Around the Burg

(This image is a reminder that Spring will come.  It WILL come.  It will.)

In honor of the snowstorm heaven sent us last night, I'd like to introduce you to one snowy feature of the Burg.  I call it: Lessinger Sculpting Inc. 

The Lessingers live down the road toward town.  I don't know them personally, but I am personally acquainted with their artwork --not that the Lessingers are artists by profession.  They are both physicians who practice their medicine right here in the Burg.  If I didn't already know this about them, you could easily convince me that the Mr. spent years in a school for artists.  Because he can create.  Boy, can he create.  I don't know what the inside of their home looks like, but every winter the outside is graced by large, intricate, professional looking snow sculptures.  These sculptures are amazing, beautiful, smart, sometimes hilarious --the image always lasting.  Except, they don't last.  They melt.  Then, when it snows again, he builds a new sculpture.  And never the same one.  They are all so varied.

A fun game to play during the Burg's (oh so very, very long) Winter is: What sculpture will the Lessingers build next?

Here's the most recent:
(taken with the phone, please excuse me)

Enough's Enough

Dear New Cat,

I love you dearly and consider you a real find, but there are a few minor adjustments that could stand to be made.  Will you please refrain from doing the following:

1.  Rolling in your litter box
2.  Playing with dried poop in your litter box
3.  Sleeping all hunkered down in your litter box
4.  Running across the piano's keyboard during nap time
5.  Dashing under Nolan's bed the moment I'm closing his door behind me
6.  Throwing up on the living room carpet
7.  Scratching on every piece of furniture you touch

Some of these habits are atrociously disgusting while others are just plain annoying.  I'm sure if your could learn to curb some of your animalistic behaviors we could be really close friends.

Yours Truly,

L

By the Dim Glow of His Night-Light

Nolan doesn't go to sleep immediately at bedtime.  Never.  I know this, not because he refuses to stay in bed, or comes out repeatedly asking for favors, or sits in bed crying, but because of the pile of books I find under his pillow every morning.  He loves to read in secrecy just like I did as a child.

As a girl freshly introduced to chapter books, my appetite for reading could not be satiated.  I would wait for lights out, then burrow under my covers with the flashlight I stowed  amidst my stuffed animals and find the book I had fallen asleep with the previous night.  Every night, I would read until my eyes were drooping.

I suspect Nolan does something similar.  When I go in to straighten their room every morning, I always find a pile of seven or eight books discarded under his pillow.  I can't imagine the arrangement is too comfortable, but whatever works I guess.  I always return the books to his bookshelf (located conveniently at the foot of his bed) and every morning, a new set of books greets me.

This morning, he set an all time record:  22 books under the pillow.  I really should have taken a picture.  You just wouldn't believe the size of the pile.   I couldn't either.  That's why I counted them.  My only thought was that there is no way he slept on it.

So we know what the kid does after bedtime, the next mystery is: Where is he sleeping??

To be continued....

President's Day 2010

ƒebruary 15...

We had the day to do as we pleased, because PTB had it off from work (and the previous 4 days) and because that meant we had a car(!!!!!) (fringe benefit).  Our four day weekend had been packed full of family togetherness and fun, but as we entered into our fifth and final day of vacation, we really didn't have any plans to speak of.

And then sometime around 9 AM, my sister sauntered in (looking for a cute kitten) and casually mentioned that she planned to use her day-off to go sledding at the golf course.  And would we like to come?  And would we like to come?!!  Why even ask?  For the most part, we are always ready for an adventure outside.  I, for one, am especially fond of sledding.  Did you know that sledding was the finale of our very first date?  Did you know that it was my idea?  

So we packed up sleds and two marshmallowy boys and accompanied my sisters and my mom on an excursion to the golf course.  You heard me right, even the grandma of my sons put on her snow gear and came sledding with us.  We parked at the LDS chapel in T-burg, which happens to be situated across the street from the side entrance to the golf course.  We piled out of the car and started hiking in.  Olivia led the way.  She had previously explored the area on cross country skis and knew of "the perfect hill".

The golf course was buried deep.  There was not a single green or sand pit or rough, just white everywhere.  Animal tracks, ski tracks, sled tracks, and boot tracks trailed in all directions.  The popular trails were thick with every variety of track while others made their solitary journey across the wide expanse of white.  It was beautiful.  And tiring.  I was trudging along in boots made for my dad's feet, pulling a sled full of Nolan, while the sun beat down on my down jacket.  Soon I was sweating.  I began wondering where the perfect hill was and if it could possibly be significantly more sled-able than all of the hills we were passing to get to it.

Are you aware that golf courses come equipped with some nice hills?  Even some tiered hills which make for excellently jumpy sled rides?  Even some hills that dump into streams and ditches and other neat land features?

The hill Olivia was aiming for was of the three-tiered variety.  Really, quite perfect (once we finally got there).  Nolan and I built a fort at the bottom while Gerret rode the hill gleefully in front of PTB and yelled "again" at the end of each run.  Nolan was pretty adamant in his avoidance of the hill.  We dragged him up only three times and he cried the whole way down all three times.  Even my mom amazed by taking many trips down by herself and with the Pook (who just couldn't get enough).  I can't remember the last time I saw my mom take a sled down a steep hill.  My sisters tried their stunts, eventually ending with Elise flying off the front and flipping a few feet down the hill only to be run over by her sled still carrying Olivia.

It was around that time that we decided to go.  We guessed that it was somewhere around nap time.  Gear that purported to be waterproof was soaking through.  Nolan was a sobbing mess.  Elise was crumpled up, holding her arm like she thought a trip to the hospital was in order.  Stomachs were grumbling for lunch.  Gerret fell asleep sitting up in his sled.  So we made the long trek back to our cars.

The boys found their beds 3 hours later than usual.  It was nearly dinner time.  Remarkable how all that snow and fun (and some danger and injuries) absorbed any concept of time.  We were lost in a winter wonderland for what seemed like an hour but was very near to three.  It was sooo fun.

And that was our President's Day.

Oh! but wait.  There's a little more.

After our boys were all snuggled in and dreaming, PTB and I hopped into the car for one more adventure: A winter hike up Taughannock Gorge.  Can you believe I grew up in T-burg and never hiked the gorge in the winter?  This was my very first time.  --It blew me away.--  If I thought the gorge was magical before, I don't even know what to call its winter guise.  I'll just leave you with some poor representations.

And that really was our President's Day.

With Pook Around

Thank you Mac, but we don't need your special effects to make us laugh.

Unlikely Lesson from Webster

I was teaching a class recently and brought along my big old Webster's so we could look up a few definitions to connect to my lesson.  This required me to empty my leaf/flower collection from between the behemoth's pages.  Over the years, I've used my dictionary more for pressing my nature findings than for finding my definitions.  (That's what large books are really made for, right?)

As I returned my collection the following day, I studied each brittle leaf and flower, letting the memories of where they came from and what they represent wash over me.  Most of them are from Utah -- the star shaped leaves and gingko leaves from campus, the bright red rose petals sent from a missionary in Ukraine, the "picked things" from my boy just because he knew I liked picked things, wild flowers from hikes in the mountains-- but a large round yellowish leaf caught my attention.  I immediately recognized it as a leaf I brought back from a seminary trip I took to Kirtland, Ohio as a senior in high school.    With that recognition, I was filled with the memory of the trip.  As I loaded the rest of my nature collection between pages, I was transported to the room above the Whitney store and was filled with the feelings and many, many things I learned there.  At age 17, I kept the round leaf; tucked it between the pages of my dictionary, hoping to preserve the memory of how a weekend trip to Kirtland shaped me. 

What a timely reminder.

That trip, planned by some caring adults allowed for the kind of experiences that caused quiet understanding and thankfulness for things that I had heard many times, but which hadn't necessarily made it into my youthful heart --until those two days spent experiencing.  Then my heart was full and I knew.  How grateful I am that someone was watching out for me, providing me with those experiences.

I remember a story about a father taking his young son backpacking up the side of a mountain.  The switchbacks were steep and difficult even for the father.  He began to question his judgement in dragging his child up such a physically demanding course.  He considered turning back, but whenever he made the suggestion to his son, the boy insisted he was fine and enthusiastically pushed forward.  When they finally reached a point where they could see more than the path ahead, the father sat on a rock and shrugged off his backpack.  Instead of resting, the son stood gazing out over the view of the valley they had started in.  "Dad!" he yelled. "I never knew what it was like above the trees!  Thanks for brining me up here."  The father was humbled by his son's awe and fascination and gratitude.  He was humbled to think that he was unsure of the worth of such a demanding hike.

Sometimes if you want your children to know something, you will have to take them "above the trees".  You will have to provide the experience for them.  You cannot expect that they will learn everything on their own.  You can not expect that explanation or exhortation will always be enough for their hearts to understand. 

This is true for anything you might want your child to know.  The honor in working hard.  The love of giving service.  The joy from real education and learning.  The peace of being in nature.  The thrill of competing in athletics.  The satisfaction in creating something.  These are all things one might hope the rising generation will understand.  These are all things that will not be understood if you think it is sufficient to just talk about them.

This principle is especially true where tender testimony is concerned.  The youth leaders in my Stake understood this so they took me to Kirtland.

The young experience the gospel and its fruits and know it is true.  Then nobody has to tell them; 

they experience it.  And if you reread Third Nephi,  

when Jesus comes and the multitude approaches him on this continent; 
the verb formations are interesting -- 
"did see," "did feel," "did witness for themselves," 
"did thrust their hands into his side."  
They experienced the gospel and knew it was true, 

and that's the thrust of the thirty-second chapter   

 of Alma --experimentation which produces pure knowledge because we know it is true experientially.

 I know we can't empty the classrooms of the church in terms of running out to have experiences, but what happens beyond the classroom has got to invovle firsthand experiences with the principles of the gospel in application.  
These experiences will give each of your young people
a storehouse of spiritual experiences on which he can draw...  Neal A. Maxwell

Sure is Grand Being a Mom

Nolan stayed after-hours to finish his dinner.  I kept him company in the kitchen while I washed the dishes.  Whenever this scene plays out in our home, there is inevitable banter thrown back and forth between Nolan and myself as he begs to leave and makes as many excuses as he can to not finish his meal and I assure him that he will stay until his food is gone and counter each of his excuses.  This night wasn't any different.  

The following are some direct quotes from my dear, sweetheart of a son:

"It's stinking me up."  (Apparently it was not only inedible, but odoriferous as well.)
"I'm full."(Don't you try that one every night??)
"You can wash it away." (Ha!)

And my personal favorite:

"Boys don't like gross food."

Cinder

We have a fuzzy little gray thing bouncing around our house.Introducing the newest Mitchell:Cinder-ella-frell"Seen Wa Wa" (Gerret)Most of us just call her Cinder

 She's a 7-month-old cat that we "rescued" from the SPCA over the weekend.  (In reality, the welcoming of a new family member probably does more to rescue the family than the individual.)

She is cuddly and playful, beautiful and cute.  Best of all, she is friendly even outgoing around my boys.  They are so pleased.  When she comes up to rub on his legs, or flops down beside him to roll over and cuddle, Gerret yells out, "See wike me!"  Not even their yelling and high levels of activity alarm her.  She is so comfortable around our family.  And we are so happy to have her.  

We needed a little bit of gladness as the winter marches on.

Chocolate Cake

This is a "chocolate strawberry celebration cake".  It was featured on the cover of the recent print of Taste of Home.  I couldn't resist, so I made it for PTB's birthday.  A week later, Olivia asked me to make an exact replica for her birthday.  I jumped at the chance because, since Christmas, I have been more than eager to employ the beautiful cake-stand Mom gave me.  That, and I love chocolate.  Chocolate mingled with strawberries is even better.

If I made this cake a third time --and I am planning on it -- I would use Betty Crocker's (or another favorite) chocolate frosting instead of this one.  Also, I recommend having extra strawberries on hand.  A bite of cake + a bite of strawberry seriously tastes like chocolate dipped strawberries.  Yum. 

for the love of new toys

Dear Aunt Diana and Uncle Jordan,

I adore the new vehicles.  They really made my week.  

My favorite things about them:

1.  Using the tow truck to transport the "woo wee" truck

2.  The way they taste

3.  Floating them in the bath tub

4.  The smile they put on Nolan's face.

Thanks so much!  

Love,

The Pookster  

Arizona: A Summary

So I did, in fact, travel to Arizona and then return home to New York.  I filled pages of my personal journal with facts and feelings concerning the trip, but I think most of that should be kept to myself.  On the other hand, I couldn't, in good conscience, skip right back to normal blog posting without even a mention of my journey, so the following is what I came up with for public consumption.

First, an understatement.  The flight into Phoenix was turbulent.

I thought I was going to die for a second there.  I was sure the pilot had lost control and we were on a crash course to the Arizona desert.  My sisters were thinking something similar.  I could tell by their wide, searching eyes.  So we played 20 questions for the remainder of the flight.  The diversion worked until a girl seated infront of us barfed.  It was really turbulent.  Seat belts were strictly required, so she couldn't even go clean up.  Thankfully, we landed safely soon after.

Elise pre-turbulence

The desert turned out to be in the middle of a huge rainstorm and flooded.  It wasn't quite what I was expecting, but the rain stopped and flooding dried up after a few days.  Then the weather was akin to late June where I'm from (around 60 degrees).  Everyone was wearing jackets and mildly complaining about the cold.  I thought it was great.

Yeah, No Kidding

Sending a girl from Upstate New York to a never-ending expanse of Arizona urbanity is quite similar to dispatching Dorothy to Oz.  I was out of my element.  Not that I didn't enjoy myself.  It was just sooooo different.    

Olivia and a Joshua Tree

Mountains vs. Rolling Hills. Sparse Desert Plant Life vs. Thick Northeastern Vegetation.  Standing-Room-Only Back Yards vs. Wide Open Space.    People vs. Not So Many.  Beautiful New Homes vs. Very Old Homes.  Lots of Mormons vs. Almost None.  Things to Do vs. Invent Your Own.  Traffic Lights vs. Stop Signs.  Sidewalks vs. The Shoulder.  


I could go on and on.  The contrasts between Arizona and My Kansas were blatant.

As mentioned previously, I traveled without my family.  Like the olden days when I was single.  I had no one to worry about but myself, yet I worried the whole time.  I missed PTB so much that my heart ached.  To distract from my missing and worrying, I tried my best to enjoy the things that I don't normally get to do, like running in the morning on sidewalks, and ping pong whenever I could find an opponent (because real vacations involve ping pong).  I went swimming and even participated in water-slide races.  I met new people and visited with a dear friend from BYU.  What a welome change to have so many uplifting conversations in the space of just a few days.  Even so, it was such a relief to be headed back home Monday morning.


But all of that was superfluous.  


I made the trip for only one thing: 

                           Mesa Temple.  January 23, 2010                                 Love Birds
 to be with my brother and his sweet wife as they went through the Mesa Temple for the first time and were then sealed together for eternity.  I do not have the words adequate to describe my experience in the temple.  Even if I did, this would not be a place to share them.  It was a most sacred day.  The memories of it are the kind that I will treasure for the rest of my life. 

My Parents and Their Children

And so concludes my summary. 


P.S. Credits:  The photo of the love birds and the one of my parents' family were snitched from Diana's Facebook.  The photo of Dad and I playing ping pong was taken by my mom.