That Sixties Liberal Is On The Loose Again

An incredible story came out of Iraq stating that on Sunday nine American mothers received comfort from dozens of Iraqi mothers who had lost their sons during the Saddam Hussein era which ended in 2003. 

"When I hugged an American woman we couldn't express ourselves in words, but what helped us to express our feelings and understand each other were our tears. We found them as a true expression to our grief and suffering," said a 55-year-old Kurdish woman who had lost most of her own close family during the scorched-earth campaign against the Kurdish rebellion.  

The American women expressed how they had been angry before their visit to the country in which their sons had died, and yet had found peace and comfort as they visited the land where their children lived their last moments and spent time with people who inhabited that country and felt their same pain.  "I'll have visited the land where a piece of my heart will remain forever," said Amy Galvez, who is from Salt Lake, and whose son, Cpl Adam Galvez was also from Salt Lake City.   

The meeting of the two groups of women was organized by a group called “Families United Toward Universal Respect’ from the state of Virginia and officials from the local f Kurdish government and our State Department.

Yet while these women were meeting together in the northern part of Iraq, which is a mostly peaceable area currently, other parts of the country were experiencing  ongoing bombings and death.  

Doesn’t it seem silly to fight and kill?  The people who are doing the fighting are hardly able to sit down and discuss the points and minutiae, doctrines and principles they are fighting for.  If people have differences, it’s ridiculous not to work them out with discussion, arbitration, judges.  

But using innocent people as battering rams, target practice and ammunition?  Mothers can see how stupid that is.  Why can’t supposedly intelligent old men?  Old men who are too old to fight themselves? 


Source:  http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/39369062/ns/world_news-mideastn_africa/

The Sixties Liberal Stumbles Onto the Stage Again

An incredible story came out of Iraq stating that on Sunday nine American mothers received comfort from dozens of Iraqi mothers who had lost their sons during the Saddam Hussein era which ended in 2003. 

"When I hugged an American woman we couldn't express ourselves in words, but what helped us to express our feelings and understand each other were our tears. We found them as a true expression to our grief and suffering," said a 55-year-old Kurdish woman who had lost most of her own close family during the scorched-earth campaign against the Kurdish rebellion.  

The American women expressed how they had been angry before their visit to the country in which their sons had died, and yet had found peace and comfort as they visited the land where their children lived their last moments and spent time with people who inhabited that country and felt their same pain.  "I'll have visited the land where a piece of my heart will remain forever," said Amy Galvez, who is from Salt Lake, and whose son, Cpl Adam Galvez was also from Salt Lake City.   

The meeting of the two groups of women was organized by a group called “Families United Toward Universal Respect’ from the state of Virginia and officials from the local f Kurdish government and our State Department.

Yet while these women were meeting together in the northern part of Iraq, which is a mostly peaceable area currently, other parts of the country were experiencing  ongoing bombings and death.  

Doesn’t it seem silly to fight and kill?  The people who are doing the fighting are hardly able to sit down and discuss the points and minutiae, doctrines and principles they are fighting for.  If people have differences, it’s ridiculous not to work them out with discussion, arbitration, judges.  

But using innocent people as battering rams, target practice and ammunition?  Mothers can see how stupid that is.  Why can’t supposedly intelligent old men?  Old men who are too old too fight themselves?


Source:  http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/39369062/ns/world_news-mideastn_africa/

"He was everything anyone would ever want in a friend, a father, and an eternal companion"

Funeral yesterday. It was wonderful. First of all, it was for Robert J. Matthews. He is as Christlike a person as there is. The place was packed so I'm not alone in thinking so. Plus, there were some wonderful talks aobut the Plan, about Christ, about Joseph Smith and Bro. Matthews love for all of them. And then Boyd K. Packer was there and spoke for a minute. He called Bob "a treasure." It was beautiful.

I've got some nice, nice memories of Bro. Matthews, too. Back in 1989, I was on a plane on our Israel trip on my way to the bathroom. I knew he was the writer of the LDS Bible Dictionary, and there he sat in his seat reading THE BIBLE DICTIONARY. I had to stop and ask "Why are you reading that?" He simply responded "To see what I once knew." Kinda funny. Kinda like him. He liked low-key funniness.

He worked for LDS Church Education, for a long time he was Dean of the College of Religion at BYU and had his PhD from BYU in Ancient Scripture. Now, most CES instructors are kinda show people, but he wasn't. Like they said today, he was as much at home talking to a student custodian in the hall as he was meeting a general authority. He knew answers to things that most people have no idea there are answers to. So it was wonderful asking him questions. But it wasn't the answers, it was the rapt attention he paid to the questioner, never in a hurry and never implying that the question was uninspired. Those sparkling brown eyes were with you and the smile, gentle and kind. He seemed almost excited that he was talking to you -- and he made everyone feel like that. He was a true teacher. He wanted to teach and tht was his living, breathing, constant purpose. He was always aware of his students, never his own importance or his students' awareness of him.

I do believe that our gifts come with us from the pre-earth life. And I do believe that Bro. Matthews gifts were strong when he came here, but were intensified to where he was when he died by a life well-lived and focused on Christ, in touch with the Spirit and with years of concerted effort on his part. Catching up would be impossible, but with the time I've got left, I'd like to find myself becoming a little more like Bob.

A Fun, Semi-Rude Experiment

Try this experiment the next time there is a baby in front of you in church.

When you catch the baby's eye, stick out your tongue. The baby will stick out his or hers most of the time, regardless of how little they are.

One time I was sitting in a women's meeting with this cute little tiny girl in front of me. She stuck out her tongue and we sat with our tongues out for the longest time. Then we lost track of each other for awhile. When we again locked eyes, she immediately grabbed her little juicy tongue with her hand. She remembered me. I was the tongue lady.

It's amazing that babies, even really young ones, will stick out their tongues. Babies know they have tongues.

The Craze Is Over. I'm Left With Carl ('s Jr., That Is)

I love jalapeño burgers from Carl's Jr though they are really, really messy. I eat them because they are good and because they are the last vestige of low carb eating done in the United States. Now that the craze is over, there is nowhere, even in health-food stores, anything low carb. There's not even no-sugar Popscicles left in the grocery stores.

And since I'm unable to eat sugar and flour anyway, and since low-carbing is the only way I can lose weight, I am left with a few Atkins bars, salad, steak, hamburger and Carl's Jr. Jalapeno burgers. I'm just saying. They are beautiful.

And speaking of beautiful, that's me in the picture.

Live By the Sword, Die By the Disapproval of Others

We Empty-Nesters (a euphemism for us elderly types) are meeting at our house in August. Though the program has evolved since its inception several years ago, having something of an activity or at least a theme should be considered. The problem is that not much is seemly for us anymore.

Our youngers (as opposed to elders) are vaguely amused, or even disgusted when we take to hollering, giggling, telling jokes, maybe singing vociferously and/or even getting into elevators it would seem. So what is there left to do? Bingo, perhaps, though the Mormons kind of think that that is a little too Catholic for them. We could have a speaker come and tell us at length about various things, but some of us snore too loudly to make it easy enough for some of our hearing aids to work efficiently. We considered writing our various ailments down then having participants match them to the proper sufferer. We decided, though, that perhaps the health of some individuals might not be up to the excitement.

We then thought that wearing our bathing suits might be in order for a hot August evening and that we could run through the hose and maybe even find a Slip-N-Slide that wasn't being used that evening. We were all aglow with eager anticipation until we remembered who we are and that what's good for the gosling might not be good for the geezers.

"Why's that", we ask?

"Because it was put up for a vote and the youngers decided that the elders had just better behave in a seemly manner and resist having fun of any sort."

"When was that vote taken," we ask?

"Just after Adam's children first started reaching puberty."

"Were we there," we wonder?

"No, but you consented to it when you came along."

"Rats", we complain. "But I guess we did it to ourselves."

Water Fighting as an Art Form

Liz McOmber was the best water-fighter in the world. Her strategy was to travel, hand-over-hand, up the hose with eyes shut, taking a full force blast in the face until she reached the nozzle, wrenching it from the hand of whoever dared to take her on, and returning the blast, full force plus. Ah, yes, the crazy redhead was the champion.

Liz once took on her pack of seven children, dousing them mercilessly and leaving them in ruins. Only the littlest children were left to retaliate with little bowls of water from the bathroom. The rest hid out.

Liz, weary of the lack of prey, turned the hose full blast on those teenage children who were retired to the family room in defeat. It was awesome.

When it was over, and it was Liz who announced when it was over, everyone was ordered to gather armfulls of dirty laundry, and use it to mop up the residue that wasn't soaked into the family, and return it to the laundry area.

And it was over. Liz had declared it over and everyone knew that water in the family room was again verboten. Liz the wonderful flaming rehead was in charge.

Rainy Days and Self Pity

I am so sick of rain. It’s June 15th and it has rained every day but three this month. This is desert country. This is semi-arid. What’s the deal? The old conversational platitudes like “When it rains, it pours” and “It’s good for the flowers” and “Into each life some rain must fall”, are all but abandonned. We know this is too weird. You do still hear “Seems like we’re living in Seattle rather than Utah” still working for grocery store chit-chat, I guess. But how about some new stuff?

Here’s one to consider:

"Don't pray when it rains if you don't pray when the sun shines." -- Satchel Paige

I’ve mentioned the rain in prayers this last little while. I never have mentioned the sun that I can recall, nowever. I’ll start.

This one's a little more practical:

"Do not, on a rainy day, ask your child what he feels like doing, because I assure you that what he feels like doing, you won't feel like watching.” -- Fran Liebotitz

Then the ethereal with a melody and a beat. I know at the time it was an anti-war song, but who cares. Instead of the comment, we can burst into song:

Who’ll Stop the Rain?

Long as I remember the rain been comin down.

Clouds of mystry pourin confusion on the ground.

Good men through the ages, tryin to find the sun;

And I wonder, still I wonder, who’ll stop the rain.

John Fogarty

But here’s a website that is short and to the point: http://goingtorain.com/ Mention it.

I hear it’s going to rain this afternoon, so what about this one for now: “Make hay while the sun shines.” I’m not so sure what it means, but I think our ancestors were friskier than we think.

When Is It Embarrassing or Just a Cheap Thrill?

One time when we lived on Foster Avenue in Chicago, Carl and I were walking home from getting ice cream at the local Dairy Queen and noticed as we walked by our car as it was parked on the street that it was filled with smoke. We casually looked in the windows, walked about it, and stood dumbfoundedly by, not knowing what to do. Fortunately, it was nighttime, so we didn't raise much of a rumpus. We didn't even call the Fire Department. It was a little embarrassing as a matter of fact so we slunk into our apartment and discussed what to do. The electrical harness in our car had caught fire and caused lots of damage to the car's interior and the electrical system was toast. We realized that it would cost more to repair than the monthly payments on a new Dodge Dart (A White Hat Special), so we dodged (chuckle) the bullet and bought our first new car.

Several years ago, there was lots of movement going on outside my office window down at LDS Business College and a student came running in to tell me Larry Richards' car was on fire. I stood by my window watching and I actually felt a little ambivalent. It was kinda funny, but was sorry it happened to such a nice guy. But the crowd that was watching the event was almost joyful.

Well, today, we get a couple of calls to tell us that an unmarked police car was on fire down by the Daybreak swimming pool. Lots of excitement, fire trucks, other police cars and onlookers aplenty. Why was that so exciting? Are we seriously impaired to be able to be entertained by the misfortune of others, particularly the local constabulary? I'm ashamed but still have a little adrenaline going on.

Backgammon - And Other Foolishnesses I Miss

The other day in McDonald's, there were a couple of guys playing Backgammon at a table near the door. They were both probably retired, and they both had nothing better to do I'm sure. Why am I so sure? Because Backgammon is a wonderful game. I just wish my husband would believe me on that.

I remember always wondering about the crazy board on the other side of the checker board we had but no one I knew had any idea of what it was for. Then a few years before I retired, Wendy Carroll, one of my students, kicked a relationship up with me and became one of my very dear friends. Almost at the beginning, she brought in her Backgammon set and insisted I learn how to play. At first it was nothing much, then it caught on. I love Backgammon. I have a little set I bought at Hammonds Toys. I have a game on my Itouch. I have played it on my computer often. I even went insane once when Carl and I were in Hawaii and bought a little magnetic travel set and tried to teach him. He didn't love it. I was devastated.

Why didn't we ever play Backgammon? We played Checkers. We played Dominoes. We played Monopoly. We played all the board games except for - - Backgammon. Why?

I concede that Wendy didn't play very hard with me and allowed me to win though she contends she never did. She would even back me up and give me tips when I blundered and didn't see the obviously great moves. I'm not a worthy adversary on this, I know, but I might become better if I had someone other than a computer to play.

But then no one plays board games or card games anymore. I miss that. My parents used to play cards on vacations. My Uncle Glen taught us to play Hearts when we were too young to hold the cards. I loved Pinochle in my single days when my roommate, Janice Canady, taught me her Racehorse version. When I got married, Pinochle got put away when I found that Carl played another version and wasn't about to convert. I haven't played Canasta in more than fifty years. I don't remember the rules but I remember it was fun. My Grandma Cannon used to be shuffling the cards when I returned from my student teaching at West High School ready for some really steaming games of double solitaire. It was so much fun.

My granddaughter, Sophia, is getting into Old Maid and Go Fish. Maybe I can have hope in her.

Where's Tank Man?

The Tiananmen Square Massacre was huge twenty years ago. And now I find out that the guy who was known as "Tank Man" was never identified nor was anyone sure he had died! He remained a heroic figure to me for a long time and it would be amazing if they could find him.

The question is, who knows where he is? The answer is apparently "The Chinese Government." I'd love to hear what he has to say and to find out if he was aware of the excitement he caused in the world if only for just a short time.

Burning Candle Redux

How about the following, hot (snicker, snicker) on the heels of yesterday's blog:

I Burned My Candle At Both Ends

by Samuel Hoffenstein

I burned my candle at both ends,
And now have neither foes nor friends;
For all the lovely light begotten,
I’m paying now in feeling rotten.

And then here's the last of it:

"Live fast, die young, leave a good looking corpse." --John Derek

Oh, wait. I guess it's a little late for that.

From the Sublime to the Sublime

Yesterday while in line at Costco, I asked the man behind me to save my spot while I dashed for bandaids. When I returned, slightly breathless, he told me he was ninety years old last week. He was amazing. He looked much younger than I thought a ninety-year-old man should look, and his face was beautiful -- bright, smiling, intelligent -- I don't know what I expected but definitely something more decrepit. It was great to see him. He did me a world of good. He made me very happy just with his robust, charming good nature.

Then within an hour I was holding little McKenna Haacke, two-week-old daughter of Liesl and Corey Haacke and sister to CJ. She's tiny and beautiful. She also did me a world of good with her gentle smallness, her sleepy, trusting nature and her pliable little body adapting to my chest. Her head was warm like babies head's are, her little hands and arms were curled in and her legs were so skinny and small, they were barely noticeable. I was overwhelmed by her helplessness and by how protective of her I felt.

Sometimes when I get tired of not having the energy and strength that I used to have and seeming to some to be a little past useful, I need days like today. I love life in all its manifestations and I'm not going to forget these two people. They meant a lot to me.

Cemetaries Are Regenerative

We put flowers on my parents' graves in Provo yesterday, and it occurred to me that the race is on to be buried near them. We offspring have about five spots left around them, and the first to die win. I have four brothers and we own the plots as a group, and I guess respective spouses are planted nearby just by default. Do the math.

Our parents' plots in the Provo City Cemetery are in a wonderful place. Bullocks are near, and the Finlaysons. The Drs. Clark are nearby but I guess they are no longer a problem. And with my parents close by, the odds are better that we'll get flowers occasionally than if we're buried in South Jordan or Sandy though I'm sure Brad and Julia will stop by South Jordan to keep us company. My second choice, however, would be the Salt Lake Cemetery though I suppose my four grandparents are all ready knee-deep in neighbors with no more room for us.

Cemeteries are wonderful places, especially on Memorial Day. Even my granddaughters seemed to enjoy walking among the gravestones and flowers looking for the graves of babies. I love reading the dates on grave stones, love to read the odd and obscure comments and enjoy seeing names of families I knew from Provo. I only wish ordinances didn't prohibit more versatility and creativity among stones, but that's to be expected, I guess, if you want the lawns mowed. I like the benches, too. I've always told Carl I want a bench with the words "Come sit a spell" written on the side. Who knows? Maybe he'll provide me one. He just better not go first. I'll put a really rude comment on his bench if he does.

My parents graves, however, remind me that parents are missed no matter how much time has passed. It's been twenty years, almost since they died. I'm only one year younger than my mother was when she "shot-on-over" on Halloween night in 1988. What a perfect night to go. She would have loved it if she had not planned it. She had made the whole thing begin in a holiday mood by being born on the first day of spring, 1920. Was she terrific or what?

Earth - The Movie

We went to see ‘Earth” today and it was magnificent. It was not the absolutely thrilling spectacle I had expected. Maybe it was due to the restraint held on the music rising and falling in the background. Also, it showed the plodding along of nature as the case often is, so it tended to be slow at times, but it was wonderful nonetheless. There also was no blood or graphic killing so it would not be alarming to the tender souls. But it was not for the really young children who were in the audience at the showing we attended as it didn’t keep their attention for very long -- all seemed kinda bored and one had to be taken out by a disappointed parent. That child preferred counting the seats although she couldn't count beyond 100 so she was a little restricted.

But I was stricken by the brilliance of the cycles and balances of nature, and to the great goodness of God in mix as I had anticipated. I probably wouldn’t buy it, but I definitely am glad I saw it.

The Addition of Ads

I'm certain some of you have noticed the ads beside my blog for sexy wallpaper and tattoos here in the Salt Lake area. Rest assured that I'm not promoting either. I simply clicked the adsense icon and said "yes" and that's what I got. I'm also sure that if I earn a quarter off the whole deal, I'll be lucky, but give me some time to figure this out. Who knows? Maybe it'll be enough to share with all of you? Actually, I've noticed that the ads sort of coincide with my topics. For example, my blog on insomnia had about five sleep clinics listed at the side. I'm thinking that there must be some odd little program in some great computer in the sky that scans for words in the blog. Perhaps if I mention that I might kill someone for some reason, ads for gun stores or at best, pawn shops will appear. Maybe today? Check. I'll report how much I make.

There Will Be Hell to Pay

My dad's house was built upon about 3-1/2 acres in the Edgemont area of Provo, Utah that had been an old cherry orchard. The neighbors would complain from time to time because of the garbage that would accumulate around the perimeter of the orchard along the irrigation ditches. Dad would be annoyed, understandably, because at least some of the garbage would have belonged, originally, to those very neighbors.

Dad showed them all. One day, he solved the problem for everyone by setting fire to the whole field. Sometimes a scorched earth policy speaks better for a man than all the signs and shouted epithets ever could. The complaining stopped. I don't know why the police didn't show up. Maybe it was different times, different reactions.

Believe it or not, it was really a blast being raised by the volatile Ben Cannon. You never quite knew what was next. I do miss the old Silver Fox. He made me what I am today.