Winter Dreams and Tender Mercies

Emma's hands tapped cold against my neck as she blew wet raspberries into my hair. An occassional peak behind me at the cute rosy cheeks and bundled baby in the backpack met me with baby girl giggles. In front of us, crunching through the snow, trecked Michael, Pops and Hyrum, lugging our freshly cut Christmas trees down the path. And way up in front, hurrying to get into the warm truck, Magaw and Jared walked--hand in hand, talking about snow, basketball, Santa's sleigh, and Little Mikey in Norway on his mission.
I looked up into the snowy white canyon, closed my eyes, listened to the rush of the river against its icy banks, and felt the tender mercies of the Lord all around me. Words--even the best words written in sweet poetic prose--fall short of describing the scene or my heart. Perhaps my yearning for time to stop for a while leads me to try to write it down. At least then I can visit the memory and savor it again and again.
I love this season--the anticipation of everything homey and exciting and yummy. I love the quiet times of twinkling lights and twilight, I love the loud times of excited little boys, I love the memories of childhood Christmases--full of dreams come true, I love the memories of growing- up Christmases--still full of magic with an added sweetness of testimony, I love the memories of a new love and promise of eternity at this season, I love the music, the lights, the events, the traditions. And especially I love my Savior--I am thankful for his humble birth which we now celebrate in grandeur and glory. Merry Christmas!

First Snow!

We awoke this morning to a world of white! Every day for a week now I've answered the question "When will it snow? Will we have a white Christmas? It NEEDS to snow, will it?" And today it did! The morning's snow skiff heightened our home's volume in every aspect--we giggled louder, ate louder, and turned up the Christmas music. Although it's not yet noon, and the lacy flakes dulled to a foggy slush, the magic remains. Come April, these skiffs won't bring the same flip of the tummy and quickened heart beat. But in early December, amidst the magic of the season, snow only adds to the glow. I'm glad that this morning the winter snow dreams came true!

Just a little update, right now it is time to eat and here I sit watching my husband work so hard getting food for my family while I blog, Oh it is a good life.

PERFECT MOMENTS

Shafts of crisp autumnal morning light twinkled through the park's golden hued trees. We owned the place--just us. Jared and Emma laughed and giggled as I pushed them around and around the merry-go-round. Their rosy cheeks and twinkly eyes almost burst my heart. Fall smells of crunchy leaves and moist dirt filled the air and my soul. And their sweaters--they even had sweaters on-just added to the perfectness of the moment. If I were an editor for some elite urbanized country magazine, this scene would have graced the cover. But, as usual, I didn't have my camera. And if I had, the batteries would have been dead or the memory card full. Ah, well.

A wise man once said (on more than one occassion) that he just took pictures with his heart. The sacred recesses of our hearts are the best places for perfect moments--moments of eternity-- like the way your new husband's scrubbed hands look on the alter of the temple or the quite hush of hospital rooms with a brand new baby.

Fancy magazines--you can keep your perfectly created moments for your covers, and I'll keep those special ones that just happen--safe in my heart.

Our County Fair

Fair food bits and grimy dust stuck to my tired kids faces as they leaned against Mawgs and Pops--trying to get comfortable on the metal bleachers. Emma kept reaching for more slushy and sloshing it all over her tummy and my hands. The wind blew just enough to carry the happy sounds from the 4-H Pavilions and Farm Bureau hamburger stand into the grandstand where 3 oldish men sang in sweet harmony. The ranchers from Yost sat quietly in the heat with their cokes, hiding under their unshaved beards, and left me wondering how old they really were. A couple of dusty kids jumped down to dance on the stage, and old women in stretched-out knit t-shirts sang along with the hazily familiar songs. The afternoon sun softened the dust and almost made it misty. Shouts and songs from the carnival mixed in with the music and I almost cried those silly nostalgic tears that add a sweet tenderness to life.
Fair time is good time--the best of times. Summer's sweetness lingers through those last weeks of August. School, though just days away, might as well never come. Who cares about routine and lessons when all that's perfect is at our fingertips--
The perfect loaf of bread, the perfect pumpkin, the perfect quilt, the perfect bottle of peaches, the perfect painting, the perfect fowl, steer, lamb, or hog. Yes, fair time brings out the best of our lives. Blue ribbons attest to our hard work and somehow that little piece of fabric allows us to take a relieved breath.
In the wholesome daylight, our fair is a great county fair. As I walk through the pavilions, reaquainting with friends and neighbors, I again think how lucky I am to live here. Tomatoes and peaches, cowboyed-up county commissioners, FFA jackets, 4-H clovers, and two dirty little boy hands and a sticky, kissable baby face make me a pretty happy woman!

And It Was Summer, Warm, Beautiful, Summer.

(Help!)

Summer in San Diego...One of the happiest places on earth.