Homemade bread and butter

I was searching through my utensil drawers for a bread knife--the serrated edged one that can cut through fresh, homemade bread. For a moment, I wondered if I still had one. There it was in the back of the drawer. Wow! A long time since I've made homemade bread I thought. I told the kids the bread had just come out of the oven if they wanted some. They came running and jumped up on the bar stools in time to watch me slice through it. They oohed and aahed over steam pouring out after each cut into the bread. While I spread the butter and watched it melt they wanted to know who was going to get a slice first.

I smiled and looked up at their eager faces. The memory catapulted me back to a time and place when I remember my mom baking fresh bread. She would do it all of the time. It was usually wheat bread and we loved it when Mom called and told us the bread was ready. It would be good later, but it was never as good as when it came out of the oven. We could only hope she would have her homemade jam to go with it.

The memories warmed my heart and made me grateful for memories. They are precious little time capsules held somewhere in the chasm of our brains; releasing the emotions and feelings of that one moment in time we recall. I think as I grow older, the good memories are enhanced as I cherish more the things I took for granted and assumed were just a part of everyday life. Now today, in the present, they are anchors rooting me to my origins and reminding me of the small, but important things in life.

Madison had butter all over her face; Porter was eating every bite; and Lane carefully removed the crust from his bread. I wondered if some day at some time they would be eating homemade bread and then would think of me. What little time capsule memories was I putting together today to be released at some other time? What precious gems they are; and what short time we have. It was just bread, and it was just butter; but 30 years later I can still feel the warmth of Mom's bread fresh out of the oven.

This thing called life

I feel the need to write, yet I don't have anything specific to write about. Writing helps me make sense of everything and get through life. It is how I can express in words the emotions I have such a hard time expressing in real life.

It's hard to make sense of life. When you're young, adults are always giving you advice and telling you the best way to go and how to do it. Adults make life look easy. Now that I'm an adult, I think kids make life look easy. So much has changed in my lifetime. I can't imagine how folks that are much older than me must feel.

Here I am, 5 o'clock in the morning, typing in the dark because my babies are asleep and I can't turn on a light in this studio apartment. I usually wake up at 4, so it's like I've slept in! This chapter in my life has been an adventure, that's for sure. I look back at the successes in my life and remember really feeling proud of myself for getting to the top of the mountain. I remember moments of feeling like I was at the end of the road. All I had to do now was enjoy the ride. I remember feeling content because I had my little family and everything--several times--seemed to be heading in the right direction.

Then, in just the last 18 months, my income has dwindled, I don't live in a house anymore, I'm divorced, I hardly see my kids, the prospect of being a stay-at-home mom has slipped through the cracks, I've had to think about dating, (think being the operative word) and although I liked to claim responsibility for my success, I really want to find someone to blame for my circumstances. Because, surely it cannot be me. Lol.

This morning on FB, a friend posted about her sister who had committed suicide a year ago today. She didn't hesitate to step in and take over the responsibility of an 8 year old nephew. She's only 21. A high school friend posted being grateful her daughter survived a rare disease. I'm so happy for her! It's the same one that took the life of my niece a little over a year ago. I'm approaching the anniversary date of my friend who took his life last year. Christmas for the past 12 years has been a sad reminder of my cousin who passed away a week before Christmas. I went to his daughter's wedding earlier this summer.

Death, the economy, politics, lack of spirituality, drugs, promiscuity, disease, breaking up of family values, poor health--all have touched everyone in some way. So many people are suffering, yet so many people are also surviving. The Bible talks about the wheat being separated from the tares. I always imagined the wheat "people" prospering and living the good life without pain or suffering and blessed for their righteousness. I imagined the tares wallowing in self-misery, having nothing, penniless and lonely. Righteous choices really have nothing to do with it. Adversity is really a blessing, not a curse.

The faces of the people around us, mask so much. Sometimes for good. Some of the happiest people I know have harbored the biggest tragedies. Some people I know who give and serve and sacrifice have the most horrific health problems. Although money does buy a lot of comfort and material things, it's not the source of happiness.

So many people have reached out to me without me even asking for it! Without my current struggles, I would have never been able to get a glimpse at the personal strength and kindness these people possess. I have touched a vein of humility in myself that I did not know existed. I know some of you who have helped me are reading this and you don't even realize you've helped me. It's a smile, a quick email, a listening ear, words of advice, or a simple cheering me on. I feel so much love and I feel the prayers said on my behalf. So many small things that keep me going. You may not see yourself as my hero, but I do. Keep it up! Not just with me, but with everyone. Small acts of kindness make everlasting ripples in an ocean. Your acts have inspired me to be more aware of people around me who need a ray of sunshine in their life.

In all of this turmoil in my life, I feel as if things in my life are like the wheat being separated from the tares. I see goodness in things I would have never recognized before. I feel love from people that have been distance friends. I'm being blessed in ways I never would have, had I not experienced pain and suffering. Don't get me wrong, my problems are miniscule in comparison to the problems that others face especially with health or death.

Life is a mess. Life is a miracle. Life is the best thing that could ever happen, and the worst. Life is hard, but parts of it are easy. Life is a gift that can be taken back. Life doesn't make sense, but at some moments things are crystal clear. Life can't be lived alone. We need each other too much. Life is light...and dark. I have fewer answers at 42 then I ever did at 14. My answers can't keep up with the questions. We just keep living one day at a time until there are no more days left. You have to find the inner peace that calms the outer storm. I just hope by the time it's all over, I can look back and feel good about my life. And, know that I was taught important lessons and reached out to others.

Live well. Life is good.

A Great Full Turkey

I am the person that goes when you say stop; stands when everyone else sits; laughs when everyone cries--okay not really on the last one--except for once in awhile. I tend to go against the grain. I'm not sure if it stubbornness or an inherited handicap.

I have never been a fan of holidays, or birthdays, or any other reason to be silly. I hate dressing up for Halloween. I really used to hate Christmas, it was way too depressing. Can't stand New Year's Eve because I don't like to stay up late. Besides, how stupid is it to stay up until you really tired, and then scream and yell at the very moment the clock strikes 12? It's not 12 everywhere so everyone is doing it at different times. And what's with the kiss a stranger at midnight? I don't need a holiday to do that. Did it for $50 bucks in college, but I don't like to talk about it.

Never celebrated Fourth of July because I spent my childhood working at Taco Bell since that was the busiest weekend of the entire year. Granted, having children has made holidays a lot more fun, but that's because it's about them not me.

On my birthday this year--okay every year--I never tell anyone it's my birthday. It's makes me uncomfortable. I'm planning on working the entire week of Christmas and on Christmas this year. I formally declined attending the work Christmas party. I hate spending money on frivolous things, i.e. gifts. I have refused to celebrate my best friend's birthday on her birthday because she was born on Christmas. I usually try to do something in November and even once planned a surprise party for her in November. Boy was she surprised--a month early. When New Year's comes around, I refuse to do New Year's Resolutions. I just know that if I make them because it's the beginning of the year they are going to be over in a month anyway. If I have goals, I do them whenever I want not because it's that time of the year.

If I ever wonder why I don't have a lot of friends, this little blog entry may explain it. I can be a grumpy grinch sometimes. And here we are with Thanksgiving. Everyone is doing their 30 days of thanks. Trust me, I am not knocking it. In fact, I am jealous of people who can get excited about traditions. I love that people choose a non-materialistic way to show gratitude. I know gratitude makes us happy. I am very grateful, but I don't want to use November as an excuse to say so.

I would be very ungrateful if I didn't stand before you and.... (Sorry, had to throw that in--really bad Mormon joke.) See, I can't even get serious about this stuff. Strip away my pride and bravado and I really do have to say I have come to know that I am really blessed lately. And, I am thankful for so many things that have come my way during a time of struggle for me. I just want to be clear for the record, that my thanks giving has NOTHING to do with Thanksgiving. I would not want anyone to get the wrong idea that I might be celebrating a holiday.

Gratitude makes me happy. I have had so many small miracles lately, my mind is filled with thankfulness. Many have been monetary, several have been spiritual, mental clarity, and others are simply good health and time to be with my children. I don't know why, but this past month money has almost been thrown at me. Not alot, but still a wonderful supplement to aid in my expenses. Here's my list of just some things: Overtime at work for almost a month now. (That's rare.) Walmart gift card, free movie tickets, $50 Chili's gift card, $25 Olive Garden gift card, $20 in the mail, dozens of emails from people responding to my blog or just taking time to comment or support me.

(By the way my love language is verbal and if you have ever commented or privately emailed me, I guarantee I have read what you wrote at least three times. It warms my heart and makes me smile for hours to hear words of kindness written to me.) I've had clarity and focus and direction like never before. I feel energized and guided. I even talk to dead people. (That's really true, but it only happened once last week and I don't like to talk about it.)

I think a lot of my turning the corner had to do with meeting the window washer in the parking lot. It was a big eye-opener to how blessed I am. It also made me fully appreciate looking at the glass half full. Reality is how we perceive it. I am very thankful this month--and I will be very thankful in February too. Which by the way, I have no intentions of celebrating Valentine's Day.

Virtual Navajo Taco Fundraiser

One of my most memorial events growing up in Page was the fact that whenever someone was in need for medical, funerals, or some important need for funds the community would host a Navajo Taco dinner. Religion, race, and economic status never drew a line. Of course, everyone loves a good Navajo Taco but the majority of the people would go to support whatever cause was in need.

Most of us have grown up and moved away from Page, but through the miracle of Facebook we are all connected in each other’s lives. I have a friend and her 17 year old son was in a horrific accident 3 weeks ago. There is longtime physical and psychological healing in the years ahead.  Fortunately, he survived, but has huge medical bills as a result. If we were in Page, there would definitely be a call for a Navajo Taco fundraiser. I propose a virtual Navajo Taco dinner to bring the “community” together to help her out.

If anyone can participate, her family could use donations to help with the mounting costs as a result of the accident. She was a longtime resident of Page and worked several years at the Lake Powell Chronicle. A bright and cheerful woman she is always kind and compassionate. She has given regularly to those around her and needs to be on the receiving end this time. I am going to donate and then make Navajo Tacos for my family. 

Any donation would help. If every person I have as a facebook friend donated just one dollar, it would be a contribution of $400. Donations can be made at any Wellsfargo bank under the "For the Benefit of Jonah Lyons & Family" fund. Thank you for taking a few minutes and few dollars to help. One person’s donation of $5 won’t be enough by itself, but if we pool our dollars together it will make a big impact.

P.S. Please share this on your facebook as we do not all have the same associations with everyone on our facebook page. I know a lot of people have friends from Page that are not on my page. If you have a  blog or some other social media please share it there too. Also, you don’t have to be from Page to donate. You are welcome to participate in a great tradition from out little town in Arizona.

I Time Travel

I prepared my voting information several weeks ago by going online. I printed out my official polling location and my personal information including the option to have a barcode for the ease of the poll workers to quickly pull up my info. At least that's what the website touted. (In actuality they didn't even look at the paper.) I also printed a google map on the backside of my paper so that I would know directly where to go, whilst minimizing the excessive paper.

I marked it in my paper calendar book, not my phone calendar. Typically my phone and book coincide. I had also included the actual perforated stub from my initial voter registration. Tucked it all away in the back of the junk drawer.

Fast forward, I plucked it from the back of the drawer as I headed out the door to go and vote today. I became rather impressed with my little arrangement and pleasantly surprised that there was a map on the back of it. The barcode was the icing on the cake. What a prepared little voter I was.

Then it struck me--the reason I was so impressed was because I don't remember doing all of that. I mean, it did come back to me as I retrieved it so I haven't completely lost it.

I wonder if in the future I do become a time traveler. If I was able to time travel I would come back to the years before I discovered I could time travel and do nice little things for myself--like get a nifty personalized voter package together. Then I would secretly laugh at myself when I tried to remember doing all of that, but could not.

Hallowed Weenies

Aah the joys of joint custody and split holidays. Halloween came and I was up to bat! (no pun intended. Although when people say that, I think they really do intend to pun.) I digress.

Took the little munsters out to walk the neighborhood around Grandma (Smiths) house so that we would conveniently end up back at her place where I would drop them off, riled up, and with loads of candy so she could put them to bed. (Here's my wicked evil witch laugh coming out--tis the season!) Like aforementioned...the JOYS of joint custody.

Twinners were terrified of anything spooky. Still think they were traumatized by Spooktacular Haunted House. Lane was chillin' and would walk up to a door by himself if they thought the house was too scary. One house was so scary they actually wouldn't cross the street. They sat in the lawn across the street and watched Lane walk up to the house by himself. When he came back alive, they asked him what happened. He said, "I just walked up to the stairs and a girl put candy in my bag."

One house put on a mini-fright show. It was cool. They dressed up like Indiana Jones and played footage like the Blair Witch Project on their television screen in the front yard. They had a storyline that included catching a big monster man-eating gorilla. Towards the end the explorer would rip off the drapes of a big cage to expose the monster to the crowd. When the cage was empty, he yelled, "He's escaped! No one is safe." Suddenly from across the street a monster would come running  behind the crowd and scare the Halloween candy right out of their bags. Everyone would be screaming--then laughing. They were so into the show, they didn't even see it coming.

I wanted to watch it really bad and so did Lane. Twin One and Twin Two were terrified. I watched it with Lane on my shoulders; Madi's face buried on one side and Porter's on the other. They were still whimpering and crying without even watching. At one point they ran behind the truck we were standing next too and sat on the bumper huddled next to each other. They had their hands over their ears and their eyes closed.

They tired easily and didn't take long to get loads of candy. I'm still confused about this holiday. You have to buy bags of candy to give out to other kids and then your kids go and collect candy from other people while they are pretending to be something they are not. Then, you spend the next week LETTING them eat candy so you can get rid of all of it. I think I'm going to donate a few bags to Santa--another cavity promoting holiday.

It was fun though to see them enjoy the rituals of childhood. They talked about getting too old to go trick-or-treating and how fun it would be to just stay home and give candy out to little kids. I didn't add, "Or big, ungrateful kids shamelessly pilfering for candy while they push small children aside." For a moment, I thought it would be nice not to have to navigate through the neighborhood teaching your kids to be beggars. But then I reminded myself that the golden years of mothering young children was a fleeting moment and I should savor every minute of it. Me, Captain America, a Ladybug, and Ben 10 Alien Spider Monkey walked down the street holding hands. Skip the chocolate, that was all the sweetness I needed for the night.

Going to the chapel

[continued from previous post 'Socially Anxious']


Going to a new church was definitely not my idea of fun, but I needed to do it. Without a doubt, I don’t think I would ever make myself go if I didn’t think it was important for my children. I explained to the kids we weren’t going to be going to Grandma’s church anymore. We were going to have our own church where we didn’t know anyone. It was going to be so exciting because all of the other kids had been there for a while and they were going to be new so everyone would want to know who they were.

Porter wanted to know if they would sing the “Welcome” song they always sing to new people when they come. That really tickled him. I told them the building was going to be new to us, so we would be going on an adventure to find our way around and figure out where we were supposed to go. Oddly, they were quite thrilled by this new adventure and thought it would be cool to have our own ward.

I approached the church Sunday morning and had my three little ducks following behind me. I think I did such a good job of convincing them how much fun it was, I erased my own fears. Not completely of course.  I was talking out loud when we walked in saying, “I’m not sure where to go.” Porter piped in, “Just ask someone. Everyone is nice.” I love my kids. They are so much more stable and social and unafraid then I am. I think that most of the time they are the teacher and I am the student.

I made it through. Several people really reached out to me and made me feel really comfortable. It is a very humble ward, unlike the affluent ward we came from. Neither good or bad, just different. No manicured nails; and not one fancy department store dress;  no trendy or modern hairdos (perms are back in style—or never went out in this ward); The ward is very poor and had to cancel an activity due to lack of funds. Each ward has to live off of their own tithing and fast offerings. Strange how one ward can have so much affluence for their kids and activities while another struggles. Don’t get me wrong or misunderstand at all; the affluent ward is filled with giving people who are ready to serve and are righteous.

This ward is humble and full of heart. You can feel that. I think I am going to live. I was asked to sing in the choir. I laughed and said that’s impossible. I can’t sing. I’m tone deaf and have holes in each eardrum. The dear sister insisted she could help me sing. I don’t know, I would hate to disappoint her. Big sigh of relief! I made it. I might be able to do it again. It’s good to know that I can get better. That’s one of the best things about being human. Having self-awareness to change and improve.

Like Mary Tyler Moore, “I think I’m going to make it after all.” (As a bonus, I am the prettiest girl in Relief Society and kind of thinking about joining the choir.)