Happy Birthday, Kodison

My first impression upon seeing Kody for the first time (okay apart from the fact that he was really really tall) was that he was intelligent, well mannered, and funny. Oh, and he was crazy about Megs. That was pretty clear.

As things progressed I bent Megs ear ‘a tick’. She already had drawn up her own assessment of him, she just wasn’t ready to admit she was falling. So I nudged a bit. Just a bit. “What the heck are you afraid of Megs?” and “ You’d be hard pressed to find a finer young man”

In time (rather quickly in fact), she discovered and admitted to herself that her prince had in fact come. Kody was all she had been hoping for and more.

The surprise to everyone (okay mostly me) was the ‘and more’ part. It’s true, he is intelligent but not in a nerdy or superior way. He’s insightful and sees through a lot of crap. (I might even go so far as to label you ‘alternative’, Kodis:)

It’s also true that Kody’s manners are impeccable without being Mr. Collins like, as in giving them a studied air. He is polite and socially adept but it’s based in a genuine caring for the feelings of others. When he always compliments my cooking or thanks me for some small favor it’s always sincere. No Eddie Haskellness at all.

Perhaps the biggest surprise turned out to be his wit. Kody is really funny, but not in a ha ha ha in your face be the center of attention kind of way. No, his humor is much more subtle, keen, sometimes sarcastic (but never mean). Very Howard-like in his delivery.

These are things I love about Kody but wait there’s more. I appreciate his goodness, his kindness, his gentle demeanor. I love how he treats and respects Meghan, and how kind he is to me.

Kodison, I am so happy you are a part of our little fam. You have brightened and cheered and taught us all one can be obsessed with little men in helmets and tight pans and still be much loved.

Happy Birthday. Love, Velma

Announcing New Blog

In light of my recent desire to update the Arnett Family Cookbook, a new idea came to me while soaking in the tub this morning. It’s this: I am starting a new Cooking/Recipe blog for all Arnett wimmens, (and menfolk too, if they care to participate) called The Humble Pie (as this is the year I am renouncing my A.S.S.dom )

As soon as I get my technical advisor (um, that would be ld) to help me figure out how to let everyone post on it, I will be launching it by this weekend. I can’t wait. There are so many great cooks in this family, and it will be fun to share. What think ye?

The only criteria to submitting recipes is that you have to be an Arnett, or descended from one, or married to one, or related to someone who knows an Arnett, or a friend of a friend of an Arnett, blah blah blah. You get the idea.

Arnett Wimmens Unite! Bust out those fav recipes.

Here Jeff

Under the Ramada at Cibola

On Acacia

Waiting for Candy 1957

Ethel Rose

Today would have been my mother’s 83rd birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom.

I remember a conversation I had with her while driving home from a doctor’s appointment, let’s see, that would have been like 18 or 19 years ago. The realization that she might not live as long as she had hoped and prayed for had begun to sink in, I think. We were talking about her radiation treatments and when the next scheduled one was, when suddenly she blurted out, “You won’t forget me, will you?”

Fat chance, Mom. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t remember and think of you in some way. Because it’s the month for Mother’s Day and because it’s your birthday, here’s a little poem I have always loved. For you, Mom. Loved, missed and never forgotten.


A Mother’s Love Determines How

A mother’s love
Determines how
We love ourselves and others.

There is no sky we’ll ever see
Not lit by that first love.

Stripped of love,
The universe
Would drive us mad with pain;
But we are born into a world
That greets our cries with joy.

How much I owe you for the kiss
That told me who I was!
The greatest gift—a love of life—
Lay laughing in your eyes.

Because of you my world still has
The soft grace of your smile;
And every wind of fortune bears
The scent of your caress.

Nicholas Gordon

a little stroll in The Park…on a Sunday afternoon

like moths around a flame

Penee’s ability to strike up a conversation with anyone, anywhere and anytime is legendary. She is famous for this and takes a fair amount of teasing about it.

Her family and those who know her have witnessed this many, many times. Most recently, on our return flight from NYC, I had to smile to myself. I was sitting a couple of rows ahead of her (due to a delayed and missed flight) and could hear laughter and animated conversation coming from the back of the plane. I could make out Penee’s voice and knew it must be some good convo they were having.Turns out it was.

HB drove us all home from the airport and Penee shares:

Pen: I sat next to the nicest lady on the way home. Oh, we had a good time. She was molested when she was a child.

HB: (he expresses what we are all thinking) Penee! How is that possible that people just reveal that kind of stuff to you, I mean how does that come up in the conversation?

Penee chuckles, shrugs and passes it off. It’s an unknowable.

But I will tell you why.

Her ability to engage others in divulging their hearts and souls (as in recent surgical operations, their cats proclivity to depression and their bra size!) is due in large measure to Penee’s goodness. People sense a good woman, with a delightful and warm sense of humor and are drawn to that.

Who can resist a kindhearted woman with a genuine interest in them? When you throw in her willingness to reveal her own hilarious antics and uniqueness, well then, it’s little wonder.

Penee attracts people simply by being Penee.

So glad you were born, Pen. What would the world look like or be without you? Love you. Happy Birthday. (belated!)

nyc musings

I meant to post as soon as we got home from New York but I came down with a killer feel like crap cold/flu. So much for my healthy running streak. I started feeling feverish and terrible on the flight home and have been sick since. So sick in fact I would even label it ‘a man cold’, that’s just how crummy I feel.

But I can’t let any more time pass without making comment on our trip to NYC. Oh people, we had a great time. Ld and I saw all the typical sites: Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Ground Zero, Times Square. Even took in a Broadway play. Oh, and the Brooklyn Bridge, we walked across. Very cool. Loved it all.

My all time favorite places visited, though, were the Metropolitan Museum of Art (including the Cloisters, Lacy! You were right) and strolling through Central Park. Those places were absolutely amazing and so aesthetically enriching, I kid you not. They were so wonderfully memorable that on dark days I will be able to pull up a memory and it will be enough. I won’t even have to be there, like Julia says in Orwell’s 1984 about the room she and Winston escape to, “it’s enough to know that it exists.”
Such beauty hung in the halls of one’s mind, that should get anyone through the day, eh?

I will carry with me forever the sights and sounds of NYC: the bright lights, honking horns, hordes of people and most all of them in a hurry, sirens blaring, the stench of cigarette smoke, steam rising from the ground, pigeons, street vendors, musicians playing in the subway, bagged garbage stacked onto the street, and so much more. What surprised me was that I didn’t feel shocked at anything I saw and that includes the homeless on the subway or the beggars or the ethnic diversity. In fact, when we ate at a highly recommended Mexican restaurant in Harlem all I could think of was that it reminded me of Benefield’s in Ripley (only on a much, much larger scale) So, I guess you could say if you’ve lived in Blythe, you’ve seen New York☺.

I loved it all and I loved seeing it with ld. He is essential to travel with as I’ve mentioned before his great skills in deciphering a map. He is also, umm, how shall I put it, interesting to travel with as he is game to see everything and walks purposely, sometimes leaving me 3 paces behind. But he always noticed if I fell too far behind and would turn around and clutch my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost in the crowd.

The only downside to traveling with ld (okay, the most exasperating thing!) is he likes to see his sights with music blaring in his ear and more than once he had to be reminded to ‘take the dang earphones out’ of his ears so I could talk to him. Seriously, this was quite an embarrassing problem.

I guarantee you would all cringe with chagrin if you had sat next to him on the subway with his Ipod blaring:

Ld: (speaking really really LOUD) HEY, SEE THAT GUY OVER THERE, THE ONE WITH THE ORANGE PANTS? DO YOU THINK THAT GUY NEXT TO HIM IS HIS GAY LOVER? PRETTY SURE THEY ARE GAY.

Me: (I put my finger to my lips and shoot him a stern look of reprimand) Shhh, they can hear you. Take. Out. Your. Earphones. NOW! And stop talking so (I’m blinking wildly for emphasis) loud!!

Oh, the mortification. You have no idea how unsettling it is to be out and about with such unpredictable outbursts. Imagine walking around Central Park trying to look nonchalantly mainstream when ld comments, (loudly, did I mention LOUDLY?) on a distinguished looking man who has just passed by:

Ld: WHY DO GUYS USE GRECIAN FORMULA ON THEIR HAIR? WHY DOES IT ALWAYS MAKE THEIR HAIR LOOK RED? HUH, WHY IS THAT?

Again, I try to shush him. Is it too much to just speak in normal tones?

Or try this horrific scenario. We are sitting on a double decker tour bus, Penee sitting next to me, ld behind. We are oohing and ahhing over the sites when I turn around and my earphone plugged in hubby looks me in the eye and pronounces solemnly and matter of factly (only it wasn’t subdued as he doesn’t realize he is shouting)

Ld: I’VE GOT GAS.

I smile weakly. For this very reason alone it was impossible for ld and I to look like anything other than what we were: a couple of eccentric country bumpkin old fart tourists. The ones who talk REALLY LOUD and don’t know it because they have earphones in their ears. But, I am here to tell you people, that once I got past that, once I accepted my inner tourist, I simply didn’t care.

It was a once in a lifetime trip. And ld, lest you think I have been too harsh in my poking fun, rest assured I can’t think of anyone, past or present, I would rather have made the journey with.

Thanks for taking me.

the main reason I brought ld to NYC

This picture says it all. I have absolutely no navigational skills. Fortunately, ld does and because of his great talent for making sense of lines and dots on a map we have been able to hop on and off subways and buses with ease. Napoleon was sooo right. Chicks love guys with skills.

Hang Tough, Hang In and Hang On

Everyone I know in my little fam, myself included, is a little tired and burned out. It is, after all, Spring and that is the beginning of long work days for ld. He is busy, busy and more than a little crotchety as a result. Finals keep Kenz and Megs and their hubbys up late writing papers and studying. When you throw in our new Cate in the mix, you can see not much sleep is happening. I shouldn’t be pooped, have no reason really, but I am. Seems like it’s enough just watching those I love being pushed and pulled in every direction. It drives me to the couch in weariness.

But it will all be over soon. Finals will come and go, ld will adjust to his workload, Cate will start sleeping through the night soon. Well, okay I lied about that part. Rather, Kenz will learn to nap when baby does.

So in honor of all my dear fam, those who are messed up, depressed, discouraged, stressed out, burned out, mentally strained, physically drained, and spiritually out of sorts (in other words those exactly like me) here is something to encourage and lift you.

Elder Holland gave this talk years ago at a BYU devotional. It’s especially applicable today as it speaks to our current brain strain and heart pain.

We speak about excellence a great deal at BYU these days, and, by definition, excellence does not come easily or quickly—an excellent education does not, a successful mission does not, a strong, loving marriage does not, rewarding personal relationships do not. It is simply a truism that nothing very valuable can come without significant sacrifice and effort and patience on our part. Perhaps you discovered that when you got your grades last month. Maybe in other ways you are finding that many of the most hoped-for rewards in life can seem an awfully long time coming.

My concern this morning is that you will face some delays and disappointments at this formative time in your life and feel that no one else in the history of mankind has ever had your problems or faced those difficulties. And when some of those challenges come, you will have the temptation common to us all to say, "This task is too hard. The burden is too heavy. The path is too long." And so you decide to quit, simply to give up. Now to terminate certain kinds of tasks is not only acceptable but often very wise. If you are, for example, a flagpole sitter then I say, "Come on down." But in life's most crucial and telling tasks, my plea is to stick with it, to persevere, to hang in and hang on, and to reap your reward. Or to be slightly more scriptural:

Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.

Behold, the Lord requireth the heart and a willing mind; and the willing and obedient shall eat the good of the land of Zion in these last days. [D&C 64:33­34]

I am asking you this morning not to give up "for ye are laying the foundation of a great work." That "great work" is you—your life, your future, the very fulfillment of your dreams. That "great work" is what, with effort and patience and God's help, you can become. When days are difficult or problems seem unending, I plead with you to stay in the harness and keep pulling. You are entitled to "eat the good of the land of Zion in these last days," but it will require your heart and a willing mind. It will require that you stay at your post and keep trying.

(To view the rest of his excellent speech go to: http://speeches.byu.edu/reader/reader.php?id=6877)

He essentially is saying to Hang in and Hang on. Gotta love that. Laminate that to your foreheads or staple it to your heart and remember your ‘lil mommy’s mantra lo these many years: Nothing is long that has an end. : )

piano ha ha's

Most weekday afternoons I feel like I am living in a tv sitcom (only a good one). Teaching piano is just that funny. As Kenz frequently remarks, You have the most interesting piano students meaning they are hilarious and random. I suppose she’s right. I have filled a lot of journal entries with the wonderfully entertaining and wacky things they have said or done. The teenagers are amusing in their own right (that’s a whole ‘nother post), but it is the younger ones (like those under say 10) that are particularly crazy and endearing. I tee hee nearly every week.

You gotta love the little 7 yr old who shows up to her lesson with her recently purchased swimming cap in her bag. To her it made perfect sense to suddenly try it on in the middle of her finger patterns. C-D-E-F-G, apparently, just got too boring. I appreciated her attempt to liven things up a bit. I really did. Finger Patterns, after all, sound so much better when played with a swim cap on. A yellow one, no less. Yup.

This would be the same little adorable girl who, at a previous lesson, pulled out a dime from her tiny coin purse and insisted I take it.

Me: Why are you giving me a dime?

She: Because you need it.

Me: Nope, I don’t. You keep it and save it. Buy yourself something with it.

She: (Getting frustrated) No! You don’t get any money and someone should pay you.

I had a hard time making her understand that the envelope she brought every month, the one marked with my name on it, well, that contained her Mother’s check to me and I did in fact get paid by her Mother.

She could not wrap her little mind around this fact and insisted I take her dime. Which I did.

You gotta also love little Daxton, with his baseball cap and toothless grin. He came bounding up my stairs one day last spring, so excited he could barely contain himself. He proudly announced he had just won a slot in the Timpanogos Storytelling Festival competition at school and would be performing later in the summer.

I couldn’t resist.

Me: Well, let’s hear it then. Go ahead. Tell me your winning story.

So he regaled me with his rendition of The Big Mouth Frog, complete with actions and animated voice and exaggerated frog like mouth.

Highly entertaining. No wonder he won. After hearing it 3 times during his lesson I was convinced of his theatrical talent. As he left, he asked if I wanted to hear him do it again, you know because apparently I might not have caught all the nuances of his performance. Of course, I would love to hear it again. Oh. My.

I’ve learned a lot teaching piano, too. I’m thinking of the little girl who retrieved from her music bag a culinary concoction consisting of saltine crackers, butter and cheese with a big sprinkle of cinnamon on top.

She explained between bites.

Alyssa: I made myself a little snack.

Me: So I see. Well, well.

Before I could instruct her that snacks are best eaten away from the piano, (especially away from my piano) she gave me the recipe for her tasty snack. You know, in case I ever wanted to go whip myself up one.

Alyssa: But remember, (she cautioned! Spewing crackers through her lips) you have to use Cimma Mum.

Me: Gotcha

Through the years I have enjoyed/endured such delightful randomness and kookiness. It’s hard, really hard, not to smile or even laugh out loud at the student who thinks they can play piano with their winter gloves on (and we all know who that would be, eh Lacy? ☺ or who decides to lie down on the bench and stretch out as playing that piece one more time is so exhausting. I’ll just take a nap right now, if you don’t mind. During my lesson.

Oh, and I’ll never forget the time Jesse Boone came wearing his sister's contact lens. I couldn’t figure out why all the tears and excessive blinking. Was he sad, did I do something? No, no. He just wanted to try out his sisters contacts, because you know, that might be fun. Never mind that he couldn’t see with them, and his eyes kept crossing. But then again, nothing J.B. did was surprising. Half the time he showed up without his books because ‘they were nowhere to be found’, his mom must have ‘thrown them away’. And when I asked him what we should do for his lesson then, he always cheerfully suggested, We could just talk about music and stuff. Uh huh.

Here’s another. Gotta love this one. It’s Christmas time, and Jessica, (was then 7), is fascinated by my Nativity scene. She gently fingers the Wisemen and her hand stops on one in particular, the black Wiseman. Her brow furrows.

She blurts out:

Jessica: Where did you get this nativity scene?

Me: Uh… I got it at Costco.

Jessica: No. I mean what State did you buy this Nativity scene from?

Me: (Blank stare)

Jessica: You didn’t buy it in our State did you?

Me: (Still confused)

She continues, matter of factly.

Jessica: Because in our state the Wisemen are white and not black.

Oh. Of course, dontcha know?


I’ll end with Hadley. Just this Thursday. She’s zipping through her piece when she blurts out in the middle:

Hadley: Do you have something for me for my birthday?

Me: What? (I’m caught off guard, she succeeds in distracting me) Umm, when was your birthday?

Hadley: In the past.

Me: Oh. Well. Hmm. Good to know. Er. Continue.

Hadley: (Heavy Sigh, she reluctantly resumes her playing)

I give her an Otter pop as she leaves. For her birthday. The one that has passed.

My students, they never disappoint. I can depend on them to enlighten and entertain and as this weeks encounter proves, to even guilt me in an amusing way. And while I know for a fact that their Mothers would be horrified at what they sometimes blurt out or do, there is something so refreshingly honest and authentic in them. I envy their ability to say what they really feel and find myself wishing I could live with more childlike genuineness.

Who wouldn’t love to just lie down during church, right there on the bench, when the speaker drones on. And what I wouldn’t give to be able to don a yellow swimsuit cap the next time I’m up at the organ playing prelude.

Meghan Explains Martha

From the text messages, phone call and reports from Kody it sounds like Megs is having a good time in Maryland. You can view a synopsis of her research topic here:

http://www.salisbury.edu/ncur22/search/Display_NCUR.aspx?id=11093

She presents tomorrow. G’luck to ye, Megs.

code #231

Yesterday, on the drive down, I came upon a ponderable. No, it wasn’t the book I was reading (by Anne Lamott, btw) or the thought provoking scenery. No, this ponderable came as a result of an event. ld, for at least 45 minutes, kept trying to attach with his spit (that would be his unsanitary saliva, people!) this Global Positioning device thingy to the front windshield. And the dang thing kept falling. Down onto the dashboard. It would stick for a while and then kerplunk.

Now here’s the thing, the ponderable. We all know ld to be, umm, how shall I put it, a little less endowed with calm patience. Perseverant, yes. Very. But always patient, calm and soft spoken, umm, no. And yet there he was, serenely reapplying spit and patiently attempting to reattach the thing every time it fell. And nothing. No explosions or fits. Just, attach. Watch it fall. Reapply spit. Reattach. Watch it fall.

This to me was and is fascinating. What gives? Why in this instance the serene stick-to-it-ness? And I ask this, ld, because watching you do the same thing over and over and over again made me crazy. I wanted to take that little device and throw it out the window, such was my frustration er, annoyance. (This is why I gave you a lecture about falling into the same hole, remember?)

But you ld, you great fixer of all things and luv of my life, you kept on at it, until finally, (did I mention FINALLY!) you got it to stick. And we traveled on happily ever after.

So. After all this pondering and contemplation I can safely conclude (as I now have living proof ld) that you can change a lightbulb or fix the garbage disposal without any tantrums at all. Who knew? But now that I know, I’ll be holding you to a higher standard. From now on, say, when the front door won’t work (again!) or the windshield wipers on the car are kaput, or the oven won’t heat up, we can use a new code. (Heaven knows our relationship is all about codes.) I am excited about this code because it could really work for me in the future, ahem, not that I’m trying to rein you in, of course☺. Nothing like that. When something requires any kind of patience or doesn’t work or breaks I’m gonna simply and sweetly whisper, Spit on the GPS, dear and you’ll know what I mean.

Btw, could you fix the ring on my phone?

Guess the Time

Just FYI. Kenz is in labor. Started late this morning and without even being induced. I'm predicting she'll deliver around 3AM. Anyone care to venture the exact time? Guesser that comes closest wins a special cs treat, as in something with sugar and homemade and a secret ingredient. Yup.

My official guess is: 3:17 am.

Pre example, er, I mean pre eclampsia

So. I am holed up in Kenzie’s apartment typing on her bed. She is gently snoring her kitty cat purr on the other side. I am here doing the care taking thing as Kenz has pre eclampsia (toxemia) as diagnosed last night from her little late night run to the hospital. Yup. After the usual tests and another trip to see her ob/gyn this morning it was confirmed and she was ordered to bed. She can get up to go the bathroom and that’s it. Surprisingly, I am not overly alarmed. It is a relief that her doctor is aware and will monitor her closely (unlike my first pregnancy where I just ‘fell through the cracks’).

Her baby measures a little small and the doctor would like to buy some time for her and if her blood pressure and other symptoms can remain stable then so much the better. If not, then they will induce her Monday, or maybe Thursday. She is 37 weeks and the baby should do fine. Still, send up a prayer her way, will ‘ya friends and fam?

Even though the situation is a little stressful for Kenz I am happy to be hanging out with her. Yesterday was a very emotional and tiring day as we buried a dear friend and member of our ward. After all the funeral dinner clean up, I finally made it down to Provo to check on Kenz. She wasn't doing so well and when Brig got home later that night he took her to the hospital. In the middle of the night I get this text:

Brig:They are saying that 'lil munchkin has pre example or something.

That brought a smile to my face.

Things are looking up today and it's a comfort to know that there is a 'game plan' for her delivery. Banana flavored laffy taffy's are also comforting and I'm afraid I've eaten almost all the bag by the side of Kenzie's bed. (Sorry Brig, Kenz said I could:)

Proof

They do not love that do not show their love.

~ The Two Gentlemen of Verona (Shakespeare)

Which is why I bake him special cookies and let him stamp all my money.

a singing valentine

No one sings it better than Esther. Here, ld. This is for you.

Bad food choice. Again.

Lunchtime rolled around and found me making a meal out of the big bowl of leftover carmel corn, the one I fixed last night for ld’s home evening group. Meghan came home in between classes and work and joined me in the snarfing.

Me: Heeeyyyy, quit eating this! Stop! ( I swat her hands away) It’s for the poor and the needy.

Megs: What? (She's all indignant) I AM THE POSTER CHILD OF POOR AND NEEDY!

Me: hmmmm.

We devoured the entire bowl.

Strawberry Love

Yesterday’s Sunday chicken turned out a little dry and the potatoes were not their usual best but I redeemed myself with this:

This brought rave reviews all the way around. And why not? As it is simply heavenly tasting and very Valentiney. Okay, I’ll share. First, bake a white cake. Either in a heart shaped pan or a square one and a circle one and then cut the circle in half and attach to the square to make a heart. Let cake cool.

Then fill the layer with frosting which consists of 1 block cream cheese, 2 cups whipped cream, 2 cups powdered sugar. Oh, and I tinted it with just a hint of Strawberry Danish Dessert and added a few sliced berries to the filling.

Then after I frosted the whole thing and refrigerated it for a couple of hours, I topped it off with a Strawberry glaze consisting of strawberries and Danish dessert.

It was sooo good. But don’t take my word for it.



Go make this now.

Saturday funsters

This is how fun ld and I are. We spent the day stamping money (by ‘we’ of course I mean ld), cleaning up the mess made from my baby burp cloth making, and did a little shopping (ala Costco and Walmart).

We also bought some new super absorbant towels at Bed, Bath and Beyond. Ld and I both agree that the towels are very nice. Whoo Whee, it’s come to this. New towels are the highlight of our middle aged day. But (!) just when I thought (yawn) that the day could not get anymore ordinary and ho hum, the internet comes through yet again. Look what I found:

http://www.wikihow.com/Fold-a-Towel-Elephant

Totally awesome. Towels as a creative medium.

hymn

A couple of days ago I received the following email. It was sent/forwarded to all Northern Utah Valley Piano teachers. I thought it was interesting. Maybe you will enjoy reading it. Attached to the email was an actual copy of the hymn text and music. I don’t know if I can make that happen in this post (as my tech skills are so lame, help ld!) but in any case, if you want a copy email me and I’ll send it to you.

From: Janice K. Perry
To: Senior Missionary Friends
Sent: Saturday, February 02, 2008 8:28 AM
Subject: story behind hymn that will be sung at funeral today


During President Hinckley's funeral the Tabernacle Choir sang a hymn text written by President Hinckley which I set to music
in December. I would like to share the story of it with you:

About two months before my niece Kathy Blacker died, on January 11, 2008, she found a three-verse poem by President Hinckley among her files. Although she was resigned to dying, she had some fears about the dying process and his words greatly comforted her especially the second verse which described exactly what she was feeling. She wrote to Pres. Hinckley's office to ask permission to have the poem printed on her funeral program, and she received a very nice letter from his secretary Don H. Staheli saying that President Hinckley gave his permission for her to do so. The letter also conveyed some very comforting words from Pres. Hinckley which were helpful to helpful to Kathy in her final weeks, and he said he would remember Kathy in his prayers.

Then Kathy suggested that I write and ask permission to give the poem a hymn setting. I did so, and Brother Staheli conveyed
President Hinckley's permission for me to write the hymn. After offering some heartfelt prayers that I might be able to write
appropriate music for his profoundly beautiful and moving text, I wrote the hymn setting and sent a copy to President Hinckley's office for approval at the end of December. I received no immediate response.

Kathy passed away January 11 and after her funeral I sent a copy of her funeral program to President Hinckley's office so he could see how nicely his poem was displayed along side my brother Gary Kapp's painting of Christ.

When I heard President Hinckley had passed away last Sunday night I was feeling a little sad to think I hadn't received a letter
with his official approval. But the very next day after his passing, the hoped-for letter arrived with his approval, his
permission for me to publish it in a future volume of my series Inspirational New Hymns for Choir and Home, and leaving it to my discretion as to whether to submit it to the Church Music Division. The timing was so unusual and I was extremely grateful to receive the letter as a tender mercy in my life.

Then on Monday afternoon Craig Jessop, Tabernacle Choir Director, heard about the hymn and had his office call me to obtain
a copy of the hymn for consideration for President Hinckley's funeral. On Tuesday, while traveling in California, I learned
that the hymn would be performed by The Tabernacle Choir at President Hinckley's funeral on Saturday.

Having seen the great comfort this hymn brought to my niece who died just two weeks before President Hinckley passed away, my great desire is for people throughout the world to have a free copy of these magnificent words of President Hinckley to comfort them in times of the loss of loved ones. This is just one more way his influence could be felt down through time.

Janice

******end of email**************

Looks like I can't get the music to come on. But here are the words to the hymn.

What is this thing, that men call death,
This quiet passing in the night?
‘Tis not the end, but genesis
Of better worlds and greater light.

O God, touch Thou, my aching heart
And calm my troubled, haunting fears
Let hope and faith, transcendent pure,
Give strength and peace beyond my tears.

There is no death, but only change,
With recompense for vict’ry won.
The gift of Him who loved all men,
The Son of God, the Holy One.

the way we judge the value of a goal is what we become in the process

The year before I turned 13, I wanted a sewing machine badly. I wanted one because my new sister-in-law Cathy had one and I was fascinated by her sewing feats. She routinely churned out homemade gifts, beautiful clothing and even made her own wedding dress. She was/is an incredibly skilled seamstress.

I was sure that I could learn to sew as well and had over the top fantasies of turning out crafts and hip clothing. Only I didn’t have a machine, so I did what I usually did when I had a need, I went to my Dad. He sat me down and told me that he would buy me a sewing machine if I would practice the piano for 1 full hour a day. Everyday. That was the deal and we shook on it.

That was in the fall and for the next 10 months I did that. I practiced and practiced and practiced some more. I endured my brothers’ comments, “Can’t you play anything else” or “Do you know anything else besides loud?” and to my surprise, (and I’m sure everyone else’s too) by the time summer rolled around I had improved. A lot. Even more importantly I discovered I loved playing. Really loved it. The practicing wasn’t so bad, after all and for my 13th birthday my Dad, true to his word, bought me a slightly used White sewing machine that did zigzag and sewed buttonholes. I was thrilled beyond anything and I loved my Dad for keeping his word.

I never mastered sewing. Not really. I could never make my attempts look like anything my sister-in-law ever created. But(!) the year I turned 14, I received a call from my Bishop (Kathleen’s dad, btw) to serve as the Ward Organist. I played the organ until I left for BYU. Then I played in student wards, and as ward organist for many, many years. It’s so funny now to think about how all my years of piano playing came about because of a sewing machine. As so often happens in life, I discovered a valuable skill while in the pursuit of something else. Life is funny that way.

I was thinking about this last night as I sat at my kitchen table sewing on my new sewing machine (given to me by ld) and whipping out baby burp cloths for Cate. My skills still aren’t great but what a happy little seamstress. Think of the puppets and dress up clothes. Oh, the possibilities.

Done Is Better Than Perfect

I am holed up in my bedroom trying to finish a project on my lap top that I should have completed back in early January. I am a procrastinator of the first order. This is because I always have such high expectations and make thinking about doing a job so much more difficult than actually just doing it. Why, oh why do I do this?

After surfing and visiting many psychology sites on the net I have learned so much. Helpful insight really, stuff like my energy sensor is not in perfect alignment. For you non new agey folk that means my mind is such a twisted mess of barbed wire, er, neural connections that I have formed coping patterns that allow me to escape the pain of doing something I don’t really wanna do. And this is all because my parents pinned my diapers on too tight when I was small. As a result there really is no hope for me because I also suffer from menopausal crapola and get too pooped just thinking about bending over to pick up a dropped pen.

Sadly, the cure for overcoming my condition isn’t looking real good, as this Psychology Today article offers not a whole lot of solace.

"Procrastinators can change their behavior — but doing so consumes a lot of psychic energy. And it doesn’t necessarily mean one feels transformed internally. It can be done with highly structured cognitive behavioral therapy."

Highly cognitive behavioral therapy? Oh, man. I haven’t got time for all that and cognating and cognivitation gives me a headache like no other.

So, nobody bother me as I buckle down and finish my Society of Relief Planning Guide for the Year. The one that was supposed to be finished by January 1 and with cute little clip art.

I’ve decided to just DO IT. And I’m doin’ it NOW.

To Know Her Is To Love Her

Years ago, when I was attending BYU and still single, I spent an awful lot of time over at HB and Penee’s. I love my brother and sister-in-law dearly but their adorable little girl, Lindsay Anne was really the reason for my frequent (okay, almost daily) visits.

She was the most precocious and darling little thing I had ever seen and so entertaining. We played and hung out a lot, the age difference was irrelevant. She was my little friend.

Sometime after, I married and was lucky enough to tend Lindsay (Lacy and Dana and Devry, too!) for awhile while Penee worked. She loved to read, read, read and talk, talk, talk. I laugh now thinking about conversations I had with this amazing little 3 year old. Her many gifts and talents were evident early on, not the least of which was/is her ability to be an amusing and thought provoking conversationalist. I have always maintained that Linds should have gone into television and had her own talk show as her ability to talk about anything and everything to nearly anyone is remarkable.

Through the years I have watched her grow into the lovely young woman she is today. I see her lift and brighten and inspire by her example so many, myself included, and feel so lucky to still call her ‘my little friend’.

Happy Birthday, Lindsay Anne. Love, love you.

Can a person really bring too many mashed potatoes? Yes, yes they can.

Yesterday a family member and I (and he shall remain nameless except his initials are BGA) engaged in a slightly heated discussion about…well, it doesn’t matter. Let me just say it wasn’t about politics. I don’t even remember how the subject came up but since it is something that I feel very strongly about (and true to my A.S.S. genes) the conversation became much more, shall we say, animated and lively.

Now I am not saying I was ticked off. No, no. I was simply right and BGA was wrong. You can picture the scenario. And there sat Kenz, slightly amused by all the craziness. I wasn’t yelling, really, I was just talking with elevated volume. Increasingly elevated volume.

I was talking loud because I was so afraid that my rational, reasonable words would not be heard in normal tones and so I blustered and sputtered and punctuated the air with my pointer finger. At one point, in exasperation, I yelled from the kitchen into the bedroom, You hearing all this, ld? I could use some help here? To which he shot back some comment that I didn’t hear and then I took a deep breath and carried on the battle. I got no reinforcement there.

Now here’s the thing. BGA is a hard person to debate with because he is stubborn and doesn’t really get flustered (which is infuriating) and he is so confident that he is right. Shocker. The problem lies in the fact that I am the same. ‘Cept, I do get flustered, er discombobulated. You see the situation. Anyway, after going more than a few rounds we called it quits on the debating and ate some lunch. Which, to BGA’s credit, he ate with compliments between bites. This isn’t bad, Toots, really. Did I mention I fixed Pesto, which is made of pine nuts and does not include meat? You see his sweetness?

Continuing on. After lunch we all sat around the living room and the subject came up yet again. And again we went ‘round and ‘round with our words, talking past each other. But then someone stepped in to mediate (someone whose initials are JLW, better known as Goodboy, Hanz or Janny Nanny) and pointed out to me that what I was saying was being interpreted as hurtful and my argument was being misunderstood because of my ‘over the top’, excessive ‘all or nothing’ statements. Hurtful? I was being hurtful?

Ding. Hello. The light went on.

I turned to Brig and blurted out, “Oh well, I always serve too much pig.”

Wh- wh- what? What does that have to do with anything? He looked truly puzzled.

When I fix food or bring refreshments, I usually bring too much, way too much. Because I AM AFRAID THERE WON’ T BE ENOUGH. The Kalua Pig, I want there to be enough.

Ding. Hello. He gets it. I see it in his face.

But in case the rest of you don’t ‘get it’ let me spell it out. Because I am like every other human on the planet and on top of that a mess of a gal to boot, I have deep seated fears and strongly held values. Real deep fears and real strong opinions, on some subjects. They are so tightly held that I sometimes become afraid that I won’t be able to communicate them, nay, transmit them and have them embraced by those I love, so I beat them over the head and repeat myself over and over and talk LOUDandfastandreallyLOUDandsaycrazythings. Things like 'you can’t be a good person unless you are educated' and 'girls shouldn’t get married at 19'. Crazy stuff like that. And because I am afraid that you won’t get enough of my strongly held opinion, well, then have some more pig or pop because I brought more, lots more. And you must eat it.

But now the clouds of confusion have parted and I see that in my relentless pursuit to communicate to those I love that I value knowledge like the air I breathe and that girls, (oh, especially girls) should continually grow and learn and learn and grow (and READ!), I have unwittingly hurt others. Not intentionally, no never. But, very often the way I say something (as in tone and manner), not necessarily the message itself, is what is heard.

In other words, there are better ways for me to communicate. Far better ways. So, long and short of it is, I am sorry, soooo sorry dear little fam (and BGA in this case) for my lousy debating skills. You know I love you all. Oh, how I love you all. And BGA you are right, we are not so far apart in our thinking. In essentials we are very much the same.

The people in my fam are the best, and though we are all flawed and weird, we know how to put little verbal tussles and disagreements in perspective. No sooner had all this stuff happened then someone asked ‘Wanna go see a movie?’ to which we all agreed.

Sitting in the dark movie theater last night I got a little teary. Not because the movie was good (it wasn’t) but because I live a blessed life, surrounded by people who patiently tolerate my weaknesses and irrationality, gently point out my craziness, and love me still.

And while I make no guarantees about cutting back on the serving portions for our next family gathering, I promise to try really, really hard to serve up a lot less verbal pig.