Late Afternoon Orange Juice and Late Night Photos

Vivid colour contrast:

Nathan and the peels left over from my juice making in Florida.

I feel like I should have something very clever, quite pithy, really, to accompany this amazing contrast of colour and shape.

It is 1:34 am on Friday morning. I just felt that I needed to go outside and take two photographs that I'd been thinking about for the last two days. One was of a flower--one of two still left blooming on a group of bushes outside the front of Megan's apartment complex. I noticed the bushes the first day that I got here--beautiful flowers covered the bushes. Now there is only a duet of blossoms nestled deep in a recess between two of the largest plants.

I took a few shots of the pink flowers still in bloom and then a few of the rest of the bush--covered in the withered petals of the main flowering period.

The other was of a nest that I found while Jon and I were outside avoiding the baby a few days ago. Jon was occupying himself by throwing his tractor and its trailer into bushes and then waiting for them to tumble down to the bottom. Or, if they didn't fall out of the shrubbery by the sidewalk--then he would poke around inside the bush or low-trimmed tree to find them and pull them out. In the middle of one of these throw and fetch sequences, he lost interest and walked on without waiting to find where the tractor and trailer had landed.

Next day, Meg mentioned that Jon had asked about them and so we went to the tree where he had poked them into the foliage. I spread the outer branches, but couldn't see either of them. What I did see was a nest. I decided that I wanted to come back later and take a photo from the bottom of the tree. A little while ago, I was pulled from the apartment, down to the outside of the apartment building. I took a couple of the botanical photos and then went over to get a night flash photograph of the nest from the bottom of the tree--up through the branches. As I got down and got ready to take my photograph, a bird flew out of the tree--quite upset.

I carefully opened the outer branches just above the nest and was able to see a single chick. It looked dead, put perhaps it was just so young that it was still living on its yolk sack. I hope that it will be OK. I didn't touch anything, just took a few photos.

While I was outside, a dozen or so geese flew overhead--honking loudly as they flew. I didn't realize that migratory birds flew at night when it was dark. Perhaps the street lights gave enough light that this group could still navigate in the middle of the night. It was a terrifically impressive noise. Like an emergency vehicle siren, it began quickly and loudly and then intensified as they flew overhead, the noise fading almost as soon as they were out of sight in the dark sky. They were close enough that I could see their heads and bodies, wings and legs, lit from below by the parking lot lights. It was like a secret moment that no one else knew about--that no one except me and those geese knows about even now.

A Cool Caterpillar and Some Wild Flowers, Jupiter, Florida

Nathan found this caterpillar eating away like crazy. Cool. It is a Ruddy Daggerwing caterpillar. Wow. The butterfly is bright, BRIGHT red--beautiful.

Cut Evening Primrose--only blooms in the evening. Jupiter, FL 20 Apr 2011

Coreopsis, the official Florida Wild Flower. Jupiter, FL

20 Apr 2011

(This one's a Beadle's Coreopsis)

Our Horticulture Taxonomy class got to go on a field trip. It was wonderful fun. These are three of the things that I took photos of. Florida is a very cool place.

I Am Always Forgetting Appoints--So Why Should I Make Them?

Some Cool Pics Before I Start My Ranting

This is a tiny flower--three petals only. It is a marsh plant that I can't remember the name of . . . only three petals. Wow.

Below is a kind of poinsettia--wild flower in Florida. Wow.

On one of our Horticulture class field trips, Nathan found this clump of frog eggs. Wow.

I Am Not Thankful for Doctor Appointments

This week I am NOT thankful for doctor and physical therapy appointments. I have consistently missed so many the last three months that I am needing to pay a $50 "missed appointment" more and more often. I am so lovable and funny and kind that for the longest time my doctors and therapists cheerfully re-scheduled appointments or squeezed me in among the other patients who had been on time. After awhile, though, it became tiresome--even for me. Today I had Nathan put down all my doctor/physical therapy appointments for this week (5 of them) in his iPhone calendar. I have ordered an iPad--it should be here in the next week or so. My palms are sweating even now--just writing about it. (!) Since Brent doesn't read any of my blogs, I can tell you that the iPad I ordered for him--for his birthday this May--is already here. This fact has made me even more impatient to get mine.

This whole situation reminds me of when Brent was clerking during his law school time, there was a lawyer (woman) who was pregnant and due on the same day that I was. He would make observations about this very successful lawyer and how being pregnant was changing the way she did things--the way she fit in the office space. [He also told me about another woman at the law firm who had an Ann Klein gold hair barrette that she used to keep her hair in a ponytail--and it looked really classy. He was pleased that I had the same barrette and wore it to keep my hair in a ponytail. In fact, he mentioned it so often whenever I would use it that I began to hate it. I didn't want to remind him of someone else--especially a person who was what I had once wanted to be: a successful lawyer.] This pregnant lawyer delivered her baby two weeks early. From that moment I was ready for Megan to come . . . but she didn't . . . and then her due date came . . . and went. She was born, of course, but not on her due date: 2 October.

From her birth, if I wasn't paying full attention, I filled in school information pages with

2 October 1983 INSTEAD of 8 October 1983.

I once wrote Lauren Nichole Hendry's name as Lauren Christina (her older sister's middle name).

Even better, I sent both Lauren and her new husband Adam each a letter just after their wedding: one to Lauren Hendry; one to Adam Hendry.

Names, dates . . . in the eternities will they matter?

I hope not.

I just re-read what I wrote. I started out with the intention of illustrating how impatient I feel when someone else and myself are both waiting for the same thing to happen--and then it happens to them . . . and I have to wait. From there I waundered off onto a tangent--examples of when I mixed up names and dates.

The forgetfulness continues: I have physical therapy Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 2:30. For the last month I have had physical therapy Monday, Wednesday, Friday at 2:30. I still forget to go--I just forget. I remember just in the nick of time and arrive 10 to 15 minutes late -- which is a big deal in physical therapy because it's not a doctor's office where everyone can wait. I have a specific half hour where I get one-on-one attention from an impressively effective therapist--he eases the pain from the bulging discs in my lower back, the same in my neck, and a recently operated on knee. I come away feeling wonderful . . . and I still forget.

I went to my psychiatrist today (a re-scheduled appointment) and asked for ritalin. I've taken it before, but years ago. Others in my family need it to function more effectively. I am hoping that it will help me to focus, too. In one week, Trigonometry finals happen. I need to re-remember loads of information and formulas and when to use them. Right now, it just ain't happenin'.

I know why I started to write about all of these semi-related things: I have an iPad that is arriving in the mail soon--and I will be using it to keep my schedule--and my mind--in order.

Whew.

FIRST STANZA OF OUR FAMILY STORY

There's a frog's eye in the bathtub and a hanger in my hair

There are crickets in the kitchen and they're hopping up the stair

Where a tiny sugar glider's snuggled in a house she built

In a box that's full of scraps that I was saving for a quilt.

There are mountains out in Utah where my Lauren likes to climb.

There's my Megan who will paint and draw when she can find the time.

There's my Nate who towers over me and wraps me in a hug

And studies trigonometry and loves to look at bugs.

How do you sum up your life in two lines?

Elderberry bush blossoms, Frenchman's Reserve, Jupiter, FL

20 Apr 2011

I have been on the computer this evening, deciding what I want in my new iPad. I call the 1-800-MY APPLE help line to find out how delicate an iPad would be. The Apple specialist can't answer my question--since she can't assure me that carrying the iPad would be safe in my book bag with my other books and school papers. I've spoken to other Apple specialists who were wonderful and kind and very helpful. This poor girl must have just begun working there--what people who have spent hundreds of dollars for the "Apple Care" program want is to be reassured and gently taught so that they don't feel stupid for asking their questions.

What has really kept me from sending in the final order for my iPad, though, is the question of what I want to have engraved on its back. The company allows the buyer two lines of print. How do I sum up my philosophy of life; how do I distill what I always want to remember; how do I compose my soul--all in two lines?

In Family Home Evening one night--long ago when Meg and La were young teenagers and Nathan was still in middle school--the lesson proposed that the teacher ask each family member what three words s/he would want engraved on his/her gravestone. I've got all of them written down somewhere--but I remember my three words to this day. I also remember Nathan's answer because he could not be bound by the three word limit. When he died, he wanted on his gravestone: He found out what Jesus wanted, and then he did it. His sincere choice rattled me a little bit then--and still does today. I am constantly impressed and surprised by just about everything that Meg, La and Nate do and say.

So, these two lines are not my epitaph, but they will remain on the back of a pad that I fully expect to carry with me to school and Church and on my photographic explorations and on the plane when I fly and in the car when I drive, type my notes into, record my thoughts as they occasionally come, even use to see and talk with my children and my grandchildren for years to come. Technology has sped to the point where I fully expect to see and use devises I cannot even begin to imagine right now. And it is now at the point where I feel lost if I don't have my cell phone with me--or my laptop in my school bag--or my big screen desktop glowing with my downloaded photographs. I am comforted by the fact that I can call Brent whenever and where ever he might be. I love hearing the voices of my two daughters who live hundreds of miles away from me. Anyway . . . this iPad, this new part of my life, has two lines of print that I can, if I choose, put down in solid, archaic letters, a couplet to remind me of who I am, of what I believe in.

A lot of fuss for something that's to be written on the back of an over-grown iPhone. I know, though, because it has happened with iPods and iTouches we've out grown, that Meg or Lauren or Nathan will someday be using this iPad. I want them to know that it was mine, and a part of me remains with it.

After days--into weeks--I have finally ordered my iPad. On the back will be engraved:

Carolyn loves Brent.

Brent loves Carolyn.

THAT sums up my philosophy, my belief, my motto.

Weird that it took me so long to realize and capture in words what has upheld me and cheered me and comforted me for the last 28 years. Whew. Wow.

From an Email to Lauren on Tuesday

My horticultural education deepens this semester with a Horticultural Taxonomy class, focusing on weeds. Florida is good at weeds. I am good at finding Florida's weeds--AND taking pictures of them close up. I'm working at getting better at taking pictures of them far away. This flower has the diameter of your littlest finger nail. It's called Wire Weed.

This is one that I worked with today. The vibrant green of the bee was just so startling that it caught me attention from way across the front yard. The plant (called "Moses in a Basket") has been damaged by the freezing bits of weather we've experienced--but the flower opened, the bee came, and I took a photograph.

FROM AN EMAIL I SENT TODAY TO LAUREN:

I've been reading your blogs from the last months--you have a distinctive feeling to your prose. Meg thinks that the up-beat cheerfulness is because the blogs are a "happy place" for you. I think that she is right. I know that spending time writing on my blogs sets me free from reality. I can see how people can get lost in the cyber world and never want to come back to work and conflict and chores and debts and a mortal body that can neither make things right with a wave of a hand nor fly effortlessly above the city [--over the power lines but lower than the helicopters]. I suppose that any kind of retreat from reality--drugs, alcohol, video games, Facebook, even just the draw of sitting for hours reading a favorite book--kind of makes your re-entry into the human place a bumpy ride, at best.

I taught Relief Society last Sunday: Keeping the Sabbath day holy. I thought that I was all prepared, but as I got further into the lesson it felt like I was just swimming around in circles--by the end of Church, a lot of us were crying, I was a nervous mess, and we had gone 5 minutes over time. I used the last of my lesson time to read an essay that I'd written after the flood in Texas . . . illustrating that the healing, rich influence of the Sabbath was one way that the Lord had given us to help us heal, allow us to become stronger, appreciate what we have a little more. There was one line--something about I had been given so much, that having lost what I had--I still more than most people would ever get during their whole lives. The more that I look back on what I've experienced, the more everything seems to converge on one thing: we only value and act upon principles that are in motion some place where we can see and understand them. At the end of the movie "Hogfather", Death speaks with his granddaughter about why it is so important for mortals to have hope and faith. He tells her that children need to begin by believing in the little lies: the Tooth Fairy, Easter Bunny, the Hogfather, so that they can be ready to believe the big lies: kindness, faith, moral values, obedience and joy. It sounded so strange to me, but Death reminds his granddaughter that if he took all of the matter in the universe and ground it up into a powder that he could never find one molecule of love, one atom of honesty. If we do not make these "lies" real--then they disappear. While I know that the moral truths of the Gospel exist independent of this Earth's existance--we are only able to have them in our lives if we make them "come true". After all, Satan will be bound for a thousand years during the Millennium NOT because he will be literally be tied up, but because the people will be SO RIGHTEOUS that he will have no power over them.

That means that we can have the Millennium begin now. If I choose to "give up all my sins" and keep the covenants that I have made with God--following His counsel and being guided by his promptings: then Satan can have no control over me. It is overly simplistic, WAY yes. But I like the idea that I can make joy and gratitude exist simply by doing them myself. Without my actions, these eternal truths would still exist somewhere on their own--but I can have them made real for me just by deciding to live that kind of joyful and reassuring existence.

That's almost as good as flying.

"Today I Am Becoming" talk given in Church

Brent and I doing something that becomes part of who I am: a trip to Mayan Ruins in September 2010.

My most handsome boyfriend and I spend time at the beach together. Palm Beach Gardens 2010.

While growing up, I often my mother say:

Today I am becoming just who I want to be, at 6 or 16, 45 or even 83.

One of my favorite authors is Mary Ellen Edmunds. Trained as a nurse, she has served in the Church for many years. When I was in the MTC, 30 years ago, she had an office there. She has continued to serve and to write about her experiences. One of the things that I clearly remember is an essay in which she expressed the desire to be the kind of person that Heavenly Father could depend upon. She pictures the Lord and other important people meeting together in heaven when suddenly they become aware of someone who needs help. They don’t even stop. With confidence Heavenly Father reassures everyone: “We don’t have to worry. It’s OK. Everything’s taken care of. Mary Ellen is on the way and she will take care of it.”

Today I am becoming just who I want to be, at 6 or 16, 45 or even 83.

That is what I want to be—someone whom the Lord can depend upon. When I was a teenager, my mother once got upset. I was asked at the last minute to sing at a Fireside because the people assigned had failed to prepare anything. "Why don't they ask you to do it in the first place?" she asked indignantly out loud to no one in particular. It was a funny question coming from a woman who had taught her five children that we were given talents in order to be of use to others. As a teenager, she was asked to accompany someone singing at a Church meeting. Even though she practiced as much as possible, she couldn't "play all the notes" in the piano score. She got someone else to do it for her--and then her replacement didn't play all of the notes, either! Grandma Burton told her that she had been given an opportunity to develop her skills as a pianist so that she could help others--it didn't matter if it was note-perfect. The Lord wasn't listening to be sure that the music was performed perfectly--so Mom shouldn't be worried about it either--just to do the best that she could.

Today I am becoming just who I want to be, at 6 or 16, 45 or even 83.

One of my favorite Old Testament stories is found in 1^st Kings.

8 ¶ And the word of the Lord came unto [Elijah], saying,

9 Arise, get thee to Zarephath, which belongeth to Zidon, and dwell there: behold, I have commanded a ^widow woman there to sustain thee.

10 So he arose and went to Zarephath. And when he came to the gate of the city, behold, the widow woman was there gathering of sticks: and he called to her, and said, Fetch me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel, that I may drink.

11 And as she was going to fetch it, he called to her, and said, Bring me, I pray thee, a morsel of ^abread in thine hand.

12 And she said, As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake, but an handful of meal in a barrel, and a little oil in a cruse: and, behold, I am gathering two sticks, that I may go in and dress it for me and my son, that we may eat it, and die.

13 And Elijah said unto her, Fear not; go and do as thou hast said: but make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son.

14 For thus saith the Lord God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth.

15 And she ^awent and did according to the saying of Elijah: and she, and he, and her house, did eat many days.

In my minds eye I can see Heavenly Father in a meeting when, suddenly, the Savior tells him that they need someone to take care of his prophet Elijah. Heavenly Father immediately says,
“We don’t have to worry. It’s OK. Everything’s taken care of. The widow is there and we can depend upon her.”

Today I am becoming just who I want to be, at 6 or 16, 45 or even 83.

Over the past few years, you have had the opportunity to hear Brent talk quite a few times—and in those talks, he usually tells a story about me or one of our children. Tonight, I would like to tell you a story about Brent.

It happened several years ago while we were living in Texas. Our situation there was unusual. We belonged to a ward that covered a relatively small area—rare in Wards located out of Idaho and Utah. We were living in an unusually big house—about 4000 square feet—and because we lived very close to the chapel, we often hosted ward and missionary activities in our home. When we moved into our home, the previous owners had left their refrigerator behind—and we kept it in the garage, well stocked with food so that we could provide dinner or refreshments for a large group of people on short notice.

Now comes the part about Brent.

While sitting in Sacrament Meeting one Sunday morning, Brent was prompted to do something that made him feel very uncomfortable. As he looked around the chapel, he saw a man. Suddenly he felt that he needed to pack up a large amount of food and take it to the home of this member. This member was well-to-do and owned a large home in a very nice neighborhood. Why would this man need food? What if we arrived on his front door step that afternoon with arms full of frozen meat, vegetables, and other basic items like rice, flour, milk, and bread—and this man and his family didn’t need it? How embarrassing would that be? Brent wasn’t his Home Teacher—he didn’t even know this man all that well.

I lead the music during the meeting—so as soon as Sacrament Meeting was over, Brent found me and told me about this feeling he had experienced. It seemed like a simple thing to me—if that’s what he felt we needed to do, then we would do it.

When we got home from Church, we filled four or five paper shopping bags with basic foodstuffs and headed out to make our delivery. When we got the house, we walked up to the door and rang the doorbell. When the door was opened, it looked as if we were walking into a construction site. There were sheets of opaque white plastic stapled to the ceiling. In the living room, there were some pieces of 2 x 4 with the saw and sawhorses at the bottom of a ladder reaching into the ceiling.

We discovered that this gentleman had lost his job. Blessed with a rich and sufficient life up until then, he felt too embarrassed to ask for help. His two daughters and their families lived with him and both of his sons-in-law had lost their jobs. The house had plumbing problems and the roof had a leak in it. After a week of steady rain the ceiling of their living room had collapsed. The grandchildren living with him were eating the cheapest of MacDonald’s foods—purchased one item at a time. No one else was eating much at all. This member was about to lose his house to the bank and he had no money to repair it so that he could sell it and avoid bankruptcy.

This was a family in desperate need of just what we had brought with us—the most basic of foods. I went into the kitchen to help is daughters put away the food—each item was welcomed with the utmost joy and excitement. While I was in the kitchen, Brent went to find out what was needed so that he could call the Bishop and give him an accurate accounting of the situation. Before we left, Brent emptied his wallet and quietly gave what he had to the man—so that he would have money to get some of the materials he needed to repair his home.

The story has a happy ending—both for them and for us.

Another meeting in Heaven rescued. This time, by Brent.

Today I am becoming just who I want to be, at 6 or 16, 45 or even 83.

I’ve been asked tonight to speak about teaching our children to pay tithing.

I asked my son Nathan what he remembered about us teaching him and his sisters that we should pay tithing. Looking puzzled, he told me that it was like all of the other commandments—it was just something that we did. Like going to Church and keeping the Sabbath holy, it was just a thing that was never questioned—it just happened. It seemed to me that Nathan thought about paying tithing with the same attention he gave to breathing in and out every day—it was just something that happened.

My daughter Lauren emailed me:

“What I remember is that you encouraged us to take tithing out right away. Whenever we got allowance, I remember we always traded our money back to have the right amount to pay tithing with. I still do that. Whenever I put a check into the bank, I take tithing out in cash so we don't accidentally spend it.”

I called Megan and asked what she remembered about Brent and me teaching her to pay tithing. She told me that she remembered us talking about it sometimes when we paying bills. She remembered having a tithing “bank” and going to see the Bishop with the family for tithing settlement. She also remembers telling the Bishop that she was paying a full tithing when he asked her if she was. Like Nathan, she remembered that paying tithing was just something that we did as members of our family. She then complemented me when she told me that Brent and I were wonderful parents and always taught her and her brother and sister to obey the commandments during Family Home Evenings—and in the things she saw us doing every day.

There was a meeting in Heaven. The Lord needed someone to teach Megan, Lauren and Nathan about the law of tithing. “It’s OK. Everything’s taken care of. Brent and Carolyn can handle it.”

Our Heavenly Father needs someone to teach his children to obey his commandments. He needs people who are faithful examples. He needs people who pay their tithing with a cheerful heart as easily as if it were breathing in and out.

Our children see us. They watch us. They hear us. They love us and they want to be like us.

Today I am becoming just who I want to be, at 6 or 16, 45 or even 83.

I am the kind of person who can fill in for a musical number. The widow was the kind of person who could care for the Lord’s prophet. Brent was the kind of person who could bring food and money when it was needed. Brent and I are the kind of parents who were able to teach our children to love the Lord and to obey His commandments.

I am grateful for His many blessings and for the opportunity that I have had to become someone I can be happy with. I close with my testimony of the Lord’s love for us and of His desire for us to obey His commandments and to teach our children so that, together, we can return to Him.

Today I am becoming just who I want to be, at 6 or 16, 45 or even 83.

Who are you becoming?

Carolyn Hendry

Saturday evening Stake Conference

23 October 2010