My Mom

Inspired by someone else’s letter, I want my mom to know how I see her.

Mom

You were born right at the end of World War II. It was a big deal. Your dad, thanks to good and bad things happening to him, had made it home alive, unlike so many others. Your mom had to grow up fast. She cared for your brothers on her own. She had family, but it was mixed up, and her husband was far away. 

When your dad got home, I’m sure it was interesting patching back together, but along came baby Betty Jean, and the family gathered around her. Oklahoma was historically a rough place to live, so you left and moved to Arizona. Haha! 

You have often spoken of your lovely childhood in the small town of Chandler, where you could run to the corner store or the movies, or maybe ride your bike. You had birthday parties and roller skates and parents and 2 big brothers who loved you. As they moved on, you grew into your own self, dancing and teaching others to dance, learning to sew like your mother, playing the piano, smart and quick! You were the Pom captain, a pretty girl with no idea that she could have been a mean girl. I’ve met many of the people you grew up with and “sweet” is always one of the adjectives they use. From knowing you myself, I know that humble is another one.

I wonder if you even remember the first time you met dad. You grew up together. He went away to school, but came home to you. 

You saw the times a-changing, desegregation, peace and love culture, the women’s movement. You climbed on board in your own way! You and dad were part of Young Republicans, but you also religiously planted a garden, tried your hand at homemade bread, yogurt, cheese, fruit leather, jerky, the list could go on. You were earthing before you knew it was called that. I should never wonder how I became this mix of standards that I have. From you, I learned to decide for myself what I believed, not just follow the group.

Then you and dad went off to school and a life of your own. You had 2 little baby boys in Tucson before coming home to Chandler. You loved college, but you always put yourself second and went home when you were needed.

You found that you were really good at this motherhood thing, and along cake 4 girls, 2 more boys, another girl, and 1 more little boy. But you didn’t lose yourself in that identity. While taking littles to piano lessons, baseball games, gymnastics, geography bees, scouts, and mutual, you somehow managed to serve on many political campaigns and even ran your own. Betty Bogle for School board! You saw a need and jumped right in to fill it! All the while, continuing to build and foster relationships with God, serving in the church and setting an example with your prayers and studies. The Primary was never so lucky as when you were leading it, whether it was your children filling the seats or your grandchildren! Those of us on the sidelines knew you listened and followed the Spirit in all you did.

Although you probably felt too young to be a grandmother, you made the transition beautifully, adding more children to your heart. They loved you right back! When my my children are asked about their hero, their easy answer is “my Nana B”! Whether inviting them into your home or loving them from afar, they always felt your love. And the activities continued, baseball games, recitals, birthday shopping trips and parties, babysitting so parents could take a break or go to school or support their families. Gathering eggs, mowing the lawn, walking to the park, planting flowers and veggies, pulling weeds, making cookies, sing alongs, dance offs, nights around the fire pit all with Nana B. Woman of the year! Not just in our hearts and minds, the town also took note and honored your achievements.

And you were called to put yourself second again. Dad had one stroke after another and was unable to leave his bed on his own. You reigned in your activities and cared for him with patience and perseverance. Although making dad’s meals was not new to you, seeing your robust husband wither away was. 

You went from cycling together through the San Juan Islands to a quiet cruise to Hawaii to sitting by his bedside, reading his beloved Louis L’amour aloud. You read him his scriptures and clipped his toenails. You cared for him in the ways only a nurse should and only a wife can. You became a nurse in your home. Also, cook, cleaner, physical therapist, advocate, financial planner, entertainer, taxi driver, care taker. And through it all, you still made time for your children and grandchildren. The home you had built together became Grand Central Station, Madison Square Garden, and the Grand Ole Opry. 

When dad passed, your target returned to its previous target. You had spent all of your life serving others to serve the Lord, and now you could live your dream of serving a mission. Making sure that your family was taken care of, you put everything in order. You continue to care for, show love for, and set an example for your family as you serve the Lord. 

Thank you for being an amazing example to me, a goal to reach for, and a true friend.

I’m not that kind of a girl.

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My gift

I was about to make a really long post on Instagram, and I thought to myself, this feels like a journal entry… And then I remembered I have a blog. That I haven’t written in a really long time. So, here I am.

OK little backstory, a long time ago,I read the book Magnificent Obsession, so I don’t usually like to talk about my good deeds. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, you should read the book. It’s good. But this felt worth telling.

More recent backstory... let’s actually make a list...

1. My daughter got engaged.

2. She decided to get married next April.

3. The week of Thanksgiving, she decided to get married in January instead.

4. She had all sorts of reasons for why this was a good thing.

5. Romaine lettuce was recalled.

6. Thanksgiving.

7. I felt like I haven’t eaten very much green food lately.

Which brings me back to my story. I went to Costco to price meats and cheeses, and fruit and veg for the wedding. I also needed to check on flowers. It was 12:30, so I got a hotdog and a diet Pepsi.(this is not the blog where I complain about Costco switching from Coke to Pepsi.) I realized this was a crappy lunch, but time, stress, time… This was lunch. 

I completed my shopping trip a little ahead of schedule, so I decided there was time for a quick trip to Salad and Go. Their Greek salad is my absolute favorite! I had a little conversation with myself in my head justifying buying two lunches. The Costco hotdog was cheap, and I wouldn’t put chicken on the Greek salad.

As I sat in line, I thought to myself, maybe I should buy two salads, one with the dressing on the side to have for lunch tomorrow. I also questioned if I was gonna want Greek salad 2 days in a row, but this is Salad and Go, and their Greek salad is fab!

I got my two salads and headed home. Exiting the freeway, I saw an older homeless man standing by the exit obviously panhandling. I thought about my lack of cash, the .36¢ in my ashtray, and my extra salad. Suddenly, I realized, the extra salad was for him.

I called to him, asked if he was interested, and he responded. When I handed him the salad, he commented that it looked like a really good salad. Haha! 

I turned the corner and felt a deep impression that I had been somebody’s angel right then. I was overwhelmed with gratitude that in the midst of the chaos of the holidays (which I love!) and the stress of six weeks to create a wedding, my Father in Heaven had sent me a little gift. Tears lept to my eyes.

What a wonderful world!

Merry Christmas!

Anticipation

I wanted to write another blog about love and loving each other, and can’t we all just get along? Citing Abraham Lincoln, “with malice toward none, and Charity for all.” But, what hasn’t been said already? And, it doesn’t seem to make any difference.

Instead, I’m going to talk about preparation. Today is my oldest daughter’s birthday, and as I have been preparing, I realized it made me happy! I thought of a magnificent example of Spanglish from my 7^th grade Spanish class. (Thanks Mr. Randall!) Unfortunately, the author is unknown to me, but the refrain remains, with the cadence recognizable.

            ‘Twas la noche before Christmas and all through the casa,

            Mama, she was busy preparing the masa,

            To make the tamales for the tamaladas

            And all the ingredients for the enchiladas.

Whether in Spanglish, or the original Clement C. Moore version, the sentiment is the same. Getting ready for the big day is just about as good as the actual event. Anticipation is amazing!

My very favorite season is fall, not because of Halloween and pumpkin spice (although those things are great!) But because of what is coming…Thanksgiving, Christmas, family, peace, love, charity, Jesus, Winter wonderlands (a car ride away). You might think to yourself, “It sounds like your favorite season is Winter.” But no! It’s the build up! The crisp mornings and warm, breezy afternoons! The end of Summer, the countdown to the holidays! The magic of children trying to make it onto the Good List!

It’s all about the preparation! Whether for a birthday, the holidays, a wedding (this may be different for the actual bride and groom), the activity of preparation brings people together in wonderful ways! Making goodies, planning events, sure some stress can be involved, but even that sense of urgency adds to the excitement!

One of these glorious Autumn days that brings me personal joy is Black Friday. I can see you all rolling your eyes right now (all except for my sister Elise, her eyes lit up!) But seriously! I love that! I remember the days fondly when it started at 6am. It was one of the few things that could drag me out of bed in the dark without a cranky word! I concede, I wish they would leave Thanksgiving Day out of it. (It’s called Black FRIDAY people!) But the crowds and the lines and the early morning peppermint hot chocolate are the stuff of my dreams! Haha! There are a few stores I avoid because of the crazies (I’m lookin’ at you Best Buy), but they are usually the same stores I avoid every day (yes, Walmart) (Wow, it’s apparently offend big business day. But obviously I know they don’t care what I think.)

I love packages from Amazon as much as the next person, but there is no comparison that emits the feelings of “children laughing, people passing, meeting smile after smile.” No, the one on the brown box doesn’t count. It’s the activity of getting things ready for the people I love with other people I love. And whether it’s midnight shopping with my sisters or making tamales with my mom, it’s the same thing. It all comes down to love, and dedicating my time to the people I love. Because it really is “all you need.”

Can We Talk?

I’m afraid to write anything on Facebook. That’s the real reason I started a blog. 

I love my family. I love my friends. I don’t want them to be mad at me. But I do want to speak my mind and live my truth. 

Im pretty sure I disagree with about 90% of Americans right now. 

(Quick summary. I’m a pro-life, anti-Trump, former Republican who believes in liberty for all, with a soft spot for children, refugees, and immigrants seeking a better life.)

I want to talk about this. I want to have conversations with people who disagree with me. But, I don’t want angry yelling, name-calling, or fistfights at Christmas.

I’m trying so hard not to live my life from a place of fear. I truly believe that fear has put us in the unpleasant place where we are today. 

I’m a firm believer in 2 Timothy 1:7 For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

I believe that love and a sound mind will go a long way toward restoring the equilibrium of our country. 

I’m also a sexual assault survivor who doesn’t think we can just “believe all women”. Oh! That sounds harsh! I don’t mean to be harsh. If someone says they were molested, abused, attacked, harassed, raped, I will be supportive! I promise! I will hug you and hold your hand and listen to your story! But I’m not 100% sure I can convict a man of a sex crime without evidence beyond she said he did it. 

I have no proof of my own personal story. I don’t remember the dates or a lot of other details of what happened. I definitely remember who did it, and that a perfectly adorable little playhouse sat unused for very ugly reasons. 

I appreciate the outpouring of support when I was finally able to say it out loud! (Does it mean anything that that all of the responses and all but 2 of the reactions on a related FB post were from women?) I’m so glad that no one questioned my motives or feelings. I would never lie about something like this, and I’m sure that neither would you! But I’m also sure that it could happen. People lie, cheat, steal, murder, even women. 

People keep asking, why would a woman lie about such a horrible thing? Well, why would a woman commit murder or make up illnesses for her child? It’s beyond reason! 

Please believe that this isn’t a judgement on Dr. Jones! I didn’t watch a single second of the hearings. I don’t know how we could possibly judge which of them is telling the truth! And maybe someone who’s been accused of sexual misconduct shouldn’t be on the Supreme Court, but I think the slippery slope there is fairly obvious, right?

From what I’ve seen, people have pretty much decided that the person they agree with politically is telling the truth. How is this possible? 

I honestly don’t have an answer. I wish I did. It would make this so much easier if I could just say...Look you dummies! So and so is telling the truth and the other one is lying! 

(J/k, I would never call you dummies!) But I can’t, and I’m not sure how anybody can.

I’ve heard one theory, that she is right and he was too drunk to remember. This is usually followed by, but he hasn’t shown any remorse, so he doesn’t deserve to be on the Supreme Court! Um, why would he show remorse if he doesn’t think he did it? 

Of course this is all just rambling! But this is the point I’m trying to make. Why can’t we have this conversation in public? Do I hate women and have no empathy or understanding for survivors because I don’t automatically believe that Kavanaugh is a rapist? Am I a raging liberal because I think we should question him about what happened and hesitate to rush through confirmation? 

Can you tell me why you believe the way you do? Can we have a conversation about it? 

Are you mad at me?

Why I Didn’t Tell.

You probably shouldn’t read this. 

I really don’t want you to.

I really didn’t want to write it.

I’ve composed it over and over in my head, because I didn’t want to write it down. But if I’m writing about truth, it’s part of mine. I winced through the heyday of #metoo, because yes, and because just no!

I was molested as a child. 

It didn’t hurt as much to type it as I thought it would. What hurts is the look on your face when you read it. Shock, hurt, anger, pity, sadness. That’s why I never told anyone.

Ok, I told my husband and my religious leader, many, many years after the fact. I told my husband, because I didn’t want it to interfere with our marriage, and my religious leader to deal with the guilt.

I don’t want to talk about it, so here goes. The little boy next door and I were playing doctor. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. His teenage brother caught us, but he didn’t tell on us, he wanted to participate. 

When I hear people say, “You wouldn’t forget something like that.” It makes me want to scream. You will try with every fiber of your being to forget! I don’t remember the date, even the year. I think I was 7. I remember feeling sick. I remember feeling confused. I remember wearing a one piece bathing suit under my clothes to make it harder for him to touch me. I remember asking myself if the same thing was happening to my little sisters, but being too much of a coward to try to find out.

I remember the day when my oldest brother came across us, behind some bushes, as I struggled to tell this boy that he couldn’t touch me. My brother told him to leave me alone, never touch his sister again! And, unbelievably, he didn’t! We never spoke about it. I don’t know what he thought. I was beyond grateful! 

For years, I blamed myself. There are still things I blame myself for, even though I know that wasn’t actually my fault. I was a child.

My point isn’t really to talk about what happened to me, because Jesus knows, I don’t want to talk about it!  But, I feel beyond impressed to talk about the aftermath. I’m fine by the way. But not everyone is. Don’t you dare presume to know how that victim felt or why she did or didn’t do anything afterward! I don’t know how the next person feels. Neither do you. 

I do know how I felt when about 40 years later that person sent me a message on Facebook. Like a 7 yr old. Afraid, threatened. I deleted the message. 

So when friends of mine make jokes about how ridiculous it is that someone would come forward 25, 35, 40 years later, it feels like a personal attack. I know you didn’t know. That shouldn’t matter. You thought it was funny? Which part? The part where he tried to pull her clothes off, or grabbed her breasts, or her crotch? Or was it when she was afraid that she would get in more trouble than he would? Was that funny? Was it your sister, or mom, or daughter?

I was 7. She was 15. That lady was 28. People still didn’t believe them. 

I had no doubt that my parents would believe me. I was afraid my dad would kill him. I was afraid it would break my mother’s heart. So, I decided that I should bear this burden alone. Typing this right now, I don’t know if anyone will ever see it. I am still afraid.

But, if one person thinks, maybe I should think about this from her point of view. It would probably be worth it. 

I’m not saying every story is true, but why would anyone choose to make this one up? 

Prove it? 

Why would I want to?

I can’t understand why you’re offended

This is a few days late, but I needed a few minutes to gather my thoughts because this one is a tad controversial.
So, we’re mad at Nike now. Ok, not me, but some people. From a purely logical standpoint, it just won’t work. One side hates Target, and the other side hates Walmart. Shop local, but don’t support anyone with whom you disagree. Unless you want to start making your own clothes and shoes and chicken sandwiches, we’ve got to learn to agree to disagree!
Which is part 1 of why I’m not even mad at Colin Kaepernik or Nike. Part 2 is freedom. I mean, c’mon! Isn’t that what we all stand for in the first place? The freedom to voice our opinions and disagree with the government and all that jazz? Ok, don’t shop at (insert store we are mad at here) if you don’t want to. You certainly have that right! (Aren’t you glad?) But seriously, aren’t you just wasting your time being angry and trying to force people to have your opinion? (This goes both ways people!) I think we had a war about this or something.
For Heaven’s sake! Nike didn’t say Colin had to be your hero or that no one else is as heroic as him! They didn’t even call him a hero. They said he sacrificed a lot for something he believed in. This is true. People are angry. That didn’t stop him from following his beliefs. They’re not your beliefs? Ok. Move on. “He was a terrible quarterback.” “He did something illegal.” Ok. Move on.
Finally, let’s address what he did do. He didn’t stand for the National Anthem on tv. We can argue that he was at work, and it wasn’t his platform to use, but that’s really beside the point. Who wouldn’t use a nationally televised event if they could?
He didn’t stand because he’s angry with the state of race relations in America. Me too. I thought we were in a much better place. That’s because i live in a nice place, where people are nice to each other. Also, I’m white. Nobody pulls me over because I don’t look like I belong in that neighborhood. (Well, not entirely true. A cop once did pull us over in the ghetto, about 1/2 mile from our former home to see if we were lost. But we weren’t even scared!) We don’t have to teach our son how to speak calmly and not make sudden movements if he is pulled over. I don’t get followed around stores, even if I have on cutoffs and my hair in a messy bun. (Everyday)
Don’t try to tell me this doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen to you. I’ve been in the drive-thru at night when a black man with gold plated teeth walked up to my car. I had to remind myself that i wasn’t afraid. You know what he asked me for? Directions. I’ve checked myself when a person of color gets on the elevator to see if I clutch my purse. Do you? Why is this something i even have to think about? I’ve talked to parents. White parents of black children who worry that they don’t know how to protect their children. Black parents of white children who felt bad that they were relieved they wouldn’t have to. If you believe this doesn’t happen, you are kidding yourself. It doesn’t happen to you.
But still, he took a knee when he was supposed to stand. How can we stand by and let this happen? You’re right! We shouldn’t! We should examine ourselves and find out why the Klan is feeling comfortable coming out of the woodwork. We should ask how white nationalists made it into the positions of power that they hold. I don’t place the blame squarely on one group. In the game of tit for tat, we are all losers!
Colin Kaepernick took a knee (the position of prayer and humility btw) during the National Anthem, and he wasn’t the only one. We owe it to ourselves and our country to ask Why? instead of How dare you? Maybe you still don’t agree. Maybe you tear up when you hear The Star Spangled Banner. (me too!) But those soldiers who died, not for that flag, but for this country for over 200 years fought for our right to tell the government to go to hell. You know who taught me that? My grandpa, the General. My dad, the figurative bomb thrower. My mom, the school board member and feisty protector of grandchildren. My brother, the lt. Colonel. My brother, the anarchist. This is a really long list, because I have a lot of siblings.
If you want to know where I stand, it’s right here.