Men & women--the ultimate non sequitur / Lloyd

NOTE: At the conclusion of General Conference this past weekend, it seems appropriate to remember that discussions between men and women can be tricky, even more so when topics are perplexing and charged with religious and political fervor. Credited to Dave Barry, this humorous but insightful piece is an often-read, Valentines-day classic.

Contrary to what many women believe, it's easy to develop a long-term intimate and mutually fulfilling relationship with a guy. Of course, the guy has to be a Labrardor retriever. With human guys, it's extremely difficult. This is because guys don't really grasp what women mean by the word 'relationship.'

Let's say a guy named Roger asks a woman named Elaine out to a movie. She accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and soon neither is seeing anybody else.

Then one evening when they're driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine. She says: "Do you realize that we've been seeing each other for exactly six months?"

Silence fills the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: "Geez, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he feels confined by our relationship. Maybe he thinks I'm trying to push him into some kind of obligation."

And Roger is thinking: "Gosh Six Months."

And Elaine is thinking: "But hey, I'm not so sure I want this kind of relationship either. Are we headed toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a Lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even Know this person?

And Roger is thinking: "So that mean it was...Let's see...February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer's which means... lemmee check the odometer...Whoa! I am Way overdue for an oil change here."

And Elaine is thinking: "He's upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I'm reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants More from our relationship-more intimacy, more commitment. Maybe he senses my reservations. Yes, that's it. He's afraid of being rejected."

And Roger is thinking: "I'm going to have them look at the transmission again. I don't care what those morons say-it's still not shifting right. And they better not try to blaime it on cold weather this time. It's 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieving cretins SIX HUNDRED DOLLARS!"

And Elaine is thinking: "He's angry, and I don't blame him. I'd be angry too. I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm just not sure."

And Roger is thinking: "They'll probably say it's only a 90-day warranty. That's what they're gonna say!"

And Elaine is thinking: "Maybe I'm too idealistic, waiting for a Knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I'm sitting next to a perfectly good person who's in pain because of my self-centered schoolgirl fantasy."

And Roger is thinking: "Warranty? I'll give them a warranty!"

"Roger," Elaine says aloud.

"What?" says Roger.

"I'm such a fool," Elaine says, sobbing. "I mean, I know there's no knight and there's no horse."

"There's no horse?" says Roger.

"You think I'm a fool, don't you? Elaine says.

"No!" Roger says, glad to know the correct answer.

"It's just that...I need some time," Elaine says.

There is a 15-second pause while Roger tries to come up with a safe response. "Yes," he finally says.

Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand. "Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?"

"What way?" says Roger.

"That way about time," Elaine says

"Oh," says Roger. "Yes."

Elaine gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she says, "Thank you, Roger."

"Thank You," he responds.

Then he takes her home, and she lies in bed, a conflicted soul weeping until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of chips, turns on the tv and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czech players he never heard of. A tiny voice in his mind tells him that something major was going on back threre in the car, but he figures it's better not to think about it.

The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, and they will talk for six straight hours. In painstaking detail they will analyze everything she said and everything he said. They will continue to discuss this subject for weeks, never reaching any definite conclusions but never getting bored with it either.

Meanwhile, Roger, playing racquetball one day with a friend of his and Ellen's, will pause just before serving and ask, "Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?"

Recent visitors / Judy

We've have several visitors lately and for different reasons. This picture is Grandpa and his sister, Betty. She and her grand-daughter and her two little boys came for a vacation and stayed at a motel. They did fun California stuff during the day, then Betty came and visited with Grandpa every night. It worked out very well for everybody.

Yesterday these girls came to see Grandpa and spend the night. From the left is Heather with her 18-month-old daughter, Jordan, Grandpa, then Michiko and 7-month-old Cosette. Today Kristen and Hilary came down for lunch with us and we all had a fun visit. Now Michiko and Heather are driving back to Los Angeles where Michiko lives and Heather will fly to Salt Lake tomorrow.

Also, Lloyd's nephew Matthew stayed with us for a couple nights because he fell off his bike on Sunday and broke his upper arm--the humerus. He was in quite a bit of pain and I didn't want him to have to be alone in his apartment. But he's doing better now and I took him grocery shopping for food he wouldn't have to prepare or cut up so he's back in his apartment and hopefully can return to school soon.

Of course Michael is still staying with us for about four days a week to help Grandpa with his physical therapy. So we've had a busy week. Meanwhile, I'm still hanging on with my stent, which I hope gets taken out next Tues. or Weds.

The movie Taken—edgy, cautionary / Lloyd

At its end I wished I hadn’t seen the current, popular movie Taken.

It does drive home the reality that if we don’t keep the covenants we’ve made, the world has a wide open maw ready and capable of consuming us.  I see this reality week days at the state hospital and then on Sunday’s at the prison.  And the prognosis for recovery is bleak.

Darwin Awards / Judy

Thanks to Valerie for the following (I love 'em):

The 2008 Darwin Awards

Yes, it's that magical time of year again when the Darwin Awards are bestowed, honoring the least evolved among us.
Here is the glorious winner:
1. When his 38-caliber revolver failed to fire at his intended victim during a hold-up in Long Beach , California , would-be robber James Elliot did something that can only inspire wonder. He peered down the barrel and tried the trigger again. This time it worked.
And now, the honorable mentions:
2. The chef at a hotel in Switzerland lost a finger in a meat-cutting machine and, after a little shopping around, submitted a claim to his insurance company. The company expecting negligence sent out one of its men to have a look for himself. He tried the machine and he also lost a finger. The chef's claim was approved.
3. A man who shoveled snow for an hour to clear a space for his car during a blizzard in Chicago returned with his vehicle to find a woman had taken the space. Understandably, he shot her.
4. After stopping for drinks at an illegal bar, a Zimbabwean bus driver found that the 20 mental patients he was supposed to be transporting from Harare to Bulawayo had escaped. Not wanting to admit his incompetence, the driver went to a nearby bus stop and offered everyone waiting there a free ride. He then delivered the passengers to the mental hospital, telling the staff that the patients were very excitable and prone to bizarre fantasies. The deception wasn't discovered for 3 days.
  5. An American teenager was in the hospital recovering from serious head wounds received from an oncoming train. When asked how he received the injuries, the lad told police that he was simply trying to see how close he could get his head to a moving train before he was hit.
  6. A man walked into a Louisiana Circle-K, put a $20 bill on the  counter, and asked for change. When the clerk opened the cash drawer, the man pulled a gun and asked for all the cash in the register, which the clerk promptly provided. The man took the cash from the clerk and fled, leaving the $20 bill on the counter. The total amount of cash he got from the drawer... $15. 
[If someone points a gun at you and gives you money, is a crime committed?]
  7. Seems an Arkansas guy wanted some beer pretty badly. He decided that he'd just throw a cinder block through a liquor store window, grab some booze, and run. So he lifted the cinder block and heaved it over his head at the window. The cinder block bounced back and hit the would-be thief on the head, knocking him unconscious. The liquor store window was made of 
Plexiglas. The whole event was caught on videotape.
    8. As a female shopper exited a New York convenience store, a man grabbed her purse and ran. The clerk called 911 immediately, and the woman was able to give them a detailed description of the snatcher. Within minutes, the police apprehended the snatcher. They put him in the car and drove back to the store. The thief was then taken out of the car and told to 
stand there for a positive ID. To which he replied, 'Yes, officer, that's her. That's the lady I stole the purse from.'
  9. The Ann Arbor News crime column reported that a man walked into a Burger King in Ypsilanti , Michigan , at 5 A.M., flashed a gun, and demanded cash. The clerk turned him down because he said he couldn't open the cash register without a food order. When the man ordered onion rings, the clerk said they weren't available for breakfast. The man, frustrated, walked away. 
  10. When a man attempted to siphon gasoline from a motor home parked on a Seattle street, he got much more than he bargained for. Police arrived at the scene to find a very sick man curled up next to a motor home near spilled sewage. A police spokesman said that the man admitted to trying to steal gasoline and plugged his siphon hose into the motor home's sewage tank by mistake. The owner of the vehicle declined to press charges saying that it was the best laugh he'd ever had.
    *** Remember... They walk among us!!!

(Remember the old radio program "Crooks are stupid"?)

Children or Pets, but not Both (story) / Lloyd

A great story from Robert Fulghum in his collection Maybe (Maybe Not), 1993. The guys in the hospital loved it.

A man and woman I know fell into BIG LOVE somewhat later in life than usual. She was forty. He was fifty. Neither had been married before. But they knew about marriage. They had seen the realities of that sacred state up close among their friends. They determined to overcome as many potential difficulties as possible by working things out in advance.

Prenuptial agreements over money and property were prepared by lawyers. Preemptive counseling over perceived tensions was provided by a psychologist, who helped them commit all practical promises to paper, with full reciprocal tolerance for irrational idiosyncrasies.

“Get married once, do it right, and live at least agreeably, if not happily, ever after.” So they hoped.

One item in their agreement concerned pets and kids.  Item Number 7:  “We agree to have either children or pets, but not both.”

The man was not enthusiastic about dependent relationships. Kids, dog, cats, hamsters, goldfish, snakes, or any other living thing that had to be fed or watered had never had a place in his life. Not even houseplants. And especially not dogs. She, on the other hand, liked taking care of living things. Especially children and dogs.

OK. But she had to choose. She chose children. He obliged. Two daughters in three years. Marriage and family life went along quite well for all. Their friends were impressed. So far, so good.

The children reached school age. The mother leapt eagerly into the bottomless pool of educational volunteerism. The school needed funds for art and music. The mother organized a major-league auction to raise much money. Every family agreed to provide an item of substantial value for the event.

The mother knew a lot about dogs. She had raised dogs all her life—the pedigreed champion kind. She planned to use her expertise to shop the various local puppy pounds to find an unnoticed bargain pooch and shape it up for the auction as her contribution. With a small investment, she would make a tenfold profit for the school. And a couple of days, at least, there would be dog in the house.

After a month of looking, she found the wonder dog—the dog of great promise. Female, four months old, dark gray, blue eyes, tall, strong, confident, and very, very, very friendly.

To her practiced eye, our mother could see that classy genes had been accidentally mixed here. Two purebred dogs of the highest caliber had combined to produce this exceptional animal. Most likely a black Labrador and a weimaraner, she thought. Perfect. Just perfect.

To those of us of untutored eye, this mutt looked more like the results of a bad blind date between a Mexican burro and a miniature musk-ox.

The fairy dogmother went to work. Dog is inspected and given shots by a vet. Fitted with an elegant leather collar and leash. Equipped with a handsome bowl, a ball, and a rawhide bone. Expenses: $50 to the pound, $50 to the vet, $50 to the beauty parlor, $60 for tack and equipment, and $50 for food. A total of $260 on a dog that is going to stay forty-eight hours before auction time.

The father took one look and paled. He smelled smoke. He wouldn’t give ten bucks to keep it an hour. “DOG,” as the father named it, has a long, thick rubber club of a tail, legs and feet the remind him of hairy toilet plungers, and is already big enough at four months to bowl over the girls and their mother with its unrestrained enthusiasm.

The father knows this is going to be ONE BIG DOG. Something a zoo might display. Omnivorous, it has eaten all its food in one day and has left permanent teeth marks on a chair leg, a leather ottoman, and the father’s favorite golf shoes.

The father is patient about all this. After all, it is only a temporary arrangement, and for a good cause.

He remembers item No. 7 in the prenuptial agreement. He is safe.

On Thursday night, the school affair gets off to a winning start. Big crowd of parents, and many guests who look flush with money. Arty decorations, fine potluck food, a cornucopia of auction items. The mother basks in her triumph.

“DOG” comes on the auction block much earlier than planned. Because the father went out to the car to check on “DOG” and found it methodically eating the leather off the car’s steering wheel, after having crunched holes in the padded dash board.

After a little wrestling match getting “DOG” into the mother’s arms and up onto the stage, the mother sits in a folding chair, cradling “DOG” with the solemn tenderness reserved for a corpse at a wake, while the auctioneer describes the pedigree of the animal and all the fine effort and neat equipment thrown in with the deal.

“What am I bid for this wonderful animal?”

“A hundred dollars over here; two hundred dollars on the right; two hundred and fifty dollars in the middle.”

There is a sniffle from the mother.

Tears are running down her face.

“DOG” is licking the tears off her cheeks.

In a whisper not really meant for the public notice, the mother calls to her husband: “Jack, Jack, I can’t sell this dog—I want this dog—this is my dog—she loves me—I love her—oh, Jack.”

Every eye in the room is on this soapy drama.

The father feels ill, realizing that the great bowling ball of fate is headed down his alley.

“Please, Jack, please, please.” She whispers.

At that moment, everybody in the room knows who is going to buy the pooch. “DOG” is going home with Jack.

Having no fear now of being stuck themselves, several relieved men set the bidding on fire. “DOG” is going to set an auction record. The repeated hundred-dollar rise in price is matched by the soft “Please, Jack”from the stage and Jack’s almost inaudible raise in the bidding, five dollars at a time.

There is a long pause at “Fifteen hundred dollars—going once, going twice. . .“

A sob from the stage.

And for $1,505 Jack has bought himself a dog. Add in the up-front costs, and he’s $1,765 into “DOG.”

The noble father is applauded as his wife rushes from the stage to throw her arms around his neck, while “DOG” wraps the leash around both their legs and down they go into the first row of chairs. A memorable night for the PTA.

I see Jack out being waked by the dog late at night. He’s the only one strong enough to control it, and he hates to have the neighbors see him being dragged along by this, the most expensive damned dog for a hundred miles.

“DOG” has become “Marilyn.” She is big enough to plow with now. “Marilyn” may be the world’s dumbest dog, having been to obedience school twice with no apparent effect.

Jack is still stunned. He can believe this has happened to him.

He had it down on paper. No. 7. Kids or pets, not both.

But the complicating clauses in the fine print of the marriage contract are always unreadable. And always open to revision by forces stronger than a man’s ego. The loveboat always leaks. And marriage is never a done deal.

I say he go off light. It could have been ponies  or llamas or potbellied pigs. It would have been something. It always is.

The Day We Flew the Kites by Frances Fowler / Lloyd

Ours is an increasingly noisy and irreverent culture in which many suffer severe emotional deprivation. The absence of spiritually and emotionally affirming experiences in life may be more damaging to an individual than actual abusive, horrific experiences.

But we can utilize the power of the arts: literature, theatre, cinema, music and dance to develop the referents and the environments to communicate spiritually sensitive feelings--hope, kindness, concern and empathy, reaching out to others, connectedness.

Tuesday nights I read and tell favorite stories to a select group of forensic psychiatric patients, and their response has been very positive. They especially liked  The Day We Flew the Kites by Frances Fowler (1949, the Reader's Digest Association, Inc.):

"String!" shouted Brother, bursting into the kitchen. "We need lots more string."It was Saturday. As always, it was a busy one, for "Six days shalt thou labor and do all thy work" was taken seriously then.

Outside, Father and Mr. Patrick next door were doing chores. Inside the two houses, Mother and Mrs. Patrick were engaged in spring cleaning. Such a windy March day was ideal for "turning out" clothes closets. Already woolens flapped on backyard clotheslines.

Somehow the boys had slipped away to the back lot with their kites. Now, even at the risk of having Brother impounded to beat carpets, they had sent him for more string. Apparently there was no limit to the heights to which kites would soar today.

My mother looked out the window. They sky was piercingly blue, the breeze fresh and exciting. Up in all that blueness sailed puffy billows of clouds. It had been a long, hard winter, but today was spring. Mother looked at the sitting room, its furniture disordered for a Spartan sweeping. Again her eyes wavered toward the window. "Come on, girls! Let's take string to the boys and watch them fly the kites a minute." On the way we met Mrs. Patrick, laughing guiltily, escorted by her girls.

There never was such a day for flying kites! God doesn't make two such days in a century. We played all our fresh twine into the boys' kites and still they soared. We could hardly distinguish the tiny, orange-colored specks. Now and then we slowly reeled it on in, finally bringing it dipping and tugging to earth, for the sheer joy of sending it up again. What a thrill to run with them, to the right, to the left, and see our poor, earth-bound movements reflected minutes later in the majestic sky-dance of the kites! We wrote wishes on slips of paper and slipped them over the string. Slowly, irresistibly, they climbed up until they reached the kites. Surely all such wishes would be granted!

Even our fathers dropped hoe and hammer and joined us. Our mothers took their turn, laughing like school girls. Their hair blew out of their pompadours and curled loose about their cheeks; their gingham aprons whipped about their legs. Mingled with our fun was something akin to awe. The grown-ups were really playing with us! Once I looked at Mother and thought she looked actually pretty. And her over 40!

We never knew where the hours went on that day. There were no hours, just a golden breezy Now. I think we were all a little beyond ourselves. Parents forgot their duty and their dignity; children forgot their combativeness and small spites. "Perhaps it's like this in the Kingdom of Heaven," I thought confusedly.

It was growing dark before, drunk with sun and air, we all stumbled sleepily back to the houses. I suppose we had some sort of supper. I suppose there must have been a surface tidying-up, for the house on Sunday looked decorous enough.

The strange thing was, we didn't mention that day afterward. I felt a little embarrassed. Surely none of the others had thrilled to it as deeply as I. I locked the memory up in that deepest part of me where we keep "the things that cannot be and yet are."

The years went on, then one day I was scurrying about my own kitchen in a city apartment, trying to get some work out of the way while my 3-year-old insistently cried her desire to "go park and see ducks."

"I can't go!" I said. "I have this and this to do and when I'm through I'll be too tired to walk that far."

My mother, who was visiting us, looked up from the peas she was shelling. "It's a wonderful day," she offered; "really warm, yet there's a fine, fresh breeze. It reminds me of that day we flew the kites."

I stopped in my dash between stove and sink. The locked door flew open, and with it a gush of memories. I pulled off my apron. "Come on," I told my little girl. "It's too good a day to miss."

Another decade passed. We were in the aftermath of a great war. All evening we had been asking our returned soldier, the youngest Patrick boy, about his experiences as a prisoner of war. He had talked freely, but now for a long time he had been silent. What was he thinking of--what dark and dreadful things?"

Say!" A smile twitched his lips. "Do you remember... no, of course you wouldn't. It probably didn't make the impression on you it did on me."

I hardly dared speak. "Remember what?"

"I used to think of that day a lot in PW camp, when things weren't too good. Do you remember the day we flew the kites?"

Winter came, and the sad duty of a call of condolence on Mrs. Patrick, recently widowed. I dreaded the call. I couldn't imagine how Mrs. Patrick would face life alone.

We talked a little of my family and her grandchildren and the changes in the town. Then she was silent, looking down at her lap. I cleared my throat. Now I must say something about her loss, and she would begin to cry.When she looked up, Mrs. Patrick was smiling. "I was just sitting here thinking," she said. "Henry had such fun that day. Frances, do you remember the day we flew the kites?"

Housework (gag) again / Judy

I seem to be doing all the blogging because Lloyd's been very busy lately. But he'll be back as soon as he can.

Since I've been sick, my house has deteriorated, as you can imagine. But I am still mostly able to do the five daily jobs: B, B, C, D, F (sounds like a bad report card, but actually a memory aid). B=beds, make every day; B=bathroom, give them a swish and swipe while you're in there getting ready; C=clutter, just the hot (and visible) spots; D=dishes, keep the sink cleaned out; F=floors, sweep daily. 

I have to admit I don't do all these things every day--it depends on how I'm feeling--but I try to wash the dishes every day and the other things at least every other day. So although my house is not as pristine as it could be, it's a heck of a lot better than it might be otherwise while I'm laid up.

Bottom line: if I can do this right now, everyone can do at least these things to improve the livability in their homes.

An update / Judy

Somehow it's boring to keep talking about my health problems, but at least I should mention how I'm doing now. Much better, actually. I still have the stent, which I'm generally able to ignore, and haven't had an "episode" of pain for several days. I go to the doctor again tomorrow and we'll probably decide how things are progressing and what to do next then. 

On a much more interesting note, you can see Ben in publicity photos for his play coming up next month if you go to pcpa.org, then click on Midsummer Night's Dream. He says this is the first time he's been in a publicity shoot at pcpa because they don't usually use "emsemble male #5" but this time he has a real part. The play is supposed to be like Bollywood, which is why everyone is wearing Indian-type clothes.

Mothers of Many / Judy

Yesterday Kristen and Nathan stopped by on their way home from the hospital with baby Luke (why didn't I think to get a picture with my new camera? It's a learning curve). Anyway, Kristen was telling me about how this recovery so far is much better than the last one. She said it was probably because her doctor knew about delivering babies of women who had lots of children. Evidently it's a whole different ball park. The doctor told her the fifth delivery is significantly different from the first four in several aspects, including how painful the after-pains are. You know, those abdominal pains you get when you're breastfeeding because the uterus is contracting. And after the fifth baby each succeeding delivery recovery is that much harder, although the deliveries themselves may get easier. So this doctor really knows what she's doing because she's had more experience than most with mothers of many and also she's done a lot of research about it. Kristen said one thing that she did differently was that after the birth, they kept in her epidural while giving her two more IV bags of pitocin. So the very worst pain was covered by the epidural. 

The bottom line, mothers, is that if you have several children, it's evidently very important that your doctor knows about how to care for you afterwards, because not all doctors do. Think about it, most mothers have only 1-3 children so most doctors will have mostly that experience. But having 5 or more needs different care. So ask before committing to a particular doctor.

The Continuing Saga / Judy

I went to the doctor today to have the stent taken out and now I have good news and bad news. The good news is that the two big stones (on my left side) are all broken up and now moving down the stent as they should. The bad news is that I have to keep it in for at least another week to get as much of the gravel stuff out of my body as possible. Mostly I'm fine, although the stent is uncomfortable, but I can ignore it to some extent. The main problem occurs when some of the stones start moving outside the stent and I feel like I'm having a full-blown kidney stone attack. However, I have learned how to deal with it--I take two vicodin and within about 30-45 min. I can bear it and then I usually go to sleep for a while. This is all taking much longer and feeling worse than I expected, but I know it will be over eventually. Then I can do the same thing for the one stone in my right kidney (aaarghhh). Today the doctor told me that I personally have as much "stone material" as four or five other people he treats. Sometimes it's no fun to be special.

Current Malady, cont. / Judy

I had my little "procedure" on Monday as planned. They put me completely under and then with a sonar gun or something shot the two big stones in my left kidney to smithereens. Then they inserted a wire and a stent so all the tiny pieces of the blown up stone could pass safely. I was home by 11:30 am and thought everything was pretty much over. However...

Now I stay on the couch, taking a pain pill every three hours then passing out and that is my whole life right now. I go back to the doctor's office next Weds. to have the stent removed (I try not to think of how they'll do that and how it will feel) and the doctor told me I would probably be "uncomfortable" until it was out.  

Fortunately, I have help--Lloyd is here all morning, and my brother is staying here and our friend, Liberty checks on me every day and does whatever needs doing. I wish I had more interesting stuff to talk about, but this really is all I have at this time. The one good thing about all this is that I can read all I want and I'm now in the third book of the Twilight series. 

Current Malady / Judy

So here I am, minding my own business, and WOW, all of a sudden, I've got kidney stones. But don't panic, so far they haven't been bothering me, it's just that they are there and COULD be a problem any time. I've been to a doctor and had an x-ray, which is really the only reason I know I have them, and I'm scheduled to have them blasted into a million pieces on Monday. Also, they will put in a stent during this little procedure. 

I was NOT looking forward to having this done, but last night my back did start to hurt and I got worried I might have a full blown episode. So I took a pain pill the doctor gave me "just in case," that is in case they "bothered" me before we could do this procedure (I had the feeling he thought I could blow any minute). Anyway, some of you remember how I react to benedryl...this pain pill was like that only more so. I sat down to watch a little Star Trek and the next thing I knew I was in bed and Ben was standing over me. He said I'd been asleep several hours and he'd helped me into my bedroom a while ago. He said all the way down the hall, I kept asking him what time it was, about 8 times.

Today, I seem to be okay again, although my back feels a little achy.  Now I am ready for my procedure on Monday because I don't want a full-blown kidney stone attack. Even a hospital experience is better than that.

Words to live by: It's always something.

Generous conservatives / Judy

There was an article recently in our local paper by a liberal writer from the New York Times that I found very interesting. Here are a few excerpts from the article:

"The problem is this: we liberals are personally stingy. Liberals show tremendous compassion in pushing for generous government spending to help the neediest people...Yet when it comes to individual contributions to charitable causes, liberals are cheapskates."

One study showed a difference of 30% and another by Google showed a 50% difference in private giving between liberals and conservatives.

"Something similar is true internationally.  European countries seem to show more compassion than the United States in providing safety nets for the poor, and they give more humanitarian foreign aid per capita than the United States does. But as individuals, Europeans are far less charitable than Americans. 

"Americans give sums to charity equivalent to 1.67 % of GNP...The British are second, with .73%, while the stingiest people on the list are the French, at .14%...

"Conservatives also appear to be more generous than liberals in nonfinancial ways. People in red states are considerably more likely to volunteer for good causes, and conservatives give blood more often. If liberals and moderates gave blood as often as conservatives...the U.S. blood supply would increase by 45%."

Ha! I knew it! Go conservatives!

The spirit of man & computers (an analogy) / Lloyd

"'The spirit and the body are the soul of man.’ Man is a dual being, a spirit within a mortal body.

"It is difficult to teach about the intangible, spiritual part. But there are ways to do it. For example, your students know about computers. A personal computer made of metal, plastic, glass, and a dozen other materials will hold an astonishing amount of information. All of the standard works can be stored there, and in addition, sets of encyclopedias, dictionaries, books on a whole library of subjects, even illustrations and mathematical formulas.

"With the press of a few keys, one can select any part of what is stored and see it instantly on a screen. One may, by pressing a few more keys, rearrange, add to, or subtract from what is stored in the computer. Press another key or two and you can print a copy of whatever you desire, even in full color. You then can hold in your hand tangible, absolute proof of what is inside there and how it is arranged.

"If, however, you should take the computer completely apart, you could not find one word of it, not one illustration, not one tangible evidence that there are volumes, verses, poems, and illustrations inside the computer.

"You could dissolve the computer with acids or burn it and you would not find one tangible word of evidence. You could no more find words in the ashes of a computer than you can find the spirit in the ashes of a cremated human body.

"No one doubts that this great base of information is actually stored in the computer. It should not be too difficult to teach each youngster that there is within the human body a spirit. Notwithstanding that it is invisible and intangible, it is the very essence of reality. You can, in context of the gospel plan, explain what that spirit is. Let me say that again. You can, in context of the gospel plan, explain what that spirit is, where it came from, and what the destiny of each of us is." Boyd K. Packer in Mine Errand from the Lord, Deseret Press, 2008.

PERSONAL EXPERIENCE: On 9 Dec 1998 my brother Paul and I gave my father a blessing of release. He passed away early the next morning before we had awakened. Later that afternoon dad's High Priest group leader assisted Paul and me in properly dressing dad's body for a Latter-day Saint burial.

I can tell you that the difference in dad from the night before when he was alive, as sick and physically debilitated as he was, and at the time of our dressing him was dramatically clear. Before, he was our father; after, we clothed his remains. But we also felt that dad's body was sacred and important to him. It was a most reverent experience. -- Lloyd

My new camera / Judy

These are the first pictures I took with my new camera. (This is so exciting!) Here are the DeMarco's on Christmas Day. This one is Grandpa Wight around Christmas Day (can't remember exactly). This is our little friar in front of the house. I put a Santa hat on him and I think it's hilarious.This is the bay where we all went a couple days ago. Everybody but me and Kristen went on kayaks and a big war canoe (held 12 kids and 3 adults). Kristen and I took the two babies, Brennan and Anna and sat in a warm cafe and visited.

So I'm on my way with the camera. Now I just have to remember to take it everywhere and then remember to use it. But I eventually got used to having and using a cell phone so I'm sure I can do the same with this. Hopefully, you'll see my pictures improve over time.