How To Take Over A Church Meeting

I’ve waited a long, long time before I’ve dared write this story, or someone moved out of State, or . . . and I’m not telling . . . but  died, but now the needed event has passed, and I’m brave.

My friend, an accomplished pianist, was asked to play a Beethoven piece at an LDS meeting, and, figuring an hour or two in church wouldn’t hurt me, I said yes, when asked to go along.

You know how those meetings go. A little girl sang, a young lad said a few words; both taking no more than five minutes and then my friend was introduced. But I soon felt edgy, for I knew the piece he had chosen was no five minute piece, but more like 45 minutes.

But I decided he’d stop at the end of the first movement, but no, no, no. He passed by that coda as if not there, and one glance at his face told me, he was going to play Beethoven to the last note, and to heck with any time limits or rules.

I felt nervous, but I noted that the man in charge was doubly so, for he soon began fidgeting and glancing toward my friend. I tried to tell myself that the problem, the pianist and the leader’s nerves had nothing to do with me. But every nerve in me was standing at attention.

After about 15 minutes the man in charge was about to ‘have a cow’ as the kids say. Sweat was pouring from his face and he motioned for a young lad to come to the podium. They had some whispered words and I saw the kid’s face go white in horror. But the leader nodded firmly and the child, like a lamb to the slaughter, edged toward the piano.

He glanced back for mercy, but the leader was firm, and all the child could do was try to tell my friend to stop playing. And every person in the congregation was watching in fascination as my friend brushed off any message like some bothersome fly and the wonderful music continued.

Somehow I felt that I was part of the problem but also, I was fighting an almost uncontrollable urge to laugh. In fact I gave a couple of chortles, (disguised as coughs) and wondered if I had better leave the chapel. But I didn’t. And by then the entire congregation was watching in horror/fascination/humor/indignation. They realized this was very different from the usual Sacrament Meeting. But most were watching the battle to see whether Beethoven or the leader would win.

Well, I didn’t wonder, for I knew darn well that, short of whipping his music from the piano, my friend was going to play to the final note. But the man in charge didn’t give up easily, for then he walked to the piano and whispered in my friend’s ear.

I watched in fascination because I knew my friend and that he bowed to no one’s whispers. If he had been invited to play Beethoven, he was going to play Beethoven, whisper all they wanted. And he did.

Well, by then the congregation was split into thirds. One third closed their eyes and with smiles on their faces enjoyed the unexpected concert. The second group, like me, wanted to laugh and were grinning unabashedly at the tug of war going on. And the final group was angry.

They began looking daggers at me and I felt like standing up and explaining that I had nothing to do with it. I was an innocent bystander, too.

Well, eventually the concert ended (almost 45 minutes) and my friend rose in proud righteous indignation, and walked over and sat beside me. And no one was happier than I when the last prayer was said and we could get in the car and laugh.

But for heaven’s sake, there was no laughter, for my friend didn’t think it was funny and I spent the rest of the day listening to his indignation. By the time I got home, I was too tired to laugh. But the next day I shared the event with a couple of people who also like music and then the three of us laughed and laughed and laughed.

And the congregation that had gone to hear a routine meeting, instead heard a Beethoven concert they’d have paid big bucks in the concrt hall. Forty five minutes of solid enjoyment but to this day I think of it as the funniest time I’ve ever spent in church.

Do Doctors Ever Really Listen?

Make them hear you . . .

I sat down in the Doctor’s office chair, without even a ‘Hello’ she smiled and said,  “I’ve enrolled you in a weekly class on Controlling Chronic Pain.”  And  went on to tell me where they were held, who was in charge  and what to expect from them.

I thought she had me mixed up with some other patient and shaking my head and told her that ‘No, that’s not for me.  I don’t have chronic pain.’  She went on as if I hadn’t even spoken.

But as she called me by my name I knew she had the right folder, and, as if reading from a book, went on with what was to be expected for one in my age group and I sat there as if I were an inanimate object, hearing her but wondering when she’d get around to asking exactly why I had called for an appointment.

She never did, and I knew then that she had studied at some medical School where their major primers were books on what to expect at various age groups.  She very nicely went down the list of ‘taking blood samples’; asking what medication I was taking, vitamins and such, and soon my designated 15 minutes were over and that was that.  Oh, yes, there were queries as to whether I ate and slept well, and then that was that.

The first thing I did upon getting home was to call and cancel the Chronic Pain Clinic classes, and making a note to not let anyone assign me to that medic for my next appointment.  They (whoever ‘they’ are) have what’s wrong with us all figured out and I, somehow, just don’t fit in with their book for my age.

When you reach your Fifties there must be a well-read book on what illnesses and problems that age group will have.  Then there is a book for the Sixties (your age, not the date) and they’ve studied well the problems that age group will have.  Oh, and here is where Living Wills are insisted upon.  They’ve got it all down pat and a copy of such books are in every medic’s desk.

It continues right along in the Seventies, Eighties and Nineties, only by then the books tell about Care Centers, and ask how to contact your children to tell them what you need. They take it for granted that you are no longer capable of  hearing, answering or planning.  You don’t think so? Wait and see.

What’s funny, and I don’t mean ha–ha funny, is that all kinds of businesses read the same books.  At Fifty my mail changed and I began to get letters and pamphlets from well known clinics sent by high-powered medical universities, insurance companies, and investment firms, all eager to tell me about my own body and how marvelously they can handle my financial business.

When you reach each next decade ‘someone’ re-sets the switch and a new set of instructions and sale’s pitches come to  your mail box. This time they’re from the same schools or companies, but, the content changes into more dire diseases and horrors.  Now they begin hinting at care centers (Oh, so much fun), cemeteries, trusts and wills, and all such ilk and when you reach your Seventies, Eighties, and Egad, your Nineties???  ‘They’ become more blatant and you know that, with ‘them’, you are a naught but a statistic.  Out of the game. So why bother.  Period.

There are no (at least I’ve never found one) books on the people in those growing decades, and the numbers are growing by leaps and bounds, who are healthy, sane, capable and all the rest of the stuff we’ve been doing during the early part of our lives.

Someone, and of all groups, you’d think it would be the medical world, would be the first to realize that our parents, at 45 and 50 were medically where we are at 80.  We’re healthy and not to be medically treated by some book that without even a question, just knows  that you should be enrolled in a Chronic Pain Clinic. They are using statistics from half a century ago and glued them upon us.  And unless things change, that means you, and you, and you, too.

If I Could Do It All Over Again

We were talking the other night, about what we’d do if we could turn back the calendar and ‘do it all over again’, and once the joking got out of the way, it set me to some fairly seriously thinking.

What would I do? Well, presupposing I could retain whatever bits of wisdom and smarts I’ve picked up along the way . . . I’d begin at a far younger age to do what I want, rather than what others wanted me to do

The trouble is, it’s not only hard to unearth such things, but much pain, guilt, resentment . . . and forgiveness . . . must come before we can live our lives as we want, and not forever be trying to please another. No matter how loved or even how long dead. Which is often the most difficult of the two

I wouldn’t smoke. It was thought cool to do so when I was a certain age, and it took me some time to realize that, in the first place, I didn’t like to smoke, and secondly, I found that those who did smoke, weren’t cool anyway. So I stopped.

I wouldn’t be so serious the second time round, would have more fun along the way, and I’d remember that I wasn’t responsible for the actions of anyone else, bur me. And, again, it didn’t matter how much I loved them, either.

I’d go barefoot in the grass and sand more often, and I’d never again wear a firmly set of hair style, but let it fly freely in the wind. And, I’d wear long flowing skirts which would whirl as I turned, and I’d turn a lot.

And when children arrived, I’d take more time to be a kid with them. Yes, there comes a time when that’s all over with, but until that time, I’d prowl the fields and pasture with them, getting down on my knees to discover the toads, frogs, bees and all the other things they once found and brought home to me.

I’d have more picnics . . . if only peanut butter and jam sandwiches . . and listen to the birds, crickets, and other sounds we only hear when we really listen.

I’d love a lot more and let more people know that I love them. And if you think I”m talking about sex here, well , you’ve got an awful lot to learn, but we’ll go into that some other day.

I’d be more open to changes that come with life, and not spend months, sometimes years, trying to make everything be ‘like it used to be’ . For, if changes didn’t come, I’d still be . . . well,   enuf of that, I’m just glad changes came.

Oh, and I hope I’d remember that the teen years are simply a phase and not the end of the world. I’d remember that there are always a few golden youths at that age that we all wanted to be like, yet . . . we found out later the golden aura didn’t always carry over into adult hood, and I wouldn’t change my life for a million.

I wouldn’t take marriage so seriously. Now, I don’t mean I’d be out on the town, but I’d remember that marriage is simply two people who happen to like each other a lot, and are trying to live together in very close quarters. It’s the only ‘war’ where you sleep with the ‘enemy’ and a little laughter and light hearted banter helps a whole lot.

I’d quit worrying over ‘what others might think’. What do I care what they think?   That’s their problem and, I’ve found, as I have gone ahead in my own way, others have found it to be not a bad way , either.

I ‘d remember that every situation, good or bad, that comes with my karma, and it’s my reaction to those situations, (what I do, how I act), that is putting my next set of karma in place.

I’d grow more flowers and fewer vegetables. Oh, I know we must have food, (and I like it, too) but the soul needs food, too and so I’d have a lot more flowers and would take the time to smell them as well.

And I’d remember, oh, I hope I’d remember, how once Ann and Jack Larkin and Brad and I, happily and light heartily sat on the deep curb up in Jackson Hole, along with a couple of others, and watched a big slice of the world go by. And next time, by golly, I’d sit on more curbs and . . . perhaps ‘d be lucky and have Ann, Jack and Brad there with me.

Yes, there are quite a few things I’d like to do over again. Oh, me, oh me, oh my . Wanna join me???????

We Used To Hang Our Clothes To Dry

When neighbors knew each other well, by what hung on the line . . .

There were usually 5 or 6 lines, each about 14 feet long,  5 1/2 feet high, and with long wooden poles that could push the lines UP so that the ‘wash’ wouldn’t brush against the  ground and get dirty and yet allow  the lines to be within  easy reach for the one hanging the clothes.

These were unwritten rules, but  every  woman  knew them by heart and followed them to the last word.

1. You WASHED the Lines each Monday, by  wiping their entire length with a damp cloth to remove any accumulated dust that would soil the just-washed clothes.

2. Wash day was on a Monday.  Only death or dying permitted any other day, and even then NEVER on a Sunday.

3. Even if it were sub-zero weather, clothes would  ‘freeze-dry.’

4. You had to hang clothes in a certain order, always hanging whites (bed linen) with whites, shirts with shirts, sox with sox, towels with towels, pants with pants and so on.

5. And socks were hung by the toes, NEVER by the tops; Pants by the BOTTOM cuffs, NOT the waistband; and NEVER a shirt by the shoulders, but always by the tail.

6. Sheets and towels were hung on the OUTER Lines so that your ‘unmentionables’ could hang unseen on the middle Lines and some women, modestly hung their underclothes INSIDE  pillow cases, shielded  away from prying eyes.

7. There were Clothes Pin bags that you nudged along the  Lines to be handy when hanging clothes, and to put those pins  back in again, when taking down the dried clothes.  It looked ‘tacky’ to see pins on empty Lines and also they would get dirty and so soil the next Monday’s wet clothes.

8. If you were efficient, you would hang the clothes up so that each item did not need two clothes pins, but  would share  pins by overlapping the corners of  two items.

9. Clothes had to be OFF the line before dinner time, sprinkled  and neatly rolled, placed in a clothes basket, and ready  to be ironed on Tuesday. Never, never Monday evening.

_______________________________________
ODE TO MONDAY

A Clothes Line was a news report for people passing by,

For there could be no secrets, with clothes hung out to dry.

It also was a friendly Line, for neighbors always knew

If company had stopped on by, to spend a night or two.

For then you’d see the fancy towels and sheets, upon the line.

And the special ‘company’ table cloths, with intricate designs.

And also of a baby’s birth, of those  who lived inside

As brand new infant clothes were hung so lovingly with pride.

The ages of the children could readily be known

And seeing how the sizes changed, you’d know how much they’d grown.

It also told when illness struck, as extra sheets were hung

With nightclothes, and a bathrobe, too, haphazardly strung.
They also said, “Vacation time”, when Lines hung limp and bare

And , “We’re back” was told, when crowded Lines had not an inch to spare.

New folks in town were scorned if clothes were dingy, gray

And neighbors carefully raised their brows and looked the other way,

But today the Lines are of the past for dryers make work less

And now, all that’s there within a house is left for us to guess.

But I really miss that way of life, ’twas such a friendly sign

When neighbors knew each other well, by what hung on the Line.

( anonymous )

I Really Shouldn’t Tell You This, But . .

There are many over used phrases that insure the audience (whether one or a hundred), will stop listening before the speaker gets started. I know, for I’ve been on both ends. A glazed look comes. over every face and before long they pardon themselves as they suddenly re-member they have a pressing appointment elsewhere.

One of those phrases is, “W hen I was your age . . .” and no one will listen. Those younger than you will rightly suspect you are seeing it all through rose colored glasses, And those y our own age, won’t listen for they’ll be waiting for a chance to break in and tell their own story. Which, you can bet your life, they’ll make far better than yours.

Any conversation that begins, “There are two sides to every question . . .” is generally trying to make the weaker side look as good as the stronger. And you know that least one person will always take the ‘other’ side just for the sake of an argument. And probably to-morrow he/she will be telling the praises of the other side.

Any statement which begins: “Now, if I were running things, I’d . . .” is scarcely worth hearing. For when or if they ever do have charge it isn’t long before they begin to look, talk, and act exactly like those w ho have been in charge before. And if you don’t believe me, just think of how different candidates for the Presidency sound compared to when they become President.

As, President Trump of today, and Candidate Trump of six months ago. Yeah.

Any conversation which begins: ” Well, you only live once. . .” is bound to be a defense of the sensual life with its no rules of drugs, alcohol, sex, and other facets of high living”. Actually that phrase is a concealed apology for doing as we want to do and to heck with any criticism.

And the phrase which begins: “I have an unbelievable offer (plan or investment, etc.). . . ” will turn out to be unbelievable and when you once actually see it in ‘black and white’, and read the fine print” you can’t help but wonder why you took time to even listen. It’s said that if it sounds too good to be true. . . it is. And just hope you didn’t lose any money with that ‘unbelievable’ plan.

Any story that begins; “I’ll never forget the day . . .” usually introduces an anecdote about a day that would be better off forgotten, and one you have heard several times before.

And when your boss begins: “I’ve been keeping my eye on you . . .” just know that it might be a raise in title or such as a higher title, but be surprised if it means a raise in pay.

Any conversation that begins with: “I want to tell you something as a friend . . . will contain a piece of unsolicited, unnecessary and usually offensive bit of advice that will probably show more enmity that friendship. Take heed . . . that person usually isn’t your friend.

And when someone begins a sentence with: ” I don’t want to brag about my grandchildren, but . . .”   know that the person is a downright liar. I tell you, I enjoy bragging about my grandchildren, keep a mile long string of photos in my purse and I get them out , too, whenever I can trap some poor soul into listening and looking. But this is one time when you gotta be quick or they’ll interrupt and brag about their grandchildren before   you really get started.

Any statement that begins: “That’s funny. I know someone with the very same symptoms, and the doctor told her. . .” shows you have fallen into deep pit of conversation with one who is known as “The Health Bore”. He or she has read up on all kinds of odd, off beat diseases and can keep going for the next hour. And what’s doubly boring, is that they’re often right, too.

Any statement that begins: “If you ask me, the way to put an end to all this turmoil is . . .” means you’ve found someone who probably can’t even get along with his boss and co-workers. his children, neighbors, or in-laws, but . . . on the world level . . . boy, oh, boy is that one ever good. And for reinforcement, just refer to my fourth paragraph.

Any conversation which begins, in sotto voce “I shouldn’t tell this, but , , ,” means you’d better run.   Run as fast as you can. Anything that begins in that ‘confidential’ way won’t be for your own good, so don’t even listen.   You’ll only end up with a guilt trip . . . and resentment to the one who, ‘for your own good’, dropped the load upon you.

There are probably dozens more of these old cliches, and I’ve probably used the all, and so have you. but they are what I said, ‘cliches’ and should be dropped into the bucket that hold all those old out dated words. but before you do that . . . send your favorites along to me or post them here.

Kids Have Big Ears

and great memories . . .

Never underestimate the intelligence of a child. Their cognitive senses are operating at full blast long before they can communicate or comment. And the memory of what they see and hear stays with them. And sometimes they surprise you with what they not only saw, but heard and later on understood what was said. Wow, wow, wow.

My son, Bill, while yet in diapers, had a favorite cozy nook, between a corner and two hallways, where he could see pretty well what was going on in a good part of the house, and so, one day, I found that he heard and remembered for more than I thought possible.

His older brother, John, kept busy with ‘grown up’ stuff, but Gram and I talked about lots of things and people as I went about my daily chores. Later on as Bill learned to talk, we also found there had also been another pair of ears taking note of what we said. And was good at remembering, too.

Yes, one day, after he could talk Bill said, “Mom, do you remember when you and Gram were talking about . . . ?” and he then went on to tell me about that day, and, surprised, I answered, “Yes. Bill, I do.”

“Well”, he said, “that isn’t the way it happened.” And that dang kid went on to tell us exactly what had happened and Gram and I looked at each other in disbelief. And if he, the child was right, then my ideas of children’s abilities, in fact, children barely out of infanthood, took a great big turn-about.

I looked at Gram with eyes agog, and said, “Okay, thanks,” and the child casually went on with his play, but Gram and I knew then that it had been no unthinking child hearing our conversations, and I began wondering what else he had heard and understood. And stored away. Plenty, no doubt.

My sister tells of a like happening to her. Our mother, Nettie Ohlin, and her friends, did their summer quilting outside in a tree arbor of ours, with Bernice as a child, playing under the quilting frame the women used, and where she heard the women’s talk. She now tells me she knew story after story about our neighbors, long before she knew what it all meant. But, oh, what a foundation of learning.

I knew kids copied what they heard, for Bill’s older brother had proven that, also.  He too, was still in the diaper stage, and was sitting on the middle of the kitchen floor (where else?) and was swinging a small play plastic hammer his Dad had given him, and, of course, was pretending he was hammering with it. And of all things, over and over he was saying, “G. . D. . .   G. . D . . .”

Well, I hurriedly found another toy for him to play with, hid the hammer and couldn’t wait to tell his Dad that a few changes had to be made in everyday ‘shop’ language. Who told us that parent hood would be without shock? ? ?

And later on, I saw a daughter of a niece of mine do the same. Oh, not the cussing, just the awareness of what was being said. My niece was sitting near me, with her less than two-year-old daughter on her lap. She was telling me, that she was expecting another child, but decided not to tell her daughter (yeah, the one sitting ritht there on her lap) about it.

I laughed and told the expectant mother that she had already ‘spilled the beans’, and that the child on her lap understood what she had said. She looked at the child, the child looked at her, and the looks in the eyes of both, child and mother, was hilarious for both of them were surprised.

The mother to know that her child had understood, and by the look the child gave to me, it was evident that the child was surprised to know to know that there was an adult who knew that she understood. I laughed again in delight.

Stupid kids?? No, they’re all the same, and if you think not, you’re only fooling yourself. No, they don’t have the ability to talk, but my oh, my, they have the ability to hear and  remember.

Think back on your own life, you simply listened to what was being said, (that’s  how we learned to speak and say words) and it became part of us.  We knew and remembered. There are no secrets around children. They might not know all the inner meanings, or have the ability to comment, but, boy oh boy, do they ever know the facts, And have good memories, too.

 

Pearl Harbor – The End of Innocence

I was at Gram’s home that long  ago Sunday morning of December 7, 1941,  sitting in the upstairs east bedroom,  reading and listening to music, but  when the music changed to some kind of war story, I turned it  OFF and wandered downstairs.

Gram, Mrs. Archibald (Rachel Crozier)  Bradford, was  preparing dinner, and  as I stepped toward her, I paused, and didn’t know what to do, for I saw she was crying as she worked. 

She didn’t  speak,  and so I reached out with a loving   hug,  then  sat down at the kitchen table.   I wasn;t sure of why she cried, but  knew it had to do with what the radio told us meant War , and Gram, that dear woman,  knew what war meant.

 Her husband had served in the Philippine Islands in the Spanish American War, and   now she had two sons of the ages to serve in the war we were hearing  on the radio.  Gram knew  what war had meant, and  now would mean  to a new generation.. 

Jake  (Fenton Crozier Bradford), her son and  my brother-in-law, entered the room, had a folded newspaper  in his  hand, and as he passed me to go through the swinging door, to the upstairs,  he lightly whacked me on the shoulder with the newspaper and said, “This one’s for me, Ole.”

Jake had nicknamed  me Ole from my maiden name of Ohlin, so I  grinned at him, but he didn’t grin back or even stop to chat.

At that time, he was  36 years  old, a few months short of being too old (37) to be drafted  when WWII became a reality for the USA.  We  had been  helping England with Lend-Lease and many other ways, but that was the day when we were in that war. Over  our heads in it.

I saw that Gram  was taking care of whatever she was cooking, but was still crying and her radio  continued  telling us of what I had thought was  a ‘war story’, but by her tears and Jake’s comment, I suddenly knew that we were hearing no ‘program’, but Reality, firm, unchangeable Realty.

I suddenly’ k’new that we were being told of real Japanese planes which,  as we listened, were bombing and destroying, the entire USA Fleet,  and Air Force,  which President Franklin D. Roosevelt, had sent, ‘for safety’ sake, along with the thousands of our sons, brothers and friends aboard those Battleships, taken to military shelter in the Hawaiian harbor.

As  of that date, we  were  not yet  a part of  World War II, but that designation was shattered right as we listened, for we became aware that  Japan  had, with no world-wide notice joined that War on the side of  Hitler’s Germany.  And even as we listened, our USA Battleships, and their Crews, where we thought, would be safe from Hitler’s reach  were being  destroyed..

How wrong we were, and that Sunday morning, we were no longer bystanders of what was beginning to be called World War Two, and we were in it.  And over our heads in it, too.,

With Gram’s   tears, and Jake’s actions I realized they knew more about what it all meant than I did, and I shivered,  I was young, too young and unknowing, but we learned swiftly,  far too swiftly.

It would be five years before Jake could try to resume a ‘normal’ life, but even then he was one  of the lucky ones, for so many, many thousands never returned to their  homes,  but were killed and buried in places around the world that, before WWII, we had never even  heard their names.

We’ve never been so innocent since that December 7th morning . . . and never will be again.    In the hard way, we learned that truly,  the age of innocence was past.  And remains so .

 

Memorial Day Visits

With an open mind and heart, welcome them back for a visit . . .

Yes, the ‘official’ day of remembering our loved ones who have left God’s Human Room, and are now in another of His Rooms which offer us exactly what it is we need to learn.   Perhaps were offered here, too but we were too busy to take advantage of what was available and now, as we’ve stepped into another of God’s Rooms we will be offered again, exactly what we need for our eternal growth.

But, it’s an odd and rare person who waits from one year to another to remember those who have left us.   Most people do as I do, and so  there isn’t a day that passes, but that I don’t feel and ‘visit’ with Gram . . . Brad . . .Dad and Mom……my siblings, Spencer, Amber, Fern, and so many others.

And I think that. . . even as I look forward to being with them again . . . that they too are looking forward for our arrival in whatever Room they are now in. Looking forward to a day when they will joyously greet us.

Yes, I think The Source has many Rooms. Each special, each different, each like a gift awaiting our arrival.     But I don’t wait for that, but visit with my loved ones right here, and quite often, too.   Why wait? I feel them here, just as I did during the years when they were in their bodies. Yes, they’ve left but they visit.   Oh, yes, they do, and not daily but just the same, they visit. 

I often feel Gram with me in my kitchen, as I prepare my meals, for cooking was  her Number One hobby. Then it was her kitchen we shared, and now it’s mine.   Or her flowers, and I’ve never yet seen a display of Chrysanthemums as gorgeous as  when the plants she cultivated up and down her driveway, are in full bloom. It is a prize winning display, and all her doing.

Or, there’s a certain chair I oft time lounge upon and I am aware of the worn place where Brad’s hands rested, and over time rubbed the ‘finish’ off, and now my hands add to the worn places.   Yeah, it’s still Brad’s home.   Still Brad’s chair.   And welcome here, too .

And my memories and ‘visiting’ aren’t just in my home.   There’s a certain Cafe in South Salt Lake that I now never patronize . . . for, dang it, it’s not so comfortable and the food not so tasty when I’m not with John Nuslein.   But yet, ‘Jonathon’ and I visit for now  he comes to my backyard where we watch the wild life ‘over the hill’, and love the old pasture, which is now a golf course.

LaRee Pehrson, whose written words brought life and interest to the well-read Magna Green Sheet and whose presence I so enjoyed  as we traveled together, and we made good use of the phone when our night time conversations lasted often to midnight. And LaRee being LaRee I’m sure has found lots of stuff in God’s Next Room and set it all aside to share with me,

And then there’s been Dad, a true Swede, at my kitchen table with a full Coffee Pot and cake, cookies, pie or other leftovers from my ‘frig’ and freezer, plus two small boys at our feet, and happy times when Gram came over and joined us. Both boys recall Dad’s shoes, for they were the first they had seen that were actually shoes and not oxfords. And today’s kids would have to be shown the difference

home . . . and remnants of his Ham Shack are still here. Why not? They were his trade mark, and the da di da dit, da da di da, when one listens closely still echo in my rooms and now aided and abetted by the same dots and dashes of his youngest son. And now K7EA and W6ITW and W7JYI form a friendly   chorus of dots and dashes to verify that a Short Wave Ham once made this his home..

Jake is here and so welcome.

And Brad is here.   It’s his , with his cheerie “Hi, OLE’.   Jake’s nickname from my maiden name of Ohlin.   And I answer Hi, Hi, Hi. He was a brother in law and a good one, too. Yeah, he still visits here.

Mom isn’t here very often, because, I figured it was my and Brad’s home, and so the coffee and tea pots were well used, and the aroma of tobacco was welcome here atthat time, But her beliefs, God bless her, were so strong she could not come to a place that did not follow those edicts.   Life can be cruel, hard, demanding and hurtful, but The Next Room will welcome all. The Source understands and loves us.

Who else?????   My door is always open: Bill and Ruth Bailey of long years ago. Ann and Jack Larkin, both here and also at 206, 208, East on 4800 South and I’m sure the Source’s Next rooms are large and welcoming, for there are many I will look for and will need a large space.

Yes Memorial Day comes once a year, and the cemeteries are crowded with the many who go to stand by the site where the loved bodies were buried. Good, good, good, but better still is quietly welcoming those dear ones to our homes that they probably knew as well as we did.   With an open mind and heart, welcome them back for a visit. You’ll be glad you did.

Learn To Love Yourself First

     We use the word ‘love’ many times a day, and in so many different ways that it becomes baffling.   Lots of people consider the two words of Sex and Love, to be synonymous, but they are far from being so.

First of all, we should realize that the word Love is not primarily a Noun, but a Verb .  And a verb is a word of action, and action, once put into motion, continues in motion. It’s a natural Law. Recognized as such, the more Love we use and send along to others, the more love comes back to continue being used.

 

     The supply is endless, and the wise ones tell us that first, we must learn to love ourselves. To make it our own inner joy, and then silently send it along to others making us more joyous. Some of the easy rules follow.

  

Love yourself and therefore:

     Take loving care of your body, feeding it nourishing foods and beverages. Groom and dress it with love, and watch your body respond by giving you health and energy.

 

Love yourself and therefore:

     Your home will comfortably fill your every need and be a joy to live within. The rooms will be filled with love’s vibration so that all who enter, yourself included, will feel and be nourished by it.

 

Love yourself and therefore:

     You will enjoy your work for, no matter what it is, it will use your creative talents and abilities, and allow you to know and communicate lovingly with those who become part of your life.

 

Love yourself and therefore;

       Your every need is met and often will come into your life before you are aware such a need was approaching. The Source is all-knowing and, if you but allow, the way is prepared before you.

The Bible says: “He goeth before, and prepareth the way”.   .

 

Love yourself and therefore:

     Think in a loving way toward all people, for we know that whatever we give, (love or its opposite), returns to us multiplied over and over, filling our world, and mirroring exactly what we sent out.

 

Love yourself and therefore:

     Forgive and totally release all past experiences which, at the time, you worried about, resented, yet clung to. Only with utter, loving, forgiveness, can you be free.

Love yourself and therefore:

     Live in the Now. Experience each moment as good, and know that your future is joyous and secure. Everyone is a child of the Source and that Source lovingly cares for us, now and forever, the same way you, as loving parents, care for your children.

 

Love yourself and therefore:

     You will discover you can love all others. Including the many in this world whose deeds you cannot love, because The Source teaches us to love the do-er, not the deed.

     True Agape love is the only way to end the violent and dangerous actions that we see or read about in the media news each day. Love is the only answer to wars, street crimes, home disagreements, violence, greedy political debates, and arguments of all kinds.

 

Love yourself and therefore;

     Silently send love to all people, no matter what creed or color, and if right next door or the other side of the world. Silent love is the only action that will someday change the world, but the action must begin, and continue to live, within each of us.

 

     Learn to respect, accept and love your own worth. Then, no matter where you are or who you are with, don’t wait or say a word, but silently start sending love. Right then. You are the only one, from the special spot where you abide, who can set in motion Love’s eternal action.

 

  

I found these words several years ago in some book or magazine. Liked them, saved them, altered or added here or there, and now pass them along to you. And I choose, when I read the name the author has called The Source, to murmur the name of God because He is the ultimate Source of All.                  (Anon.)

  

 

Mothers

My Mom sure is wise . . .   Things she taught me.

Do any of these sound familiar? My mother didn’t have a lot of ‘schooling” but these are facts I learned from her as a child. Betcha you heard them too.

My Mother taught me early TO APPRECIATE A JOB WELL DONE.

“If you two are going to fight till you kill each other, do it outside. I just finished cleaning that room.”

 My Mother taught me all about the depth of PRAYER.

       “You better start praying right now that the stuff you spilled will come out of the carpet.”

 My Mother taught me about TIME TRAVEL.

“If you don’t straighten up right now, I’m going to come over there and knock you into the middle of next week.”

 My Mother taught me LOGIC.

“Because I said so. That’s why.”

My Mother taught me about FORESIGHT.

     “Make sure you wear clean underwear, in case you’re in an accident.”

My Mother taught me IRONY.

“Just keep crying, and I’ll give you something to really cry about,”

 My Mother taught me about the science of OSMOSIS.

“Shut your mouth and eat you supper.”

 My Mother taught me LOGIC.

“If you fall out of that swing and break your neck, you’re not going to the store with me.”

 My Mother taught me about CONTORTIONISM.

     “Will you just look at the dirt you have on the back of your neck and in your ears.”

My Mother taught me about STAMINA.

You’re going to sit there till all that spinach is eaten.”

 My Mother taught me about WEATHER.

         “If looks as if a cyclone swept through your room.”

 My Mother taught me how to solve PHYSICS PROBLEMS.

“If I yelled because I saw a meteor coming straight toward you, would you listen to me THEN?

 My Mother taught me about HYPOCRISY.

“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times. Don’t exaggerate.”

Betcha they sound familiar to you, too. And no matter where you live. For some reason they’re familiar to all of us. Almost word for word.