Rockhounding Utah

In a last fling of summer adventuring, Bradley and I took our kids and some friends (our Bishop, his wife, and four of their kids) and went rockhounding on Saturday. We'd been talking about such an expedition for months, and finally we found a date available for both families.

Leaving Spanish Fork at 7:30am, we headed out south of Delta to our first stop, Sunstone Knoll. These low hills are volcanic vents, formed of basalt and breccia. The basalt is studded with large crystals of transparent yellow plagioclase feldspar--also known as sunstone. The eastern slopes of the hills sparkle in the sunlight with little sunstones that have weathered out of the hard rock.

I was terribly excited, not having been rockhounding for years and years. Bradley was slightly less so, given that he was going to be taking care of Gee (2.5 years old) and Hebs (10 months old), while I got to explore and teach my older two kids the wonders of geology.

Of course, it didn't quite work out that way. It turns out that all five-year-old Zee wanted to do was climb mountains. I don't want to pick up rocks, Momma, I want to climb. To the very top, please. And four-year-old Em--all she wanted to do catch and hold a horny toad or lizard. Please catch one for me, Momma, now.

Typical. My children don't have to love geology, I know, and apparently they are too young to even pretend to care. (Really, though, the only thing that mattered was that they had a great time. And that Em understood that I really, truly, honestly was NOT going to catch a lizard for her. Sorry, kid.)

After an enjoyable ninety minutes collecting sunstones, climbing rocks, holding horny toads, and learning to go to the bathroom in the desert (Em: I can't pee on the rocks! Momma: Oh, yes, you can.), we set off for Topaz Mountain, north of Delta.

Topaz Mountain is one of the premier gem-hunting sites in the state. The abundant topazes are found in a rhyolitic ashflow tuff which erupted 6-7 million years ago. Like the sunstones of Sunstone Knoll, the very gravel of Topaz Mountain sparkles with small topazes, weathered out of the rock. The topaz found in this area is naturally amber colored, but because the color center responsible for the "sherry" tint is destroyed by exposure to sunlight, the loose topazes found in the gravel and washes are colorless. To get to the (more valuable) colored topaz, you have to be willing to do a little hard rock mining, and get lucky. (On this trip, we didn't find any colored topaz.)

We lunched at Topaz Mountain, and then started hunting. Zee made friends with another rockhounding group with children. After they left, he and Em started climbing more mountains, although Em quit after a while in favor of cookies in the shade of a juniper tree.


At one point, Zee was high enough to get a little scared, and called down to Daddy. Once Bradley made it up to him, Zee was comfortable enough to keep going. Eventually, Bradley and I traded places, and I looked for topaz while Zee kept climbing up. He was so proud of himself once he made it to "the very top" of the mountain. I was proud of him, too--he was careful but mostly fearless, and worked hard to reach his goal. Even if he scared me to death a time or two.

After Topaz, we made a quick stop to pick up some Apache tears--rounded pebbles of obsidian. Em opted to stay in the (air conditioned) van for with Daddy and the little boys for this stop, but Zee, naturally, wanted to climb yet another mountain, and came all the way to the top of a little hill with me.

From there, we said goodbye to the Bishop and his family, and they headed straight home while we decided to take a more roundabout route. In making the decision to go north to the Pony Express Road, I didn't realize just how long it would take us to get back to "civilization". We very nearly bit off more than we could chew, but fortunately we had plenty of gas, the roads were very good (for dirt roads), and (miracle of miracle) we had no flat tires. The video player in the van kept the kiddos happy, Bradley read "Journey to the Center of the Earth" aloud, and I just soaked up the joy of rocks, rocks, and more rocks, gorgeous barren mountain ranges, beautiful cloud formations, and spending time with my favorite people in the whole world.

We made a quick stop at Simpson Springs, where a Pony Express Station once stood. Then we traveled on into the late afternoon. To the absolute delight of our children, we saw numerous pronghorn antelope (quite close up), a herd of wild mustangs with foals, and two deer with three precious baby fawns, still with the spots on their fur. We passed abandoned mines as we wended our way through the Tintic Mountains, where many tons of silver and gold were produced in the late 1800s. And eventually, we made it home, tired, dusty, and thoroughly satistifed with our adventurous day.

Zee, Mountain Climber

I'm sorry I've been absent lately, it's been busy with the new school schedule and all. We also had a marvelous adventure rockhounding out in the West Desert on Saturday...a day that gave Momma a few new grey hairs (see picture above) and drove everyone into happy exhaustion. (Well, the exhaustion was happy yesterday. Today during the three hours of church was another story.) I've got some great pictures I'll put up in the next few days.

My Family

The First Day of the Rest of My Life

(Or at least the next twenty-plus years.)

I tend to think of Zee as a fairly big kid. He's the oldest in our crazy house, and most of my mom-friends have children the same age or younger than him. Compared to two-year-old Gee, and even sometimes four-year-old Em, he is big, mature, strong.

And then he went to kindergarten.

Seeing him surrounded by giant second graders (we won't even mention the colossal sixth graders), I worried. He's so young still, I thought (emotionally ignoring the fact that he is one of the oldest in his class). When school gets out, what if he can't find me? (Also ignoring the fact that it is a straight shot down the hallway from his classroom to the doors where I waited.) What if he gets overcome with shyness...okay, even my emotional maternal side can't get away with that one. This is Zee we're talking about, after all. I don't believe he has a shy bone in his body.

His attitude reassured me, though. From the moment he woke up this morning (shouting "First day of school! First day of school!" and waking the baby), to 45 minutes before we needed to leave (roaring around the house like a demented dinosaur, literally knocking over furniture in excitement), to jetting down the hallway to get to his classroom, to being too busy talking to his teacher to even say good-bye...this boy is ready ready READY for school.

I just hope they're ready for him.

(Sniff)

400 years

Four hundred years ago, Galileo Galilei first demonstrated his 3x telescope, which was based on vague descriptions of the first telescope made by Hans Lippershey in the Netherlands the previous year. Although this magnification is absurdly low, Galileo improved upon his designs and created telescopes powerful enough to see the four largest moons of Jupiter (subsequently named the Galilean moons in his honor), to discover that the moon is covered in craters, and eventually to discover that the earth revolved around the sun. (He was forced by the Church to recant this heretical statement and spend the rest of his days under house arrest.)

I got my first (and only) telescope for Christmas when I was eleven. It was a simple, cheap affair, but it was at least as powerful as most of Galileo's. Because one night, through my telescope, I could see the Galilean moons of Jupiter from my front yard in the middle of Las Vegas, Nevada. (Thanks to my (much smarter) little brother for setting it up and finding the moons for me.)

It is a little mind-boggling how prevalent and inexpensive technology has become in our time. I'm reading Andrew Chaikin's "A Man on the Moon: The Voyages of the Apollo Astronauts", and it is humbling to realize how those men trusted their lives to 1960s era technology--machines with computing power now replicated in a handheld telephone or digital watch. Although my daily life is saturated with technology, I usually only notice it enough to get irritated by it.

A quadricentennial anniversary is a good chance to stop and think about how wonderful our technological world is. Happy birthday, Galileo's telescope!

(P.S. This is my 100th post. Happy 100th!)

A Celebration of School

Inspired by Stephanie Nielson of the NieNie Dialogues, tonight we had a "Back to School" feast. (Actually, since Zee is just starting school, it's more like a "Going to School" feast.)

We made a banner, carefully (or not so carefully) colored by Zee and Em. I crafted a crown and a name place for Zee. He helped me make his favorite dinner (penne pasta with "dipping sauce", red lobster rolls, and apple juice), and we set the table with nice dishes.

Although Em and Gee both downed their apple juice in short order, Zee informed us that he was "savoring" his. We talked about the new school year, how Zee is going to make new friends, listen to his teacher, and play outside during recess.

After dinner, Bradley gave all the children father's blessings. I have so many fond memories of my father giving me blessings at the new school year--it is so exciting to see my husband do the same for my son.

Here's to the new school year!

Temples

When my father and mother were born, in the early 1950s, there were eight temples in the world. When I was born a quarter century later, the number of temples had doubled to sixteen. When my oldest son was born, about a quarter century later, almost one hundred more temples had been added, bringing the total to 115.

As of today, almost six years later, the total is 130.

This weekend the 13th Utah temple was dedicated--the Oquirrh Mountain Utah Temple. (We went to the open house in July.) Today, all church meetings in Utah were canceled so that we could attend a broadcast session of the dedication. Some marvelous friends volunteered to watch the kids (no children under age eight invited), and so Bradley and I were able to go together. Alone. It was a miracle. (And very enjoyable.)

This morning, before the dedication, I was digging in my memorabilia box and found my white handkerchief in its sealed ziplock bag. I was given this handkerchief when I turned eight years old, for my baptism, by the Primary Presidency of my ward. It is a plain white handkerchief, with a narrow crocheted border. Although it not as white as it used to be, it has been my handkerchief to many temple dedications.

I took it with me to the Las Vegas Nevada Temple dedication, on December 16, 1989. I didn't have it for the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple dedication in October 1996, so I borrowed on from a roommate. But I had it for the Palmyra New York Temple dedication on April 6, 2000, and the Winter Quarters Nebraska Temple dedication in April 2001, and the Nauvoo Illinois Temple dedication on June 27, 2002. And again this afternoon, for the Oquirrh Mountain Temple dedication.

I am sure that the pioneers, who labored mightily for forty years to build the Salt Lake Temple, would be amazed that I have attended so many temple dedications. They would be astounded to realize that there are 130 temples now active throughout the world, with sixteen more announced or under construction.

I am so grateful for the opportunities I've had. My soul rejoices in the Hosanna Shout, and when the choir sings the Hosanna Anthem and the congregation joins in with "The Spirit of God" directly afterward--I am filled to bursting with joy and rejoicing.

The Gospel is true. The Priesthood of the Lord has been restored. Thomas S. Monson is the Lord's prophet. And the temples are the Lord's houses upon the earth.

Hosanna!

Ward Campout

Our ward campout was held this weekend up Diamond Fork Canyon. Marvelous weather, good food, fabulous entertainment, and a great turnout combined to create a terrific activity.



Lots of adorable children ran loose and had a very good time.



The entertainment was provided by local bluegrass/country group Dyer Highway. This talented group is made up of three siblings, aged 16, 13, and 12. They were amazing!


It really was a fabulous campout. Thanks so much to Lindsay and Angela who made it happen. I love you guys!

Things I wish I'd done while teaching Geology 1010

Fun things for professors to do on the first day of class (by Alan Meiss):

• Wear a hood with one eyehole. Periodically make strange gurgling noises.
• After confirming everyone's names on the roll, thank the class for attending "Advanced Astrodynamics 690" and mention that yesterday was the last day to drop.
• Pick out random students, ask them questions, and time their responses with a stop watch. Record their times in your grade book while muttering "tsk, tsk".
• Play "Kumbaya" on the banjo.
• Wear mirrored sunglasses and speak only in Turkish. Ignore all questions.
• Ask the class to read Jenkins through Johnson of the local phone book by the next lecture. Vaguely imply that there will be a quiz.
• Have one of your graduate students sprinkle flower petals ahead of you as you pace back and forth.
• Ask for a volunteer for a demonstrations. Ask them to fill our a waiver as you put on a lead apron and light a blowtorch.
• Every so often, freeze in mid sentence and stare off into space for several minutes. After a long, awkward silence, resume your sentence and proceed normally.
• After turning on the overhead projector, clutch your chest and scream, "MY PACEMAKER"

(Taken from one of those marvelous forwards from the late 90s, when email was fresh and amazing. I'm cleaning out my files, what can I say?)

Ode to a Dead Bird

The bird was as cold as a rock or a stone,
I wondered aloud where the poor bird had flown,
A small voice came back as a sick wearied sigh
(I had such a fright, I nearly did cry)
"To Europe, Australia, and Asia I've gone,
But my dear restless bird heart always had me move on.
I've flown countless places, upon every breeze,
And then came to Provo--and promptly did freeze."

Freshman year, BYU. My roommates and I were walking to (or from) church (held on campus in the JKHB), slipping and sliding on the icy snow. One of us looked up, into a large, barren tree next to the administration building.

"What is that?" she queried.

The rest of us stopped, squinting up at the leaden gray skies. All the leaves have long since fallen from the tree, and yet there is something stuck in the tree. It looks like...like...a bird? A crow, with its wings stretched out? Stuck in the tree?

Impossible, we decided. It's a piece of garbage, an oddly shaped (black?) leaf, some random bizarre lawn ornament lofted up by improbable winds. Yet there it was. We debated its origin all the way back to our warm and cozy dorm.

The "bird" stayed there for days, taunting us as we went to our Japanese, calculus, or religion classes in that building. And then, one day, it was gone.

But not forgotten. My roommate Mandy, a talented and beautiful poetess, immortalized the bird in two poignant poems.

I looked at a tree and saw a bird frozen to the sky.
The bird was dead,
Its wing were spread,
The ice did glaze its eye.
No more will it swoop and dive and nest,
This bird has gone to eternal rest.

Praying

Zee, praying: "Please bless baby Hebs to grow up really fast so that Momma won't have to spend so much time holding him...please bless Em that she doesn't spend so much time being cranky..."

Em, praying: "Please bless to clean up the family room..."

Gee, praying: (Repeats everything Momma says, until "...in the name of..." when he stays silent until) "AAAAAA-MEN!"

The end of summer

Today I took Zee, Em, and our neighbor friend Ryan to the Payson Pool. We waited until Daddy got home, so he could watch the two little boys, and went right after dinner.

The Payson Pool is so amazing!! It just opened last year, and is just perfect for an area with lots of young families. It has two pools--one lane-swimming/diving pool, complete with concrete risers for fans and starting blocks for meets, and one kid/fun pool. The kid/fun pool is marvelous. It is huge, shallow--no deeper than about three feet, and just one or less in most of it. There is a play structure with slides, stairs, shooting water, and a giant bucket that fills with water and dumps it out every two minutes. There are little alcoves with bubbles, places where water sprays out, and a "beach" entry, where it shallows out to one inch of water.

Then there is the lazy river and slide area. Two huge slides--easily three or more stories tall--dominate the facility. One of the slides is the steep, quick kind that I hate. The other is a long, twisty, turning type. Because none of the kids could go down by themselves, we skipped the slides this time around. But we did have a few turns around the lazy river, which is garnished by a bridge with water guns for people to shoot at you as you float under.

The kids had so much fun. The water was on the cool side, like the weather has been these last six days, and when the sun went down the wind picked up a bit. Despite the chattering teeth and goose bumps, they lasted nearly two hours--Em bailed about twenty minutes before the boys did, and spent that time huddled under all the towels, shivering. The boys, although disappointed when I informed them it was time to go, were easy to convince with the promise of hot French fries from McDonalds on the way home.

We got home at 9:30, made sure Ryan got safely to his house, and came inside to regale Daddy with our adventures. Within fifteen minutes, Em was sound asleep in the hallway, and Zee was fighting droopy eyelids.

I'm pretty sure that means the event was a success. I guess summer can be over now.

The Fortunate Passage of Time, and A Friend

I met Kristy on the second Sunday of September, 1988. It was our first Sunday in our new ward, in our brand-new house, and I was making my way through a crowded hallway at church toward the Primary room. A girl breezed by, turned, and said, "Hey, you're in our ward now? Cool!" and kept going, headed for a baby in need of hugging.

She had recognized me from the school bus we both rode in the morning, and from homeroom at our sixth grade center. Trying to get used to a new school, a new house, and a new routine, I hadn't noticed her. Until church on Sunday.

Ducklings. January 1989*

We became fast friends. Her friends became my friends. We sat together on the bus. We ate lunch together. We played and studied together. My first year at Girls' Camp was "blighted" by the fact that Kristy didn't turn 12 until four days after camp ended.

We were best friends in middle school, that most unlovely time of adolescence. Best friends in high school, where she was pretty, popular, and smart, and I was...um...smart. (And we liked the same guy, who liked Kristy back. Despite the tears (oh, high school drama), we were still close as close could be.) Best friends in college, roommates even. She set me up with Bradley for "Buddy Ball" freshman year, and talked me off the wall in regards to that relationship more than once that year. We were roommates for three years.

She was the first person I called when Bradley broke up with me in March of 1999. She was the first friend that I called when we got engaged in 2001.

October 2001

Even though she lives in Flagstaff now, and we only get together every year or so for an evening, she is still one of my best friends. We can call each other after not talking for months, and spend two hours on the phone, talking about everything and nothing.

Happy Birthday, Kristy-kay. Thanks for sticking with me, through bad hair and bad glasses, good guys and first kisses, and (now) four kids each. I love you!

*(Why I chose those horrible, huge, tinted, monstrous glasses, I will never know. Why my mother didn't stop me, I will also never know.)

Friday Fun

(For a little Friday fun (because this week I have been extra-strength grumpy), I bring you one of my favorite websites.)

Cake Wrecks: a website dedicated to professionally decorated cakes--that are wrecks in one way or another. Some of my favorites (you can click on the picture to find out more about the cake, but you really should just go to the website and enjoy):

(Yes, the decorator was asked to write "Best Wishes Suzanne" and underneath that "We will miss you.")

"It a Gril" kinda says it all, right?

(This one was supposed to say "Happy Fatherhood, Shawn and Glenn!")

(And remember, these are all professionally done--not just slapped together at home.)

If you have an hour or two, and need a laugh, you really should visit this website. It won't disappoint, I promise.

Counter-productive

It's fairly counter-productive to shout, "Zee, stop yelling at your sister THIS INSTANT."

Also it's a little sad.

I find myself raising my voice more and more often these days. It's a vicious cycle, because my yelling shows my children that yelling is okay, which results in more yelling, which then I have to yell to be heard above...you get the idea. My mother rarely, if ever, raised her voice in anger. (Yes, I am aware that this is an impossible thing to believe. Yet it is true.) But I don't have my mother's temperament.

My father didn't have my mother's temperament, either. He had a bit of a temper, actually, and I inherited it. He wasn't ever abusive (in fact, my father was a most loving man); he never said mean or cutting things, but he definitely was loud in his tone when he was upset or angry. And children, as I am learning daily, can push your "angry" or "upset" buttons really quickly.

He worked everyday of his life to rein it in, to be calm, to use a quiet voice when disciplining. My mother recently told me that in the last few years before he died, he felt he was finally winning the battle against his temper. I'm so glad he did.

I'm thankful for both my parents' example: I'm grateful that my mother shows me how I want to be, and I'm grateful that my father showed me how to get there. If I can just keep trying.

Don't expect miracles. But maybe tomorrow I can yell just one time less than I did today.

Servant-momma

Zee has caught a stomach bug--not to be confused with the summer cold that Gee, Hebs, and I have. I am genuinely sorry he is sick (and he is legitimately sick, I'm very grateful that he is big enough to make it to the toilet!), but he is rapidly DRIVING ME INSANE.

First he gets very angry at me because I won't give him medicine. (He doesn't have a fever, and only his stomach hurts.) Then he screams at Em to get out of the playroom, where she is peacefully drawing, because he wants to be alone. This sends Em out to me in tears. Then, after I get a pillow and blanket and make a little nest for Zee on the playroom floor, he orders me to get different ones, because, and I quote, "This blanket is too small, and this pillow is too hard."

Well, excuse me, Mr. Princess-and-the-Pea. I know he's sick. I know I have less patience than usual because I'm sick. I'm cutting him some slack. But I did inform him that I was not his servant, that I would not be getting him a different pillow or blanket, and that if he wanted to be alone, I would carry him downstairs to his room.

And then I put on a movie for him, adjusted the volume to his liking, and got him a drink of water.

Somedays, there really isn't much difference between "mom" and "servant".

Early Bedtime

No, Zee isn't in a cage. Or jail. Although it was touch and go on the whole "jail" thing, today.

I've gotten very little sleep the last two nights because Gee and Hebs are sick, and it's worst at night. Very little sleep = crabby, cranky Momma. Add to that the fact that preschool ended last week, and the older two kids are sad about that. Zee and Em pushed every last button I have, and ended up with an early bedtime. For all of us.

Good night.

Salt Lake County Fair

We went to the Salt Lake County Fair yesterday. Despite the date on the calendar (August 8), the weather could not have been more perfect--the high yesterday was 70 degrees, lower by almost 30 degrees than our average this time of year. There was even a brief rainstorm right as we parked our car, which cleared out the crowds nicely and made it possible to just walk right up and get on any carnival ride the kids wanted.

We rode carnival rides, we inspected 4-H cows, bulls, goats, sheep, and pigs (and made the obligatory "Some Pig!" jokes while looking for Charlotte), we petted random animals, we rode ponies, and we ate carnival food. (Thanks, Lisa and family for the delicious Navajo Tacos!) We had an absolutely marvelous time.

Although I think Gee had the best time of all, judging by the huge grin he has on his face in all the pictures:

My Little Ragamuffin

The Setup:

• Tired Momma dozing in the front room.
• Two littles down for their naps.
• Two preschoolers having "rest time" in the playroom.

The Props:

• Pretty, brand-new playdress.
• New pair of scissors purchased for school.

The Results:

• One ruined dress.
• One exasperated Momma.
• One sorry girlie.
• One time-out.
• One ultimatum: No more scissors without Momma's supervision.

At least it wasn't her hair.

He WALKS!

My heart is filled to bursting--Gee walks!

He has, just in the last six days, taken it into his head that maybe, just maybe, walking without his walker MIGHT be pretty fun. As long as it is his idea, of course.

He's been doing his little "standing trick" (standing up without holding onto anything) since February or so, and can stand for more than a minute before losing interest or losing his balance, but it has been an uphill battle to get him to try to take a step. But last Friday, while I was on the phone with Bradley, Gee squirmed out of my lap, slid down my legs, and, after balancing a moment against the chair I was sitting on, took two wobbly, awkward, but very purposeful steps. (He then promptly fell over.)

I was so excited. I cheered, I hugged, I made a great big deal out of it. This pleased Gee, so he decided to try it again. And again. His cousin Kay and sister Em thought it must be a fun game, because I was making such a big deal out of it, that they joined in. And so I sat on the coffee table for twenty minutes, with two little girls pretending to learn to walk, and one sweet, determined Gee actually trying his best to stay upright.

Eventually the game devolved to rolling around on the living room floor, but that was okay. What a start!

He only managed two steps in a row that first day. On Tuesday of this week he got four in a row.

Which brings us to today: Today, he walked all the way across the living room (shortways), from the green chair to the couch, all by himself. All without prompting. All without anyone encouraging him, or asking him to do it. He just decided that this walking game is pretty darn cool, and DID IT. And then did it again.

I cried. And hugged and kissed and tickled my boy until he squirmed to get away from the crazy momma.

We are so blessed!

Another Reading Comprehension Fail

(By the way: I love that the word "fail" has become a noun. I don't know why I love it so, but I do.)

Last night I spent a little time reading some of my favorite "mommyblogs", and then I switched over to the Deseret News website, and scanned the headlines. As I was scrolling down the page, I saw the headline "U. Geophysicist's Research Helps Understand Earthquakes."*

Except I didn't read the word "geophysicist." Instead, I saw the word "gynecologist." And spent a split second trying to figure out how in the WORLD a gynecologist's research was shedding light on earthquakes...

It was then I decided it was time to go to sleep. (You'd think that, as a geologist, I wouldn't misread the word "geophysicist.")

*(Nevermind the dubious grammar of this headline. Helps who understand earthquakes?)

Pioneer Daughter

(Sorry about yesterday. I was up in West Valley City visiting my dear friend Mandy (hi, Mandy!), and we didn't return until quite late. And then our internet was flaky until about 10 this morning. Ah, excuses, excuses!)

I spent some time yesterday with my ancestors. Why, you ask? Well, I'm going to join the Daughters of Utah Pioneers! Why, you ask? (My, you have a lot of questions!) For several reasons. First, I love family history and geneology. Second, I love learning about pioneer times (I was a HUGE fan of Laura Ingalls Wilder). Third, I want to get to know the older women in our ward a little better (the "camp" I will be joining is basically our ward). So the DUP it is!

To join the DUP, you must have at least one direct ancestor who crossed the plains before May 10, 1869, when the transcontinental railroad opened for through traffic. Of my ancestral lines, all but one (my great-grandmother, Emma Margaret Tree, was born in Surrey, England, in 1878) came across the plains. Most came in wagons, but one group came in handcarts in 1856--not the ill-fated Willie-Martin group, but one that left much earlier in the season. I have ancestors that came from Nauvoo, some from Scotland, and some from Switzerland.

In filling out the paperwork to join the DUP, I had to select up to four pioneer ancestors. In the interest of being fair to both my maternal and paternal sides, I chose two from each side (out of 27 in all). In the interest to being fair to the (very, very, VERY small) feminist part of my brain, I chose two women and two men.

(By the way, that feminist part was amused by the emphasis the DUP paperwork placed on my husband: "I, (your name) born (birthdate), wife of (husband's name) born (his birthdate)." In two places, no less! Why the interest in my husband, you might ask? He's not joining, because A) he's not a daughter of anything, and B) I don't think he has any pioneer ancestors.)

Anyway, I chose:

• Eliza Baldwin Pace was born 8 April 1806 in Mississippi. Eliza's husband Elisha died in Nauvoo a few months following the Prophet's death, which left her with three children still living. Eliza, her widowed sister Sarah, and the children were driven out of Nauvoo by the mobs in the fall of 1845, having been too poor to move out before that. They crossed the plains with the Brigham Young Company of 1848. Eliza died in 1863 in Bountiful, Utah. (maternal line)

• Benjamin Franklin Pendleton was born 13 May 1818 in New York. He came across with the same Brigham Young Company of 1848 as Eliza Pace, which tickles me because there was no way for them to know that her great-great granddaughter (my mother) would marry his great-great grandson (my father). Benjamin settled in both the Salt Lake Valley and St. George, Utah. (First wife lived in SL, second wife (my line) lived in St. George. There's a funny story about that, I'll have to write about it sometime.) He died in 1881 in St. George. (paternal line)

• Philinda Upson Standley (or Stanley) was born 1 August 1814 in Ohio. She came to Utah (at very long last, their family having stayed in Winter Quarters and (later) Nebraska since 1846) as part of the 3rd Company of 1852. She died in Richmond, Utah, in 1892.

• Jacob Tobler was born in Schonengrund, Appenzell, Switzerland on 15 January 1833. He emigrated to Utah in 1861 with the Sixtus E. Johnson Company, and was promptly sent down to Santa Clara, Utah, near St. George. I've often wondered what that young man, raised in the green mountains of Switzerland, thought about the red rock desert of Utah's Dixie. Must have been one heck of a culture shock. Jacob had many wives (I think four?), and died with a large posterity in 1918, still in Santa Clara.

So, there it is. I'm pretty excited to get back into family history, at least as much as my primary occupation allows me.

Now, if only I wasn't the youngest person by two generations at the meetings...

Library

I took the kids to the library today.

It's been a very long time since we went to the library. (Yes, I'm talking about the library that is right across the street from my house. The one that I can see into from my front porch. The one that takes my preschoolers a maximum of five minutes to walk to.)

Yes, I'm a very bad mother.

Taking all four kids to the library is a daunting prospect. I haven't done so for a long time. Which is odd, really, when you consider how much I love libraries and reading. And I personally have been to the library more frequently--but by myself, not with the kids. Today I decided it was time to make a change, and so--before I could talk myself out of it--I packed up the baby into his wrap, Gee into the stroller, the two older kids onto their bikes, and we walked the half-block to the library.

Our library--small, not very diverse, but fun all the same--has two levels: the main floor with the reference books, the movies, the adult and YA fiction, and the adult non-fiction. The basement has the children's and juvenile books, both fiction and non-fiction. So naturally we went down to the basement, where the kids lined up for their stamps (the children's librarian stamps your hand with a little ink picture of a fish, a robot, or (be still Em's beating heart) a kitty-cat! We played for awhile with the computers, we sat on little couches, we read a few little stories, and I had the kids pick out three books each.

So far, so good (mostly). Keeping our voices down was a problem, not running around was a problem, but the kids were (mostly) listening to my whispered orders. The problems began, however, when I wanted to go upstairs and get a few books for myself.

We'd been at the library for a good thirty minutes by that point. Surprisingly, Gee and Em were quiet content to sit on beanbags and read their books while I browsed nearby. Zee was a different story. He started by teasing Gee (who invariably responds by shrieking loudly), and then moved on to jumping on and off the beanbags (not an acceptable behavior). He then wandered up and down the ranges calling "Mother? Moth-ther!"

Finally I gave up, and we headed to the circulation desk. Checking out our books took all of five minutes, and the entire time Gee was complaining that I took his book, Zee was doing tricks on Gee's walker, blocking the entrance into the library, and Em was dancing around, bumping into passersby. At last we were able to escape, books, children, and slightly-frazzled mother.

I think we'll do it again next Monday. If the library doesn't ban us, that is.

Faith in Suffering

A dear sister in our ward passed away this week, and her funeral was Saturday.

Brother and Sister A. were some of the first people to welcome us to our new ward almost five years ago. They were just about done raising their large family, with only the youngest of six still in high school. They were in a marvelous place in their lives, with time for grandchildren, genealogy, civic work, and vacations, in addition to both having enjoyable jobs. They were very much considered stalwart members of the ward and community.

Sister A. in particular was like a quiet ray of sunshine. She always had a smile, was always ready with a hello, a hug, a piece of needed counsel. She wrote little notes of encouragement or thanks, and sent them through the mail to brighten someone's day. Sister A. loved her ancestors, and worked hard on her family history as well as the history of our little town. She was a school teacher who adored teaching children how to read.

A few weeks before my father died of lung cancer, three years ago, Sister A. was diagnosed with the same disease. I remember that I learned of it when I returned from Daddy's funeral in Las Vegas. One doesn't expect to know that many LDS people with lung cancer; for me, Sister A. was the third person in seven years. None of the three (my father and grandfather being the other two) had ever smoked a cigarette.

Sister A. began to undergo chemotherapy and radiation treatments, with the attendant physical effects. Her step was slower, she missed more church, but when I saw her, she still smiled.

Then, only a few months after her diagnosis, cancer struck again. This time, though, it was her husband, Brother A., diagnosed with (if I recall correctly) colon cancer. For a time they underwent treatments together. Their family pulled together, and the ward and community tried to help where possible.

Brother A. only lived a few months after his diagnosis. With her beloved companion gone, Sister A. continued to fight her cancer, gaining a sort of remission for more than a year. She knew she didn't have much time, so she filled that eighteen months with as many activities as she could. She visited Iceland, the home of her ancestors (and had tea with the president of Iceland!). She worked hard on her family histories, finishing her father's, her own, and many others besides. She tended one of her grandsons, so his mother and father could work. She was active in the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers. She quilted and gardened and crocheted (she made my baby Hebs a beautiful blanket, bib, and burp cloth set with a pretty crocheted edging).

About nine months ago, the cancer returned. Sister A. made it a point to bear her testimony every Fast Sunday she could make it to church. She spoke of the simple, basic things of the Gospel--the Atonement, the Plan of Happiness, her love of the temple, her husband, her children. Her faith was obvious--when I would see her, sitting on the back row in the chapel next to her youngest daughter, now in college, I would barely notice her increasing fragility. Her faith and peace completely eclipsed her physical problems, so that I all could think when I saw her was, "There is a woman of faith."

Sister A., I'm so happy that your earthly suffering is over, and that you are reunited with your beloved husband. Thank you for your example.

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