Hot Fun in the Summertime

Mount Timpanogos

We had a busy summer filled with short outings, family get-togethers, as well as working around the house, and on his beloved hot rod.  David worked through a lot of depression this summer, but he did a great job of keeping it together especially when we went to family events.


The problem: Toward the end of June, when he was on his way to work at 6:00 a.m., he swerved in front of a highway patrolman. We don't know if he was momentarily distracted or hit something in the road. The patrolman pulled him over, called in five (5!) other troopers, and had him do a field sobriety test (even though there was no evidence of alcohol on him or in the car). He failed the test because his knees are so bad he isn't able to walk in a straight line. But he did volunteer to a blood test. Then, when they looked in the car they found a small bottle with a few of his prescription meds. He has a hard time pronouncing the names under the best of circumstances, and since he was talking slowly and slurring his words a little (he does that when he's extra stressed), they accused him of being in possession of controlled substances. David told them he was bipolar and what the medications were for, but that didn't stop them from handcuffing him and taking him to the highway patrol headquarters for three (3!) hours. Eventually they took him to the county jail where the intake officer (who knows him from the gym) helped get him released in as short a time as possible. Oh, and our car was towed and impounded, which cost us a bundle of money. Fortunately he was able to get his drivers license back without any problem, and they have yet to file a complaint. But it has been hanging over our heads, wondering what is going to happen with this episode.
     David was so good during the episode and cooperated with the patrolmen, but it took a real toll on his emotional health. "I didn't even swear!" he said. He knew he had to stay calm to keep the situation from escalating. The aftermath, though, was a deep depression because he was afraid to take more than the bare minimum of his medicine.
     Am I mad? Oh, yes! Even though he wasn't "acting out," they made no effort to take his bipolar into consideration. David managed to stay calm and in control of himself, with no thanks to the patrolmen. But so often with this disorder, that doesn't happen and tragedy results. I told the local NAMI chapter about what happened; they were sympathetic, but there wasn't much they could do except refer me to a lawyer in case we need it. This episode is exactly why more highway patrolmen, police officers, and other public servants need to know how to interact with those who have mental health issues and take the crisis intervention team training. I don't care if it costs the department extra money; field officers need to know how to help the people they come in contact with, including those with mental illness. Sometimes when I think about this experience I shudder to think about how easily it could have turned bad.

David has also had severe knee problems, and his hands have been hurting badly. I'm sure his part-time job aggravates the problems he's having. He went to the dr. and found that he has arthritis in both of his knees and carpal tunnel in both of his wrists. The dr. gave him some cortisone shots in both areas, and while it has helped, he still hurts.


What helped: He had a check-up with his dr., who made it clear he needed to take all of his medicine, including zyprexa, lithium, and his sleeping medicine temazepam. Since then, he's slowly coming out of the depression. Another thing that helped was a visit with some friends from our ward who let him know they understand and care about him. They also left him with a priesthood blessing. It was just what he needed to give him extra strength to fight this disorder. After that, David made the deliberate decision to go to family, ward, and work parties and to socialize as much as he was able. I admire his determination.

Summer highlights: One of the highlights was a weekend trip to Manti, Utah for my nephew's wedding at the end of July. We decided to make a weekend of it, and enjoyed the drive there that took us through mountainous and rural countryside. We found the last available motel room in town, which happily coincided with being the same one my sister and her family were at. It had originally been a small apartment, separate from the rest of the motel, and still had the feel of being from an earlier era; we loved the solitude of it. The wedding was beautiful, and the officiator gave the bridal couple some great counsel about the importance of working together.

Even though I was limping badly (the week before this trip I had jumped into the shallow end of a pool with too much enthusiasm, and severely bruised my heel), we had a good time exploring Main Street and its local vendors. One of our finds was a small restaurant that featured an in-store bakery as well as ice cream treats. The pastries were melt-in-the-mouth fresh. And so good we decided we'll take another trip there just for the donuts. David does so much better in a small town atmosphere that I wish we could move to one for his sake. We liked the area, and he kept saying, "Can we move here?" On the way home we took a back road through the mountains and enjoyed the vista.

We also had several family get-togethers, went to a family reunion, ward campout, and a (partial) family campout. While he enjoyed these experiences, he didn't really get the full measure of fun and satisfaction from them. We're hoping he has turned the corner from this latest round of depression.

Mount Timp

Currant Creek Reservoir

Currant Creek

Grandchildren

Manti, Utah

Manti Temple

Manti Temple at night

Looking Back, Looking Forward

A few weeks ago we took two of our grandchildren on an overnight fishing trip to Lost Creek Reservoir, a favorite place when our children were young. When the reservoir was drained and strengthened a number of years ago, they did away with overnight camping and campfires. It was the end of an era for our family. However, below the dam is a campground that is still open, even though fires are prohibited. We were delighted to discover that we had the whole campground to ourselves.

When we walked around the campground, I thought of past camping trips to the area. One episode that happened before David was diagnosed stood out in my memory. There had been a family reunion scheduled nearby, and at the last minute David had a major anxiety attack and refused to go. I was not going to miss out on the chance to visit with my family members, so I repacked my car (instead of the truck and camper we were going to use), gathered up my four children who were going, and left David at home for the weekend. I have to admit it was a frightening thing to do, I'm grateful David was more or less OK when we came home, and I'm glad I went. After the reunion (and a good cry when everyone else had gone home), we decided we wanted to camp out another night and ended up at Lost Creek. That's when we discovered the reservoir had been drained. It was only a marginally successful experience because I was so worried about David's state of mind and didn't know what to do.

Fast forward more than ten years later. The reservoir is clean, quiet, and restored to its former beauty. David has accepted his diagnosis, adjusted to his medicine, and courageously and valiantly learned how to control his disorder. The four children I had with me that day are now married with families of their own.

I keep thinking about this episode because so often when we are in the middle of a trial, we wonder if it will ever end, and we expect the worst. But if we will keep doing our best and take it one day at a time, things work out. And often, it turns out that our darkest fears never materialize. For instance, a friend commented recently about the fears we faced as a society during the Cold War when bomb shelters were being built and we had drills in school about what to do if there was a nuclear blast. Happily, much of the hysteria of the time has ended, and although the theme of fear still exists in different ways, I believe that we will find our fears to be groundless even though it doesn't seem so right now.

When I find myself starting to fret and worry about David, family, society, the government, etc., I need to remember that there really is a loving Father who sees the beginning from the end and who will guide us if we let Him.

Faith of My Fathers

Last weekend we spent the day at Bear Lake helping to launch Katie and Kevin and his parents' new boat. We enjoyed the company, the boat, and the lake. Bear Lake County, Idaho, is where some of my ancestors settled in the 1860s. I thought of them as we played.

My grandmother's parents were Mormon emigrants who came from Switzerland. They left everything they had for their beliefs. Her father died when she was very young, leaving her mother to raise the family alone. She endured a great many trials, including the death of two of her children, but she found solace by serving in the temple. I admire her faithfulness even during heartbreaking trials.


My grandfather's parents were Danish emigrants who came to the area after crossing the plains as part of the Mormon exodus.  My great-grandmother was 16 years old when she crossed the plains and left us a detailed account of her experience. One of my favorite stories was about a prairie fire that came close to the wagon train. She wrote that they offered a prayer, and then unyoked the oxen and drove them in the opposite direction so they wouldn't stampede, then the leader of the pioneer company stood on a wagon tongue and said, "We are not here to be destroyed." He pointed to a small cloud not much bigger than a man's hand and said, "there is our deliverance." She said, "At that same moment there was a terrific peal of thunder and flash of lightning, and rain poured down. We thanked the Lord for our deliverance, and went on our way rejoicing." 

They knew they were being watched over and protected, and so often I have felt that same loving watchcare.

Recently words from her journal were quoted on "Music and the Spoken Word" where she described the journey: "Every day was about the same, only the farther we got, the more rough and rocky the road seemed to be. Sometimes we would find some old Indian sandals and tied them under our shoes to ease our feet a little. Sometimes we would sing a verse or two of "Come, Come Ye Saints."
I appreciate the reminder that though "rough and rocky the road," strength and comfort will come.

I love the words to the hymn:
"Why should we mourn or think our lot is hard?
Tis not so, all is right.
Why should we think to earn a great reward,
If we now shun the fight?
Gird up your loins; fresh courage take;
Our God will never us forsake,
And soon we'll have this tale to tell,
All is well! All is well!"

Because of its high elevation the winters are long and cold. During the first winter the settlers nearly starved, and many left. My great-grandfather chose to stay and help build the community. I appreciate his perseverance and the sacrifices he made to raise his family in that  beautiful mountain valley.

Granddaughter Jenna 

David and Jon

David and I 

Katie's family

Granddaughter Sierra

Jon's family

Taking Some R&R

Sometimes when I start to feel stressed, the words to a poem by William Wordsworth come to mind:
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

Earlier this week I had the privilege of going with the managing editor to a meeting with the magazine's General Authority advisor, Elder Kikuchi. A very kind and intelligent man, he gave us great direction and counsel for the magazine. Then he said, "I think we hurry too much, and it isn't good for us. Take the time to slow down, appreciate nature more, and meditate." It was a good reminder.

We have had a busy summer so far, with David adjusting to working part-time and fussing with his beloved hot rod.

Helping David with his hot rod

And I have been busy with work, cub scouts (so much fun!), and working on various and sundry projects, including some more knitting, and planting a garden. We also had great visits with my sisters and a niece, and with my nephew. When my sisters were here over Memorial Day weekend we met up and reconnected with one of our cousins, and also went to a "Music and the Spoken Word" broadcast.

At the Tabernacle on Temple Square

We took our annual visit to the red rock country of central and southern Utah the weekend before Memorial Day. We went to the San Rafael Swell and enjoyed spectacular scenery. The weather had been cool and wet all through the spring, but the desert was just right, even with a few rain showers thrown in for good measure. We hiked, relaxed, and thought of those people who had lived in the area centuries before. 

The rain showers refreshed the land and brought the flowers into bloom. 

And so it is with us. We need both sunshine and rain in our lives in order to grow and flourish.

Trips to the desert always puts life into perspective for me.

Calf Canyon

Petroglyphs at Buckhorn Wash

The Wedge overlooking the San Rafael River also known as the Little Grand Canyon

Sunset in the San Rafael Swell

After the rain

Desert flowers after a rain

Reconnecting with My Mother

Mothers Day is always a bittersweet day for me, with tender memories of my mother coming to the surface. This year my sister's comment about our mom's hamburger patties that resembled "hockey pucks" brought back happy memories of long-forgotten family dinners and made me laugh. For some reason, none of her daughters can cook decent hamburger patties, either. We think it's genetic.

My mother died unexpectedly of a stroke when she was 53 years old and just starting to experience an empty nest. I was 21, engaged to be married, and figuring out my life away from her. Although deeply saddened by the loss, I didn’t take much time to mourn, and went on with my activities, including marriage a few months later. I became a mother myself within a year of her passing.

My daughter was born on the third anniversary of her death, and oh, how I wanted my mother then! I slipped into post-partum depression, complicated by unresolved grief and other factors. I eventually recovered from the depression but was not able to talk much about her for another 15 years.

The years flew by filled with life’s unexpected twists and turns and the joys and sorrows of raising children. Often, when perplexed by my children’s behavior, I pondered the question, “What would Mom do or say?” I tried to follow her example in raising my children and missed not having her here to enjoy her grandchildren. She would be so proud of them!

Then I found some long-forgotten letters that she wrote to me when I was in college. When I held the creased letters with fading ink, written in my mother’s familiar, difficult-to-decipher writing, I felt warmed by memories of a home long gone. I pictured her sitting at a table, writing letters on whatever paper was available. I could even hear her voice in my mind. I read them through and enjoyed remembering the carefree, exciting time when I first left home.

I am now a few years older than she was when she wrote them, but I face some of the same challenges. Even though I want my children to progress, sometimes it's difficult seeing them move in different directions. She also had trouble dealing with an emptying nest: “We missed you on Thanksgiving. It’s the first Thanksgiving you have not been home. It’s hard to see the family pulling apart; not being able to spend holidays together. I hope you won’t get too homesick.”

There’s something about the motherhood role that makes us want to give advice to our children, and she was no exception. I appreciate now her gentle reminders, and her wish to have me at home with her:

“Please take care of yourself and don’t get run down. Get plenty of rest.”

“Be sure to budget the money you earn so that you will have enough to pay your bills at the end of the month. It is so easy to spend as you make it.”

“When will you be coming home? I did 14 pints of peaches for you, and froze 20 pints for us. Otherwise, life is dull, but we keep busy.”

All through the letters are expressions of love and confidence: “We are all looking forward to your summer at home as we love you and miss you very much. I’m so glad you enjoy your school and have learned so much about being independent, and taking care of yourself. We are proud of you.”

She frequently asked about the well-being of my roommates and friends, and her spirit shines through in this warm welcome to a friend:

“It was so good to talk with you again. We get lonely, but that is okay; then we appreciate everyone more. Your friend is welcome for Thanksgiving. We’ll borrow some cots from the neighbors so no one need sleep on the floor.”

Some of my favorite letters are descriptions of what she saw around her: “February 2. We have had two weeks of beautiful sunshine. Every weekend we have noisy snowmobiles running up and down the lake in front of our house. So we have driven to Riggins (on the Salmon River) for the last two Saturdays. Mild and warm down there; buttercups out all over the place.”

She also liked following current events, and one of the last letters she wrote was on Election Day 1976, just two months before she died: “Did you vote today? By the time you get this all the hullabaloo will be over, and we will settle down into what? Who knows?”

Finding these letters was better than finding treasure. I miss my mother and probably always will, but now I feel reconnected to her. I am healed.