When it comes to politics--beware!

I just offended my brother and he just offended me. This has happened before. It may happen again. I thought I'd matured, but here I am again in another election season feeling an underlying unrest. Political tension. I wonder if there's been studies done on this. My brother accused me of being too sensitive. He's right. I over-reacted. I tend to do that when I feel really alone. The other night I went to a church social and everyone asked me how the caucus was. This surprised me. The only caucus that had happened was the Democratic one. I didn't think anyone had paid attention to the fact that I am a liberal, but I guess when yours is the only Subaru in the parking lot and even more of a giveaway is the Obama sticker on the bumper. One brother-in-law laughed about the sticker, told us if we wanted to make a statement to put it on the Ford F-250, but to "put it on a Subaru is redundant."

I didn't go to the caucus. I didn't go because when I've gone before I was asked to do a lot of work. I know I should want to do work for what  I believe in, but see I've campaigned hard for the last three state legislators running on the Democratic ticket in our district and guess what? No matter how hard you work, you can only expect to garner around 30% of the vote. I believed in each one of these candidates, believed they were the most qualified, but it didn't matter.

Some of the people who asked me how the caucus was may have thought I bristled a bit. I did, but I don't know why. I guess I expected to be teased, this happens to me sometimes. One friend wonders how I sneaked into Paradise. He introduces me as the only Democrat in Paradise. I can laugh  because he's a good friend of ours, but sometimes the jokes get old. Sometimes I've had enough. Contention makes me ill--actually physically ill--and a little bit depressed. In 2008 when we were having Thanksgiving at my house and of course well into the political season. I hoped the topic of politics could be avoided so we could have a nice day. So just to make sure I had a nephew whose wit is something of a wonder, write up a little spiel to get people to lighten up a bit. It worked even though I'd heard some were offended. See you just can't win. But we had a good time avoiding political discussions. See my husband and I are about the only ones except maybe a couple of the younger generation who lean liberal, so discussions tend to be heated and one-sided. 

I did a search on my gmail and found the spiel--Here it is. It might be good advice again. I hope my nephew doesn't mind. He's a great guy. And I love him dearly.

Thaynes aren't too much into football, really, so we have to find something other than pigskin to fight over at our Thanksgiving day gatherings. Politics, of course, is what it will inevitably descend to, or an argument over global warming or evolution. But, most likely, it will be politics, with many an epithet dropped about the "liberal whackos," "socialists," and "commi-pinkos" who are ruining this country. The Thayne fratriarchy will most likely close in phalanx-like on their lone dissenting sister who had the audacity to endorse a—dare I say it—Democrat on her blog. And with recent election results leaving us with a Democrat-dominated congress and a "spread-the-wealth" quasi-socialist president threatening to bring about, as Fox News and many a Rush-ditto blog would have you believe, a new New Deal, I'm sure there will be more than enough grist for grinding in the mills of the Thayne political machine. But perhaps we could take a cue from none other than the mainspring of Thayne family politics, Ezra Taft Benson, who learned a valuable lesson by observing his father. When his father's preferred candidate lost the election to a man he strongly opposed, young Ezra was surprised to hear him pray for the man who had won the election. "Son," he said, when Ezra asked him why he prayed for that man, "I think he'll need our prayers even more than my candidate would have."

And so, may we gather together this holiday season, just slightly east of Paradise, for a day of giving thanks—thanks for a new day—and perhaps in this season of change, we could try talking about the weather.

Enough

One of the constant blessings in my life are friends. True friends. The faces flash by as I recall my childhood and beyond. Friends have always lifted me wherever I've been in my life. Some people collect coins, stamps, spoons, or numerous other things. I collect friends. Every spot I've landed on this planet, I've been blessed with friends.

I have walking friends, lunch date friends, writer friends, art buddies, ski buddies, book-reading friends, hiking friends, DUP friends, church friends, Liberal friends, not-so Liberal friends, conservative friends, doubting friends, believing friends, online friends, not-on-line friends and so on. Then there are the friends who intersect in and out of several of these groups. And those who aren't in any of the groups, but still know how to be there when I need them.

I've been surprised by friends who recently have shown an outpouring of love and acceptance for me. Sometimes we're afraid to show who we are for fear that who we are isn't good enough, fun enough, smart enough, or whatever enough. I'm blessed with friends who see me and show me that it is enough.

No Wonder...

When I was four years old I was riding in our big white station wagon with a green stripe. I was on the front seat sitting on my feet, almost kneeling. It was just my mother and I and we were heading to Sharon School in Orem to pick up Brian. At least I think that's what we were doing. I was four after all. Anyway Mom slammed on the brakes for some mysterious reason and launched me into the windshield. Seat belts in 1961 were optional and if you had them at all they were usually tucked into the seats themselves. Car seats as we know them today did not yet exist. It would be years later before it would be an automatic response to buckle up--even after this incident.

So anyway I hit the front windshield and it broke. Lots of little cracks where my head hit and spider-webbing out from there. I think my mother said, oops and mildly told me to sit on my seat the right way. Ok she may have shown a little more concern, but my mother doesn't rile. Years later Mom  visited Sweden and felt right at home. She said she understood why the Swedes were neutral during the war. That Swede demeanor made it always seem like nothing was worth making too big of a fuss over. We continued on, picked up my brother, and did not go to the doctor. There were lots of jokes made at church and in the family about me being so hard-headed that my head broke the windshield but hardly a bruise on me.

Fifty years later--Valentine's Day. Yesterday. I lay on a table to get at MRI on my neck. Years ago I had one on my head because of a life-long problem with migraines. Now its discovered that I--at some point in my life--had whiplash so severe that it damaged my neck. My neck not only doesn't have the gentle curve its supposed to, it actually curves the wrong way. Doctor Clegg says it's no wonder I've had headaches my whole life. Well lots of people have headaches in my family, so it can't all be from whiplash. But if you've ever had an MRI and if you're the least bit claustrophobic as I am, then you'll know understand the following tips for making your MRI a bit more pleasant. If you haven't had an MRI know that you lie down on a table that moves into a space ship like tube--or a casket--take your pick. You have to be immobile for up to 40 minutes and you have a cage around your head, at least in this case. The tips would have helped me.

1. Wear comfortable and just the right temperature of clothing, not binding and women preferably no bra, then you won't have to undress.

2. Wash your hair before so that your scalp doesn't itch. Reaching up and discovering the cage on your head is freak-out time.

3. Don't think about any space alien abduction movies. Don't think about any movies where they replace your brain with someone else's or do any other kind of operation about mind-control. Don't think about Invasion of the Body Snatchers, The Stepford Wives or Close Encounters. Don't think about any medical thrillers either.

4. Don't think about what it must feel like to be put in a casket alive.

5. No matter what don't open your eyes! Freak-out time. You see the cage around your face.

6. Don't eat Mexican food the night before--really poor choice. 

7. Choose a radio station that doesn't have super annoying commercials. (They will pipe this into your ears for you--I recommend it. I also wonder if you could bring your own play list. If I ever have to have another this is what I'd do.

8. Remember if you hit the panic button, you'll just have to do it all over again. This one though kept me from squeezing the button in my right hand. And believe me it isn't like they can pick up where they left off. They really have to start over. If that doesn't freak you out I don't know what will.

Remembering Joshua Discuillo's smile . . .

Grief is a personal journey. I know this. Being on the fringe of young Joshua's happy life reminded me. Three years after someone I didn't know lost his life, I still grieve. I still feel his loss as physically as if a rock were lodged in my chest--never knowing when a memory will spill up to the surface. Leaving me hollow. Do all witnesses of tragedy absorb loss and the images into their physical and spiritual beings? I doubt it. Or I hope not. If they did we wouldn't have emergency responders, police and firefighters. Or maybe they've just learned how to sort through and honor their experiences and tragic events and file them away for safe-keeping.

It helps to know he was happy. I know he was because we sat on a couch with his family and watched his happiness flash on a television screen. Dozens and dozens of photos showing him as a toddler with a mischievous smile and on and on until the DVD ended at an image of him with a special friend at temple square taken just two months before his life ended. It was obvious he brought light to his family and friends. You could see that in his face and in the faces of each family member. The pride and joy. The hope.

I was counseled to replace the images of the accident with those of life. Now when I think of Josh, the thing that stood out from every picture of him was his smile, a great big smile. My guess is that he shared that smile with everyone. It helps me to have spent a special day with his family to honor him. It helps to exchange emails and Facebook exchanges, posts, and messages with his oldest sister over the course of many months after her brother's death. Though I haven't met her in person, seeing her joy as a young wife and mother must bring that magical smile to Josh's face now. I have to believe he sees that. His sister told me her brother was her best friend. What an honorable thing to be your sister's best friend. That is a great example to me. Know that this Valentine's Day, I will once again be thinking of Josh Discuillo. Not his death, but his smile.

Taking a Break

I have been spending a lot of time since Christmas, writing, studying, editing, and reading. It's been great. Today however, I took a break and went skiing with my other potter friends. K & Kerri Rasmussen. We met a hundred years ago--well when we were students at USU which was almost a hundred years ago. Anyway over the years Kerri and I have become really good friends. We put up with K. I know Kerri will read this to him and they will laugh about that. It's great that they include me whenever I can tag along. We had a nice day.

149 years ago Today

Passionate about her future. I loved the contrast between these two women.

We couldn't really hear her, but she is beautiful.

Sara

My niece and I loved this young man. We dubbed him Angry man. He wrote a wonderful piece about Bear Hunter who was killed and tortured: lived strong for his ideals and died for them. A blog about Bear Hunter tells more. The soldiers in an act of extreme cruelty, heated a bayonet in the fire and forced it through his ears.

The Spring Creek Singers

Today, January 29th 2012 something horrific happened near here. An estimated 350 plus Shoshone men women and children were slaughtered by Patrick Connor and the California Volunteers. Although it is not my story to tell I weaved it into a novel I wrote called "Just Shy of Paradise," a book published last March by Walnut Springs Press. It was reviewed recently in Meridan Magazine positively by Jennie Hansen.

Today, was the first time I've been to the commemoration which is held every year on the site of the massacre, sacred ground. Just like many groups I'm involved with, I was an outsider today. Today I heard the story from those who tell it best, those whose story it is to tell. My niece Sara and I attended the ceremony and felt honored to be there. Here are some highlights. Though our feet were freezing, it was a beautiful sunny clear day--warm compared to the day 149 years ago where many were beaten, tortured, raped, and murdered. It was a day of remembering, of reflection, honoring, and vowing never to forget. The ceremony began with a flag ceremony with the Spring Creek Singers and and the most spiritual heartfelt prayer I've ever heard. All in all, a Sabbath well spent.

This young woman sang

 

Jason Walker introduced the ceremony and guests

Swedish Christmas

  We tried to have a Scandinavian Christmas Party to honor our Swedish roots. Our daughter wanted swordfish and that fit nicely. She marinated it and roasted it. We made two different kinds of soup, had salads, potatoes, cauliflour tart, and so on and on. I read about a little gnome named Tomte that lived under the floorboards in Scandinavian homes prior to the legend of St. Nick. I got the idea to make these little guys. They are made from pears, peppers, string beans, nampa cabbage, and cloves for eyes. They were a hit. Our niece Molly married a Swede and it was fun to have Swedish guests and the story of St Lucia. performed and told to us. Molly came out complete with a white gown and a crown of candles. It's a gruesome story, but worth the read. 

This photo was taken by our daughter on a walk with cousins before the party.

Inversion in SLC

Daughter and Niece enjoy a gorgeous day snowboarding--the day before the party.