Christmas 2008

Icicles on our house showing how the winds blows.
Beautiful babies on Christmas morning. And finally me with my nephew's wife at the family party.

Mormon Bishops

My dad was a bishop. Most of the people who read my blog are LDS, but there are a few who aren't and may not quite understand the role of bishop in the typical LDS ward. They are sometimes called the father of the ward. Like fathers, they do a lot for the people they serve--without a whole lot in return. Bishops donate oodles amount of time to the community they've been called to preside over. They should be spiritual, compassionate, organized, a good leader, a good teacher, a model father and husband, a friend to the youth, kind to children. Well you get the idea. They should be about everything good--and nothing bad. Being the child of a bishop was a little bit of a pain in the neck, because if I was a smart alec in Sunday School, the teacher would pull me aside and remind me that I should be setting an example. I should've reminded the teacher that my dad was a smart alec too, so I came by it naturally, but I didn't. Usually, I just said I would try to do better, but I said it with a scowl and roll of my eyes--or a smirk.

Since that time, I've had at least a dozen bishops. In varying degrees, I've liked all of my bishops. Some I've known very well since my husband often served in the bishopric with them, well about six times, he's been in a bishopric. A bishopric consists of about 6 men who are counselors and clerks who help the bishop, but ultimately the responsibility of the entire ward of several hundred people lies squarely on the bishop's shoulders. The others can only do so much. I've worked closely with a few bishops in some of my own callings. Without exception, these bishops I grew to respect.

In Grouse Creek, our bishops wore cowboy boots, big buckles, and had an obvious tan line, typical of ranchers who wears hats and work outdoors. We've had bishops who drove school buses, farmed, taught, ran businesses and so forth. They can come from all walks of life. So where am I going with all of this? Bishops often set the personality of a ward. I'm in a new ward. Adjusting to a new ward is a challenge. For many of the years we've been in Paradise, we've been in the same ward and have made a lot of friends. I've been in a bit of a funk in our new ward. I feel a bit invisible, and even unloved. This is no ones fault, well except maybe mine. People are nice enough, but they don't know me. However, Mick and I are both happy with our new bishop. Yeah, we know it doesn't make any difference in whether or not the church is true, but we think he's pretty cool. Here's a picture of him with his family---trick or treating at our house. See?

The Power of the Individual

For anyone who has stopped believing in the human spirit, the joy of service, and the power of the individual this book is for you. Or even if you believe in all that and want a good reminder of how it is done, then this book, "Three Cups of Tea" delivers.
Basically, in 1992 Greg Mortenson failed in his attempt to climb to the top of K-2. Exhausted, he stumbled into a small remote Pakastani village, where he was taken care of. He was surprised and shocked to find out that kids gathered for school in the open air and studied without a teacher. The village couldn't afford to pay 1.00 a day to hire one. He promised to return and build a school. In an effort to rasie the funds, and without any knowledge of even the basic functions of a computer, he wrote to hundreds of rich people and celebrities and only received 100.00 for his efforts. He sold all that he had and made a little over two-thousand. He needed 12,000. This story tells how with that beyond meager beginnings, he eventually was able to build nearly 80 schools and is still going strong. He learned the customs and traditions, worked with the people to accomplish unsurmountable odds. It really is a thrilling adventure and one everyone should read.

One thing that stood out to me, is Mortenson's belief that educating a girl is the way to change society. By educating a girl, you educate a family, and a village . . . and so on. His schools now are mostly built for girls.

The title of the book comes from this great line. "Here (in Pakistan and Afghanistan) we drink three cups of tea to do buisiness; the first you are a stragner, the second you become a friend, and third, you join our family, and for our family we are prepared to do anything--even die."
Haji Ali, Korphe Village Chief, Karakoram Mountains, Pakistan

If there were more people like Greg Mortenson, then peace could be more than a dream.

Consequences

There aren't many photographs of my growing up years. The story is that every time anyone got the camera out, I stomped my feet and started to cry. The consequences are that the record of my life is sparse. This was one of my favorite photos of me. I look happy, my brother is laughing at me, and I thought the plant in the background was my hair. I loved that my hair stuck straight up!!!

This week I learned some more about consequences. The local newspaper doesn't like being told they "caved in." (see previous blog) I received no less than three less than friendly phone calls from the managing editor of the Herald Journal. It's clear that he believes bullying people who criticize them is the best way to do business. I was not prepared for the unprofessional confrontational tone the editor took with me. Somehow, I wrongly assumed that a newspaper would be used to criticism, after all they certainly make their living publishing the faults of others.
I still stand by everything I wrote. And for those of you not in the area, the letter. with a few word changes to satisfy the legal department was published last Wednesday. My letter to the editor was purposely disabled from access in the online edition. Yes, every other letter of the week was there, but not mine. After a phone call from a citizen and some emails, the letter is now available.
Numerous people have told me thanks for writing the letter. There are people who are continuing the cause of helping Mayor Atwood. There are people who are ready to keep digging until the truth is found out and justice is served. I like to hope that my letter might have stirred some action.

Living in Paradise can be HELL

I'm not trying to implicate anyone in the brief telling of this story. I actually like the suspected person very much. However, it seems clear to me that justice sometimes needs to be served so people can move on. In the last few months I've watched the mayor of our town's personality diminish. He has lost weight. His wife is distraught. His children are scared.
This is the letter to the editor I wrote after the newspaper assured us a story would be written, but caved to pressure and didn't print anything. I know a lot of details are left out. This isn't good storytelling technique, but I don't know how else to tell it without implicating individuals unfairly.

Dear Editor:
Sometimes it’s easer to be quiet. However the citizens of Paradise are baffled by the silence of the Herald Journal concerning a case that has divided our town. Last Wednesday night over 60 Paradise residents showed up to a public hearing, in large part to show support to the mayor for the last eleven years, Lee Atwood. A reporter from the paper was invited to attend. The reporter assured us that some kind of story would be printed. However as the days have passed, once again it’s clear that this isn’t going to happen.

In short, our mayor has been maligned, harassed, and systematically set up in a complicated drug-dealing scheme that had the scheme been successful would most likely have sent our mayor to prison for a long time. Detectives made an arrest in the case several months ago, but now the county attorney’s office is dropping the case.

For all parties involved, we feel it’s important to bring this case to fruition. The victim in this case, the mayor and his family, and the citizens of Paradise, are being let down by the county. It is unacceptable that a person who works so hard for the citizens of Paradise at great sacrifice to his own business, and family should be treated in this manner. It’s one thing to be victimized by a disgruntled citizen who doesn’t agree with the policies that the mayor has been elected and sworn to uphold, but it’s quite another to be re-victimized by the system and the county, and even the newspaper who has chosen to cave in under pressure.

While I feel sympathy for the person arrested, it is important for him also to be able to tell his story in court so as not to be tried in the minds of community members. The truth needs to be revealed. While I don’t agree with Mayor Atwood on all policies, I now know after serving on Paradise planning and zoning for five years, that he walks a very tight line in making some difficult decisions. And in all the years I’ve worked with Lee, I have never seen him to bend the rules in anyone’s favor in the least degree, including his own. He is a man of extreme integrity. I have nothing but respect for him and I hope that the county attorney feels shame for deciding not to turn every stone to find the guilty person in this crime, and prosecute, so this good man and his family can go on with their lives in peace.

C. J. Warburton
Avon

Paradise Art Holiday Sale Saturday, November 22, 10-5

It's that time of year again. I've teamed up with photographer Jim Parrish again. Jim has been taking shots in and around Paradise and Cache Valley. He's experimenting with some new ideas and has some Ansel Adam's type photos ready. His work is adding to the decor in our newly revamped Cracker Barrel restaurant also.

I've got some great new pieces also. I've sold most of my chip & dip plates this summer, so I worked hard and made more. They seem to be one of my most popular items since they are so functional for holiday gathering and gift giving.

We are really lucky again to have with us Wade and Cara. They are seriously two of the most talented musicians I've ever heard. They play all kinds of stringed instruments that are works of arts themselves. I would tell you the names of them, but I don't know. Okay well Wade plays the guitar, but he also plays the citar and other lesser known instruments. They will play at 3pm in the afternoon. This is free.

We'd love you to donate to the food bank. Just bring a can. If you forget--no big deal. Leave us a dollar and we'll make sure it gets there.

If you just want to look around, hang out, browse and eat a cookie--we'll let you do that too.

Sometimes Life is too good to be true...

Barring a disaster, it looks like we will have our first African-American president. History in the making--and we witness the event.

On a smaller scale about a month ago, our friends the Major's invited us to go on a moonlight horseback ride. It was cold. It was scary. I had to put all my trust in a horse and in our leaders. I couldn't see really where were going as our horse walked through dark pastures, trudged through tall sagebrush and junipers until we reached the top of the hills and could see the lights all the way into Logan main street--fifteen miles away. The temple a little gem in the dark. When we crestted the mountain I was behind the group and could see the horses and riders silhouetted with the nearly full moon. It was for me the ultimate Paradise event. Dale teased me about bringing my cell phone with me and asked if I was expecting Obama to call. I said he might--he'd been emailing me regularly along with Michelle and Joe Biden. Afterwards we sat around a fire on the Major's patio and sipped hot chocolate and visited.

I've been on some hikes this fall where I was sure that the world couldn't possibly get any better. Then last weekend I stayed with eleven other strong women--only one I had met before--and she only breifly, and yet we bonded as if we'd known each other all our lives. We talked, ate, and hiked in Zion's and Snow Canyon, staying at Millie Watt's beautiful vacation home in St. George. Millie is one of those women whose warmth and quiet dignity takes you in and makes you want to be like her. She was able to discuss without vitriol her sense of sadness and betrayal toward church and governmental policies which deny two of her children full rights of citizenship and fellowship. The other women ranged in ages from 30 and 67. They came to our retreat from California, Pennsylvania, Oregon,Washington, and the rest of us from Utah. And yet we bonded over a pie-ceremony. The next day some of us hiked through the Narrows in icy cold water--without proper shoes--for the conditions. But with each turn in the canyon a new view, and a desire to see more, to experience more, and to never forget the wonders.

Tonight watching the polls, I'm again feeling overwhelmed by the goodness, the hope, and the beauty in being alive.

Pottery, Pottery, Pottery!!! And More...

Years ago I visited Joe Bennion's Pottery studio in Spring City, Utah and got to look around and he wasn't even there at the time. Little did I know that eventually I would have my own studio and shop that I could leave open all the time.

So this is to announce that my studio at 967 E. 11000 S. Avon, Utah is now open pretty much all the time. except when I'm set up somewhere else. This happens mostly in the summer. For those who wish to make the trek, the studio will be a help yourself type of deal if I'm not there. Since I live on the property, I think I can do this without disasters. At the studio there will always be some extra good deals going on. Right now everything in the studio is 15% off, plus I'll eat the tax, which means for you--more than 20% off. Think Christmas, wedding gifts, and so forth. I've started making great tumblers. These hold a good 16 oz. Come see what else there is.

The Paradise Art Sale will be Saturday November 22nd at the town hall. More on this later.(Studio will be closed this day only this winter.)

LESSONS: And now that I'm in a new place I'm offering lessons and classes. Any group and almost anytime. I'd love to do some group classes during the daytime hours, so if you have a home school group, or a stay at home mom group, or a mom and tot group, I'd love to start a class tailored to your needs. Scouts, church group, date night, family home evening--you'll be surprised with how much fun you can have with clay. The classes will focus on hand-building and can include projects, such as coil vases, slab bowls, and animal sculptures. The charge for a group lesson of up to six people is $30. for an hour and half session, add 3.00 extra for each person beyond 6. I can accomodate up to 12. Throwing on the wheel lessons are individualized and 20.00 per session. I'm starting a children's hand-building class Thursday Nov. 6th at 4:15. $30.00 for 5 weeks. 90 minute class. Email or call for more information. 435-760-2592 (If I get at least five students) AGE: 5 ON UP (CALL IF YOU NEED AN EXCEPTION) Also if you have little ones to take care of we can work out arrangements for this at my house.

UPDATE: I've added a MONDAY MORNING CLASS Nov. 10th THAT IS FILLING UP QUICKLY. THE CLASS GOES FROM 9:30 TO 11:00 AM. THE CLASSES WILL HAVE THREE HAND-BUILDING DAYS, ONE WHEEL-THROWING, AND ONE GLAZING DAY.

MAP TO STUDIO IS ON MY WEBSITE. FROM MID-LOGAN IT TAKES ABOUT 25 MINUTES TO GET THERE.

Out of the mouth of BABES!

Is there anything better than Autumn in Northern Utah? I'm not sure, but I just spent a week in Avon, Colorado and it was a close rival. In Utah we have a variety of colors with the maple, scrub oak, and aspen. In the area of Colorado I was in there was such a vibrant golden, yellow and sometimes orange aspen and against the blue sky it was amazing. Everyone knows I love to hike, but I wasn't in Colorado to hike I was there to help out with my newest grand baby, Isabelle, and to keep the two year old occupied and happy--no easy task! But just look at him? Isn't he delightful? And now he has a brand new baby sister, who I'm sure will end up being every bit as wonderful.

Well even though most people know I support Obama, I promise I did not preach to the two-year-old, and my son and his wife don't own a television, so he has not heard any political ads. So imagine my surprise when on my way home from Colorado while riding on the Amtrak, my daughter-in-law called me so the grandson Pi (nickname) could say his newest word--loud and clear into the phone, " OBAMA." and then he laughed hysterically. "Did he just say Obama?" I asked. "Yes," more laughter coming form the phone and in the back ground the two year old is shouting Obama, Obama, Obama, and laughing with all his energy. Now this kid is talking well for a two year old, but I can barely understand him when he says Milk, or Sopo (frog in Spanish) Yes, he's a bi-lingual two-year-old. But my DIL said he just started saying Obama, so to be fair they taught him McCain, but Pi doesn't get quite the pleasure out of saying McCain as he does Obama. Such a smart little boy.

Returning to my Roots

Do fruit rooms exist outside of Mormon culture? Do other people have an entire room in their home devoted to food storage? Going down to the fruit room to retrieve a bottle or a can of produce used to scare me as a child. I would obediently head down the stairs into the recesses of our home, passing through a semi-dark, underused room, to the outer darkness of the storage room. One of the reasons it was so scary is that I had to step into total darkness and fish my hand around for the dangling string to pull the light on. Even with the light on, I imagined spiders and rats lurking. And when I was very young, I had an irrational fear that the three bears lived under the stairs, the fear never quite left me. Since I grew up during the cold war, I was quite certain that at some point, our entire family would be forced to live in the small narrow room to survive. I imagined that I would play with the elf Christmas ornaments with small styrofoarm heads and colorful costumes for entertainment.

Growing up I took the bottles of fruit the room contained, mostly peaches, pears, and grape jelly, for granted. I do remember my mom bottling and I have a vague memory of helping out, but not too much. My most firm memory of the event that took place was my mom pouring parafin over the small jars of jelly.
So when I got married, I thought bottling was pretty much a given. It was Ruth (pictured above) my mother-in-law who really taught me the how-tos. Our first apartment was in the same town--Tremonton. She was generous with her help and I don't think she even kept any of the fruit--maybe a bottle or two. But before our youngest was even five years old, I'd pretty much given it up. I found the whole task beneath me. We still dried a few batches of fruit, but I quit bottling. Besides someone figured out that like many good things the time expended and the cost per bottle wasn't worth the effort when you could buy an entire case for X number of dollars.

Recently, I was on a hike with some friends, and one of the women was talking about bottling and I suddenly wanted to do it, but feared I was too late. Then I remembered that my good friend Josi Kilpack loves bottling. Josi is almost young enough to be my daughter, and is about five novels ahead of me on her published writing, and has twice as many kids as I had when I gave it all up--and even with all that, she LOVES bottling fruit--especially peaches. So I emailed Josi and asked if peaches were still available. She lives near the fruit loop. If you don't know what the fruit loop is then you don't live in Northern Utah. Anyway, she said, "Probably, but hurry." So I had my husband buy some--he works near the fruit loop and I was set.

First though, I had to find everything that I hadn't used in nearly two decades--canner--found it buried under the box of Halloween costumes, bottles--two boxes were in the garage, packed along in our last three moves, and one box in the new storage room where they ought to be. And I'm pretty sure I tossed some, and recycled a few. Finally the rings--dug them out of my pottery studio where I used them for cutting out clay with school children, and last a trip to the store to buy the lids. Finally I was set and few hours later and a life time of flooding memories you see the result--21 bottles of peaches, 8 pts. of peach jam (which didn't really set), and some left over to eat. And now I'm ready to tackle salsa, tomatoes, elderberry jam and juice, current jam and so forth. It's funny I gave up bottling because I thought I was too modern to be confined to convention and now I found the process so enjoyable, so . . . what's the word--liberating.

A JEWEL of a Book

J. Adams (Jewel) has written a layered young adult fantasy tale called "The Journey." This is an excerpt from chapter ONE: A gentle breeze stirred the lands and forests of Krisandor, the scent of pine and oak circulating through the comfortably warm air and adding a tantalizing sweetness that softly awakened the senses of a newly dawning day. Some would say the trees and the land were as old as time itself. Though Krisandor was established just a little over a thousand years ago, the land had always been there.

The Krisandorians were a beautiful, peaceful people governed, not ruled, by a peaceful king who loved them more than life itself...

And so the story begins. From that fairy tale beginning we already anticipate the peace can not prevail, that good will be interrupted. On one layer this is a timeless story, as old and classic as Snow White where evil will have a chance of destroying everything. This is also a love story, so should appeal to young teens who are just awakening their romantic inclinations. On a deeper level though, the book becomes an allegory. Choices even small ones can alter our course. But with each choice we make, we have the opportunity of turning back and righting the course.

Ciran is a lovely Krisandorian, who finds herself swayed to do something she was taught not to do. She loses her self-respect, only deepening the hold the evil Ubal has over her. What will Ciran do. Visit J. Adams site on this book and her blog.

Attention Herald Journal Readers

On Sunday, the 14th a letter to the editor was published. They didn't clip off the tag-line at the end of the letter sending people to my blog. So if you're here expecting something about Zan's letter, you'll have to do a search for it. Sorry!! But now that you are here. Scroll down and enjoy some great blogs.

Review for "Surprise Packages"

I just had the pleasure of reading the latest book in the series by authors, Nancy Anderson, Lael Littke, and Carroll Hofeling Morris, called“Surprise Packages.” I’d say it’s a cross between Jan Karon’s Mitford Series, and the television series "Desperate Housewives." I have to admit that I would have been able to keep all of the people in this novel in my head better if there had been an accompanying pedigree chart. There is a large cast of characters in the story. Also part of my confusion was due to the fact that I haven’t read the first two books in the series. But when asked for reviewers, I jumped at the chance, simply because I just knew by the title and the cover that it would be a book I would enjoy. Now I have to go back and read the first two so I can catch up.
This is definitely a series for women. It’s the kind of book that makes me so grateful for the women, the “Almost Sisters” I have in my own life. I was the only girl in my family growing up, so I more than others crave relationships with other women who really understand, who accept us as we are, but who help us stretch our limits too. It’s also the kind of book that makes you want to stay in touch, through phone calls, emails, and get-togethers, whatever it takes to stay connected. Reading this book is like sitting down for tea with a cherished friend and having a great conversation.
I don’t like reviews that give away plot lines, but in this book the plot is definitely character driven. The characters are the story. They are your own neighbors, your own family members, and your own best friends. They are YOU! Juneau, Deenie, and Erin deal with marriages, death, wayward children, drug addictions, abusive situations, custody issues, faith, and just about everything else you can think of. There are no easy solutions to the challenges the women face. There are lots of subtle lessons in this book—but the one that stands out to me is that we accept and love people including our children as they are—that the only one we can change is ourselves. It’s the old mote and beam from the teachings of Jesus. One minor thread of the story that I really appreciated was Erin’s ex-husband. He's gay. The way the authors dealt with this was the way I think our Savior would want us to, with unconditional love, tolerance, and forgiveness. One of my complaints about LDS fiction is that it often paints a rosy picture of life—that if you pay your tithing, and get married in the temple, you’ll have a fairy tale life. Another complaint I have is that sometimes all the good guys are LDS and the not so good aren’t. This book doesn’t suffer from that affliction. There is a touching scene where the gay father comes to the missionary farewell of his son. If this issue is something that you don’t want to deal with, don’t worry; it’s dealt with tastefully and honestly.
The strength of this book is its authenticity. Every woman who reads this book will relate to at least one of the women in the book. And even though this book touches on some gritty issues, it certainly isn’t depressing. It’s lively and even upbeat for the most part. This book is published by Deseret Book, so you can get it anywhere LDS books are sold. You can also visit the authors' site.

Interview and Book Review for Jaime Theler

I've never met Jaime Theler, but after reading the book she co-authored with her mother Deborah Talmadge, Enjoying the Journey—Steps to Finding Joy Now, I would like to. Mainly I'd like to find out how it is that someone as young as she is has managed to capture so much knowledge and wisdom in her life. I admit that I'm resistant to any book or person who tries to change me in any way. I'm Fifty years old and pretty happy with how I am. I don't mean this arrogantly; it's just that I'm a bit on the laissez-faire side.

We just built a home with two sets of stairs. I love the view from the upper floor and our television is upstairs, but because I have to walk upstairs, I watch less television than ever before and mostly enjoy the views from the main floor. Steps equal effort. So keeping all this in mind, I found this book, even with its steps, surprisingly enjoyable, readable, and, better yet, applicable. The authors have filled it with anecdotal examples, quotes, and encouragement on ways to make your life more fulfilling.

The book is divided into thirteen varied chapters, everything from "The Pursuit of Happiness" to the final chapter, "Reach for Your Destiny." I think one of my favorite chapters is: "Live on Purpose." So many of us, myself included, just let things happen to us, failing to realize the ability within to take hold of the reins. In this chapter we learn about Nazi concentration camp survivalist Victor Frankl. "He observed that many of the concentration camp prisoners died when undergoing less hardship and suffering than those who survived. The survivors tended to be people who envisioned a future for themselves despite their present suffering, people who believed there was a deeper meaning in life and did not surrender to despair." The chapter ends with six steps from reading your patriarchal blessing often to writing your own mission statement.

I think the best way to read this book would be to read it and apply the steps using a companion journal. The two together would make an awesome gift. I would like to read it again and concentrate on the steps found at the end of each chapter. They really are a simple approach to making life more meaningful. Now I have some questions for Jaime, one of the co-authors.

1. What prompted you to write this book?

The idea for “Enjoying the Journey” had actually been bouncing around in my head for years. It began at a time when I was feeling awkward, lonely, and struggling to figure out life with three demanding children. I listened to a talk by Sheri Dew where she said, “No woman is more persuasive, no woman has greater influence for good, no woman is a more vibrant instrument in the hands of the Lord than a woman of God who is thrilled to be who she is.”

Those words really hit me, and I thought, “I want to be thrilled to be who I am!” I wanted to shine with joy like others I have known. The tricky part was how to do that. I once heard an author say that if you ever want to really learn how to do something, write a book about it. So “Enjoying the Journey” was something I had to write for myself, to work through things as I found my own answers. I just hoped others were in the same boat.

2. How did you organize it and work with your co-author?

We love email! Unlimited long distance helps a whole lot too. We talk over ideas, and then send chapters back and forth to each other until we get it right. It works a lot better than you might think, and it’s fun to have someone else to discuss all the little things with. Sometimes as authors you are so wrapped up in your project that you forget others don’t want to hammer out all the details. My husband gets this glazed look in his eyes sometimes.

3. Tell me something about the research you did.

At the beginning I was just sort of stumbling around, so I read anything I could get my hands on that talked about joy. I read a lot of LDS material, but also some psychology stuff. I talked with others, too. I started to notice some patterns, and things that came up many times. That helped me narrow down my research, and it was amazing how many experiences in my own life fell into what I was finding. I wanted to make this book for others who listen to great, motivational talks or read motivational books, and then aren’t quite sure how to apply it in practical terms. It really stretched me to go beyond just theories and figure out what I could do to really imprint what I was learning into my life.

4. Your first book is "Parenting Ephraim's Child." I'm not sure what that would be about. Can you tell us something about this book?

That was another book I had to write for myself. If I had to condense it to a nutshell it would be: parenting the strong-willed child from an LDS perspective. We know that the Lord’s strongest spirits have been saved for the last days, but parenting these strong spirits can be challenging. “Parenting the Ephraim’s Child” looks at the common temperamental traits of these strong children, gives parenting tools on how to work with them, and then how those traits are really spiritual strengths in the rough. The main premise of the book is that these children can be valiant in the latter days because of their strong spirits, not despite them.

5. Tell us a little about yourself, your family, and what you like to do and what you are good at.

I am smack in the middle of a family of three children, with a half-brother and half-sister on each end to complete the sandwich. I grew up in Grand Junction, Colorado, and went to college at BYU, where I met and married my husband, Jason. We ended up staying in Utah and now I’m the stay-at-home mother of three very active, intense, and wonderful children that keep me on my toes. I love to run and play tennis, sing at the top of my lungs in the car, read anything I can get my hands on, and, of course, write! As far as what I’m good at, I’m usually pretty organized and love crossing things off my list. I’m not really good at relaxing and have some workaholic tendencies I have to keep in check.

6. Who are some of your writing inspirations?
In LDS non-fiction I love Sheri Dew, and am happy to just bask in the magnificence of Neal A. Maxwell and C.S. Lewis’s writing (there’s no way I can even come close to them). I also read a lot of fiction and am inspired by the great turns of phrase of Elizabeth Peters, the wonderful character development of Jodi Piccoult, and the ability of Stephenie Meyers to suck into her stories two generations of readers. I love the imagination and depth J.K. Rowling brought to children’s fantasy through Harry Potter, and when I want to thoroughly enjoy an imaginative story told in a unique way I curl up with Eoin Colfer’s Artemis Fowl series.

7. Tell us something about your writing process.
For non-fiction I brainstorm often as I’m doing research. And I do a lot of research. My thoughts and what I’ve researched intermingles and grows through the whole process. For fiction, I’m still finishing up my first novel, so I’m trying to figure out what works best for me. I do know that I do better with more planning than flying by the seat of my pants. It’s been a fun learning experience.

Thank you so much for having me!

Trout and Berry Days!!!!!

In Paradise on the fourth Saturday of August every year there is a great event called Trout and Berry Days. It's named for White's trout farm and Week's berries, both famous throughout the region. While there are a few events during the week, a turkey shoot--yeah they don't shoot a turkey, although I didn't know this for at least twelve years of living here, and now there is a golf tournament, plus sometimes a children's rodeo, although not this year.

Anyway on this Saturday, there will be a small town parade, pet show, craft fair, pie eating contests, trout scrambles, auction, games, children games and so forth. My favorite event is the culminating trout dinner. I already love trout, but this is seriously the best trout ever. I think the dinner is about $12.00 a plate and worth every bit.

Plus who wouldn't want to jump in a makeshift pond and try to catch a fish?

I'll be selling my pottery there. I've had a summer of dismal sales so I have a great selection and am offering some extra good deals. I've made some really cool 20 oz. tumblers, regularly $16.00 each which I'm offering for $11.00 each. I'm also offering my batter bowls, regularly $35.00 for 28.00, plus everything else will be at least 10% off. I hope to see some of you make the trek out to Paradise, but come early the craft sale goes from 10:00 am to 4:00 pm.

Just over a month...

We've been in the new house just over a month now. It still doesn't seem like home yet, but it's beginning to. I still call the old house, "the house." As in are you going up to the house? Maybe when we sell it and someone actually lives there, I'll stop calling it "the house." I hope so. I'd hate to accidentally walk in sometime and protest what the new people have done. I mean, like in--"Do you know how long it took me to peel off the old wallpaper and paint the kitchen blue?" Well, truthfully if and when we can sell it, I'll probably be thrilled no matter what they do. One thing is for sure, you put your heart and soul into a house, and it's hard to leave it all behind. Even when what you're are going to is wonderful.

The photograph is of our very first sunrise.
By the way, the party was great. We had around eighty people stop by. We met some new friends and lots of our old friends came by. There's still lots of people we'd like to meet out here in Avon. Many people brought treats and some I didn't even get to thank, not actually seeing what they set down on our counter. Anyway it was a great time. Thanks to everyone who came by.

Time to Celebrate!

There's still a ton of work today, but this Sunday we're celebrating with a housewarming party. Old friends, new friends, and potential friends are all invited between 5 to 8 pm. If you'd like to come and need instructions on how to get there, email me at mcwarburton@gmail.com.

Speaking of babies...

We just finished our new house and these baby robins were there to greet us, nesting on the electric box. I got a picture of them the day they left the nest. My husband had named them Frisky, Chow Chow, and Atta. I didn't get why until he told me they were all names of cat food. Hmmm, not funny! Well kind of funny. We brought our cats out and as far as we know the birds were gone before they became cat food.

I couldn't resist posting the latest photo I took of our grandson when he was here visiting last week. He loved running and running on our wrap around porch and running down our hill. His little legs would get the best of him and he fell a few times, but did pretty well navigating.

Saying Good-bye

Dad died in his own bed. A stream of family and friends filtered in and out of his room the last few weeks. Mom was vigilant in seeing to his every need and in following doctors’ instructions on controlling pain. Just days before he died he came out of his coma-like state long enough to greet his first grandson. The doctors had done all there was to do; had prolonged his life longer than anyone had expected or even hoped for.

When dad was diagnosed with Lymphoma cancer, I was attending junior high school. When I was nearly twenty-two and had only been married for a few months, I saw Dad at the University Hospital in Salt Lake. “You and Mick better come down. I don’t think there will be another chance,” Mom had said into the phone.

I’d seen Dad sick before, awfully sick, dizzy and throwing up after his chemotherapy treatment, crawling down the hallway to the bathroom. Then often the next day, he’d seemed perfectly healthy as if the ravaging cancer just an elusive trick on his body. The first time I took Mick home to meet the family Dad was sick in bed. He talked to Mick for a few minutes before I went in. All I heard Dad say was, “Just remember one thing and you’ll get along fine—Carole is always right.”

I was always right and so was my dad, which made congenial conversation difficult. Dad had opinions about everything and so did I—only they were usually on opposite ends of the spectrum. Once at our family cabin in Silver Gate, Montana, we shouted at each other about the direction of the gas station. My friends stared in stunned silence. Later one of my friends whispered, “Why does it matter so much?”

As I walked the long halls of the hospital, I braced myself—what could I possibly say to my dying father. I’d never really been able to express my love to him. Should I now? As I stood outside his room trying to compose myself, I heard laughter in the room. Laughter? Finally I tiptoed in. There Dad was sitting up in bed teasing my cousin, Dinny, and her boyfriend—and they were all laughing. He was surprised to see us. Had we driven all the way down from Tremonton, just to see him?

“I guess I was pretty sick yesterday. I can’t remember a whole lot about it except the pain. But now look at me. I think I’ll see if I can go home in the morning,” he said smiling. He joked with everyone, the nurses, Mick and me, and his visitors. Dad was a bishop for many years and each time he stood at the pulpit, you could feel the anticipation. Everyone in the ward knew he would tell a joke. They were often jokes about himself, his bald head for instance. Once when he was admonishing the congregation to get their food storage, he added, “And I want you to know that I’ve taken the Brethrens’ council to heart and have my two year supply of shampoo. I got it the last time I stayed in a hotel. It’s a little bar of soap.”

Dad didn’t die then. He rallied as he had so many times before. Mick and I celebrated our first Halloween together and I persuaded Mick to dress up like a woman because I’d always wanted to put mascara on his long eyelashes, since mine were so short. We took homemade treats to our neighbors in our costumes. Then on November 2nd, 1979—I’d just gotten home from U.S.U. classes when the phone rang. It was my brother, Brian. “Where have you been all day?”
“School of course.” I should’ve known what he would say next—after all Dad had been in and out of a coma that last week, but somehow I didn’t know.
“Dad died this morning.”
I burst into tears.
“It was for the best—he…”
“I know, I know. I just wanted a chance to say good-bye.”
The truth is I just wanted the chance to say: Even though we argued often, no one could make me laugh the way you did. And no one made me feel like you did when you would tell people that your daughter was deep into “pot,” and then you’d show off one of my handmade pottery pieces. And you’d dig my reject pots out of the garbage can to take to work with you and sell them to your co-workers; then smugly hand me the few bucks you’d made. I liked the way you used to pull me onto your lap and make me give you a kiss on the cheek. And whenever I needed money you’d always say the same thing: “Bring back the change and no sass!” And I liked massaging that bald head that you were so proud of for you, and going out for a malt and pretending to be embarrassed while you explained to the bemused waitress exactly how to make it, with the ice cream two inches above the glass. Even though your cancer had gone into remission and you outlived the doctors’ most optimistic prognosis by four years there still wasn’t a good time to say, I love you.

Paradise Semi-Annual Artists' Sale

I'm pretty sure there's nothing better for anyone to do on Memorial Day, Monday, May 26th than to come out to Paradise. Memorial--Paradise, see the two sort of go hand in hand. We're holding our fourth semi-annual Paradise Artists' Sale and this time the show/sale will include the supremely talented musicians Wade and Cara once again. They will perform around 10 AM and are not to be missed.

The artists featured will be: Carole Thayne Warburton--long time potter. Jim Parrish--long time photographer, and Marian Sullivan--long time painter. And if you come early enough you can enjoy the famous Fire Fighters and EMT Breakfast, sure to please, contribute to the raffle and have a chance on an art piece, or a quilt. All proceeds for breakfast and raffle will help support the Paradise Volunteer Fire Department.

When: Monday May 26th from 7 AM to 6 PM, Music 10 AM
Where: Paradise Town Hall
Who: Paradise residents--Carole, Jim, Marian, Wade, Cara
Why: To promote the artists in Paradise and to support our Fire Fighters and EMT's

Author Tristi Pinkston

I met Tristi Pinkston through LDStorymakers. Shortly after I met her I read her completely engaging and well written book called, Strength to Endure. Knowing that Tristi has a new book out, I thought it would be fun to interview her on this blog. One of the complaints I've heard from folks at various book groups and settings is that many LDS novels are "fluff." I assure you that Tristi's books are not fluff. But that doesn't mean they are stuffy either, instead they are great reads.

1. How many books do you have out and what are their titles?

I currently have three books out. The first is "Nothing to Regret," the
second is "Strength to Endure," and my new release is called "Season of
Sacrifice."

2. You have a passion for writing historical fiction, having a book dealing with the Interment camps during WWII and one set in Nazi Germany. What is your latest book about?

My first two books deal with world history, but my third deals with the
history of the LDS Church. My great-great-grandfather, Benjamin Perkins,
engineered the passage through the Hole in the Rock in southern Utah, and
really lived a remarkable life. I wanted to tell his story in a way that
would honor his life and the man he was.

3. Tell us a little about how much research you need to do before you start writing, how you go about researching, and finally what your method is of putting it all together.

I start out with just a speck of an idea for a plot. Then I get my hands
on all the information I can about the era I've chosen. I'll get movies
set in that time and in the place I'm writing about, I'll get fiction and
nonfiction books, and I'll hit the Internet. I'll completely immerse
myself in that time and culture. I take pages and pages of notes on
clothes, speech, customs and historical events. As I go, certain things
will jump out at me that I know for sure I want to include in my story.
This usually takes me around a month.

Then I type up my notes, and get to work on the story. I make a timeline
so I know when all the historical events took place, and then I decide
where I want my characters to be when it happens and what their reaction
to it will be.

Then I start my rough draft. As I write, I'll discover that there are
details I need that I don't have. Sometimes I'll come back and add it
later, or sometimes I'll stop right then, hit the Internet, find what I
need, and keep writing. I keep watching the movies and reading the books
throughout this time to keep myself immersed. I find it lends more
authenticity to the final product.

When I do my second draft, I'm especially careful to take note of how I
incorporated the historical facts in the first draft. I hate info dumps
(where the author interrupts the story to tell the reader what's going on)
so I try to avoid those as much as I possibly can.

4. How and when did you discover both your passion for writing and your talent for writing?

I've always had a vivid imagination and I don't remember a time when I
wasn't creating a story in my mind. I wrote my first story at age five,
dabbled in bad poetry in my teenage years, and wrote something decent in
my early twenties. That became "Nothing to Regret," my first published
novel.

5. If you had to describe your latest book in one sentence—what would it be?

Intrepid pioneers face seemingly impossible challenges, but conquer them
through faith in God.

6. Who are you favorite authors?

I grew up on Louisa May Alcott, Gene Stratton-Porter, Lewis Carroll, L. M.
Montgomery, and all those greats. I still adore those books and am
excited to see my daughter now reading them. These days I enjoy Dee
Henderson, Jan Karon, Juliet Marillier, Catherine Marshall, and I really
enjoy cosy mysteries.

7. Do you have a muse, and if so, who or what?
I can't trace my inspiration to any one person or thing. I get ideas from
the strangest things. "Nothing to Regret" came from a dream I had that I
was a man doing espionage work in Japan during World War II. "Strength to
Endure" came to me in the middle of Relief Society one day when I heard
the story of a death march out of a concentration camp. "Season of
Sacrifice" was inspired by family history books and journals. Other books
on my drawing board were inspired by dreams, news stories, overheard
conversations . . . I think the biggest key to finding your muse is to
keep your eyes and ears open. Everything is a potential story.

8. And finally what are you currently working on and what are your writing goals?

I just finished a contemporary mystery about a Relief Society presidency
who decides to take the law into their own hands. It's been such a joy to
write -- I just let my characters have their head and away we went. Those
are some seriously kooky ladies, let me tell you. There will be a sequel
to the book and I'm mulling it over right now.

As far as my goals are concerned, I would like to publish a book a year
and continue to write historical fiction and contemporary. I derive a lot
of joy from both. I'd like to touch up some manuscripts I wrote a few
years ago, completely redo a historical fiction novel I started when I was
fifteen, and write for the rest of my life. I love it, I really do.

It wasn't anything she said...

Probably the greatest lesson I learned from my mother came through her lack of words. See, my mom was probably the calmest mother in our neighborhood. Until I went away to college I lived in the same house in Orem, Utah, across from the city sheds, an irrigation ditch, and just down from the baseball park. Behind our row of houses was an undeveloped field bordering a cherry orchard, another irrigation ditch, and a canal. So with unprotected waterways, gravel pits, and trees to climb galore, I lived in a child’s dreamland and a mother’s nightmare.

Looking back, I’m not sure how my mom survived and remained unruffled with four sons and her youngest as the only girl. My brothers were all boy, Huck Finn had nothing on them—they threw snowballs at moving cars, shot off bottle rockets, tied firecrackers to cat’s tails, soaped windows, shot rocks with wrist rockets through windows, and swam in ditches. Once my oldest brothers put a younger brother on the end of a plank at the city sheds and jumped on one end to see how high they could get him to fly in the air. Of course he landed hard and ran home crying. And since I was the only girl, I hated to be left out. I know Mom thought she was getting a bundle of pink lace when she finally had me, but it didn’t turn out that way. I wanted to be just like my rowdy brothers! Whenever I could, I tried to join them, until they’d tell me to go home and play with dolls. Once in a while I’d luck out and they’d forget about me. I was there when we burned the field down and had to call the fire department. I was there when we built a clubhouse—only to have our rivals light it on fire, resulting in yet another call to the fire department when we couldn’t stop the flames with shovels and burlap. I was there when we built a dam in the ditch and flooded the field, creating a lake deep enough to raft on. I can’t tell you how many times my mom sent us to buy eggs from a nearby farmer and we’d stop and break one over a rock to see if it would fry in the sun—it never did.

Don’t think my mom was lax in her parenting style or that she didn’t make us be responsible when we did something wrong. She did, but in a quiet way without yelling—or spanking. Once, when my brother stole candy from the drug store at the end of the street and the storeowner called my mom, she marched my brother down, made him apologize, pay for the candy, and then work for the owner.

I didn’t need to try stealing to learn my lesson. I learned from what happened to my brother. My mother was so kind that you didn’t want to disappoint her. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard her yell. She didn’t have to yell to let you know you’d disappointed her—you could see it in her face. It wasn’t a mad look, rather a hurt look. I saw that look a few times.
My mother probably didn’t know she was teaching us how to treat people by the way she treated us. My mom didn’t gossip, not ever. If I heard about scandalous things going on in town it wasn’t from my mother. She never talked bad about folks. I’m pretty sure the reason she didn’t talk bad about folks was because she didn’t think bad about folks. She thought good about most everyone. And whenever I tried to shock my mom by telling her something awful I’d heard, she would always stick up for the person by telling me that we don’t know the reason people do what they do. “There’s always a reason.” Or she’d say, “Well, they’ve got it hard.” Or sometimes she wouldn’t say anything at all—she’d just go right on kneading the bread dough or frosting the cake she was taking to someone in the ward, or doing the dishes. I’d try again, “Mom, did you hear that so-and-so chopped his own foot off and ate it?” Sometimes we’d try for something really shocking to see if we could get her to react or lose her cool, but it never worked. I’m sure my mother isn’t a saint, but I don’t have any evidence to prove that she isn’t one. The greatest lesson I learned from my mother is that sometimes the best thing to say is nothing at all.


By Carole Thayne Warburton, daughter of Jeanne A. Thayne

Happy Birthday Trevor and Mick and Dad

(Top-Mick born April 29th 1953) (Trevor April 28, 1980 and Isaiah Aug. 12, 2006) (My Dad April 29, 1927 --Died Nov. 2, 1979)

I'd wanted to deliver my son on his father's birthday, but I missed by about five hours. It was also my dad's birthday who had passed away only months before. I'd thought to have a baby on the birthday of these two great men in my life would've been a nice tribute to them. My dad was funny, driven, and smart. As it turned out it was better. This way Trevor could celebrate his own day, and at the same time share it with his father. Both Trevor and Mick (my husband) are among the kindest people on the planet. They both treat their wives with respect, aren't chauvinistic, are smart, and have a moral fiber that is decent to the core. Interestingly, they both chose teaching as their profession. Trevor has a love and respect for the Hispanic youth that he teaches and is implementing some programs to make real differences in their lives. Trevor is non-judgmental, has the perfect wife, and because of this they can make friends with people from all walks of life.

Mick has so much compassion that he is a natural as an elementary teacher. All children, babies on up, gravitate to my husband at any gathering. It's like he's sending out a code to them that only they understand. I've witnessed it over and over. Toddlers go right to him and take him by the hand, or climb onto his lap. He quiets fussing babies, and his own grandson prefers him to almost anyone, including me, unfortunately. There are differences in what Mick and Trevor like to do (somewhat) and in their personalities, but it obvious that Trevor gained much from having such a fine man as a father.

One of my greatest joys in life was becoming a wife--and having my dad with me that day, then a mother, and then a grandmother. Full circle. So here's to Mick, Trevor, and my own dad, who I still miss after twenty-eight years. The world is a better place for these exceptional men.

I got lucky...

Twenty-nine years ago yesterday, I got married. I was 21 years old and in love. I'm more in love with my husband today that I was that day. Seriously. He's not perfect, but then I'm not either. Yes, it took me at least twenty years into marriage to admit that I have faults, but I'm a slow learner sometimes. Here's some things I appreciate about my husband. He is always kind. He adores me. I adore him. He thinks for himself. He loves all things outdoors. He is an excellent father. He's just all around a good guy.
I realized soon after marriage that I got lucky. Few of us really know who we are at age 21. We're just starting into adulthood. I am not the same person I was then. I was even a Republican at 21. Most of my friends today would be surprised to learn that I wasn't always a Liberal. So it is in this vein that I think it's quite an amazing thing when we manage to find the right person when we don't even know who we are. When statistics show that divorce is at an all time high. I say, but look at all the marriages that do work. Isn't that amazing? I think it is. So this week, I toast marriage.

Almost Done!

Well, we bought the property about 17 months ago. It took until June of the next year to jump through all the hoops to get a building permit to build. Finally we are almost done. One view of the house shows it without the rock chimney finished, the next shows a side view--almost completed. We've had numerous struggles throughout the project, and some big hurdles left. But we love it!!!

Confessions of an Ex-Skinny Person

Skinny people have feelings. I should know I was one for over forty years. “Is that Carole hiding behind the broomstick?” Mr. Bird, my high school art teacher hollered when he couldn’t see me one day. Funny, that most people assume it’s okay to tease skinny people. It’s not. My first real job was as a bus girl at a restaurant known for pies. Anytime someone made a mistake on the pie they were serving, they would give it to me. “Give it to Carole, she can eat anything,” was a mantra I often heard. And I could. It didn’t matter how much I ate, or what, I never gained an ounce.
As an adult, people didn’t tease me for the most part, but I still got the, “you’re so skinny, are you feeling all right?” questions. And the worst is the disdain thrown my way if I dared to stand in a circle of women discussing weight problems, and even worse if I accidentally said, “I know” or nodded my head. Hey, I liked to eat, so I’d commiserate about the cravings that would hit at night, miles from a grocery store. It was tough heading out in a storm to buy a bag of Cheetos and then living with the stomachache caused by eating the whole bag at once. I could relate. Then as an LDS Young Women's leader, I attended a youth fireside on eating disorders. I got stared at the entire lecture, and afterward one of my young women broached what they’d all been thinking. “Do you have anorexia?”
Well, I love food. If you’re offering me free food, then I’m there. Once I even joined a depression support group because they served lunch each time. Somewhere along the line, I admitted I wasn’t depressed, but just liked to eat. Fortunately, they didn’t kick me out. They laughed. Laughing is good therapy for depression right?
Our town has some awfully good cooks. Many of them are older women and in the local chapter of the Daughters of the Utah Pioneers. Somewhere along the way, a friend invited me to attend the once of month DUP meetings. There, I enjoyed the best rolls I’d eaten since before my Nana died in 1975.
Another thing happened about the same time I joined the DUP. It was
discovered that I had such severe iron deficient anemia that the doctor thought they made a mistake in the testing, since I shouldn’t have been, well alive . . . let alone functioning. I didn’t feel great, but I managed. The doctor asked me in all seriousness if I liked to eat dirt? Not dirt, but I munched on ice-cubes non-stop, trays and trays of ice every day and everywhere. I also knew all the best fast food joints—not for food, but for the soft kind of crushed ice. Sometimes I bought a taco at Taco Time, even if I wasn’t hungry. “And could you please give me a cup of ice with that taco,” And “Yes, no water with that ice.” Sometimes I’d shiver all the way home as I ate my ice with the heater full-blast. Even though it wasn’t dirt I craved—ice craving—or “pica” can be caused by anemia. Weird huh? It took pints and pints of liquid iron infused into my veins to bring me up to par. The doctor told me infusing iron “is not without risk.” Then admitted that some people go into a kind of shock reaction, and some unfortunately . . . “die.” Fortunately, I had no reaction and obviously didn’t die, but rather spent five days with cancer patients, since my doctor was also an oncologist.
As patients, we came together five or six at a time, all in a small room, each equipped with our own lounge chair and IV. I learned a lot in those days about determination, and optimism, and about life, and death. I felt guilty for not having a life-threatening illness. It wasn’t chemo going into my veins, but rather dark red iron. Still since it was October, I shared the same plastic pumpkin full of candy, picking out all the pink and yellow Starbursts—my favorites—as the terminally ill. And I received the same care from the nurses who continued to bring anything we wanted from water to juice. One time a nurse handed a bottle of water to an elderly woman and walked out of the room. The patient struggled with the lid and finally an older man across from her offered to try the lid. He easily opened it and handed it back to her. The elderly woman gushed about how nice it was to have a man around, and that it had been years since she’d had a husband to open jars. The man, her knight in shining armor in this case, dryly quipped. “A wrench is as good as a man any day.” We laughed. Another time a man griped about the town council being a bunch of morons. “I thought you said Mormons,” his wife said. “That too,” he said. And we all laughed about that too.
The iron fixed me up. And I was on my way. Over the next few months, I recognized one of those patients in the obituaries, and then another. But to hear the laughter in the room, it was hard to believe it was a room of the very sick. Folks always say you don’t know what you can do until you have to. I’m hoping I never have to.
Shortly thereafter, I began to gain weight. It might have been my age and metabolism slowing, or it might have been that my body didn’t have to work so hard just to keep me alive. I don’t know when it was I could no longer see my ribs when I showered, or people stopping calling me skinny, or tried to fatten me up with a gooey dessert. I’m not fat, but I’m no longer thin. When I complain to my husband about all the weight I’ve gained, he says, “Of course, iron is heavy!”
Now in new year, I’ve finally made a goal for the first time in my life to lose weight. I’m physically active, so that isn’t a challenge, but I need to increase what I’m already doing—walking fifteen to twenty miles a week—and I need to limit my food intake. I’m off to a good start. I’ve joined an aerobic class. We meet twice a week, and man is it a workout. We have a great teacher. One way not to fail with an exercise plan is to have others depend on you. Offer to give a friend a ride to a class. That way, someone needs you. No one likes to be a slacker. Or you could be the one in charge of opening the building. Our class is held in our local church house, so someone has to unlock the doors.
If you like to exercise outdoors, like I do, work with a partner who has similar goals and you can help each other out. In our town, I started a hiking group in the summer. Every Saturday for two months, we went on a different hike. It was great, and already we’re talking about next summer or adding snowshoeing and cross-country skiing to the mix. The hiking group worked because I would send out emails in the week and tell people what time we were meeting, and where we would be hiking. People depended on me and I didn’t want to let them down. It’s amazing how this one thing, helps you find the time. And it was fun. Anytime you can combine fun, and sociality with exercise, it’s bound to be more successful. It’s not about the weight so much as it is about good health. If you feel better, then you look better. Being health conscious is on everyone’s minds these days. Make a small change in your lifestyle for some big results. Make this the year to feel great.

Anna Marie Thayne alias Annie Rogers

Yeah, so all these years I've thought my ancestors were all upstanding citizens. But somehow, the family tree genealogist tried to eliminate the most colorful and interesting character of them all--Anna Marie Thayne--who was disowned and cut off from the Church. While it may be difficult to find out the truth about her, since there are so many versions, I'll tell an abbreviated version of the "Daughters of the Utah Pioneers" tale. I give the lessons in our Sagwitch Basin chapter. Right, I know I'm too young to be a member of the distinguished group of primarily 70+ women, but there's a bunch of fun women in the group, and I get an excellent meal made by some of the best cooks in Paradise. Now imagine my surprise when I'm perusing the lesson and come across a Thayne I've never heard of--we're all related--having come through two brothers, Anna's father John Johnson Thayne and my great great grandfather, Ebeneezer Thayne. Anyway, the man in the picture is Kid Curry. Earlier, Anna was linked with other wild bunch members. And probably was married for a time to Harry Longabaugh or The Sundance Kid and even had a kid with him. Unfortunately, she found out that Harry was already married to Etta Place!!! Now Etta, lived with the Thayne family, and both Etta and Anna were school teachers. Was that before they became prostitutes and outlaws? All stories indicate that Anna was often mistaken for Etta, and that Anna committed more crimes with the wild bunch than did her more famous friend. I'll tell more of this tale later, but it seems that poor Annie Rogers met her fate in South America, killed along with two other outlaws that were mistaken for Butch and Sundance.

Sick is no fun!

I'm really not the kind of person who should be battling a bunch of sydromes which are identified with letters,FMS (fibromyalgia)CFS(chronic fatigue syndrome)sounds like the punchline of a joke, and IBS(irritable bowel syndrome). But none of these are funny. I started by saying I'm not the kind of person who should have these. I'm not sure what kind of person SHOULD have these, but it shouldn't be me. I know this by hints doctors give me, like are you stressed? If stressed means doing whatever I want, when I want and loving life, then Yeah--if it means the traditional idea of stress, like demanding job and children, then that would be a big NO. Another question doctors ask is,"are you depressed?" Well, only in the way that anyone would be who is excited about their plans, only to have them sidelined by debilitating sickness. Then there was the worst doctor I had, who told me point blank that I must be a type A personality, demanding of myself and others, a perfectionist, and critical. HMMMM, well needless to say, my unusually passive husband told the doctor I'm not. What a jerk--the doctor--not my husband. This all started in my 20's after a bout with mononucleosis. I never really recovered after that. Sure I've had periods of good health, and the symptoms of each illness waxes and wanes. In fact I really haven't had IBS since college, thirty years ago. But for some reason lately, everything has manifested itself again. I will get better. One of the treatments is to laugh everyday! Seriously this was listed on a website for treatments. Well I love funny things and find great pleasure in reading, and or watching funny television shows. One of my favorite joys is the award winning sitcom, Arrested Development, unfortunately the show wasn't enjoyed by enough people, but I own all the episodes and they are found on G4. I have a bunch of friends who forward me funny stories. They are great! Feel free to email me jokes anytime--nothing else--but jokes. It will lead me to good health.

Tagged by Jake

I'm lucky enough to have very interesting nieces and nephews on both my husband's family and on my own. Recently I found out through my son that one of my nephew's, Jake tagged me on his blog. When I teased him about the fact that I found out only because Trevor (my son) told me--this was his response. By the way Jake recently broke his ankle playing rugby.


Aunt Carole,

Shouldn't you pay more attention to your husband's-brother's-son's blog? Does the afore-mentioned Trevor or Ginger have blogs? I must also confess that your blog post on Obama did get me interested enough to delve into his stance on a few issues even more, and I do quite agree with the following:

1- His plan to equalize persons with disabilities; now that I fall into this category, I think its worth a shot.
2- His voice, always very positive and uplifting, bears striking resemblance to one of my favorite WWE wrestler's voice, The Rock, so therefore he can't be THAT BAD for an extreme leftist liberal.
3- I'm not going to vote for a wolf in sheep's clothing, i.e. John McCain, no matter how much the Phoenicians threaten me here, especially when he pulls Huckabee in as his veep.

So, obviously my options are few.

Good luck with the tagged post. I look forward to it.

Four jobs I have had in my life:
1. Worked at Marie Calendar's where I learned that pie is pretty good.
2. Taught school at Mountain View High School in Orem where I learned that teenagers are really cool.
3. Taught school at Pleasant Grove Jr. High where I learned that cool teenagers are above the age of fourteen.
4. Taught school in Grouse Creek K-10 (24 kids total) where I learned that the coolest kids of all live in the middle of nowhere.


Four movies you would watch over and over:
1. Big Business
2. Bandits
3. Arsenic and Old Lace
4. While you were Sleeping


Four places you have lived:
1. Orem
2. Highland
3. Grouse Creek
4. Paradise



Four TV Shows that I watch:
1. Chuck
2. Pushing Daisies
3. Arrested Development
4. Desperate Housewives


Four places you have been:
1. Lots of places in Europe
2. Washington D.C.
3. Ketchikan, Alaska
4. Vail, Colorado


People who email me (regularly):
1. Ginger (my daughter)
2. Emily (my niece)
3. A bunch of friends from LDStorymakers
4. my friend Karen


Four of my favorite foods:
1. Thai food
2. Salmon
3. Costa Vita chicken mango salad
4. Chinese food


Four places I would rather be right now:
1. eating Thai food
2. Visiting Ginger in Argentina
3. At a book signing for my own book!
4. Anywhere without three feet of snow.


Things you are looking forward to this year:
1. Finishing our house in Avon
2. Selling this house
3. Moving into new house
4. Seeing more of Pi


I would like to tag my niece Emily and Megan Roe and hmmm most of my other blogging friends have already done this or similar tags so I'll have to think about it.