When Does A Sense of Incompetence Really Begin?

Here we have the impressive Hawthorne LDS Church which is located at Roosevelt Avenue and 8th East in Salt Lake City Utah.

This would have been the building that my Grandmother and Grandfather Mary Salmon and Ira Bennion Cannon would have attended with my father, Bennion Rhead Cannon, and the building my other Grandparents, Nellie Bull and Edward Axel Peterson with their children, Welby, my mother, Helen Maurine and Patricia Joy would have attended had they been so inclined.

This also is the building, including the side shot of the very door (left side of shot) which my mother and grandmother would glide by and slow down enough to toss me out each Sunday morning to attend Sunday School as I lived at Grandma and Grandpa Peterson's.  The circumstances of living at Grandma's and the reasons I was to be eliminated from the household on Sundays are not clear.  I'm figuring I must have been about four.  All facts are vague except for the following.  It is just too traumatizing.

No one went in with me ever and I know this for a fact because no one at Sunday School ever knew my name.  I was asked, and I told them, every week.  But I must have been as unintelligible as Brad was at the same age because they never got it.

The same routine went on every week.  They would ask me my name, I would tell them, and they would ask me to have my mother come in the next week to talk to them to tell them my name.  I'd agree, time and again but would forget to comply.  That was just the beginning, I guess, of my letting God down.

But as I look back, I'm wondering, why didn't they just take a clue from the schools?  The old "pin a note to your shirt" trick wasn't all that secret.  But nevertheless, the mere sight of the old Hawthorne Ward House raises a greater sense of inadequacy in me than fear of wearing a shirt twice and smelling bad or using bad grammar in my blog.  I'm not kidding.

Danger, Danger, It's Liberty Park Back in It's Scary, Fun Days

This photo was taken at Liberty Park with the maniacal Uncle Brent going particularly nuts back in 1987.  The children pictured are all currently in their thirties.  Certainly, most of them in the photo are hoping they don't embarrass themselves by throwing up in front of their cousins, aunts and uncles and parents and likely, grandparents.  Humiliating yourself in front of a family member was worse among these Cannons than committing a crime.  I'm not kidding.  "Help me, Mommy," they are shouting within as they laugh with bravado without.

All of these people have their own children now and wouldn't dream of allowing their own precious children to be treated in such a reckless abandon.  This photo was taken with a fast lens after all.  And Uncle Brent could really whip that merry-go-round around in his hey-day.  But then, only a couple of generations from Ben R. Cannon, they'd not utter a whimper.  They knew what was good for them.  And the Silver Fox himself was likely in their presence.

Ducks, the New Family Pet

My brother owns his very own flock of ducks.  Scott bought them about fifteen weeks ago for his home in Mendon, Utah when they were tiny balls of fluff, having paid a premium price of 50 cents beyond the usual one dollar because he chose a variety of specific kinds of ducks to provide additional interest to his property.  And that they do.

He chose all males because apparently ducks get all silly when there is a mixed group.  This bunch just charges about all together, quacking, eating bugs out of the lawn, swimming in the little pond, pooping and waddling, clueless that they are free to leave at anytime though these seem to be flightless.  They also get all confused and quizzical when one gets out of step from the rest of the group.  Not a smart lot.

When one was attacked by a dog and lay in the road for awhile, Scott thought he was dead, and plans were made to clean him up, but soon he was up and gimping around.  He continues to lag behind the others, but the rest refuse to allow him to malinger, prompting him constantly to keep up, which, he cheerfully attempts to do.  They are a group, you see, and a bum leg is no excuse.

Scott's grandson, Sean, inadvertently stepped on one when it was tiny and it lay there all squished and wonky, but that one, too, came around.  Maybe ducks aren't terribly smart, but they are resilient.

Winters get pretty drastic up there in Mendon but Scott isn't worried about his ducks.  "They can probably take the Winter weather," he says.  But if they can't, he says, he's learned from a pal that there's a Chinese family down the road who quite enjoy duck and he can always invest in a new flock next Spring.  They're really not that pricey and from what I hear, quite delicious.

What Are Little Girls Made Of? Showtime!!

Girls put on shows.  I don't think boys do.  At least the boys I know haven't.

The shows can be quite elaborate affairs, complete with tickets, music, singing, dancing, props.  And they can be long.

People can get hurt during these shows.  Generally the audience is tolerant of brief intermissions for blaming, crying, maybe some slugging, but the show must go on.

But somehow strife and tragedy only increases beauty and fervor of the dance.

The movements become more strenuous, the timing more reckless, the interaction seemingly less cautious, inspiring more alertness and awareness in the audience.

But as just as the magic of the dance has begun, it's over.  Yet it lingers long as beauty does when it touches deeply.  The applause still rings.

Reading Going Way Back

I bought Ozma of Oz and The Velveteen Rabbit for Sophia and Ali. Those books  span five generations potentially.


The Wizard of Oz was written by L. Frank Baum in 1900 and he went on to write fourteen other books, including Ozma, most or maybe all, of which my mother, Helen Peterson Cannon, owned, read tons of times and which I read over and over and was also crazy about, like her.  


The glue had crumbled and the string came loose on all those books by the time I got them and I'm sure they went into the garbage or the D.I., but we loved them.  Following is a list of the books of them on Wikipedia if you'd like to check them out just for fun:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Oz_books  


They and Mom are part of the reason I love reading.  During the month I didn't blog, I read quite a few books I'll have to tell you about later,  but I wanted to tell you about these first.

The second book I bought,The Velveteen Rabbit, was published in 1922.  I told the girls I really wanted Brad to read it to them.  I'm surprised I didn't read it to him and Ben, but I guess I didn't.  The one problem I thought they might have was that it was about a boy.  Soph and Al used to like books about girls, but I think they've let go of that.  I hope so.  And I hope it's not too young for Sophia -- I don't know.


Here's some quotes:  

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

How nice is that?  I don't know if my grandmothers, Mary Salmon Cannon and Nellie Bull Peterson, ever read any of these books, but they could have.  They likely did. That would be Ali and Sophia's great-great grandmothers.  Astonishing.  

I want to tie generations together in both directions and maybe this will do it.  I don't know but I'm trying.  I hate doing genealogy but maybe this will contribute something.  

Maybe these books are not as good as I remember, but it's worth a try. And my granddaughters are potentially old enough to hear a chapter a night instead of a whole book -- at least Sophia is.  Maybe she can read them herself.  I don't care what she does.  



All I hope is that they love to read as much as my mother did and as much as I do and they don't put the same restrictions on themselves as Mom did;  she always felt that she couldn't reward herself with reading until all her work was done and she so seldom felt she was there.  


How sad is that?  

A Tough Window to Look Through

Fri, July 23, 2010 11:3

 My brother, Rex, is an LDS (Mormon) Bishop.  He has been for about a year and his life has taken on a somberness and challenge that has been not only difficult for him, but hard for those of us who have watched him.  He can't tell us much about it because that's the "Bishop's way", but it shows in his face and on his calendar.  This is an email I received from him the other day.  It's about all the detail from his life we get anymore, but it shows an insight into his struggles. 

I wish he were not a bishop most days, selfishly for me and for his family, but I thank God for good men like him who do serve because of the huge need there is for them. 

"July 23, 2010

"Hello,

 "This morning at 6 AM I had to meet with a therapist at a drug rehab facility in the area.  No, not for me but for a couple members of our ward that are going through some treatment.  It was quite the experience for me.

"I arrived early and waited in the parking lot for a few minutes waiting until it opened.  I sat there in the truck but watched as people began to arrive several minutes before the doors opened.  Most were young, teenagers to young adults.  Several were driven there and dropped off by adults, parents probably. 

 "When the doors opened the small crowd quickly entered the building.  I left the truck and walked over and entered the building as well. Inside there were two lines that were formed.  One was to secure payment or check on payments for the services that this rehab center provides.  The teller or employee sat behind a secure wall and Plexiglas window, much like you see at late night convenience stores or toll booths.  A small opening in the glass was used to pass money, checks, or credit cards through.  It was all business and no one really talked as the room was quiet.

 "The other line formed on the other side of the room.  This line is where patients go to receive their treatments for their particular drug addiction.  These treatments are substitute chemicals that satisfy somewhat the desire for the drug but have no long lasting addictions.  Methadone is one particular treatment.  One by one the patients would enter a smaller room, receive their treatment and then quickly exit the building and be on their way.  Again, it was very serious and almost dead quiet.

 "The thing that so greatly affected me was the appearance, physical condition and deportment of the patients.  Many had open sores on their faces and arms.  Several had thinning hair, horrible teeth, no body tone.  All were very thin as if starved for nutrition.  One young woman, perhaps late teens, very beautiful at some point in her past, wore a hooded sweatshirt.  It became apparent that this sweatshirt was used to cover the many open and oozing sores that covered her face and hands.  I could only speculate that these sores covered most of her body.  Her hair was thin and unhealthy, her eyes dark and glazed over.  Many others were in the same condition.

 "Many as well had poor teeth that were missing, brown or black in appearance.  A dentist's nightmare.

 "The deportment was one of nervous anxiety exhibited by all.  Most hugged themselves as if cold.  Others would stand in line only an inch from the person in front of them, obviously anxious for their treatment.  None really cast their eyes around but would stare at nothing in particular on the floor ahead of them.  Again, as quiet as can be imagined.

 "When it was my turn at the window I began to explain my purpose,  paying for the treatments of a couple ward members.  As I began to talk the young man behind the glass looked up, almost surprised.  I'm sure that he had expected another patient whose language and deportment was the norm but I took him for a loop.  He was most cordial and friendly with me.  I made my payment, received the receipt and then as I turned to go several patients that were waiting in the lines thanked me for what I was doing; paying for treatments.  It was almost overwhelming. 

 "I've never been so close or exposed to how this life lives.  It gave me great fear and wonder at just how close this lifestyle and addiction is to us.  I have since wondered at just how destructive this addiction is to the lives of those that fall.  They can't hold jobs, their lives are centered around their next fix or treatment, their health is gone, their appearance horrible, their personalities gone, their spirit unknown.  Their family, spouses, children, parents, friends, all suffer in their relationship with these people. 

 "If you ever want to see just what the impact of drugs is on our society, sit in that room for just a few minutes. 

 Rex"

In the meanwhile, let's hold each other close, learn what we can to help, rely upon God and bishops and pray for the day when such hideousness can be subdued, managed, or even conquered. 

Baby Showers -- Who Couldn't Love Them When They're This Much Fun?

Amy (who is never mean)  reflecting Aram, her beloved

Women can be mean.  A little mean.

They can be really funny, too, especially when men aren't around. They just don't like to be too funny when men are around because men don't like their women to be too funny because they think it's their domain.  And also they kind of like to think of their women as too sweet to be funny because funny is a little menacing sometimes.  I've heard it's also an ego thing.

But anyway, we had this fabulous baby shower yesterday for the beautiful Amy, who is due to deliver the scrumptious Raffi Cannon Arakalyan in December of this very year.  Aram is the delightful father.

The shower started out well and normal but then it did devolve when Amy unwrapped -- snort, snicker, chortle -- the breast pump.

Then the hilarity and damage began and it was wonderful.  I may never be invited to another shower, however.

The beautiful Mariah, Amy's niece, aged thirteen, and her friend, also likely thirteen, were there and everything went to heck in a handbasket.

We began discussing its (the breast pump's) usage, various people's experiences with them, we then pointed out their various convenient shapes, we used proper terminology, expressed amusing anecdotes with them, and discussed important points (hahahaha) and aspects of breast pumps and their impact on the actual human anatomy, both good and bad.  It fed upon itself.  (Guffaw, hahahaha.)  All this was to embarrass as best we could, the hapless teenagers, brought in to babysit, I suppose.  Child abuse?  I guess so, but we liked to think of it as education.

Mariah and her friend dashed from the room in dismay and horror several times, covering their ears and squealing.  Of course their dismay only drove the meekest among us to greater heights every time they returned, Mariah's mother was among them.  I think she was close to being the worst.  Grandma even joined in.  It was so much fun.

And with typical teenage drama, the girls deemed yesterday the "worst day of their lives."

Ha!  If that were only true.  I guarantee that day will involve actual children of their own.

Is it the 24 of July or the Ben R. Cannon Annual Birthday Bash? You Decide

I love my crazy family and I'm always so glad when they consent to come over.  Carl didn't take enough pictures this time.  He enjoyed himself too much.  They played games across the street, they had a great time in honor of grandpa, (today, the 26th, is his actual birthday) great grandpa and in honor of the pioneers and in honor of summer.  It was fun.  Thanks to everyone who could come.  Please come by again.  I love you.

Blaine and Eliza adding to their summer skills

Aram looking masculine

Eliza enjoying a messy moment

Food, of course

Ali, left, first summer as a married lady.  Diane proudly observing Carter's drinking abilities

Ali with Sophie, showing their new haircuts

Cindy being contemplative

Kathy thinking about something or other

Backyard shenanigans

Rhead, missing his family

Diane and Ali

Svetlana, adopted countrywoman and daughter

The shorter ones, catching a little "Roger Rabbit"

Eating, talking, because that's what Cannons do

BLAME IT ON THE HEAT

Just occurred to me this hot July day upon seeing a very pregnant woman toiling through the day, what might explain Ben’s very appealing quirkiness; that is, of course, if he has any.  He is close to perfect.

It happened back in the day when central air was not universal and we lived in a third floor walk-up in Chicago.  Not in the burbs, mind you, but Chicago itself and just a few blocks from the Lake.  Steamy ole Lake Michigan.  

It was a hot and sweaty summer.  I was seven months pregnant with Brad and all we had was a crappy little window air conditioner unit, and I was so tired I thought my entire body was going to go into spasmodic sleep requirement mid-step.  So I laid on the couch, face and arms tucked into the corner between the back and cushions so Ben could use me as a Jungle Gym if he wanted without much damage. My back only was exposed.  Just a few minutes sleep.  That’s all I wanted.  What could Ben do?  He was only eighteen months old.  

Ha!

I dozed a few minutes then awoke to the most excruciating pain of my life.  Ben would not be ignored.  He must have tried, but could not make other inroads, so he had bitten me directly on my trapezius muscle -- and crazy hard.  He had never bitten me before nor since, but definitely did enough damage for a lifetime.

I couldn’t lift him for weeks.  The poor child longed to be picked up, little arms reaching up, but try as I might, I couldn’t budge his skinniness an inch off the floor because it hurt like a son-of-a-gun, and I didn’t have an ounce of strength, days and weeks on end.   

It was his fault, yet who could blame him and who could explain it to him?  I felt so terrible.  

I’m sure he developed a syndrome from that.  Some syndrome some heartless psychologist has named.  Something akin to "Abandonment Syndrome" but worse like "Failure to be Lifted?"  Do all mothers feel such guilt?

Then to make matters worse, I left for five days.  I went to the hospital, of course, but what did he know?  And then what happened?  I reappeared doing what?  CARRYING his brother, Brad, whom we kept, adding insult to injury.  

So on behalf of me, his mother,  please find Ben's neuroses, if you think you detect any, charming.  I do.  It's my only recourse.

Melange, Janet Do You Know What That Means? It Means Wonderful

Didja know that Uganda is over 8,000 miles from Utah and that Norway is probably over 4,000 miles from here.  The year of the Tiger comes up every twelve years and matters to the Ross family. And did you know that the Himalayan Restaurant is something right downtown in Salt Lake City and that the magical Tenaj Matovu and Eric Ross chose that spot for their wedding dinner simply because they like the food and their invitees simply because of their jolliness?  I'm sure of it.  Because you certainly can't figure out much of a pattern in anything else.

We had so much fun.

Wendy is from Salem, Massachusetts so we're pretty sure she's a witch.  Her son is Henry.  He was there.  The Norwegians were represented by Jon Ravneng, a crazed Viking who is seriously challenged melanin-wize and his beautiful wife, Bente, their daughter, Mija and her interesting husband whose name I missed.  Sorry.  Bobacar, from Kenya sat by us as well.  He fits in because his wife knows me (!) from Sandy and Janet.

Janet's family is not melanin-challenged and are originally from Uganda.  Currently they are from the Eastern United States.  They are lots of fun and seemed to think we are okay too though Janet noted we paler types do seem to resemble one another.  We took no major personal affront.    Janet's whole family was there except for Janet's father who is still a little out-of-sorts because Eric is a little too pale for his liking, but no one seems to think that will last too much longer.  He remains in Uganda.


Then there's Eric's family, all of whom seemed to enjoy the whole event immensely as well and, surprisingly, as another exciting note, Eric's younger sister was in one of my seminary classes at Brighton about fifteen years ago!  I love the smallness of this world!  It was really a great event.

And to make the whole thing wonderful, Janet now lives downtown at the Belvedere which means she can join the out-to-lunch bunch.

I really think the United Nations could learn a think or two from Janet and Eric.  Get people together who like each other, who laugh together and have fun together, and just let everyone else just stay home.
How could they lose?

Pictured above are Eric, in a traditional Ugandan marriage outfit, Janet, also in a Ugandan marriage outfit, Bente and Mija.  Next my crazy former student, Jon, and one of Janet's brothers, Moses, I believe.  finally is Janet's mother.  This photo does not do her justice.  Jon took the picture and did not do a very good job of it.  But all is forgiven.  It was his first and only attempt.

Here's Another Reason Why I Love Facebook

Sandy Walton Nelson is a former student of mine I've kept in touch with on Facebook.  If not for FB, I'd be clueless as to where she even is I'd bet, and wouldn't that be a loss?

She is, incidentally, a little farmer girl with a family in Wyoming who is hilarious.    

She used to come in and talk to me on occasion at LDS Business College and I'd love talking to her.  And I now love hearing about her and her adventures online.  She's a treasure.  She has wild adventures with chickens and children.  She also blogs.

Breathtaking   Monday at 10:39pm

"Life isn't about how many breaths you take...it's about how many moments take your breath away." Anonymous

Today I had a moment like this. The kids were running around and every now and then, one of them would run up and say, "I love you, mommy" and then run away to do something else. After each time this happened, Celeste would come over and go "mmmmmah" and say her little renditon of "I love you"! She loves giving kisses, and today wasn't any different. Each time the kids would run by, Tyler, who was sitting on the other side of the room playing by himself quietly, would look over and grin, and then go back to playing. One particular time, Terra was the one who came and told me she loved me, gave me a hug and then ran out of the room, little sister in tow. So, Tyler took this opportunity to come over, crawl onto my lap, give me a great big hug, and say, "I wub oo, Mom!" And then he nestled right back down in my lap until he decided he was done being held, and then he ran out of the room to go play too. Most parents wouldn't bat an eye at this simple phrase. I, however, was moved to sobbing tears immediately. This is the first time in his LIFE that he has said those words to me. He's 3 years old and he's just now beginning to say them. I cry still thinking about it. The joy that I feel at this moment makes all those trials, dealing with therapy sessions gone wrong and just plain wanting to give up on it altogether, WELL worth while. I told his Pre-School teacher, Miss Kirsten, about it and she cried with me. This is such a huge step for him and it just shows all the progress he's been making. I can't wait to hear what else this little guy has to say. I have a feeling he's got a lot bottled up in there and just can't wait to spill it all out!

So, tonight as I lay here in bed, getting ready for sleep to take me, I am basking in the feeling of being a mom...but not just any mom, I'm Tyler's mom - the proudest mom out there!

New Bad, Bad Hair Day Winner

Remember Ali's Bad Hair Day of a few weeks ago?  Here's an entry to make you contemplate the secrets of eternity and the complexities of the potential of years and years of psychoanalysis.  It was her mother's first attempt at curling her hair, documented for all posterity to see.  Hold the laughs please, out of kindness and sincere regard for the love of everything that requires compassion.

But this little chica, Sami, is tough.  She belongs to my nephew and niece, Rhead and Annie Pao Cannon.  My favorite Sami quote about karate lessons:  She bragged about how good she was at karate and her brother commented how she was half Chinese.  She responded, "I'm ALL Chinese."  Nothing halfway about her.

I'm sure she's all ready on to the next challenge.  In fact, I know that she has gone on to cure the common cold, brought the world the peace it deserves or at least has driven her brother crazier than anyone deserves to be.

And all the while making you want to kiss her silly on those cute chubby cheeks and those yummy, yummy lips.  Thank you, God, for Sami.

James 1:5 - The Life Changer

A simple, straight-forward statement from the Bible has changed me more than once and yet I still find it more than amazing:  "If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him."


I'm changed because I'm a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of of Latter-day Saints.  That Church came into existence because of that scripture.  But I'm changed far more because of it.  


I'm still astounded every time I do ask for wisdom and do get it though even though I go about it with great expectations.  It's amazing.  I've used it as a mother, as a wife, as an individual, as a teacher, as a friend, in all walks of life.  I've used it all through the years, and often.


Asking for wisdom is lots different than asking for things, changes, people.  It's so much easier and happens in the moment.  It really does.  It often really does.  


And yesterday, in his mission farewell talk as he and his wife Marci embark on a mission to Manchester England for the LDS Church, my brother, Mark Cannon,  spoke of this scripture again and the spirit boiled around me.  I wanted to stand up and shout "Hallelujah", (though I know how much trouble I'd be in if I did that.)  I just wonder how many people really know how meaningful and literal that scripture is?


We've talked through the years, Mark and I, and I've often wanted to hear how he talked to his congregation when he was their bishop.  We would talk about the amazing promises in the Gospel, including this one and how he always had such urgency to get those people moving on such promises of the Gospel.  And today I got that chance to hear him.  


Did they believe him again today?  I sure did.  And again I'm planning to use this amazing verse, because I know it works.  Today, tomorrow, again and again.  It seems almost too easy, but it's not.  It's just easy.  I have a testimony of that.  It's happened so many times I'm almost fearless to act upon anything I learn.  Almost.  Wish I could tell you I was absolutely there, but I guess that's what I'm trying to say.  I'm still so astounded by the whole thing that I'm still left breathless.  

Win or Lose, Arizona's Where I Am

I'm in Arizona.  I'm here for a number of reasons.  I was initially coming down with my brother, Brent, to visit my Aunt and Uncle Pat and Glen Crookston, last month  but with the beginning of Spring Training and baseball, we couldn't get any room at the place we usually stay.


So we boosted ahead to this month and found that the week we chose was LDS Conference Weekend, which traditionally is miserable weather, Easter and touted the last day of Spring Training which I blogged about yesterday.  


I love being in wonderful weather when the weather back home is miserable, but somehow, people back home resent the heck out of us.  It is gorgeous here however.  But that notwithstanding, there are some drawbacks:

1)  We missed Easter with the girls.  We did, however, receive the photos which you see with the girls on their new bikes and their helmets properly affixed and a promise that they can ride to our house if Julia watches them ride down Lake Bridge Road and we then watch them ride the rest of the way down Oquirrh Lake Road.  We then got to have Easter Dinner with Ben which is something we've not been able to do in a long time and got a promise from him to come to Thanksgiving Dinner next year and a semi promise from his friend, Susie, that she'll come as well.  That's great progress and a good trade-off.  

2.  I miss Conference on TV but we'll have that recorded when we get home and I'll have that then and on Saturday and Sunday morning and afternoons, I enjoyed conference via the Tweet World or Tweeternacle (#ldsconf) where everyone tunes in to Tweetie and write what they find to be significant comments from the current talks and what they have to say about it.  It's really fun and quite an experience.  I loved it and made some new Twitter friends.  I really lost nothing and gained in that.  


So what happened in the net gain/loss world?  I gained!  I am warm for the first time in a long time, a few people are a little miffed that I've escaped the cold but they'll get over it.  I enjoyed Conference doubly, I've seen Ben, met Susie, and not crying uncontrollably as I likely would be if I were home in the cold and snow.  And tomorrow I go see Pat and Glen for lunch.  


Thanks, Az, for being next door.

The Bores of Summer

Know what?  I'm something of a fairweather fan.

I went to the Cubs-Diamondbacks game at Chase Field in Phoenix on Friday and found that I couldn't care less who wins after all.

In theory, I'm a Cubs fan through and through.  We lived in Chicago from 1967 to 1976, both our sons were born at the Edgewater Hospital right there in the city of Chicago, delivered by the good Dr. Eli Bernick while he was wearing his yarmulke. At least he was wearing his yarmulke when Brad was born since it was during the high holy days, and much of what I consider my best education was received there.

Not specifically in the delivery room, mind you, but in Chicago.  I did learn a lot about pain, panic, suffering and humiliation in the delivery room, however, but that's another story for a long, wintery night when people can't leave.

Anyway, there we were at Chase Field, a beautiful park that has a lid that will roll back to reveal the sky like the top on a sardine can. Everything was perfect except that the prices on the food were crazy high and they were serving Diet Pepsi.  Lotsa lights and the Jumbotron made me crazy with ADD and delight.  It was wonderful.

But the game began and, and though as usual I expected better, it was boring like most every other game I've ever seen.  It wasn't until after the seventh inning stretch that anything happened.  Ben said it was a pitcher's duel.  I say it was a dud of a game.  I should have hauled my Kindle out of my purse but I would have been mocked, I know.  Brad, in fact, was mocking me on my IPhone saying I probably didn't know who was playing.  I knew who was playing.  I just didn't care.  He also recalled to me I read a book at football games.  I don't remember that, but probably I did if I attended football at all.  Football lasts forever.

I also thought the players' uniforms looked cheap.  Ben explained they were the pre-season uniforms.  They're pros!  I say they can afford better uniforms for pre-season too.

But then the hits started coming.  It started getting good.  I loved every crack o' the bat.  I didn't care who got them.  There was even a home run.  And I cheered for every one.  The people who loved the Backs that I'd developed a cheesy rivalry with looked at me like I'd gone nuts until they got the drift.  I was there for the action.  I tried to explain that I appreciated skill regardless of where it came from, but they saw through that, I know.

The D-backs won 5 to 3 and I thank them for every run.   Pitcher's duel, my behind.  I say we should get our money back for that kinda game.  That's no game, that's catch.  No one likes to watch that.  They just pretend they do.

Incidentally, That's Susie, Ben's friend in the picture with Ben, who is fearlessly sporting his Cubs shirt.  He is a plucky lad.  He was born in Chicago.

What the Heck? Ali Can Read?

Believe it or not, Ali can read and she reads very well.  She's five, but she's only been to pre-school.  She doesn't start Kindergarten until next year.  In pre-school, she's learned letter sounds, but that's all.

She's hung around with Sophia while Soph reads, and is a computer nut playing games on Barbie.com, pbskids.com and sprout.com, but this is scary. No one knows really when she learned to read.

We were having Family Home Evening on Sunday and were doing an Easter kind of lesson around Third Nephi and were reading some verses and we gave her a shot at it.

She did great!  I think one of the verses was 13 which is "and it came to pass that the Lord spake unto them saying:"  She read that verse and another without a whole lot of help.  No stumbling or hesitation.  She read.  We tested her on other stuff, and she really can read.  No kidding around here.

Ali's also good with phones and remotes.  I'm not talking sorta tricky.  I'm talking "good".  Never let her see you work an app on your phone even just once or she'll be syncing it up with someone in China within minutes and something international will ensue.  She can also get the TV so screwed over within seconds that specialists need to be called in.  Sophia calls her for help on web sites.  I have removed apps from my phone because of her.  I'm serious.  I only exaggerate a little.

Sometimes when a fact has been stated weeks before, and another emerges down the road, she'll recall the previous and ask for clarification if the two seem to conflict.

It's kind of scary.  I'm glad she belongs to Brad and the Russian.  I'll just go home or put on my tinfoil hat if it gets too out of hand.

While We're On the Subject of Redheads

Is what is currently referred to as "ginger hair" actually "red hair", and why is it taking it in the chops on one hand and then every other women is dyeing her hair some shade of red?

I know about the South Park "gingers" deal, or whatever it was, but is that all there was to it?  I missed that episode as I have almost all others except for the one where they ripped the Mormons a new one.  That one was awful but I felt compelled to watch on general principle.  My eyeballs and ears had to be decontaminated and my outrage went on high alert, developing a distrust of children everywhere for three days.  But I go off the subject.

I have three cousins, Joan, Gale and Anne, who have red hair that came out of nowhere.  Both their parents, Welby and Ruth Carr Peterson, had dark, dark hair.  But their three daughters have hair that is bright carrot red, and beautifully curly.

I thought, and still think, it is the most beautiful color there is.  Liz McOmber, one of my all-time best friends,  has red hair, and I know that Liz and many of the aforementioned group didn't like being redheads when young for one reason or another, but I know that many (if not all) have "freshened" the color as they've aged.  I'm just saying.

So there are two questions so far: 1) "Why are we now calling red hair 'ginger' if in fact we are" and 2) "Why has this color fallen into such disrepute as to cause such outrage and abuse?"

I've also heard that as a color, it's disappearing.  Maybe one or two per cent of the population has red hair and that's from around England, Ireland, Northern and Western Europe.  That's sad.

But here is a really nifty tie-in to my family tree.  It seems back in one of the branches there was a crowd of sheep-stealers who were called "Redhead" who had to get outta town, beat a hasty departure, take it on the lamb (snicker) and cleverly fooled everyone by changing their name to "Rhead".  This is not the same side of the family that produced the aforementioned Joan, Gale and Anne, however.  This is the side that produced my father, Bennion Rhead Cannon whose grandmonther was Sarah Ann Rhead.

I like redheads, you see, for a number of reasons.  So I'm wondering why we're picking on them.  Any answers?

Helen Maurine Peterson Cannon - I Wish I Had The Chance To Know How She'd Look At Ninety

My mother would have been ninety years old last Saturday.  Ninety.  She was not yet seventy when I last saw her.  She was my age, in fact.  I am sixty seven.  She was sixty-eight.


When she first died, I cheered almost.  She had suffered so much.  And she was finally at peace.  I was so happy for her.  


My Dad had been in a rest home for almost a year from a stroke, unable to talk, unable to move meaningfully, unable to walk.  And he'd been a little mean to her, I think because he resented her being able to move and to talk, and to be . . . cheerful. 


But she was losing.  She was losing him, she was losing her mind, she was losing her grasp on what had been so much -- that which had had strong meaning -- her family, her place and her purpose.


Her life had been surrounded by duty to Dad, her children, her house, her dogs, bowling, her love of Bridge, friends.


Then Dad had his stroke and with that ugly afternoon when he fell into the breakfront and he never recovered much of anything, Mother never recovered either.  


We tried to make up for her losses, but we were pathetic.  We didn't know where to begin.  We didn't know how to boss our mother around.  We didn't know how to boss the doctors around either.  We didn't know that we had the power, but had we known, we really wouldn't have wanted to anyway.  


Dementia set in fast.  We called it Alzheimer's, but I think it was a broken heart and a broken will together with Halcyon and other crazy medicines she may have been taking, and a life ripped from under her feet.  Twenty years ago the health-care world didn't worry too much about people of that age -- my age.  They just thought they were old and old people just got that way.  God help us.  


She fell and because her osteoporosis was so bad, she easily broke through her seventh vertebrae which damaged her spinal chord and paralyzed her from below her arms.  She would have been unable to walk and control her bladder and bowels.  It was laughable almost, because they put her into a rehab hospital in Sandy to teach her to care for herself.  She was barely able to care for herself when she could walk, let alone in that condition.


One day a friend of mine, a nurse on duty named Pam Langlois,  and I were talking and I said "When do you people stop trying?"


She grabbed my arm and said "When you tell us to."  


That's when it was over.  We removed the respirator and she died soon after.  That was Halloween night in 1988 that she shot on over.  She always loved holidays.  She was born the first day of Spring and died on Halloween.  How wonderful is that?


I love the song "Everything I Own" by Bread because of her.  I know it was written for David Gates' father, but it makes me think of my own mother, Helen Maurine Peterson Cannon.  I wish I had her back.  Even just for a minute.  I cherish times I see her in my dreams.  I just wish that while I was having those dreams, I valued them more.  I wish I would grab her in my arms, kiss her, tell her I love her and never let her go.


Everything I Own
By Bread
You sheltered me from harm. 
Kept me warm, kept me warm. 
You gave my life to me. 
Set me free, set me free. 
The finest years I ever knew, 
were all the years I had with you. 

And I would give anything I own. 
I'd give up my life, my heart, my home. 
I would give everything I own, 
just to have you back again. 

You taught me how to laugh. 
What a time, what a time. 
You never said too much, 
but still you showed you cared. 
And I knew from watching you. 

Nobody else could ever know, 
the part of me that can't let go. 

And I would give anything I own, 
I'd give up my life, my heart, my home. 
I would give everything I own, 
just to have you back again. 

Is there someone you know, 
your loving them so, 
but taking them all for granted? 
You may lose them one day. 
Someone takes them away, 
and they don't hear the words you long to say. 

I would give anything I own, 
I'd give up my life, my heart, my home. 
I would give everything I own, 
just to have you back again; 
just to touch you once again. 

An Email I Got From Glo Greenhagen That I Couldn't Send To Everyone

A baby horse on its mom's lap

There is nothing like Mom's lap no matter who you are.

This is a newborn offspring of Taskin, a Gypsy Stallion owned by Villa Vanners of Oregon . These pictures were taken immediately after his birth on April 6 last year. The mare laid down, and then he trotted around and crawled right up into her lap.

Talk about true love!

LIFE IS GOOD!