry a lot about things I don't really need to. But the thing is, even in the planting, you're not alone. You can plant seeds of worry or of hope, and sometimes heartache is harvested (un)expectedly from either source. You're not the only person planting, hoping, hurting, emoting. Take comfort in the fact that there are other gardeners, whether you can see their plants or whether they are seedlings in the ground. Some seeds are weeds and it's good to pull them out before they cover everything. To parody and paraphrase the Weepies, "We are all gardeners, with harvests inside, never know what plant will grow...is it one you've planted before?" Even if all you can see is a craggy bed with clay for soil, you can imagine a garden. Butchart Gardens is a wonderful example of a literal garden made out of something that a lot of people thought was unsalvageable. Maybe you feel like a tar pit and there's "nothing green or good in (your) world."
Don't give up. Be still. Breathe. Be light - your plants will need it. Believe me.
I'm not sure any of this really made sense. I think my brain is out of seeds right now. The point is: I hope everyone reading this can find a ray of hope in this day. And two rays tomorrow. There are bound to be clouds, but all gardens need some rain in order to grow. May you not grow weary in the planting, and enjoy every harvest, big or small, that comes your way.
I have harvests - small moments of bliss with my boys, calm moments in the shower, and a full belly after a stressful afternoon. Sometimes it feels like the planting is all there is, with nary a bean (magical or otherwise) of harvest. But that's not true.
A few weeks ago I taught a group of about 40 women a lesson on peace of mind and joy. I'm not really sure I was qualified, as I can be very anxious and worry a lot about things I don't really need to. But the thing is, even in the planting, you're not alone. You can plant seeds of worry or of hope, and sometimes heartache is harvested (un)expectedly from either source. You're not the only person planting, hoping, hurting, emoting. Take comfort in the fact that there are other gardeners, whether you can see their plants or whether they are seedlings in the ground. Some seeds are weeds and it's good to pull them out before they cover everything. To parody and paraphrase the Weepies, "We are all gardeners, with harvests inside, never know what plant will grow...is it one you've planted before?" Even if all you can see is a craggy bed with clay for soil, you can imagine a garden. Butchart Gardens is a wonderful example of a literal garden made out of something that a lot of people thought was unsalvageable. Maybe you feel like a tar pit and there's "nothing green or good in (your) world."
Don't give up. Be still. Breathe. Be light - your plants will need it. Believe me.
I'm not sure any of this really made sense. I think my brain is out of seeds right now. The point is: I hope everyone reading this can find a ray of hope in this day. And two rays tomorrow. There are bound to be clouds, but all gardens need some rain in order to grow. May you not grow weary in the planting, and enjoy every harvest, big or small, that comes your way.
Thursday, January 12, 2017
poems for parents
Elusive, Fleeting
baby smell, all smiles
hugs, kisses, rocking cuddles
golden childhood days
Eternally Frustrating
screams, runny noses
repeat, and repeat again
clothes on floor and lights on
Ups and Downs
See that puddle of water, right over there?
It's fruitless to ask how it got on the floor
Or who started the fight, or offered the dare.
And pointless to ask your kids if they want more
of sugar or game time or cheesy box fare
or please dust, do dishes, or at least one chore.
The answer is always "stuff," "duh" or "don't care."
It makes you smolder right to your parent core
Or want to never leave your most comfy chair.
It seems you, home, and all ideas are a bore
Sometimes they'll take til all cupboards are bare.
all food, feeling, sanity: just like Grinch lore.
But should they smile, reach out, and ask how you fare
You'll recall the reasons you'll always adore.f
baby smell, all smiles
hugs, kisses, rocking cuddles
golden childhood days
Eternally Frustrating
screams, runny noses
repeat, and repeat again
clothes on floor and lights on
Ups and Downs
See that puddle of water, right over there?
It's fruitless to ask how it got on the floor
Or who started the fight, or offered the dare.
And pointless to ask your kids if they want more
of sugar or game time or cheesy box fare
or please dust, do dishes, or at least one chore.
The answer is always "stuff," "duh" or "don't care."
It makes you smolder right to your parent core
Or want to never leave your most comfy chair.
It seems you, home, and all ideas are a bore
Sometimes they'll take til all cupboards are bare.
all food, feeling, sanity: just like Grinch lore.
But should they smile, reach out, and ask how you fare
You'll recall the reasons you'll always adore.f
Sunday, January 8, 2017
that's the difference / New Year's Eve
Our furnace went out on New Year's Eve. It smelled like smoke, and I thought it might be in conjunction with the home automation system my husband was putting in. Not so. I then thought it might be the fridge, because that's where the smell was strongest, but also not so. Then I got the idea that it might be the furnace. Yes, so! (I love it when I'm right.)
It was less than 20 degrees outside at the time that this revelation came. We had houseguests and a one year of knowing each other party to have that evening (yes, the party did happen!) and I just thought, "I do not have the time for this."
But for me, New Year's Eve wasn't the "Remember when the furnace went out on New Year's Eve and we all froze half to death because of how cold that winter was?" Nope. Because my husband is handy, and we have a very awesome guy in our ward who was willing to tape 20 min of the Huskies game (turns out he probably shouldn't have watched, as I heard they got slaughtered) who does commercial furnace fixing to come and look at our problem. Turns out it was the blower, and it took a couple of hours, but my husband is a genius and figured out a way to, with one $10 part, jerry-rig it so we could be warm. My FIL is a sweetie and went to get the part for it, since there was one at a store near him, and we were only cold a few hours.
Instead of being miserable story worthy, New Year's Eve was fun and enjoyable. We all had a good time until L, at about 11:15 pm, when asked what he wanted to play next, said, "Snoozley Snoozle" and insisted on going to bed, and even though we told him he didn't have long to go, etc., somehow missed the fact that he was going to be giving up midnight bubbly and fireworks on delay tape from London, so there was a bit of a kerfuffle on New Years Day. But all in all, it was a very fun time had by all, once we got the blower bit sorted. (I did feel like the blower sucked up my husband for part of the day, so it was hard to celebrate properly, but I was being a bit ungrateful, I think.)
It occurred to me that it was a very different experience than what would have perhaps happened at the home I grew up in. Then, if we could not find someone to come out, we might have gone cold and it would have been "the freezing cold New Years," spawning many memories. As it is, it will be nice to remember because it was the anniversary of the first time I met my whole family. It was fun to recall the night we met and all the fun things we did then, too.
Happy New Year!
It was less than 20 degrees outside at the time that this revelation came. We had houseguests and a one year of knowing each other party to have that evening (yes, the party did happen!) and I just thought, "I do not have the time for this."
But for me, New Year's Eve wasn't the "Remember when the furnace went out on New Year's Eve and we all froze half to death because of how cold that winter was?" Nope. Because my husband is handy, and we have a very awesome guy in our ward who was willing to tape 20 min of the Huskies game (turns out he probably shouldn't have watched, as I heard they got slaughtered) who does commercial furnace fixing to come and look at our problem. Turns out it was the blower, and it took a couple of hours, but my husband is a genius and figured out a way to, with one $10 part, jerry-rig it so we could be warm. My FIL is a sweetie and went to get the part for it, since there was one at a store near him, and we were only cold a few hours.
Instead of being miserable story worthy, New Year's Eve was fun and enjoyable. We all had a good time until L, at about 11:15 pm, when asked what he wanted to play next, said, "Snoozley Snoozle" and insisted on going to bed, and even though we told him he didn't have long to go, etc., somehow missed the fact that he was going to be giving up midnight bubbly and fireworks on delay tape from London, so there was a bit of a kerfuffle on New Years Day. But all in all, it was a very fun time had by all, once we got the blower bit sorted. (I did feel like the blower sucked up my husband for part of the day, so it was hard to celebrate properly, but I was being a bit ungrateful, I think.)
It occurred to me that it was a very different experience than what would have perhaps happened at the home I grew up in. Then, if we could not find someone to come out, we might have gone cold and it would have been "the freezing cold New Years," spawning many memories. As it is, it will be nice to remember because it was the anniversary of the first time I met my whole family. It was fun to recall the night we met and all the fun things we did then, too.
Happy New Year!
Tuesday, December 13, 2016
driving and memories
The first time I ever drove a car was not in a parking lot, but on a road. I was 14 years old. Neither of my parents was with me, either. It was just me and my oldest sister. I don't know why my dad wouldn't have come with me, but for some reason, neither of my parents were there. It was in the back country of Utah and it was quite exciting. Finally, I could be like a grownup!
The occasion was my grandpa's 75th birthday. We had a family reunion, and we all stayed in a barn in the town where he grew up for a few days. The barn had been converted into a big vacation home of sorts and had several rooms and bathrooms, along with a big loft upstairs. I didn't like that there were beetles and some other bugs in the rooms. I remember being horrified, in fact. Looking back, with newfound bug perspective, a beetle here and there for that location and a place is basically a drop in the bug bucket.
It had been an otherwise not-the-best vacation for me. The highlight of it all was giving Grandpa a ruby ring for his 75th birthday, and eating the cake that had the little fisherman on top of it. Other highlights were Uncle B teaching me how to play pinochle (which I have completely forgotten how to play, as I have never played it since) and having my cousin, who was great at doing hair even back then, give my mom a break from giving me fancy hairdos.
Lowlights included a horrible hike, sleeping on cots with all my girl cousins upstairs, when all I really wanted was to sleep the entire time--in a bed--and ignore everyone, and being afraid I was going to die because of the way Grandpa drove while also being worried my cousin was going to wet herself on me because it had been such a long car ride and we were also basically stuck together with sweat as she sat on my lap.
That hike was horrible. It was hot. HOT! The hike was Calf Creek Falls. I brought a little backpack full of water and a few snacks and it was like working overtime just to go each step. I think the hike was rated "intermediate" in some hiking book Mom picked up...but let me tell you: no way. We got to the waterfall and I didn't even get in because I thought about how my jeans would be super heavy with water and sand and detritus and sloggy and give me rub burns and be uncomfortably moist if I did get in, and I decided against it. I stopped for as short a time I could and drank a water bottle and then started back. My other cousins hadn't brought any food or water and they were dying. I felt like it was the parable of the 10 virgins, only it wasn't a parable, and it was water, not oil for lamps. I also felt like I was going to meet the Bridegroom -- meaning, I was about to perish. There was a point where I was on autopilot. I felt I could not stop because if I did, I literally would not get going again. I was walking with a cousin of mine and another plead for us to stop but I could not. Could not. Seriously.
Grandpa M forgot his heart medicine that day, so he was going extra slow. I don't think he made it. Gosh, I was 14, not 75, and I didn't have a heart condition, and I barely made it. I remember seeing some German people, and some ancient carvings on the canyon walls, and how hot my feet felt, and how the sand kept me slipping and sliding. I remember feeling pity for some dogs that people brought along with them. Tons of fur, in what was probably upwards of 100 degrees F, with no water?! Cruelty to animals! I think it made my little sis cry.
The saving grace was Auntie M, who had some soda in her car (I called it the turtle van) and drove in the parking lots and shuttled people back and forth. She, in her infinite wisdom, did not choose to subject herself to the trauma of the experience.
I threatened every person in the car with bodily injury if they even so much as /thought/ about sneaking into the shower before I could get there. I'm not a violent person, but this is one of the few times in my life where I made a threat of physical harm and was fairly sure I would actually act on it. I think they could tell I meant serious business, so they all backed off. My shirt -- which I actually still have (a blue-and-white checked short sleeved button-up affair from Lands' End back before it became Sears) was stiff with sweat. I thought the possibility of that happening was something to read about in books. Nope. It's a real thing.
So, those are my family reunion memories.
As a side note:
Almost no shower has ever felt as good to me as the one that I took the day of that hike. The only ones that might top it are:
(1) when my sisters and I came home from stake Girls Camp a night early (best idea ever) and I showered at like 1am. I can't remember why I was so grimy, but I know there was literal dirt involved.
(2) the shower after traveling all day in a car on the way to Phoenix in June with eight people and no air conditioning. This one last one would probably take the cake except the pipes were too close to the ground and so the one time I wanted a cold shower, I couldn't even get one! Lukewarm was as cold as it would go.
(3) the bath/shower I took after getting lost in Central Park in the stinging rain.
I would love it if in the comments those who were on that trip chime in and share any memories they have of that trip!
The occasion was my grandpa's 75th birthday. We had a family reunion, and we all stayed in a barn in the town where he grew up for a few days. The barn had been converted into a big vacation home of sorts and had several rooms and bathrooms, along with a big loft upstairs. I didn't like that there were beetles and some other bugs in the rooms. I remember being horrified, in fact. Looking back, with newfound bug perspective, a beetle here and there for that location and a place is basically a drop in the bug bucket.
It had been an otherwise not-the-best vacation for me. The highlight of it all was giving Grandpa a ruby ring for his 75th birthday, and eating the cake that had the little fisherman on top of it. Other highlights were Uncle B teaching me how to play pinochle (which I have completely forgotten how to play, as I have never played it since) and having my cousin, who was great at doing hair even back then, give my mom a break from giving me fancy hairdos.
Lowlights included a horrible hike, sleeping on cots with all my girl cousins upstairs, when all I really wanted was to sleep the entire time--in a bed--and ignore everyone, and being afraid I was going to die because of the way Grandpa drove while also being worried my cousin was going to wet herself on me because it had been such a long car ride and we were also basically stuck together with sweat as she sat on my lap.
That hike was horrible. It was hot. HOT! The hike was Calf Creek Falls. I brought a little backpack full of water and a few snacks and it was like working overtime just to go each step. I think the hike was rated "intermediate" in some hiking book Mom picked up...but let me tell you: no way. We got to the waterfall and I didn't even get in because I thought about how my jeans would be super heavy with water and sand and detritus and sloggy and give me rub burns and be uncomfortably moist if I did get in, and I decided against it. I stopped for as short a time I could and drank a water bottle and then started back. My other cousins hadn't brought any food or water and they were dying. I felt like it was the parable of the 10 virgins, only it wasn't a parable, and it was water, not oil for lamps. I also felt like I was going to meet the Bridegroom -- meaning, I was about to perish. There was a point where I was on autopilot. I felt I could not stop because if I did, I literally would not get going again. I was walking with a cousin of mine and another plead for us to stop but I could not. Could not. Seriously.
Grandpa M forgot his heart medicine that day, so he was going extra slow. I don't think he made it. Gosh, I was 14, not 75, and I didn't have a heart condition, and I barely made it. I remember seeing some German people, and some ancient carvings on the canyon walls, and how hot my feet felt, and how the sand kept me slipping and sliding. I remember feeling pity for some dogs that people brought along with them. Tons of fur, in what was probably upwards of 100 degrees F, with no water?! Cruelty to animals! I think it made my little sis cry.
The saving grace was Auntie M, who had some soda in her car (I called it the turtle van) and drove in the parking lots and shuttled people back and forth. She, in her infinite wisdom, did not choose to subject herself to the trauma of the experience.
I threatened every person in the car with bodily injury if they even so much as /thought/ about sneaking into the shower before I could get there. I'm not a violent person, but this is one of the few times in my life where I made a threat of physical harm and was fairly sure I would actually act on it. I think they could tell I meant serious business, so they all backed off. My shirt -- which I actually still have (a blue-and-white checked short sleeved button-up affair from Lands' End back before it became Sears) was stiff with sweat. I thought the possibility of that happening was something to read about in books. Nope. It's a real thing.
So, those are my family reunion memories.
As a side note:
Almost no shower has ever felt as good to me as the one that I took the day of that hike. The only ones that might top it are:
(1) when my sisters and I came home from stake Girls Camp a night early (best idea ever) and I showered at like 1am. I can't remember why I was so grimy, but I know there was literal dirt involved.
(2) the shower after traveling all day in a car on the way to Phoenix in June with eight people and no air conditioning. This one last one would probably take the cake except the pipes were too close to the ground and so the one time I wanted a cold shower, I couldn't even get one! Lukewarm was as cold as it would go.
(3) the bath/shower I took after getting lost in Central Park in the stinging rain.
I would love it if in the comments those who were on that trip chime in and share any memories they have of that trip!
Monday, December 12, 2016
hide and seek
Today Grandpa B came over for a surprise visit and, much to his surprise, I think, he stayed for dinner and we had a good time. (Enchiladas!) I am so glad the boys have decided they like them.
After dinner, as an extended Advent activity, each of us took a turn "seeking" except me. For some reason, I was suddenly overcome by an irrational fear of not being able to find anyone and having to hunt for forever. Truth be told, there are not many stellar hiding places in our house; however, HH managed to find a passable one and, combined with our children not being particularly observant (I didn't want to actively partake in the "seeking" as I thought it would be an unfair advantage), the kids searched for HH for a long time. He got bored after awhile and turned on the sound system (there's an app for that, yes) and turned on creepy music. L got freaked out and so we yelled and ask him to change to Hot and Cold Dr. Who -- the closer we got, the louder the music. It was an interesting twist on the game -- if the music is super loud, you can't hear breathing, and it's odd to know the other person knows you're there and close but you don't know where they are. It took a few repeats of the opening Dr. Who theme before the kids found him. He was hiding behind the curtains in his office and the kids had even come into the room a few times and once were within six inches of where he stood. It's so interesting how you can be looking for something and it's right in front of you, and you know it is, but you still can't see it.
Yesterday marked a year since I first met my HH. The day after, I hosted a very successful party, which I posted about, and it seems like it was a turning point: the day after my life changed and was going to get better.
Sometimes I look at him (HH) and it seems so short since we got married and I have a mini-panic session about the choice I made. ("Do I know this person? Is he safe to kiss?") Other times, he is reading my actions and finishing my sentences and it seems as though we have been together for forever.
Being married is so different than I ever thought it would be. My emotions about being married and my spouse and situation are different than I imagined they would be, as well. Not everything is roses and moonlight -- something I knew in theory, but as much as I could have mentally prepared myself, it's all different when kids have meltdowns and the house is a mess and I'm tired and all I want is ten minutes to myself in the shower without being interrupted. Sometimes I feel like I'm playing hide-and-go-seek with my "new" reality -- it's like my internal stability, which hindsight is painting as predictable and safe (which it definitely wasn't, in many ways) is hiding and I'm seeking it. Constantly! Living with two young boys is never boring.
Life is raw, real, and messy; however, its rewards are great: I am privileged to reach out in the night and know my HH will always reach back. I do not have to play hide-and-seek with him. Or my boys.
I am grateful for each kiss, hug, and joyful cry of "mom" or "Mama!" No more games. Just the reality of making this life and these short years I've been granted the best ever.
After dinner, as an extended Advent activity, each of us took a turn "seeking" except me. For some reason, I was suddenly overcome by an irrational fear of not being able to find anyone and having to hunt for forever. Truth be told, there are not many stellar hiding places in our house; however, HH managed to find a passable one and, combined with our children not being particularly observant (I didn't want to actively partake in the "seeking" as I thought it would be an unfair advantage), the kids searched for HH for a long time. He got bored after awhile and turned on the sound system (there's an app for that, yes) and turned on creepy music. L got freaked out and so we yelled and ask him to change to Hot and Cold Dr. Who -- the closer we got, the louder the music. It was an interesting twist on the game -- if the music is super loud, you can't hear breathing, and it's odd to know the other person knows you're there and close but you don't know where they are. It took a few repeats of the opening Dr. Who theme before the kids found him. He was hiding behind the curtains in his office and the kids had even come into the room a few times and once were within six inches of where he stood. It's so interesting how you can be looking for something and it's right in front of you, and you know it is, but you still can't see it.
Yesterday marked a year since I first met my HH. The day after, I hosted a very successful party, which I posted about, and it seems like it was a turning point: the day after my life changed and was going to get better.
Sometimes I look at him (HH) and it seems so short since we got married and I have a mini-panic session about the choice I made. ("Do I know this person? Is he safe to kiss?") Other times, he is reading my actions and finishing my sentences and it seems as though we have been together for forever.
Being married is so different than I ever thought it would be. My emotions about being married and my spouse and situation are different than I imagined they would be, as well. Not everything is roses and moonlight -- something I knew in theory, but as much as I could have mentally prepared myself, it's all different when kids have meltdowns and the house is a mess and I'm tired and all I want is ten minutes to myself in the shower without being interrupted. Sometimes I feel like I'm playing hide-and-go-seek with my "new" reality -- it's like my internal stability, which hindsight is painting as predictable and safe (which it definitely wasn't, in many ways) is hiding and I'm seeking it. Constantly! Living with two young boys is never boring.
Life is raw, real, and messy; however, its rewards are great: I am privileged to reach out in the night and know my HH will always reach back. I do not have to play hide-and-seek with him. Or my boys.
I am grateful for each kiss, hug, and joyful cry of "mom" or "Mama!" No more games. Just the reality of making this life and these short years I've been granted the best ever.
Wednesday, November 30, 2016
phone + snippets
HH has been away the last couple of days, which has stunk a bit because I miss him, but also because I have a cold. :(
Today a glass pitcher fell on my back and then hit the floor, leaving a ginormous divet, and broke in a zillion tiny pieces and it took forever to attempt to clean up. I am hopeful HH can fix it.
Yesterday, both my kids dragged me under the mistletoe to kiss their cheeks. I am grateful for the hugs they so freely give.
I am grateful that I have nieces and nephews, sisters and brothers. Today I am Auntie x11. I've met a couple of my nieces (who are actually closer to my age than my kids') only a couple of times, but I am excited to meet the new little guy who joined the world today. Each child in my family is lovely and unique. I am so grateful for all I learned about being a mom from watching my siblings be parents. I would like to give a special shout out to K and IGPM and their parents for allowing me to be so bossy and interfering all these years. :)
I was thinking about how I like talking to my family, and I called HH today to check in, and gave the phone to my kids. I realized something after about five seconds: my kids don't know how to use the phone. It's hilarious. They hold the phone six inches away from their mouth (not their ear) and don't know how to put it on speakerphone. I tried to put it next to L's ear and he looked at me like, "what are you doing, Mom?" It's so strange to me. I saw my mom on the phone all the time, and I'm sure I had made a zillion phone calls to Dad's office, my childhood friend's houses, and whoever else would pick up the phone, by the time I was ten. It's so interesting to me that their technology is not phone, but video, and they have no idea what to do with just a plain old audio device.
Here's to phones. Here's to communications. Here's to good old-fashioned audio devices.
Today a glass pitcher fell on my back and then hit the floor, leaving a ginormous divet, and broke in a zillion tiny pieces and it took forever to attempt to clean up. I am hopeful HH can fix it.
Yesterday, both my kids dragged me under the mistletoe to kiss their cheeks. I am grateful for the hugs they so freely give.
I am grateful that I have nieces and nephews, sisters and brothers. Today I am Auntie x11. I've met a couple of my nieces (who are actually closer to my age than my kids') only a couple of times, but I am excited to meet the new little guy who joined the world today. Each child in my family is lovely and unique. I am so grateful for all I learned about being a mom from watching my siblings be parents. I would like to give a special shout out to K and IGPM and their parents for allowing me to be so bossy and interfering all these years. :)
I was thinking about how I like talking to my family, and I called HH today to check in, and gave the phone to my kids. I realized something after about five seconds: my kids don't know how to use the phone. It's hilarious. They hold the phone six inches away from their mouth (not their ear) and don't know how to put it on speakerphone. I tried to put it next to L's ear and he looked at me like, "what are you doing, Mom?" It's so strange to me. I saw my mom on the phone all the time, and I'm sure I had made a zillion phone calls to Dad's office, my childhood friend's houses, and whoever else would pick up the phone, by the time I was ten. It's so interesting to me that their technology is not phone, but video, and they have no idea what to do with just a plain old audio device.
Here's to phones. Here's to communications. Here's to good old-fashioned audio devices.
Monday, November 28, 2016
gratitude
Today I did Pilates from the server.
It was weird: a couple of the girls in the background were wearing olive green unitards that were cropped. A capri unitard? I ask you, what could be more ridiculous? I
It was hard: I didn't know all the terms, and just following was hard. The instructor wasn't going particularly fast, but of course they gave the most camera time to the girl that doesn't sweat and has perfect form in front, instead of the girl behind who was doing the modified version (what I really needed to see). I honestly just gave up and laughed at myself and my flailing efforts a few times.
It was good: I felt better afterwards. I felt taller, lighter, and just a little bit better about myself. Of course, I need a mat. The example people were on oval dais-looking things and it reminded me of the post-baby body workout Mom used to do. I would watch it with her sometimes to see the cute babies. I still sometimes have the theme song, "The twoooooo of us...." stuck in my head.
I am grateful for a body that can, over time, get stronger, even though often I fret because I am tired. So often at the end of the day I feel like a dishrag that has been wrung out to the last drop. I feel emotionally and physically "done." Luckily for me, HH says "he's never done" and so he encourages me to keep on going, to keep on trying, and to keep on doing whatever I can to make my life better. Although I am not grateful for the fatigue I suffer, I am grateful for the strength of character that dealing with the fatigue has given me.
I recently read a talk that posited an interesting idea: instead of being grateful "for" things, we should be grateful "in" whatever circumstances we are in. It's fairly easy to count your blessings when they are readily apparent, and when the good times are rolling. But when you feel cold and rainy inside, and you feel like you do not even have one parade float inside of you, it is so hard -- extremely difficult -- to feel like you want to be "in" anything at all -- much less to be grateful for it.
I have been there, in the cold and dark emotional places of the world, where you feel like your emotions are wrapped in sludgy jello and you're so emotionally drained you don't even care if you feel anything ever again.
I have also been in a place of incandescent happiness, of joy, of laughter. Each time one of my boys reaches out to take my hand and holds it longer than necessary, I am buoyed up. My little IPGM is growing up so fast, and he listened to one of my boys air all his sorrows and grievances (which are no fault of his own), and I almost cried, I was so grateful for his love and affection toward my boy who has hurt so much.
I am grateful for choices. Most particularly, I am grateful for the choice I have to love freely, unconditionally, and to love people for all of the good things they are and do, even if I don't love all the things they do all the time.
Having my HH and my boys has healed something inside of me, and made me stronger, more loving, more accepting, and more grateful for the small things, like little tendril curls of squashes and melons, four-inch-long slugs, tree frogs, paved roads, rain, and the mail.
I am more at peace (generally) than I think I have ever been. It is beautiful, and although my level of gratitude ebbs and flows depending on how well my children listen to me, how tired I am, and other factors, I hope I will be able to look at this time if I am ever in the dark and remember all the love and affection in my life.
Hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving, and are ready to take Christmas in stride!
It was weird: a couple of the girls in the background were wearing olive green unitards that were cropped. A capri unitard? I ask you, what could be more ridiculous? I
It was hard: I didn't know all the terms, and just following was hard. The instructor wasn't going particularly fast, but of course they gave the most camera time to the girl that doesn't sweat and has perfect form in front, instead of the girl behind who was doing the modified version (what I really needed to see). I honestly just gave up and laughed at myself and my flailing efforts a few times.
It was good: I felt better afterwards. I felt taller, lighter, and just a little bit better about myself. Of course, I need a mat. The example people were on oval dais-looking things and it reminded me of the post-baby body workout Mom used to do. I would watch it with her sometimes to see the cute babies. I still sometimes have the theme song, "The twoooooo of us...." stuck in my head.
I am grateful for a body that can, over time, get stronger, even though often I fret because I am tired. So often at the end of the day I feel like a dishrag that has been wrung out to the last drop. I feel emotionally and physically "done." Luckily for me, HH says "he's never done" and so he encourages me to keep on going, to keep on trying, and to keep on doing whatever I can to make my life better. Although I am not grateful for the fatigue I suffer, I am grateful for the strength of character that dealing with the fatigue has given me.
I recently read a talk that posited an interesting idea: instead of being grateful "for" things, we should be grateful "in" whatever circumstances we are in. It's fairly easy to count your blessings when they are readily apparent, and when the good times are rolling. But when you feel cold and rainy inside, and you feel like you do not even have one parade float inside of you, it is so hard -- extremely difficult -- to feel like you want to be "in" anything at all -- much less to be grateful for it.
I have been there, in the cold and dark emotional places of the world, where you feel like your emotions are wrapped in sludgy jello and you're so emotionally drained you don't even care if you feel anything ever again.
I have also been in a place of incandescent happiness, of joy, of laughter. Each time one of my boys reaches out to take my hand and holds it longer than necessary, I am buoyed up. My little IPGM is growing up so fast, and he listened to one of my boys air all his sorrows and grievances (which are no fault of his own), and I almost cried, I was so grateful for his love and affection toward my boy who has hurt so much.
I am grateful for choices. Most particularly, I am grateful for the choice I have to love freely, unconditionally, and to love people for all of the good things they are and do, even if I don't love all the things they do all the time.
Having my HH and my boys has healed something inside of me, and made me stronger, more loving, more accepting, and more grateful for the small things, like little tendril curls of squashes and melons, four-inch-long slugs, tree frogs, paved roads, rain, and the mail.
I am more at peace (generally) than I think I have ever been. It is beautiful, and although my level of gratitude ebbs and flows depending on how well my children listen to me, how tired I am, and other factors, I hope I will be able to look at this time if I am ever in the dark and remember all the love and affection in my life.
Hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving, and are ready to take Christmas in stride!
Sunday, November 13, 2016
gifts: making of, and giving, and Christmas approaching! + politics
I am getting a new nephew in a month or so. This will be my first (and perhaps last?) niece/nephew since I got married. I went to my sister - in-law's shower on Saturday. I made her a quilt with cute little fishies on one side and clouds and stars on the other. I told her I hoped she knew we would love her little guy from the depths of the sea to the stars in the sky.
I have mixed feelings about gifting my creations. I am happy to share, but I sometimes have a hard time letting go and just being grateful for the ability to create things and not worry about whether the item will be used or enjoyed as much as I hoped/dreamed/anticipated. It's a lot of work to do these things, and if you don't feel like it's appreciated, it makes you never want to do it again.
For example, I made an apple pie a couple of weeks ago. One of my kids refused to even try it and the other ate one bite and rejected it. Because of the circumstances, I felt like it had been an act of slavery to even try. I love apple pie. I was devastated beyond all reason (I was really tired, and I never seem to look at things reasonably when I'm exhausted) and their rejection of my hard work went straight to my "I'm taking this personally, even though I know I shouldn't" place. I vowed never to make an apple pie, or maybe even any other kind of pie, ever again.
I'm taking a risk this Christmas on gifts for my kids. This will be our first. They don't know about Reindeer Moments. They don't know about St. Lucia day. They don't know about Nine Days to Christmas, the Story of Holly and Ivy, the nativity I have planned, or Ramona and the Wise Persons. I am so excited to share all the wonder and goodness with them. I have so many things I love...if they don't enjoy Christmas crackers, then they'll have to hand in their little boy cards!
Just this morning we were debating about wake-up time for Christmas morning. Seven o'clock seems like disastrously late to them. It seems disastrously early to me. We do have 11 am church, so perhaps, in order to fit ALL the festivities in, we will need to get that early of a start. I hope not. Grouchy tired Christmas is not really what I have in mind.
I have been so grateful for being really excited for Christmas. I have felt lonely around the holidays for the last few years, and to finally have my own family for Christmas seems like the best ever. You only get one first Christmas with your kids. Mine is unusual because my kids will someday, perhaps, maybe remember a tiny smidge of it.
There has been a lot of heartache and bad feeling in this country. There has been, and continues to be, a lot of anxiety. I can't believe my neighbors voted to pass some of the initiatives that were put into place. I felt upset by the outcome of the statewide election. (Let's not talk about how I felt about the national outcome.) I thought that if they had voted with the children in mind, that the result of the vote would have been different.
But then I thought about Christmas, and about love, and about giving gifts. Yes, I'm still rankled if I think about it too hard. But the best thing I can do is to love my neighbors. Even the weird guy who sometimes wanders around wearing just underwear. I can make a difference in my community. I can be a force for the things I believe in. And I am grateful for the gift to see that no matter what happens in any election, I can still be the kind of person I want to be. Yeah, I'll probably still be neurotic about making and giving gifts. I'm working on letting go of that. But I think of the love my kids show me and I am overcome with the conviction that I can, and must, do my part -- to teach them, to love them, to do my best to help them become wise, loving, thinking, open-minded people who can love their neighbors and have a desire to make the world a better place.
I have mixed feelings about gifting my creations. I am happy to share, but I sometimes have a hard time letting go and just being grateful for the ability to create things and not worry about whether the item will be used or enjoyed as much as I hoped/dreamed/anticipated. It's a lot of work to do these things, and if you don't feel like it's appreciated, it makes you never want to do it again.
For example, I made an apple pie a couple of weeks ago. One of my kids refused to even try it and the other ate one bite and rejected it. Because of the circumstances, I felt like it had been an act of slavery to even try. I love apple pie. I was devastated beyond all reason (I was really tired, and I never seem to look at things reasonably when I'm exhausted) and their rejection of my hard work went straight to my "I'm taking this personally, even though I know I shouldn't" place. I vowed never to make an apple pie, or maybe even any other kind of pie, ever again.
I'm taking a risk this Christmas on gifts for my kids. This will be our first. They don't know about Reindeer Moments. They don't know about St. Lucia day. They don't know about Nine Days to Christmas, the Story of Holly and Ivy, the nativity I have planned, or Ramona and the Wise Persons. I am so excited to share all the wonder and goodness with them. I have so many things I love...if they don't enjoy Christmas crackers, then they'll have to hand in their little boy cards!
Just this morning we were debating about wake-up time for Christmas morning. Seven o'clock seems like disastrously late to them. It seems disastrously early to me. We do have 11 am church, so perhaps, in order to fit ALL the festivities in, we will need to get that early of a start. I hope not. Grouchy tired Christmas is not really what I have in mind.
I have been so grateful for being really excited for Christmas. I have felt lonely around the holidays for the last few years, and to finally have my own family for Christmas seems like the best ever. You only get one first Christmas with your kids. Mine is unusual because my kids will someday, perhaps, maybe remember a tiny smidge of it.
There has been a lot of heartache and bad feeling in this country. There has been, and continues to be, a lot of anxiety. I can't believe my neighbors voted to pass some of the initiatives that were put into place. I felt upset by the outcome of the statewide election. (Let's not talk about how I felt about the national outcome.) I thought that if they had voted with the children in mind, that the result of the vote would have been different.
But then I thought about Christmas, and about love, and about giving gifts. Yes, I'm still rankled if I think about it too hard. But the best thing I can do is to love my neighbors. Even the weird guy who sometimes wanders around wearing just underwear. I can make a difference in my community. I can be a force for the things I believe in. And I am grateful for the gift to see that no matter what happens in any election, I can still be the kind of person I want to be. Yeah, I'll probably still be neurotic about making and giving gifts. I'm working on letting go of that. But I think of the love my kids show me and I am overcome with the conviction that I can, and must, do my part -- to teach them, to love them, to do my best to help them become wise, loving, thinking, open-minded people who can love their neighbors and have a desire to make the world a better place.
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