General Conference

I have many happy memories of General Conference.

When I was a child, our television may have been black and white, but we got conference—all 3 days and 6 sessions of it! It may have seemed boring, but I liked the special feeling that was in our home when conference was on.

At BYU, like many others I occasionally took the opportunity to attend conference in person in the old Tabernacle with the hard seats and pillars blocking our view. If not, then it was on every radio and TV and piped all over campus. It was in the very air.

It’s now held in the new conference center, and we often have the choice of watching it on cable at home in our jammies or going to the church. Usually we opt for going to the church.

I’ve never understood people who think conference weekend is a vacation, or why attending one session fills the minimum requirement for church that week. Don’t they know that “…the expressed will of our Heavenly Father comes to his people at conference time..." ? Alvin R. Dyer CR 10/66
Prophets, seers, revelators and other inspired leaders are telling us what God wants us to know right now! David O. McKay said, "...the Lord has magnified each one who has spoken to the end that his words have emanated from the presence of our Father." CR 10/65
Does anyone really want to miss any of what the Lord has to tell us?

I remember when I started to enjoy conference. It was when I started really listening. As an adult, I listen pretty well now. But sometimes I really hear, with my heart and mind, and not just my ears.

There have been times when I knew without a doubt that a particular message was truly straight from the Lord. I’ll never forget hearing Tanner’s talk on the role of women, Maxwell’s talk on The Not-Yet Game, Benson’s talk on pride, Bednar’s talk on the Tender Mercies of God, and Jeffrey Holland's on the Lord's succor. Truly messages from a loving Heavenly Father.

Conference for me is always kind of a checklist to see how I’m doing. How much I get out of it is part of the test.

General Conference is a time of nostalgia, of feelings and memories of the past, but it is also the thrill of hearing current revelation straight from Heaven.
There is no greater thrill than that.
I surely wouldn't want to miss it.



Tabernacle dedicatory prayer:
"And we dedicate and consecrate that portion of this house where our president and thy servants now are, to be a holy and sacred place wherein thy servants may stand forth to declare thy words and minister unto thy people in the name of thy Son forever...
May the holy angels and ministering spirits be in and round about this habitation, that when thy servants are called upon to stand in these sacred places, to minister unto thy people, the visions of eternity may be open to their view, and they may be filled with the spirit and inspiration of the Holy Ghost and the gift and power of God; and let all thy people who hearken to the words of thy servants drink freely at the fountain of the waters of life, that they may become wise unto salvation, and thereby overcome the world and be prepared for an everlasting inheritance in the celestial kingdom of God."

High School Reunion

I did it! I survived my class reunion.
I did more than survive; I had fun!

I was glad I could locate my high school yearbook to take a peek at names and faces I haven't thought of in decades. I was glad they put our high school pictures on our name tags; no one was bashful about trying to match that memory with the older faces staring back at them. But I recognized many and could call them by name.

It was interesting to be in a room full of people all your same age.
I thought everyone looked pretty darn good. I was surprised to learn that over 30 people in my graduating class of over 400 had passed away, but then I remembered how old we all are. We really didn't look it.

I won the honors of having the most children, though I was tied with my friend Robin who wasn't there. I was one of the few who had never been to a class reunion. Other than that, I didn't have to reveal much more about myself than where I currently lived.

I learned that at least two members of my class had joined the Church. One was our class clown who joined after his experience in Viet Nam, and is now a temple worker in Mesa. The other was a quiet boy I hardly remember, but who I ended up sitting by at dinner.

I love the saying,
"When you leave a room, you take something with you and you leave something behind."
I think that is true of high school. The people you know and the experiences you have help mold the person you are. You take that with you. But you also influence others, and that stays with them.
I was gratified that even though I have thought very little of high school since I left, there were people who remembered me, were glad to see me, were even hoping I would come. Not bad for the quiet, awkward, backward girl that I was.

The hour's drive to the reunion over the familiar roads of my childhood gave me a chance to think about the experiences and relationships of my life. Amidst the serenity of evergreens, I felt an overwhelming peace about my life. I couldn't think of any loose ends, undone business, or unspent grudges. I'm not perfect and my life was far from it, yet I felt a great peace about it.

The feelings I had when looking at my yearbook were confirmed at my reunion: I went to school with really good people. When I think of my children's high school experiences, the jerks, the language, the immorality, and the drama, I feel very blessed that my asociates in school, pretty much my whole class, were really decent people, and still are.

They joked about us being too old to last the night, and I confess, in spite of my good intentions, I left a little early. I took my only chance to visit my family home on the lake. I was struck again at how lucky we were to grow up where we did, to live on beautiful lake property, to have such good friends, to have such good and pure memories in our later years.

I still don't know why I felt so strongly about attending this reunion, but it allowed me to reconnect with that formative part of my life, to experience peace about my life, and it heightened my gratitude for the blessings of my life.

Maybe I didn't go for someone else; maybe it was for me.

West High Class of '??

I am going to my high school reunion.
I don’t know why. I’ve never gone before. I’ve never wanted to go.
But for some reason I feel like I should.

I’m looking forward to it. I'm old enough that I'm not stressed about the usual things: I didn’t go on a diet, I didn’t buy a new outfit, I didn't have my nails done (ok, I never do). I'm comfortable going just as myself. And I think I’ve developed enough social skills to talk to people with whom I have a shared history, even if I don't remember them.

I’m glad that I never did anything to be ashamed of. I have no worries about who I might see or what they might remember.

When I was in high school I never hooked up with a particular group of friends. I was friends with everyone in my class. I liked it that way.

But when I left high school, I really left. I didn’t even glance back. I was so excited to be out of there and off to college and on to other things that I didn't stay in touch with anyone. It's been a long time since I've even thought of high school.

I’ve asked myself why I’m going. It’s certainly not to impress anyone. I don't think I'm trying to recapture the past. It's not even to rejuvenate old friendships that I don't have time for.

I think it’s more like gathering the puzzle pieces of your life and finishing the picture. It's about acknowledging the people and experiences that have made you what you are. It's about coming full circle.

I'm just guessing here. I'm really going just because I have a strong feeling that I should.

I'm even going all by myself (maybe to prove I really am a grown-up).

I may never know why I'm going, but it will be good to go home, and I plan on having a lot-o'-fun.


We are the Wildcats, the mighty, mighty Wildcats.
Everywhere we go people want to know
Who we are, and we tell them,
We are the Wildcats, the mighty, mighty Wildcats........

Lessons from Choir

I can't sing. Really I can't.

I learned too late in life that one can learn to sing.
I have tried to improve, and now I can almost carry a tune.

But I still can't hear harmony very well.
When I sit by someone in choir with a strong alto voice, I can sing almost as well as they can. But if I sit by people who are struggling to find the part, then we all flounder and can't find our way.
This experience always reminds me of how much I rely on other people--on their voice, their guidance, their support--to find my way in life. And having sat beside them, now there are days that I can sing alto, or have faith, or be a good neighbor, all by myself.

I've tagged along with my accompanist mother to choir since I was 12. My improvement as a singer is marginal, but I've learned many lessons while sitting in choir.

I love a note or phrase or verse sung in unison. One voice, one mind, one heart is a powerful thing.

But there is great texture in harmony, in the mix of different voices. A harmony part by itself may sound awkward, but when put together with the whole, it makes beautiful, rich music. Harmony can tell its own story, or add interest to the melody.
We all are trying to sing The Song of Redeeming Love, but our differences need not be dissident.

I always think it's funny when the sopranos complain when they're not given the melody to sing. They are used to the easy part; they're unfamiliar with harmony. Shouldn't we all try to walk in someone else's shoes sometimes? Shouldn't we be willing to carry the harder load occasionally?

Timing matters. There are times to sing fast, or slow, or loud or soft. Times to sing solo, or with others, in harmony or in unison. Timing matters in life. There are times to hurry, times to slow down; times to be heard, and times to be quiet; times to act on your own, and times to conform to the group. Life is a beautiful rendition when we learn the timing.

A choir would sound terrible if everyone sang their own song. It's beautiful when everyone follows the same music and the same leader. Zion is a beautiful place when everyone reads the instructions (scriptures) and follows the leader (prophet).

Not all people who come to choir can sing very well; some don't even read music. People come because they love to sing, or to be obedient. Almost all come willingly. That is a happy group of people. The sum of their parts is greater than the whole.

Lots of people sing very well, but don't come to choir at all.
Pox on them and their excuses.

I'm of the opinion that the whole congregation should be in the choir. It's nice to sit in the audience and listen to beautiful music, but it's even better to sing that music, joining your voice with others in making a joyful sound.
Life isn't a spectator sport. We were meant to be on stage, tuned in, hooked up and bowled over by the experience.

Every time I go to choir I have thoughts like these.

Mostly I go to choir because of hope.
I hope that if I am faithful in supporting the choir now, that maybe I will be rewarded in the next life with a voice to match my love of music.
And if I don't make the cut for the Heavenly Choir, I will have learned a lot of lessons, feebly sung a lot of beautiful songs, and still get to enjoy the music.

It's a win-win situation.

The Race is Not to the Swift

Today in Church the priest had to repeat the sacrament prayers three times. Each time he did better until he got it perfect, as required.

I find that every time I do Dance Dance Revolution, I’m a little better than I was the last time.

Every time I exercise I’m a little more limber, a little stronger, have a little more stamina than before.

It’s nice to see some progress because there is darn little in life we see progress in.


I have to think this is true of spiritual things too. Every little prayer, every moment in the scriptures, every good thought or kind deed makes us better.

I do better physically when I exercise frequently. Occasional exercise is almost like starting over again: I'm stiff, rusty and forgetful. It's also true if I neglect my spiritual self.


Perfection seems afar off, impossible even, but maybe we get there the same way we eat an elephant, one little bit at a time. I think it takes practice, persistence, repetition, and time. It's best if plied daily.

I’d like to think, even if I can’t see it, that I’m making some progress.
One can always hope.
And keep on truckin'.


Let us run with patience the race that is set before us. Hebrews 12:1

How Nice You LOOK

We do it to ourselves, you know, and to each other.

Have you ever noticed how many of our conversations are about looks?
"You look nice today."
"Cute shoes! "
"Is that a new outfit?"
"I’m having a bad-hair day."

It places an overinflated value on appearance.

Ed said,
When men found the mirror
They began to lose their souls.
The point, of course, is that
They began to concern themselves
With their images rather than
Their selves." --Stan Herman


Maybe it’s why I like to read Jane Austen books. Their conversations are about the particulars of a person’s character. Not that it doesn’t show in the way they dress and act and live, but her characters purpose to know a person’s soul.

We don't do that in today's society. Maybe we would feel like we were judging people. Maybe we just don’t have the words for it.

So we read books, so we can know the inner thoughts and motives of other people.

Then we close our book, go visit friends, and say, “How nice you look.”

What if we said instead, “How nice you are,”
and took the time to know a soul.

Scrappy Quilt

In my younger years, I remember many days after school (when I wasn’t curled up with a book) sewing in the room at the top of the stairs. I would listen to the rain and the radio (not rock music--I never did like it) and the sound of the Bernina sewing machine. I don’t sew much anymore, but I do work in the quilting world.

Quilters often throw random scraps into a box and put it under their bed or in the attic. Years later they might piece together, from the fabrics they’ve saved, a beautiful quilt full of memories.

I haven’t saved any pieces of fabric, but I can make another kind of quilt:

“A journal entry is a piece saved from the fabric of a woman’s day. Ragged, incomplete, misshapen—only its color and pattern are left to show how it fits with its mates.” Maureen Ursenbach Beecher

A journal (or blog or personal history) is a way of piecing together the colors and patterns of one’s life, of making some sense of the random swatches.

Much of our life is like working on the back side of a quilt or tapestry. We do the work, but we don’t really know what kind of picture it is making. It is only years later that we see how each piece of our life is a part of a larger pattern, and that what we’ve made has sense and purpose and is beautiful.

I’m glad I don’t have to get out my sewing machine to piece my quilt. I’m sure, even then, I’ll have a lot of mis-matched pieces, dangling threads, crooked seams and unfinished edges. But ragged, scrappy, or crazy as my quilt may be, it will be warm, cozy, and uniquely mine.

When life throws you scraps, make a quilt.

Happy Mother

When my children were small, and I was surrounded by mess and noise, I remember thinking often of how unhappy I felt.

Then one day I read simple story about mother buttoning her child’s coat. The mother's jaw was set, her lips pursed, her movements clipped and hard. I thought, how sad for that child that her mother was so unhappy, and seemed unhappy about being a mother.

I decided then and there I would not do that to my children; that they would see a happy mother, and one that was happy to be a mother.

Of course there still ensued many moments of frustration, anger, and unhappiness.

But in making that decision, I actually was happier, and more grateful, and happy to be a mother.

I hope when my children looked into my face, that they saw I was glad to be a mom, that I was happy to be their Mom.


Mother dear, I love you so,
Your happy smiling face
Is such a joy to look at;
It makes home a lovely place.

In Your Footsteps

Recently I came across this story:

With ten children every day was hectic. On this particular day, however, I was having trouble doing even routine chores—all because of one little boy.
Len, who was three at the time, was on my heels no matter where I went. Whenever I stopped to do something and turned back around, I would trip over him. Several times I patiently suggested fun activities to keep him occupied.
“Wouldn’t you like to play on the swing set?” I asked again. But he simply smiled an innocent smile and said, “Oh, that’s all right, Mommy. I’d rather be in here with you.” Then he continued to bounce happily along behind me.
After stepping on his toes for the fifth time, I began to lose my patience and insisted that he go outside and play with the other children. When I asked him why he was acting this way, he looked up at me with sweet green eyes and said, “Well, Mommy, in Primary my teacher told me to walk in Jesus’ footsteps. But I can’t see him, so I’m walking in yours.” (Davida Dalton as told to JoEllen Johnson, Ensign, April 1994)

I had a mother in whose footsteps I could follow. She wasn't perfect, but if I can walk the walk she did, I know I'll be on the right path. It sure made life easier.

In some ways, we are all like this little boy. We can't see Jesus, so we watch those we can see. We learn much of godliness from other people. Anne Madsen has said that most of what she has learned about Godhood she learned in her home.

We can and should learn of God from Him, by study and by revelation. There is none beside Him. He is incomparable.

But I have learned much of the divine from family and friends, from church leaders, and from saintly people I've heard or read about but never met.

I am grateful for what I have learned from others. Glad that I could walk side by side with saints. Glad that I could see up close the majesty of a righteous soul. Glad that I have rubbed shoulders with giants.

I'm grateful for footsteps I can follow.

I'm glad that I know you.

"You and I cannot hope to exert, even to a small degree, the personality of our great Teacher, Jesus Christ. Each one's personality may be to the Savior's only as one little sunbeam to the mighty sun itself; and yet, though infinitely less in degree, each personality should be the same in kind." --David O. McKay

I AM a Child of God

Today I thought about the very first spiritual experience that I remember having.

I was perhaps in the 8th grade, and I was sitting on the back row of the chapel during Fast and Testimony meeting. For once I was actually listening, when this feeling come over me. I can't explain it, but I felt that God was my Father, and that I was His daughter. It wasn't a feeling of knowlege that God lives, but a feeling of relatedness, that He really is my Father, that He knows me and loves me and cares about me. It was like He touched me on the shoulder to get my attention. I didn't just know that I was a child of God; I felt that relationship.


That's all. No big deal.
But to me it was. That feeling was permanently etched into my soul and has stayed with me all of my life.

I've always thought it significant that my first revelation was, that I am a daughter of God.

Maybe it's why I don't grow up: I feel always like a child, always in need of help and direction and wisdom.

I have found safety and security in knowing I have a Father who loves me, who watches out for me, who cares about what I do.

I have found purpose and meaning in knowing He sent me here for a reason.


All the days of my life I have been grateful that my Father revealed Himself to me when I was yet a girl.
Like a spoiled, selfish child, I have at times ignored and even defied Him.
But mostly I have tried to please Him.

I look forward to seeing Him again, to being held in His arms once more.

I hope it will bring a smile to His face, that I have tried to be a good girl.

"Nothing is going to startle us more when we pass through the veil to the other side than to realize how well we know our Father and how familiar his face is to us." --Ezra Taft Benson

Family Flag

Once we made a family flag.
How ten people ever agreed on how to make it, I'll never know.
This is my take on what we did and why:

Our family flag is green, and made to look like dollar bill.
We chose this because we felt rich. Oh, we didn’t have any money. But we felt wealthy in the things that mattered. And we knew there were promises of greater riches when we live righteously.

In the middle is a large circle with, not a government building, but a temple. Written in the white circle around the temple is the reason why: Sauter Family, established in 1972. That’s when and where our family began. It is also where we hope it will end. It is the center focus of our family to be an eternal family.

We made it a $10 bill because there’s 10 of us!

• In one corner there is a #10 with 10 faces peeking out of it.
• In another corner the #10 has a gold crown at the top. Ten represents perfection. When we rate things from one to ten, ten is the best, the most perfect. That is our goal, to be our best, to try to become perfect, even if it takes forever.
• In the bottom corner the #1 in the 10 is a music note, because we love to sing and play and listen to all kinds of music, and good music is important to our family.
• In the fourth corner the 0 in the #10 has the top of a head peeking over an open Book of Mormon, because we read the Book of Mormon as a family.

Across the top are the words "United Forever."

The serial number on the 'bill' is a stream of numbers that includes our birthdates.

On one side there is a red heart with a rainbow streaming out of it.
We are a mixed rainbow of personalities that love and are loved.
The rainbow also represents values close to our hearts, like faith, good works and integrity.
I added a scripture reference below the heart:
Proverbs 4:23 "Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life." Goodness comes from the inside out.

U.S. currency usually says "In God We Trust.' We believe that. We also believe its corollary: "God Trusts In Us." He has given us the freedom and means to be all that we can be, and He trusts us to use our blessings to help build His kingdom, and ours.


Like our flag, our family is unfinished and imperfect.
But we pledge allegiance to what it represents.

The flag is tucked away in a drawer somewhere.
I hope the values it symbolizes are still flying high.

Many are called, but some are bugged more

I got my first calling in the Church when I was 13 years old. I was Junior Sunday School chorister. At 15 I became Senior Sunday School chorister, and at 16 the Ward chorister. At 17 I was the Ward Dance Director. At 19 I directed a roadshow.
By this age none of my friends had callings yet.
Why me? I'm not sure.

I have held a calling almost continuously since high school. Some have been interesting:
Someone created a calling for me as Junior Assistant to the Stake Camp Director, where I got to plan, lead, travel and bunk with the stake adult camp leaders my last year of camp.
At BYU I was a visiting teacher to Alice Wilkinson, wife of Ernest L. Wilkinson, president of BYU, and she a member of the Relief Society General Board.
The next year I was Sunday School chorister under Stan Miller. He went on to compile the Especially for Mormons books. Stuff from my file is in his first book from when we worked on a program together.

I worked in Primary for many years, but the one calling I've never had is that of a Primary teacher. Go figure.

Some callings have been a leap of faith for me.
Many have changed my life.
One even changed my personality. (For the better, I hope.)
Many callings were hard, inconvenient, and soul-stretching, but every calling was a blessing.

One might say I just stayed home all my life and didn't really make anything of myself. They might be right.
But I believe that my varied church responsibilities have given me more opportunities to grow in different ways than a career would have done. The Lord has made more of me than I ever would have made of myself.

I have had more than my share of opportunites to speak and teach and serve; I have had more than my fair share of chances to be guided by the Spirit, to rub shoulders with giants, and to come to know the Lord.

It isn't fair, I know.

I too ask, Why me?

I don't know.

But I'm glad I answered the calls.



He who does God's work will get God's pay.

Peace and Quiet

I went to the temple today. It was quiet.
I mean, really quiet. Soundless, almost.
I knew the noisy world was going on outside, but as I sat in the Celestial Room I couldn't even detect the hum of an air conditioner.

I wondered how long I'd have to stay there to get that quiet on the inside.


It made me wonder what the Celestial Kingdom will be like. I feel sure it won't be anything at all like our noisy, chaotic world. No traffic jams, cell phones, music blasting or TVs blaring.


I've often wondered what that moment of death is like when you turn your back and walk away from this world, leaving behind demanding dayplanners, cluttered closets, cares and woes.
The silence must be deafening.
The freedom must be exhilarating.
The experience must be pure joy.

In the few minutes after my mother passed away, as we were standing around her bed, we all felt so happy for our mother.
We were happy for where she was, for what she was experiencing, and for who she was with.

I've told my children, Don't cry for me when I'm gone.
I will be happy--happier than I've ever been.
Cry for youself if you like.
But do not cry for me.

I'll be leaving this sad old world behind--
Droppin' it like a hot potato.
I'll be goin' Home.

And I know I'll see you there.


Goin' home, goin' home, I'm a-goin' Home.
Quiet-like, some still day, I'm jes' goin' home.

It's not far, jes' close by, through an open door;
Work all done, care laid by, goin' to fear no more.

Mother's there 'spectin' me, Father's waitin' too.
Lot's o' folks gathered there, all the friends I knew.

Nothin' lost; all's gain; no more fret nor pain.
No more stumbling on the way,
No more longin' for the day,
Goin' to roam no more!

Shadows gone, break of day,
Real life jes' begun.
Wide awake, with a smile,
goin' on and on.
I'm a- goin' Home.

(Song to be sung at my funeral, or I'll come back to haunt you!)


When you were born, you were crying
And everyone around you was smiling.
Live your life so at the end,
You’re the one who is smiling
And everyone around you is crying.

Look Up!

A few years ago I paid a visit to my native state of Washington.
The day I drove to the airport to return home was, even for Washington, especially dark and dreary. The cloud cover was thick and dense and almost black, and so low that I felt it was pressing my face down into a frown.

We boarded and the plane took off, and as it ascended it broke through the clouds---into blazing, brilliant white light, into heat and warmth, and into a view that went on forever! It literally took my breath away. I’m sure I audibly gasped at the drastic change.

When my eyes adjusted and I caught my breath again, I looked out the window, down to the ground below. Through the breaks in the clouds I could see cars driving and people going through their day.

It struck me how we live much of our lives under a cover of clouds, with limited vision, and sometimes in chilly dreariness.

I’ve never forgotten this experience. It helps me remember that though life seems dark and dreary, and we cannot see afar off,
that not very far away, not far at all, is the light and truth and glory of God, the warmth of His love, and a view of eternity.


So look up! and see what's really there.



“We will see that mortal things mattered so little, and eternal things mattered much more than even the most faithful imagined.”

--Neal A. Maxwell

You've Got Mail

Nary a Sunday goes by that we don't hear how we should read our scriptures every day. It was not so when I was growing up, but somehow I knew.

Finally, my junior year in college, I decided I would give it a try. I started with the Doctrine and Covenants; it seemed the easiest to read and understand. Every night I would read in my bed, but it wasn't really reading. My eyes would follow the words while my mind was thinking about other things.

I didn't get a lot out of that very casual reading, but there is one thing I got: converted.
I got a sure and absolute testimony of the gospel, free and independent of my parents. I knew for myself, without any doubt.
What great and generous blessings come from Heaven when we offer our little loaves and fishes of obedience.

The next couple of years I read a minimum of ten pages a day, including the Old Testament.

I haven't always kept up a regular reading schedule, but I have found that my life is palpably different when I am committed to reading.


When we pray, we speak to God.
When we read the scriptures, He speaks to us.

Someone put it this way:
"As I open the scriptures, I think, in a way, 'You've Got Mail.' And I wonder what God has to say to me today. Almost inevitably, I discover some scriptural note with my name on it--a specific message from a loving Savior and Father, hand-tucked into a stack of celestial memos pre-dating me but post-dated for my needs." Karen Merkley


Every day I check my e-mail for messages from people I love.
Every day I read my scriptures for messages from Above.

You might want to check.
I'll bet You've Got Mail.

Horace Papadopoulos

Horace Papadopoulos was the name of a very cute, very pink, stuffed hippopotamus. He lived above my head on the shelf of the waterbed, with a family of others like him of varying shapes and sizes. Horace had babies—four little hot pink ones-that fit snugly inside his soft tummy.

Before we had children, we collected hippopotami. It started with a stroll in the mall and a picture I just had to have to hang on my wall.

From there the hippo family grew, and provided some fun until we had children of our own.

Our children weren’t hot pink. And they weren’t named Horace or Obadiah. But they ended up in our bed just as often, they stayed around much longer, and they were a lot more fun.

They say you favor an animal that you identify with.
Let’s see, I’m not terribly fat; I don't have big teeth; I don’t like the out-of-doors; I don’t often go swimming.

I guess what I like about hippos is that they’re hot pink.



On the inside I am as gray and dull as a hippo.
But on the outside I prefer Fuschia!


And if the name hadn't already been used, we might have had a child named Horace.

Feelin' Good

I think I am a very even-tempered person. I am in almost the same mood all the time. There is good and bad about that, but that's how I am: boring.

So it surprises me when I feel low or high, because it's rare.

This week I'm feeling higher than usual. I'm feeling the ripple effect of some of the things I’ve been doing lately.

Many mornings I listen to Michael Buble’s “Feelin’ Good” and it really does ring in my brain and my emotions all day long.

I also started doing DDR—the X-Box dance game. I find that everywhere I go when I hear music, I feel like dancing. I have to hold myself back though, because I have no style and would embarrass myself.

I find blogging also effects the way I think and the way I see things. I love how validating it is, and look forward to that shared experience every day.

The result of all this is: I feel like a dancing, singing poet all day!
It’s amazing how much this affects my attitude, my energy level, and my general mood.

I'm feelin' good!

(If only I could bottle it and sell it as an anti-depressant.)


This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it. Psalms 118:24

Hippo Birdie Two Ewes

Today is my birthday. It is a happy day!

I am happy that I was born and get to have "My Turn on Earth."

I am happy that I was born at this time, early enough to know an age of innocence and late enough to have dishwashers and Internet.

I'm happy that I was born in this country and have the freedom to think, act, speak out, and be anything I want, even if I don't know what that is.

I'm happy that I was born to my sweet Mother, and got to have such a character for a Father.

I'm happy for each sibling that I grew up with, who still play with me and define me.

I'm happy that I got to get an education and learn a little of this awesome world and its people.

I'm happy that I got to get married and have children.

I'm happy that, though I haven't always had money, I've always had a roof over my head and food to eat, and most of my life it was a good roof and good food.

I'm happy that I've been blessed with good friends all of my life.

I'm happy that I was born during the Restoration in the Fulness of Times; it has meant everything to me.

I'm happy that I've been able to see and hear and run and skip and dance and do handsprings.

I'm happy to live in this beautiful world, even if it doesn't feel like Home to me.

It is a Happy Birthday. I am so glad I was born.

Handspring!

I've been bragging for years that I can still do a handspring.
My kids even brag to their friends that their mother can do a handspring.

But I realized it has been a few years since I have actually tried to do one.

With another birthday coming up, I decided it was time to see if I really could still do it, especially because I was having trouble doing cartwheels with my granddaughters.

Today was the day.

Mind you, now I have to prepare for it. I spent a few days on my treadmill, on my exercise ball, lifting weights and stretching to prepare for this event. After all, I didn't want to hurt myself. I took a big risk and did it when no one was home if I did get hurt.

I usually save this big event for an audience, but I didn't want to totally shame myself.

I donned my workout clothes, found good shoes, and headed for the backyard. It has a slight slant to it.

I stared across the yard, measuring the distance, checking the incline, debating whether it was worth the risk.

I took a trial run to see how it felt. I don't know......

Yes, I do. This is the day. I am going to do it!

I marched back up the hill, and without another thought I took off, jumped up, went down on my hands, and over I went. I did it!!!!


OK, to be honest, my gym teacher would not have passed it.
I landed as much on my bum as I did my feet. But I did it.

Just for good measure, I did a couple more. They didn't get any better. My days of landing clean on my feet may be over.

It hurt my wrists only a little, but I don't think I will be doing a lot more of them in my lifetime.

But at least once more. I need witnesses.

Passport to Paradise

My passport came in the mail today!

It’s for our family cruise in November, of course.

But it has, in my mind, opened up a whole new world of possibilities.
Where is it a passport to?
Where could it take me that I’ve never been before?
What new sights and tastes and experiences could be waiting for me?

Someone once said, “Our life is a book, and he who stays home writes only one page.”

So, when are we going?
And where?

Are we there yet?