Just Shy of Paradise

Just Shy of Paradise
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Wednesday, October 31, 2012

A Friendly Walk in Old Paradise


As you come into Avon there is a big sign that says Welcome to Avon 733 Friendly People. Then I spotted this sign on a gate in  Avon. A Joke? Hmm, not sure I want to find out. Actually the owner of the said property is always friendly to me--still not sure I want to push my luck. 

I spotted these two friendly looking ewes heading out for their morning walk. I don't know where they were headed, but they seemed very determined to get there.

Then when I got home a bit later, our herd of friendly neighborhood deer came by. This is the little buck I was hoping would make it through the hunt. He did. He's a two point on one side, a spike on the other. I took this photo out of the window.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Mining Memories

Recently my neighbor Sally and I discovered that in 1978 we were on the same tour group in Europe. It was rather a remarkable discovery since I was 20 at the time from Orem and she was 17 and from Ogden. What brought about this discovery was mentioning where we were when the LDS church made the momentous announcement that the priesthood would be extended to males of all races. I said I was in Europe and she said, "so was I. I was in a hotel in Munich and we all came running out in the halls." "Whoa! Are you kidding me?" I said. It was a bunch of kids from Ogden High (or Weber) not sure, and then a few random people from other places--me being one of them.

 I went over to her house to see a photo she found with the two of us sitting in a group shot with only one person between us. The fact that we have no memory of each other for such a life-changing trip got me thinking about the past. I dug into some stuff looking for photos of Europe and came across partial journals of the past.

I've looked up what I was doing on this date. My first diary I got in 1967, but couldn't find anything written close to October except this entry on November 23, 1968 (I was 11) "Today Orem played against Provo in football for state. I went with Shellee. Orem won. I'm so glad." 
 Strange to me that I ever wrote about sports. I remember trying to enjoy watching sports, but I was usually very bored. Shellee was one of my very best friends at the time. She was so athletic in school that had girls sports been much of an option--yes this was a long time ago--she would have been on every team. As it was she ended up in high school as a cheerleader.

The next journal I found I wrote on Sat. October 14th.  1972 Age 15: Today began with me getting up at 9:00 and watching The Flinstones Comedy Hour, then the Funky Phantom. Then I went up and sat on the roof and drew a few picture, (I love to draw.) Well now I'm here babysitting for Van Wagoners. Jean Dixon predicted we would have an earthquake. I think it was supposed to happen either today or yesterday. Well so far it hasn't and I don't think it will. I know it won't. Last night (Friday the thirteenth) Rosanna slept at my house. Shell W. took us to get some pizza. We had a good time. 

What's interesting to me here is that in my memory I never slept in. The fact that I slept until 9:00 and then watched about 2 hrs of television (cartoons!) is a surprise. My memory has me waking up around 7 and waiting for my friends to wake up so we could do something. Rosanna mentioned was on the Europe tour in 1978.

On Saturday October 13 1973 (age 16) I wrote: Well the holiday's pretty well over. (probably deer hunt--we used to get out for that. )Monday I'll be going back to the prison and the though of it doesn't put me in too great of mood besides today was a waste.
Sunday, October 14th 1973 Nothing to say about this day. ha.

Perusing the pages around these days though there are several mentions of hikes, art, movies, mountains, and my religion. I mention friends in nearly every entry. Almost nothing about my family--my brothers or my parents. At age 10 I even wrote my friends of the week which are always Shellee, Rosanna, sometimes Geri. My enemies of the week are also listed. It seems my values of course have deepened and grown through time, but what was important to me as a child, teen, and now hasn't changed as much as I would have expected. We always hear God is in the details and even though the details I shared here don't allude to that, many other entries do. My friends are still very important to me. But of course now my family is always in my heart and in every thought and in every prayer.




Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Church in the Mountains in Montana

I have to admit that I have a love/hate relationship with my religion. I'm on a constant roller coaster of highs and lows, but through it all there's a been a thread binding me to my upbringing. The thread is tradition and love. In 1961 Grandpa Anderson built a cabin in Silver Gate, Montana. Silver Gate is one mile from the northeast entrance of Yellowstone. Every summer since that first year I've spent some time there. When I was really little, Sundays at the cabin were spent having a church meeting with family. I loved these meetings. They were basically testimony meetings where we'd share things that were most important to us--family, love, tradition, the truthfulness of the gospel, how much we loved the cabin, the mountains, nature... When I got my own family we've done this less often. Instead we've followed proper protocol and drove either to Yellowstone to have church at the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone at an LDS branch, or later to Gardiner, Montana, but more often to the Cooke Pass LDS branch. Nothing has ever come close to as spiritual as the time I remember Grandpa and Grandma Anderson talking about how they held church in their home in Glendive, Montana because they were the only Mormons in town. Grandpa was the branch president and his family was the branch. At the Silver Gate cabin Grandpa Anderson and Dad passed the sacrament to us. Things were different back then and the Church didn't make a fuss about getting permission to do what my grandma and dad had been ordained to have authority to do. I know I've never come close to feeling the kind of love I felt at those early cabin meetings. My heart overflowed with the spirit. I wanted more than anything to feel that kind of peace and joy every day of my life. Grandpa died when I was ten. We'd said goodbye to him a week or two before at the cabin and drove back to Utah. He died in Yellowstone Park. He was fishing on the Lamar River, caught his limit, and died of a heart attack. My Uncle was with him and couldn't revive him.

It broke our hearts. But  the cabin stands as a reminder of his life, his goodness, his love, his sacrifice for his family and for his religion. He was the best of men.

A couple of weeks ago my family was at the cabin. We shared a few days with our son, his wife, and our three grandchildren. We chose to attend church at a small branch about ten miles from the cabin.  It wasn't as wonderful as those early meetings with Grandma and Grandpa--nothing could be--but it was heartwarming and the tug on my heart, the goodness, the thread that weaves through my life binding me to my upbringing and to my family and to my religion was there.

Top Ten Reasons why Church at an LDS Branch at Cooke Pass, Montana is Better

10: Chance to see wildlife on the way--especially Bison. I've never seen a bison on the way to church in Utah.
9.  I got to go with my grandkids.
8. No church responsibilities.
7.  No classrooms, so priesthood was outside in the pines.
6.  Men wore cowboy boots.
5. My daughter-in-law wore skinny jeans (not even allowed on BYU Idaho campus.) I wore pants. Mick wore jeans--so we were all comfortable. No one cared how we were dressed. I have always doubted that God cares either. 
4. Church was held in a cool cabin with family photos on the wall.
3. Testimony meeting was sweet. People spoke from their hearts and focused more of Jesus and the Atonement than I normally hear.
2. Best Sunday drive after church ever to the top of the Beartooths!
1. Instead of a mind-numbing three hours, church was two hours and they covered everything beautifully without any time for political commentaries from people in Gospel Doctrine class. 
The LDS church in Cooke Pass, Montana

Grandkids over 10,000 feet high in the Beartooths

The Summit of the Beartooths

We stopped to see a waterfall after church.

This is where we turned off for church

The Amphitheater Mountain is the mountain I've looked at from the cabin window for over 50 years.

Youngest grandchild

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

It's hard to be me...

Strong opinions run in the Thayne family. If you ask me my opinion on almost any subject I will probably have one. Growing up in Orem with four older and often menacing brothers, a strong-willed father, and an ever-even mother I learned early on to stick up for myself.  I learned to argue and defend and fight. Dinner-time at our house was loud. Words like shut-up, idiot, stupid, and worse were passed around with the salt and pepper shakers. Mom withstood all this with good humor. Dad just spoke louder and told us to be quiet.

At school I argued with the teachers. I talked out of turn. In 5th grade a teacher bribed me with a pop at the end of the day if I could stop talking. I put a piece of tape over my mouth to remind me and at the end of the day he took me in the faculty room and bought me a pop. That was one of the proudest moments of my life. In 6th grade I got sent out in the hall for talking. I had to sit amongst the coats until someone came for me. In 7th grade I argued with a history teacher when he said the Ku-Klux-Klan did some good things. In 8th grade I got sent to the office for being obstinate. In tenth grade I got sent to the office for wearing jeans. Yes, if you are younger than me you will find this hard to believe. In 11th grade I loved all my teachers and got along well. In 12th grade I took three hours of art each day, fell in love with pottery, but got in trouble for lying to the teacher and staying until midnight to throw pots after he'd gone home.

I'd like to say that I've improved a lot. And I have, I don't argue much with authority figures, but I feel like it. I keep quiet when I'd like to speak up. People have told me they admire my honesty. An ex-bishop said, he's never known anyone so brutally honest. If only he knew how much I keep to myself. My dad was sick with terminal cancer when he met my then future husband. And he said to Mick, "Just remember one thing and you'll get along fine. Carole is always right."  If only everyone else knew that . . .

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Author Braden Bell and his newest Book.

One of my favorite author's was Roald Dahl. I love books for younger readers that challenge and really stretch the imagination. I was drawn into Braden Bell's latest book, The Kindling, because it begins in a school setting, involves magic, strange events, intrigue, and dangerous situations. The beginning reminded me a bit of one of my favorite stories "Matilda" by Roald Dahl and a mixture of Madeline L'Engle's books. In "The Kindling" Conner Dell is confused by some special powers he seems to have and strange behaviors from the school teachers. It seems like just thinking thoughts can make things happen, like things exploding and gym shorts starting on fire. He and his friends don't know which teachers and adults to trust and even the creepy pizza delivery guy seems to keep popping up in odd places.

This is a fun book, with adventure, imagination, and touching scenes. It has some truly frightening life and death situations and keeps things moving until the end.

One of the real perks to being a writer is all the people including authors I've gotten to know. I've known Braden through LDStorymakers (an online group) for a few years now. I got a chance to interview him about his writing and his books. You can read more about him here.  And you can find out how to order a copy.  I have found Braden to be a skilled and accomplished writer. It was fun to hear more about his writing and personal life. Even though I have never met Braden, I consider him a friend. He's the kind of man who I would have wanted as a teacher growing up. It was fun to hear how similar his writing method is to my own. Hear what he has to say! I bet you might get an idea for something you want to write.

How many books have you written/published?

 
This is my second published book. I have a few other manuscripts I've written. 


Tell us how your teaching profession has influenced your writing?
In addition to influencing when I write (summers, etc), teaching has influenced what I write. This book, for example, is set in a small private school, which in a striking coincidence, is the same kind of school where I teach. Also, the fact that I am around middle school students all day has led me to want to write things for them that might entertain them. But also, as I watch the challenges they face, it's made me want to write things that I hope might help them get through the rocky seas of adolescence a bit easier (if that's possible). 

Obviously your students influence your writing. Are there times while you're teaching that inspiration strikes--and if so what do you do about it?

Often during a class or rehearsal, I might hear someone say something--a new idiom or expression or something that I want to remember to write down and use later. If I am able to, I'll make a quick note and email it to myself so I can write it down later. If there's not time to email myself, I try to get it planted firmly in my brain--something that seems to harder and harder to do the last year or two. 

But my students also inspire me in other ways. I haven't lifted real-life situations and put them in my book. However, I see them sometimes show great kindness, generosity, or bravery, and that inspires me to try to capture those glimpses.  I don't think most people realize what remarkable creatures middle school kids are. There's a lot of goofiness, a lot of quirks. But underneath it all, you have some really amazing human beings. My book is fantasy in terms of all the magic. But the kindness, loyalty, and bravery that the protagonists demonstrate is very real, very possible. 
 

When and how did you start writing?
I've been writing for most of the time I remember. At least since I was in 3rd grade. Probably before. I remember setting up an office in a quiet corner of our basement every summer, determined to have a finished book to publish by the end of the summer. It took a few decades for that to happen. 
 


Who are some of the authors who influence your writing style?

Dickens is very wordy, but I love his characters. They seem so real to me, and he's one of the few authors that makes me laugh out loud. Of course, the power of Shakespeare's language is something I admire. As a kid, I loved reading C. S. Lewis and  Lloyd Alexander. When I got older, I loved the imagery and thematic wizardry of Madeline L 'Engle.  I love the playful sense of fun in the early Harry Potter books. As soon as I hit "send" I'm going to think of 50 other people that I should have included. 

 

You are a busy man, what do you do to unwind?
No matter what's going on, or how late it is, I have to read something I enjoy before I go to sleep. Sometimes it's less than a page, but I do this every night. My wife and I also like to watch DVDs--usually BBC versions of books we like. 

If you had to choose only one book to take with you on a deserted isle (apart from religious) what book would it be?
That is a really good question. Probably the complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.  


What sparked "The Kindling" into fruition?

I had it in my mind that I wanted to write a book about a secret order of wizards living in contemporary society but I didn't have a lot of ideas beyond that. Then one night, my family was driving home from some church activities. It was spring which in  TN means enormous storms. A major thunderstorm was raging outside. When my kids got home, my son told me about a weird guy they had drove past. In a huge storm, he was wearing  a black cape, walking across people's front yards. That image really stuck in my mind and as I started asking myself questions--who might that be? Why would he be out? Ideas kind of crackled and the story began to take shape. I stayed up really late that night, typing frantically in bed, trying to get it all out on paper. I think I wrote two fight scenes that night--essentially the beginning and end of the book.  


What advice would you give to young aspiring writers?
Keep writing! As much as you can. Good or bad, just write. Stories, a journal, a blog. Also, pay attention in school. I didn't listen in my English classes. So now I'm trying to go back and learn how to use commas and semi-colons properly. I really wish I had paid more attention. 


Are you a plot driven writer or a character driven writer?
Very much character driven. I suspect that is partly because I'm very right-brained in general, but also because my background is theatre, where character is everything. I've tried writing with outlines and it doesn't work very well for me. My characters are so real to me and once I get started, they seem to push the story in different directions than I had anticipated. I'm fighting with them right now, actually, as I work on the sequel to the Kindling. They don't seem to like my outline very much. 

Tell us something about your process of writing?

I usually have an image that pops in mind. A character in a situation that catches my interest. I start asking questions--what's going on, who is this person--and so on. I then start writing. I almost always write the first scene and then the last scene. Then, I fill in the middle parts. Which takes me a long time because I am really uptight about revisions and polishing. 

I'm also intensely collaborative--probably because of my theatre background. So I have a few people that I have read a chapter as soon as possible--my daughter, a critique partner, a former student. I need to get a sense that I'm on the right track. In theatre, you get a pretty immediate response when you do something, either in rehearsal or a performance. Author's may wait a year or more until they get feedback from an editor or readers. That doesn't work for me! Plus, it's helpful to find out I'm over-using a word or indulging in a bad habit  right from the beginning. Easier to prevent it than it is to go back and weed it out at the tend.  


What is the last movie you've seen in a theater--and what is the last movie you saw in a theater that you couldn't stop thinking about?

I rarely go see movies. If I watch them at all, it's usually on dvd. I think the last one I saw in a theatre was the last of the Harry Potter movies. And that was a year ago, I believe.  The last one I saw that made me think was...gosh, I'm not sure!


What is the last fiction book you read--other than your own?
I just finished The Old Curiosity Shoppe by Charles Dickens.  


What is your primary motivation for writing?
I just have to do it. I get pictures and people in my mind--still pictures or movies. I have to put them on paper and get them out.  

Finally, what is your ideal date night?

My wife and I both love a quiet night at home watching old movies on dvd (probably something with British accents) with Mexican food.


Monday, July 16, 2012

The Freedom of a Bike


I remember the thrill of learning to ride a bike when I was five. It happened on first north in Orem. One of my brothers held on to the back of the bike and ran behind me and then I realized his voice was no longer right behind me. I was riding! I rode past the Downs house, past Christensen’s house and fell near the large hedge of lilac bushes right before Black’s house. I rode the bike all day and when my dad came home from work I was excited to show him my new skill. This time I rode straight up our driveway and into a sticker bush between our house and Mckenzies’. I remember Dad helped me up and I was off again—no training wheels for me. Up to McKuen’s house and back down to Blacks. It was a lot of power for a little girl.

It would be years before I would have my own bike, but eventually my parents bought me a two-speed used girls blue Schwinn in the sixth grade. Having a bike was freedom in Orem. There wasn’t anywhere you couldn’t go on a bike. Up State Street to Vern’s fruit stand for banana Creamies, or down the winding hill through the Provo River Bottoms, or down the street to the Dairy Queen for a brown dipper ice-cream cone. This was still my bike when I broke my leg skiing in the ninth grade, Never-the-less I learned to ride the bike with one leg, dangling my right leg with the thigh-high cast.

The first ten-speed I owned I bought with my own money. It was a beautiful dark green Fuji for a hundred and twenty-five dollars. When that bike was stolen the insurance money paid for a new one. Between summers in high school I rode up Provo Canyon to my friend Susan Millett’s house. She lived in Spring Dell. We would head over to the Canyon Glenn and jump off the railroad trestle into Provo River, or go for a hike, or play in the big pond there. Life could not have been any better.

When I started at BYU I sometimes rode my bike from Orem to school.  My brothers thought I was weird. What kind of a girl doesn’t care about what she looks like, rides to school eight or so miles and heads to classes all sweaty? It was invigorating. When I headed to work at Jackson Hole for the summer I took my bike. I rode up to the Tetons just for the view, or I’d head out of town to the Snake River and wade in to cool off after a hard day waiting tables at the Silver Spur.  Once my friend Rosanna and I, who also worked with me in Jackson, took off on our ten-speeds. We stopped at the grocery store and bought a small watermelon. We took turns carrying that melon in backpacks and headed into the mountains on a dirt road. We sat by a beautiful stream and between the two of us ate the entire melon. The stomachache would come later, after the heavy rainstorm that sent us scurrying back to town with mud flying up our backsides. It was the most fun I’d ever had on a bike.

After I was married and had a baby I put a baby seat on the back—and though I am horrified about it now—my baby didn’t have a helmet, but riding bikes with baby in tow kept me sane and less isolated when my husband worked all day. When the baby was in the 1st grade and we had a three year old, we moved out to Grouse Creek. Now we were a dual income family since I was teaching school too.  We bought eighteen-speed mountain bikes. Mine was a red Schwinn. My husband is still riding his Yellow Speicalized more that twenty years later.


About 13 years ago I bought a new bike. We had been living in Paradise for a few years and I made the mistake of test-riding a bike. There’s nothing like the feel of a new bike, so I bought one with shock absorption and still eighteen speeds. Another Blue Schwinn like my first bike. Full circle. Well, I loved that new bike. I took it the first day I owned it and rode ten miles up Paradise South Canyon to the top of the mountain over-looking Eden. With in a couple of months though my beautiful bike was stolen. I was at a meeting at the Paradise Church and I had parked my bike next to door. It was the middle of the day and the town was quiet. I didn’t lock my bike so was uneasy. I checked on it a time or two, and was shocked when the meeting was over and the bike was gone. My friend Annette called the police and then drove me around looking for it. I’d seen a pickup in the parking lot on one of my checks. It was brown. We drove to Mountain Crest High and started looking in the back of trucks. She drove me all over. No luck. I cried and mourned the loss of my bike.


I put up a flyer at the post office offering a reward and describing the bike, but didn’t expect to find it. A week later I came home and there was my bike sitting behind my house! I couldn’t believe it. The water-bottle carrier had been cut off with a hacksaw and the frame cut into a bit, but it wasn’t too bad. My neighbor had been waiting for me. He walked over to tell me the rest of the story. He said a man and his son were standing on my porch. He could see my bike in the back of the truck. My neighbor was a highway patrolman so he came over and said, what are you doing with Carole Warburton’s bike.  “Well my son found it and wants to return it.” My neighbor was dressed in his uniform and is a large intimidating man. “I don’t think you found the bike. Do you want to tell me what really happened?” The story came out that the man had wheedled it out of the young Logan High student that he had indeed found my bike parked next to the door at the church while he and his friends were out for a ride during lunch hour.  Eventually, the boy’s mother brought him out to meet me and apologize and pay me for damages to the bike. I took the money and told him I forgave him. I meant it. I was thrilled to have my bike back. The parents did the responsible thing. I hope the lesson was invaluable to the boy. I hope he never stole again.

Mick on the bike he bought in 1987. Mick said that I said I would only move to Grouse Creek if we bought new bikes. There were fabulous dirt roads and trails in G.C. When one of my best friends moved to G.C. in 1988 I thought I was in heaven.

On the bike that was stolen about 13 years ago.

View up South Canyon
It was on the stolen bike I rode again this morning back up South Canyon, my favorite ride. The road has gotten a lot steeper over the years and seems to be longer. Either that or I am older. :) I still love that bike, though it’s time for a new one. There’s nothing like the feel of a new bike. 

Sunday, June 24, 2012

What's in a Name?

I always liked my last name growing up. It was simple and in my mind sounded important and it wasn't all that common. We were told that all Thayne's in the United States were related--having all descended from two Scottish brothers John Johnson Thayne and Ebeneezer Thayne Jr. who joined the Mormon church. I liked that I came from a man with the same name as Ebeneezer Scrooge. I liked that there was a little town we drove through every year on our way to our family cabin in Silver Gate, Montana. I liked that the town was named after my ancestor. Growing up we loved to drive through Thayne and have our picture taken by the sign.

When I got married in 1979, I really didn't want to give my name up. In those days though few women kept their name and hyphenating hadn't come into vogue. So my name changed to Warburton--sounds fairly feudal as well. I kind of thought Carole Warburton sounded pretty uncommon, but when Covenant agreed to publish my first book it turned out they already had an author named Carol--noted the lack of "e"--Warburton. So they asked that I use a different last name. So I got to be Carole Thayne again. I started going by Carole Thayne Warburton whenever possible and that's the name I use on my books now.