This year I’m trying to write about things that happen more often. I’m writing to you as part of that plan. When I get to talk to you and hear about the challenges that your family is facing and the accomplishments of you, your children and husband, I remember when I used to write every week about what you, Nate and Meg were up to. I sent developed pictures with the letters to Grandma W and L. I think they enjoyed reading about my thoughts, but they liked the photos better.
There was one series of photographs I remember where you and Meg were wearing matching t-shirts that your Uncle Rob had sent you. Nathan wasn’t born yet, and I put two little wooden chairs that Grampa D had saved when their Ward got new, plastic ones. I tried to get the two of you to sit still and smile for a camera shot to send to Rob. I wanted to send him a Thank You card with an image of you both wearing the shirts he sent. You and Meg climbed on the chairs, looked under them, just about anything but sit on them. When I got both of you to sit still, one would smile and the other would make a face or look at the ceiling. It was after bath time, so you two had damp curly hair. You giggled and played with each other—anything but still for a moment for me to take a picture. I never did get the perfect picture to send to Rob, but I’m sure that he didn’t mind.
Since my life now is calm and quiet compared to what it was even to last year, most of what comes out when I write is bits of our family history—and not the genealogy kind. The genealogy specialist of our ward, Sister B, is an amazing fount of knowledge. She knows the system and how to find documents I never knew could exist. She had a mind that moved at the speed of light, and I was so slow next to her that it overwhelmed me. The Bishopric tried to put me into her place so that she could show me all she knew—I flinched at every procedure, computer short-cut, over-view setting, and reporting record due every month. I was quickly released—your dad was still Stake Clerk and he got the calling off the records of the Church. People still call me about genealogy information, but I have nothing to offer. My Patriarchal blessing council need to prepare myself to serve in the great logical work of the church. I’m really, really hoping that they are talking about serving in the temple. If not, then Heavenly Father is going to have to rearrange my brain because the way it is now I could never show people how to find their relatives.
The thing that occupied my weeks last year was at the Sanctuary. I was there every day and when they moved to the new location, I was there sometimes 10 hours a day every week. Now, just about everything is organized, and I am mostly in the way. The office did ask for a picture of me to put in the January 2024 newsletter. They got three different volunteers from the three different areas of the sanctuary: the hospital, animal care, and the education department.
Sunny is holding the barn owl named Athena who died more than six years ago. I miss her.
I also miss Earl, the flying squirrel, who was here at home with me for a while before he left me.
I’ve never told anyone how I lost him. We got to the point where we would walk around the block after dark. On the last night I ever saw him, a truck drove up at full speed behind us. Earl panicked and jumped to the lowest branch of the tree we were walking beside. I never saw him again. Alone, fat and accustomed to getting his food handed to him, I doubt that he lived more than a few days. That night I walked back and forth, calling out to him—until a neighbor got tired of my noise and came outside to walk me home. I still call for him outside at night sometimes. When he was alive, he would jump from the small trees in our yard back and forth between me and the branches. When I was ready to go in, I would call to him and he would come for a treat and a ride on my shoulder into the kitchen. Flying squirrels do not live alone in the wild. They thrive, if there is plenty of food, in family groups. The babies learn how to eat and find shelter from the adults around them. Earl was always (illegally) a pet.
You deal with children, I deal with gopher tortoises, a retired Bard owl, cleaning cages for raptors and falcons who were injured in the wild and have never gotten used to humans, and prepping food for the animals to eat the next day.
They have banned me from going into the enclosure with Coon, a shrike that was brought into the hospital after a big storm. He became acclimated to people—especially me because I worked with him for the few months he was growing up in the hospital. He dive bombs people and pokes holes in hands and arms as they clean his cage and give him fresh food. Coon would sit on my finger and come when I motioned to him. After a time, I wore eye protection because he flew at a volunteer’s eye. He was never “tame” but the times he got out, he came when I put my finger up to him. The new location is open—there are no niches where animals are housed out of the public eye. It is a place where everything has to be done before 10am—no contact with the animals after that. My motivation for volunteering has been the opportunity to interact with the animals and birds. I still go, but my heart is not there as it used to be.
Like your dad and Nathan, change is now hard for me.
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