Skinny Link

Sacred Name. Glorious words.

2011-04-24T10:29:00.000-07:00

On some days it feels that far too many have gone far too quickly and far too soon.

On some days my heart aches with longing just

to kiss a tiny cheek,

to hear a cherished laugh,

or fall into an unmistakably delicious hug.

But that's only on some days.

On all days I feel the promised peace,

and I rest in absolute JOY

and overwhelming gratitude

for the sure knowledge that

because of Jesus Christ,

one day I will hear the sweet echo

of these precious, sacred, triumphant words

whispered to me and mine:

"He is not here: for he is risen!"

Happy, Happy, Happy Easter!

For Natalie

2010-11-22T11:38:00.000-08:00

There are those who think that I'm strange . . .

. . . but you hold me close and softly say

that you wouldn't have me any other way.

When I'm lost I feel so very found

When you anchor me back down.

(Isn't this just wonderful? Such a beautiful voice. Her sound is so easy.)

Enchanted

2010-10-03T18:21:00.000-07:00

One chilly morning in early May, Greg and I came downstairs to find one of these little guys slumped in the corner of the transom over a family room window. At first I thought he was dead. I felt sick--I had left the window open the night before when I refilled the hummingbird feeder. I ran for a dishtowel and carefully scooped him up. I'd never tried to hold a hummingbird before; I had no clue what to expect. If he was lucky enough to still be alive, I was afraid my picking him up might startle him and I might hurt him. I hoped the towel would let me to hold him safely while I got him outside.

He was practically weightless. Like picking up a whisper, a piece of fog. He was death-still and cold. His tiny head plopped forward onto his chest. I curled my fingers around his little body and nestled him in my palm, praying that my body warmth might revive him. I willed my heat into his tiny body. I breathed warm breath over him. Nothing. He just lay motionless in my hand. But somehow, I knew he wasn't dead. A picture came to my mind - I could see him helplessly fluttering against the windowpane over and over again, frantically trying to get outside, confused at the glass barrier stopping him, then finally, collapsing on the sill, exhausted and empty. He'd been trying to get to the feeder, and he'd burned up his tiny store of energy. He needed food—fuel for body heat and energy.

I sat with him in my hand out on the front step where the early morning sun hits the house. I'd mixed warm sugar water in a teaspoon and, cradling his tiny head carefully between my thumb and forefinger, I gently dipped the tip of his beak into the teaspoon and waited, watching closely for some sign of life. Still, no response. The air warmed and the sun reached our step and eased across his little body. Suddenly, he opened his eyes. He didn't move, but continued to lay quiet in my hand, calmly allowing me to dip his beak into the teaspoon. After five or six more dips, his mouth opened and his little tongue darted out. He'd tasted the nectar! He still made no attempt to move, but let feed him, resting, calm in my hand, bathed in the warm morning sun. The moments were quiet, almost breathless. Reverent. Enchanted.

After a bit, he stood and began to drink by himself. Still, he made no attempt to leave. He fluttered his wings slightly every now and then. Stretched a bit, as though he'd just wakened from a good night's sleep but really didn't need to be anywhere quite yet. He'd look over at me now and again, curious maybe, but not alarmed. We kept on in our peaceful ritual: dipping, watching, waiting, dipping, watching, stretching. It could have been minutes, I'm thinking it was the better part of an hour or more. When he decided he was finally ready, he simply flew up into the river birch next to the path, and sat and considered me for a while longer. Then, he dipped and glided off into the trees and disappeared.

All that summer, whenever the hummers came to the window, peering in impatiently to remind me that the feeder was empty again, I would imagine that one of them was my little buddy from that May morning. I hoped that he remembered, that he felt as connected and as grateful and I did. I still watch for him. Every single spring.

A Message for My Boys

2010-09-25T14:14:00.000-07:00

This post is for Raleigh, Cardon and Lincoln.

The boy in this video reminds me of you boys. He loves the ocean, he loves having fun, he loves his family and he loves Heavenly Father. I am so proud of each of you and all the good decisions you are making every day. I know you're going to grow up to be like Sean. Whether it's surfing, or skateboarding or baseball or soccer--or whatever you choose to be good at--I just know you will always put Heavenly Father first in your lives, because you are AWESOME in EVERY single way. I love you so much! Mwa! Grammie

Who could ask for anything more?

2010-09-07T13:34:00.000-07:00

I was the youngest of three children, with a brother eight years older and another, five years ahead. We were an independent bunch. The boys were up and out, quick as they could grow, and so it seemed to me that I grew up pretty well the only child in a very lonely house. Every single night I would pray for a little brother or sister. It was a reasonable prayer: every other house in the neighborhood was bulging with kids. Certainly it wasn't too much to ask for one-or maybe just two--little brothers or sisters to love?

By the time I was 14, it was clear that this particular prayer wasn't ever going to yield any results. OK, then. I made a few adjustments. Changed my prayers a bit, I'd wait a few years, marry and have my very own huge, glorious brood. I'd have six, maybe even eight, kids. One right after the other. Quick and close. I'd build my own family. A veritable tribe to fill every empty inch of my heart and home.

Then came a ruptured appendix and gangrene, a near death and a new set of prayers.

Infertility. Another plan, another prayer.

A miracle birth! Prayers of gratitude. Prayers of renewed hope.

But then, no more pregnancies. New prayers, another plan.

With each passing year a new reality asked for a new prayer. Every change called for a new look with fresh, hopeful eyes. What is before me now? What are my options? Well. OK.

Now, see--how perfect is this new prayer. How radiant is this new plan.

The years have rolled by and I've whispered so many prayers. Few of them have been answered in the way I had planned. Yet still, my life has been perfect.

I don't think I'm alone here. So few of our very best plans unfold as we'd hoped. Maybe that's just as well. What we pray for and what we need are so often worlds apart.

Can this be true?

What about happiness? What about getting what I want out of my life?

Well. Let's see. I'm getting a lot closer to the end here now.

Have I been happy. Oh yes. Am I happy now? Oh yes. I am.

Have I gotten what I really wanted out of life?

Take a look at these pictures, at all I've been given. Just look at that beautiful daughter and her perfect, joyous tribe. They're mine, too, you know. My very own.

How could I possibly ask for anything more?

Credit, thanks and love to Jonathan Canlass at Jonathan Canlass Photography for these beautiful images.

Two Brothers Apart

2010-08-25T19:24:00.000-07:00

You gotta hear this one

2010-08-10T21:32:00.000-07:00

A PLANE IS ON ITS WAY TO TORONTO , WHEN A BLONDE IN ECONOMY CLASS GETS UP, MOVES TO THE FIRST CLASS SECTION AND SITS DOWN.
THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT WATCHES HER DO THIS, AND ASKS TO SEE HER TICKET.
SHE THEN TELLS THE BLONDE THAT SHE ONLY PAID FOR ECONOMY CLASS, AND SHE WILL HAVE TO SIT IN THE BACK.
THE BLONDE REPLIES, "I'M BLONDE, I'M BEAUTIFUL, I'M GOING TO TORONTO AND I'M STAYING RIGHT HERE."
THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT GOES INTO THE COCKPIT AND TELLS THE PILOT AND THE CO-PILOT THAT THERE IS A BLONDE BIMBO SITTING IN FIRST CLASS, THAT BELONGS IN ECONOMY AND WON'T MOVE BACK TO HER SEAT.
THE CO-PILOT GOES BACK TO THE BLONDE AND TRIES TO EXPLAIN THAT BECAUSE SHE ONLY PAID FOR ECONOMY SHE WILL HAVE TO LEAVE AND RETURN TO HER SEAT.
THE BLONDE REPLIES, "I'M BLONDE, I'M BEAUTIFUL, I'M GOING TO TORONTO AND I'M STAYING RIGHT HERE."
THE CO-PILOT TELLS THE PILOT THAT HE PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE THE POLICE WAITING WHEN THEY LAND TO ARREST THIS BLONDE WOMAN WHO WON'T LISTEN TO REASON.
THE PILOT SAYS, "YOU SAY SHE IS A BLONDE? I'LLHANDLE THIS, I'M MARRIED TO A BLONDE. I SPEAK BLONDE."
HE GOES BACK TO THE BLONDE AND WHISPERS IN HER EAR, AND SHE SAYS, "OH, I'M SORRY." AND GETS UP AND GOES BACK TO HER SEAT IN ECONOMY.
THE FLIGHT ATTENDANT AND CO-PILOT ARE AMAZED AND ASK HIM WHAT HE SAID TO MAKE HER MOVE WITHOUT ANY FUSS.

"I TOLD HER, "FIRST CLASS ISN'T GOING TO TORONTO "

(Thank you Terry! Best joke I've heard in years!!)

I love YOU!

2010-06-23T10:18:00.001-07:00

I have no clue why it happened, but out of the blue, Blogger DELETED my blog. So, if you came by and wondered why I had "blocked" you from seeing it, wonder and worry no more. It wasn't me. It wasn't you. It was that pesky Techno Beast rattling our cages to make sure we're all awake. Sure woke me up. I thought my blog was gone forever--and that all my memories and journal entries had simply vanished!

So happy it's back! Welcome back. I LOVE YOU!

Happy Birthday Gretchen!

2010-06-13T10:42:00.000-07:00

My brother Bart met Gretchen through a personals ad he placed in the San Diego Union. When I think of how slim the odds are that two people so perfectly suited would find each another through a tiny, obscure newspaper ad, it makes me believe in magic and miracles and the sacredness of real love.

I'm certain that the last 15 years of Bart's life--those years he spent loving Gretchen--were the happiest of his life, and I love her with all of my heart for this, and so many other gifts she has given me.

Gretchen, I love you for loving my brother so sweetly, so perfectly, so genuinely, and for making so many of his dreams come true.

Thank you for making him smile again after so many years alone.

Thank you for being his trusty crew as the two of you sailed your majestic Blue Sky across the vast Pacific and up and down the Mexican Riviera.

Thank you for the way you loved and supported Natalie and Gavin as perfectly as he did.

I will always love you for the way you made Bart laugh playing Mexican train.

I will always love you for being his running partner and his tennis double, for taking such good care of Jessie while he traveled for work (and you weren't even and 'official' couple yet!)

Thank you for bringing kitties into his world.

Thank you for being my brother's favorite golfing buddy--and his best golf student. (He was so proud of how GOOD you got, so quickly!!)

Thank you for turning his homes into beautiful and comfortable havens. For working alongside him in the yard and on the boat, for tooling around in the golf cart with him, and sitting patiently back in the trailer while he fished. And fished. And fished.

Thank you for allowing him to feel smart and protective and supportive--for helping him to become his best self. I know he knew he was a better man because of you.

I love you for standing tall and strong and for being his comfort and his rock as the two of you fought his battle with cancer together.

Gretchen, I'm so sorry he lost that battle. I know how much he wanted to stay and continue on in that magical, fairy tale life the two of you built together.

I know how much he loved you and wants to be with you FOREVER, so I love you for all you're doing to make sure that this last of his dreams comes true. I know he will be there in the Mesa temple with all of us as you two are sealed together as husband and wife, as golfing and sailing buddies, as running partners and lovers and best friends--for eternity.

I love you so much my beautiful sister! I am so glad we will be sisters forever!

Happy, happy, HAPPY Birthday to you!

Heaven is all around us.

2010-04-23T09:10:00.000-07:00

When Bart was in the middle of his chemo, one of the only things that sounded good to him was Pomegranate shakes. Gretchen would stop by Arby's every day on her way to the hospital and pick one up to take to him. I understand how important that was to her. I remember how good it felt to be able to make chocolate shakes for Mom Link during her last days when so little tasted good to her. There's so very little you can do to bring comfort--when you find that One Thing that helps, even a little, your heart just melts with gratitude. For Bart and Gretchen, that One Thing was Pomegranate ice cream shakes.

Wednesday was Bart's birthday. I knew it would be a melancholy day for her and so we spent a long phone call sharing memories of our guy. We talked about what she might do to make it a celebration. She thought she might bake his favorite pie and take a slice to her friends. Gretchen has a wonderful heart.

The following day she sent me this email:

Yesterday I made Peanut Butter cookies because they were Bart's favorite and it made me feel good, but check this out! I found this ice cream at WalMart and it was most delicious!
It is called Sheer Bliss and certainly was. I got the Pomegranate.

Gavin's and my One Thing was notes. He'd leave them around for me to find. They were usually decorated with some of his artwork; fanciful little doodles that I always loved and generally tucked away somewhere. I just ran across one the other day while cleaning out my nightstand. It was Heaven. Literally.

Two weekends ago, as Greg and I drove back from clearing out Dad's house down in Scottsdale, we stopped in Sedona to hike. As we started out, I silently whispered to Gavin that I'd love it if he'd let me know that he was near. I always miss him when I hike. I have so many favorite memories of our hikes together. Anyway, I whispered my little longing to Gav, then forgot about it and just enjoyed my hike with Greg. It was a perfect day. Perfect temperature. Good conversation. Blue sky. Red rocks towering above us.

When we finally turned around to go back, we decided to slow down a little. Greg was hiking in flip-flops (the way Gav used to) and his hip was starting to get a little sore, so we ended up slowing down to a very easy stroll and I began to meditate by focusing on the details of the trail. It was then that I found it. Right in the middle of the trail we had already hiked over that morning. A large, flat-faced, red rock etched with the words, "I miss you." Etched around the letters were fanciful doodles of falling tear drops. Exactly like Gavin would have done. Exactly like him.

Heaven is all around us. It's in peanut butter cookies and pomegranate ice cream left for us in a freezer case in WalMart. It's etched in rocks along a desert trail or in notes tucked away in the night stand. All we have to do it ask for it. All we have to do is look.

Hey, I want a family chant, too!

2010-04-15T13:38:00.000-07:00

Well said, Brother Heber!

2010-04-15T11:59:00.000-07:00

"I am perfectly satisfied that my Father [in Heaven] . . . my

God is a cheerful, pleasant, lively, and good-natured Being. Why? Because I am cheerful, pleasant, lively, and good-natured when I have His spirit!"

-Heber C Kimball

Journal of Discourses

February 8, 1857

2010-04-13T21:59:00.000-07:00

I've been told that the human mind cannot accurately remember pain.

I discovered tonight that this is a lie.

Tonight, I tried to watch the video Natalie posted about

pertussis--whooping cough,

the violent virus

that snatched our precious baby Gavin

from our family.

I could not bring myself to listen.

I had to play the video with the sound turned off.

But even that wasn't enough.

The pain, the helplessness, the anguish,

the shock, the despair,

the devastation . . .

all washed over me with a renewed vengeance.

The pain, as searing--as soul piercing--as it had been when

I stood helpless, trying to

comfort my suffering baby grandson

and his brave momma.

Please don't force another family to endure this.

Please vaccinate yourself against this disease.

It is making a return.

Please.

Protect our fragile little ones

from it's ravages.

Please.

Vaccinate yourself.

Just in case you missed it.

2010-03-27T05:00:00.000-07:00

Love it. Hate it.

2010-03-26T09:59:00.000-07:00

I have a love-hate relationship with this blog. Obviously, for the last several weeks, the hate half has been winning. I even tried to pawn it off on Natalie . . . Oh! the idea of her taking on the pressure for a bit was so sweet and fine-- for about the time for it took it to slip out of my mouth and into her ear. You saw the evidence around how well that worked out. (I refuse to make a digital smiley face here, but I am smiling.)

So, I simply deserted blogging, and you. And I'm sorry for only half of that. I know you forgive me. Thanks for that. But it's a shame that for some of you/us, our only connection lies right here on this page, because this makes me a bad friend, and I don't ever want to be that. A bad blogger is fine with me. A bad friend is not. Cyber or not, I don't ever want to let a friend down.

I do realize that your worlds aren't much affected if I don't blog. I mean, really, I realize this, I do. But I have to admit, I get a little antsy when I think about you clicking by and finding Natalie's lame little post--and my abandonment--over and over and over again. So, instead, I give you this lovely stream of consciousness. Ta-da.

Guest Blogger: Natalie Norton.

2010-03-15T12:02:00.000-07:00

Natalie here.

Mom wanted me to be a guest blogger.

I said "no mom, that's stupid."

Have a great Monday anyway!

xx.

Health Care Reform

2010-02-27T08:57:00.000-08:00

Me (Reading to Greg from the Internet): Listen to this. "The incidence of overweight people in the U.S. has reached epidemic proportions . . . approximately 65% of U.S. adults are overweight."

Greg: They otta just shoot 'em.

Me: Oh, yeah. Right. That'd mean that they'd shoot you and me, you know.

Greg (starting to get excited): Yeah! Think how great it would be! It'd be so much easier to stay on a diet. Talk about incentive.

Me: You've got a point there.

Greg (now really amped): That could be the solution to health care! There's my new plan: Just shoot 'em.

You realize that he's not kidding here, right? Well, mostly.

Telling?

2010-02-25T09:56:00.001-08:00

Photo by Jill Greenberg, via The Coterie

This morning I sent an email to some family members about arrangements for the sale of our mom and dad's home. Notice my typo. What a crybaby.

Annie Link wrote:

I just wrote a check from our personal account to H-- E-- in the amount of $X,XXX.00 to pay for painting at Dad's house. I will either reimburse myself out of Dad's account, or wail until we close on the house to collect these funds.

The Boxer

2010-02-23T22:01:00.000-08:00

In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade,

And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down,

Or cut him 'til he cried out in his anger and his shame,

"I am leaving, I am leaving."

But the fighter still remains.

Paul,

Sometimes, you say it

so perfectly,

so exactly,

so true to my core -

I feel like you've been living

right here in my body.

Earl's List

2010-02-22T12:23:00.000-08:00

So, I'm finally getting around to cleaning off my kitchen counters and table. Can you tell how hard I'm working on it? I mean, blogging is especially important to getting the job done right. A-n-y-w-a-a-y, I just ran across my scribbles from our church talks two weeks ago. Two husbands spoke about keeping love strong in a marriage. I liked that neither of them got all preachy on the subject. They were just regular guys--not Perfect Husbands, in fact, but honest and clearly trying. Earl shared a list of a few things he's trying to improve. (I'm going to remember this the next time I have to give a talk in sacrament meeting: Lists are good. Especially when they're honest--and succinct enough to squeeze into the white space on the program.)

So, here's Earl's list:

1. When we're having a fight: remember, at the end of the day, she wants the same things I do.

2. It is more important to be loving than to be right.

3. When we have a little free time together, discuss Interesting Things. Kids and finances are not Interesting Things.

5. Say hello and good bye--and take time to touch while you do.

6. Look good for your wife. He explained this one: "I probably look better to Julie when I'm taking out the trash or loading the dishwasher."

7. Pray with her so she can hear me say thank you to God for her.

I've been thinking about how I can customize Earl's list for the way I treat Greg. I wonder if he knows how often I thank God for him? I wonder if I look better to him when I'm clearing off the kitchen counter?

Genuis

2010-02-21T09:17:00.000-08:00

I once heard an interview with a songwriter who kept a pencil and pad on her nightstand to record her midnight genius flashes. One particular morning, especially excited to see the holy writ she remembered capturing in dream state, she grabbed the pad. It read, "Never buy a coat with a snake in the pocket."

Not that this ever happens to me.

Memories of Bart

2010-02-19T11:50:00.000-08:00

The summer I turned 19, I hitchhiked my way to Nogales, Arizona, walked across the border into Mexico and bought a $20 bus ticket to Mazatlan.

As best as I remember, my ride over that shoulder-less, pot holed, desert road took about 18 hours, including stops to load and unload chickens and passengers. I was the only Gringa on the bus, the only person who spoke any English, 18, blonde, and wearing cut-off Levis and a t-shirt. I didn't dare sleep. When I arrived at the bus station I had only $85 cash, a swim suit, those cut-offs, and a scrap of paper on which I'd written the name of a trailer park where, hopefully, my brother was still camped.

Bart had called me from a phone booth about a month before. I could barely make out his voice. The line sounded ancient and crackled with Sonoran dust. "If you want to come meet me, I should be in Mazatlan by around the second week in June," he'd said. I told him I didn't think there was any way I could afford to get there, but we'd see. I had just finished my first year at college, quit my campus job and was moving out of my apartment to no-clue-where. Neither of us would have a phone or a mailbox. If we were going to meet up, luck (Karma, we called it in the 70's) would have to play a big role. I really didn't see it happening. But later, as I thought about the call, I could remember something in his voice. Something inviting. Love. He wanted me to come. I realized that I had to try to find him.

I have no memory of how I got from that dirty bus station to the scrappy trailer park on the beach outside of Mazatlan, but Bart was there, smiling like the sun, and he immediately gathered me up into those wonderful, strong arms. He'd been living there on the beach in his old camper and truck for about 3 weeks by then. I can still see exactly how beautiful he was: 24 years old, golden haired and bronzed from the Mexican sun. We eased into Mexican life. Showered outdoors with the giant cucarachas, body surfed all day, siesta-ed every afternoon in colorful hammocks we bought from the vendors on the beach, laughed til we peed in the evenings along the promenade or the moonwashed beach. We cooked fresh-caught shrimp that cost us about 12 pesos a kilo, laid them alongside thick slices of monster avocados, white crumbly queso and handmade tortillas. Our days melted into weeks. We lost the date and told the time only by the sunrise and sunset. I ran out of money. Bart never said a word.

An old dilapidated row boat showed up on our beach one day. We looked it over for a week or so, first working on stories about where it had come from, then wondering if it might be sea worthy enough to take us out to the little island, Isla Pijaro, we called it, midway off the horizon from our beach. The story telling and wondering took a while. It had to be sandwiched in between surfing, siestas and sunsets--and our tanning competition. We compared shades daily, forearm to forearm. By now, we were both "brown as a couple of berries." We chanted this several times a day, just the way Mom would have said it.

It was about this time that we lost the newly weds. They were a cute little couple, not more than 18 or 19 each, and had shown up at the park on their honeymoon. From Minnesota, I think; fresh faced and as straight-laced as librarians. They spent a couple of days working side by side, setting up the sweetest little camp you ever saw. Perfection just short of a white picket fence. We were all having so much fun watching them nest, it didn't take long to notice that they'd disappeared. 24 hours went by with no sign of them. The campground was buzzing. Theories flew like mosquitoes. Finally, the loner guy from California said he was pretty sure he'd seen somebody out skinny dipping in the ocean a couple nights before. Could it have been them? Did they get eaten by sharks? Turns out it was almost that bad. They'd gotten their bare little butts pulled out of the ocean by the Federali's. They spent the last three nights of their honeymoon in a Mexican jail.

Sometime after this excitement, we discovered a driftwood-looking oar somewhere around the park. It was a sign. We should test the ship. It leaked a tad, but we made it out to Isla Pijaro. The island was rocky and desolate of anything but scrub brush, but it had a pretty little beach with a small shore break, so we goofed around in the waves and watched the terns (Bart called them sea turds) until we got hot and thirsty and realized that we had no shade, and were starting to fry. (Of course we'd brought nothing other than our swim suits and the truck keys.) About half way home, the dingy started filling with water and when we realized that we weren't going to be able to bail fast enough, we both started laughing so hard we capsized and the truck keys sank into the briny deep. Bart didn't even think to get upset, he was too busy laughing at the insanity of it all. It was so like him. Why get angry? Things always work out, don't they?

One morning we woke up and decided it was time to move house. We christened the truck Spiro and the camper, Martha and set out to explore the dusty roads that lay southward. We drove through the magic of my first-ever fireflies and into jungles black in the night, surprising the tlacuaches with our headlights as they hung by their tails from the trees that curved over the narrow dirt road into San Blas. We practiced our Spanish trying to sing Give Said the Little Stream, and Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam in the language, coaxing Spiro over mountain passes, blasting the heater to keep the engine from overheating.

Big cities were disorienting. We found our way to the Orozzco Gallery through the traffic of Guadalajara by following the first blue car we saw. Bart would say, "This guy looks like he knows where he's going, don't you think?" and we'd set into following him. In Mexico City, it was a red truck, I think, that led us to the Zona Rosa. We were never lost. But we never really had much of a destination, for that matter.

In the smaller cities,in the 1970's of Taxco and San Miguel d'Allende and all the others whose names I've forgotten, there was no need for a lead car. One road only, and it always led into to the town square, where again, we'd be the only live blondes most had ever seen. The children would gather round Bart, first curious and shy, but finally giggling and teasing. He enchanted them. He enchanted me. I had never known that kind of love and absolute acceptance. I had never known that kind of joy.

And it was always, exactly that sweet for all of my life with Bart. Always that delicious hug. Always that generosity and complete acceptance. Always that love that never judged, that knew no bounds.

One year ago tonight, on the eve of our mother's birthday, I stood by his bedside and whispered to my brother that it was OK for him to leave. I promised him I'd take good care of Gretchen and told him I expected him to give Gavin a big hug for me. I told him how much I loved him, how grateful I was for the way he had always loved me. For the joy we'd always shared. I called softly to Gretchen, telling her I thought she should probably come in, our vigil was over. We held his hands and stroked his beautiful cheeks, said our good-byes and lovingly eased him on his way.

I sure do miss you, my Bubba. Thank you for a perfect ride.

Perfect Valentine's cookies

2010-02-13T11:08:00.000-08:00

Let's start with the best part first . . .

My Favorite Sugar Cookie Frosting

Cream together:

1 C Butter, room temp

1 8 oz. brick Cream Cheese, room temp

1 Tbsp Vanilla

Slowly stir in:

1 2-pound bag bag Powdered Sugar

Frosting should be soft and creamy, so watch closely as you add the powdered sugar and stop adding sugar before the frosting starts to get too 'stiff.'

Now add:

2-3 drops red food coloring (for Valentine hearts)

1-3 tsp Almond Extract (Add, stir and taste, add, stir and taste. I like lots. Your tongue may be more wimpy.)

Cover with plastic wrap and hide it from yourself and the kids in fridge just while you bake your cookies. Don't leave for too long in the fridge! It will get too firm. (Great for eating with a spoon but not good for spreading on cookies.)

Amazingly Easy Sugar Cookies:

Cream together:

2 Cups Margarine (sticks not tub)

Do NOT try to get fancy and substitute butter. Trust me: this time butter is NOT better.

2 Cups Sugar

2 tsp Vanilla

2 large eggs

Stir together dry ingredients and add to creamed mixture:

4 tsp baking powder (not soda)

1 tsp salt

5-6 Cups flour (watch dough texture during addition of last cup, you may only need 5-ish cups flour)

Roll out to about 1/4" thickness and cut with cookie cutters. This dough does not have to be chilled. You will love how easy it is to work with! (I roll them out on parchment paper, which makes the cut cookies easy to lift to cookie sheet.)

Bake at 400 degrees for 6-7 minutes. If you like soft cookies, under-bake (large, thick cookies: 6-7 mins, smaller, thinner cookies: 5 minutes).

*I also bake these on parchment paper. Use a flat (no edges) cookie sheet. This way, you can use the parchment to slide the hot cookies quickly off the cookie sheet and onto the counter so the hot cookie sheet doesn't continue baking them. If you like crisp cookies, you wouldn't need to do this.

(My local grocer's bakery sells me sheets of parchment paper, cheap, cheap, cheap. Ask around.)

Wait until the cookies cool to frost them. As your cookies sit, the frosting will form a slightly crisp 'crust', but underneath that crust will be dreamy, creamy lusciousness that surprises and delights on first bite. If you're going to add sprinkles of any kind, it's important to shake them on quickly, before the frosting dries.

WARNING: Do not make these cookies when no one else is home. You will eat the first batch all by yourself and then be forced to make another batch to cover your tracks. I've grown out of several wardrobes this way.

(Photo from google images. Thanks! to whoever shot it.)

2010-02-10T14:56:00.000-08:00

How blessed

loved,

relieved,

and comforted

I felt this afternoon as I read these words

from a modern-day apostle of the Lord:

Just when all seems to be going right, challenges often come in multiple doses simultaneously. When those trials are not consequences of your disobedience, they are evidence that the Lord feels you are prepared to grow more (see proverbs 3:11-12). He therefore gives you experiences that stimulate growth, understanding, and compassion which polish you for your everlasting benefit. To get you from where you are to where He wants you to be requires a lot of stretching, and that generally entails discomfort and pain . . . Your Father in Heaven and His Beloved Son love you perfectly. They would not require you to experience a moment more of difficulty than is absolutely needed for your personal benefit or for that of those you love.

-Richard G. Scott, "Trust in the Lord," Ensign, November 1995, 16.

Because I'm not really sure where to find you . . .

2010-02-05T10:48:00.000-08:00

. . . I'm going to post my response to your email to Natalie here, too. I'm sure hoping that you'll see it. I really want you to know, I understand.

Dearest Anonymous,

Thank you for reaching out--in what was probably the best way you could come up with in that moment. Your words have given me an opportunity to look into my own heart and this is what I saw:

There have been days when I, too, have felt 'left out' and misunderstood--and in those dark moments,

I haven't always been able to be my best self

or to find the perfect words to say,

"uh, I'm having kind of a hard time over here . . ."

There have been days when my pain was so acute,

I've said things I didn't really mean-

(and Oh! how I've wished that nobody else heard,

and I could just have a quiet 'do over').

There have been times when I've judged harshly

before I really understood . . .

When Natalie and Gavin were growing up, I used to always tell them this:

"Sometimes . . .

you have to look really hard at a person . . .

and remember . . .

that they're doing the best they can.

They're just trying to find their way, that's all . . .

Just like you."

And do you know what young Natalie would usually say?

"Mom. Shut up."

(I was really good at talking too much--

especially after it was time to shut up.

Yeah, I know, you noticed.)

Anyway, dear Anon, thanks for helping me see these things.

I sure hope you're feeling a little better today.

And I hope I've seen clearly here.

I've prayed to be able to.

I love you,

Annie

(Natalie's mom)

[the quote came from my favorite movie: On Golden Pond.]

2010-02-05T09:33:00.000-08:00

C. S. Lewis

From "The Weight of Glory":

It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you can talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship . . . or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare.

All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or the other of these destinations. It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with . . . awe and circumspection . . . that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics.

There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.

I really want to be the kind of person who reaches out to

"lift the hands that hang down."

But sometimes it's hard.

Sometimes . . .

those "hands' try to push me away

Sometimes, they even lash out at me and

I get hurt

and offended

and I want to hurt back.

I feel self-righteous and want to

condemn, ridicule,

snub or turn away.

It's these times when I have to take a deep look at my heart

and prayerfully ask

How committed am I to

Love

and LIFT

especially

when hands hang down?

Immortal horrors?

Eternal splendors?

For my fellow immortals

and for myself . . .

the choice is mine.

Becoming Zion

2010-02-04T07:26:00.000-08:00

How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of those that bring glad tidings of good things, and that say unto Zion:
Behold, thy God reigneth!
D&C 128:19

Dear, dear Sara
We are so grateful to hear your glad tidings!
God is good.
He truly does hear and answer prayers.
He heals.
And seals our hearts as one.
And in those sealing moments of
prayer for one another
we become
Zion.

Thank you for allowing us to share in your miracle.
And thanks to He from whom all miracles flow.

Before and After

2010-01-30T11:56:00.000-08:00

Oh, Natalie.

I remember trying to describe this once.

How pictures from Before

bring such an onslaught of feelings,

such a mix of emotion.

My After-self gazes with tenderness

compassion

fear

longing, yearning, sorrow

when I see pictures

of my innocent, unsuspecting Before-self.

I trace her face with my fingertip

and whisper sweet condolences.

Though my heart yearned for your understanding,

NEVER

in all my aching prayers for freedom from grief's isolation,

did I think that your understanding,

your empathy

would one day be this full . . .

. . . this excruciating.

Still

My heart lifts in gratitude

as I watch yours open so fully,

and your soul rise so sweetly

in love for He who walks this path with us.

I have prayed for these blessings in your life

from the moment I first kissed your beautiful little face.

But

never did I imagine

my prayers would be answered in

this

searing

way.

If I had known . . .

Would I have tried to spare you ?

Probably.

But we did know, didn't we?

And we chose not to change a thing.

How great the wisdom and the love

that called for our vote before

and not after

the Plan was set in motion.

Again life's double edged sword,

the opposition in all things:

It's dizzying

to feel so sorry

and yet so grateful

all in the same heartbeat.

Please feel both from me.

I love you so.

2010-01-29T08:11:00.000-08:00

Once upon a time

parents, families, friends

stood on a windy pier

said tearful good-byes

held each other close

and then watched as their loved one

climbed aboard a ship and

sailed away.

From that day on

they knew only that

the adventurers would be

somewhere

out there

in a New World

making a new life

for themselves.

And that knowledge

had to be enough.

Most of them called it

Adventure.

Ecclesiastes 3:3

2010-01-28T14:29:00.000-08:00

I've gotten email from so many of you who have lost children and wonder that you still grieve so deeply--who somehow feel frail and awkward and guilty about your grief, like maybe you need to hide your pain somehow. This post is for you. It's from a journal entry I wrote a full 18 months after Gavin died, and two months after losing my amazing friend and brother.

The late spring snows have crushed my daffodils again . . . arrrgh! Just when I was so hungry for the sun! But we need the water and my sweet little daffodils are still under there, spunky and resilient. They'll come back--good as new.

This weekend [general conference], I drank in precious, healing waters I know Heavenly Father wanted me to hear. He's been feeling after me and is concerned I know, but I'm still bowed down under the weight of grief come again too soon. If I were a little bird, the coyotes would have gotten me by now. Vulnerable. Wanting to hide.

God understands this need to hide, I'm sure. He waits and watches lovingly, leans toward me, hands patiently folded. Quiet. Tender. Patient. He knows me. Knows I'll find my balance and open up again, come out into the light. I will. Everything in it's time.

We cleaned out Gavin's car on Saturday. Well, Greg did. I love that man. Later, I stood in the laundry room and hugged a shirt that Gav had left in his trunk . . . how long ago? Long enough that his smell was missing. I searched for it, buried my face in that shirt, tried to imagine it. It wasn't there. But I could feel him in the thin, smooth cotton against my cheek, and I held him tight to my chest and cried. Hot, yearning tears. I don't resist them when they come. In many ways, they're part of what I have left of my boy, and it's good to feel them on my face, taste their salt on my lips.

Today, I loved these words from President Uchdorf:

We need the refining lessons of the journey

to craft our character

and purify our hearts.

Birthday wishes

2010-01-26T11:22:00.000-08:00

I wish I could decorate your door with crepe paper streamers and balloons.

And wake you in the morning with a do-nut birthday cake and candles

and a crazy birthday song

that I stayed up too late writing

(set to Beatles music, of course)

I wish I could touch your face and tell you how proud of you I am

and hug you and tell you how cool it is that you're taller than me

I wish we could dance around the kitchen together

(oh, I miss dancing with you, so much)

I wish we could go for a hike

or a late night walk in the snow

(remember?)

I wish for one of your phone calls to tell me about

the tiny frog you've got in your hand

or the run you just finished

or how much you love President Hinckley

or that you're back safe from your ocean paddle

(thanks so much for those 'I'm home safe' calls)

Today, I'm cherishing

the way you'd open my car door

the notes you always left for me to find

the way you always said, "I love you, Mama."

and the way your voicemails always started out,

"Hi Mama! It's your baby boy!"

I'm remembering your arm around my shoulder

and your smile

(oh, your smile)

and your text messages--

"11:11 Mom. Thinkin of you."

"Pancakes!"

And your amazing hugs

your grateful heart

and the way you loved me so openly

So freely

So unashamedly

So unconditionally

Thank you, my son.

For all you were.

For all you are.

You're a pretty awesome guy, you know.

I feel humbled and so blessed

that you chose me to be your mom

Grateful that you knew I'd understand

that you had to leave-

that you had a greater work to do

that there were others who needed your love

your testimony of the Savior and His Atonement

and the gift of your understanding heart.

I am eternally blessed by the knowledge of

Where you are now

and What you're doing

and in Whose name you serve.

I do love you Gav.

Always did, no matter what

Always will, no matter where

Please feel my hand on your cheek

and hear the love in my heart when I say,

You're still making me proud, my buddy.

Happy Birthday, Gavin-San.

I love you.

Kiss your little nephew for me, will you?

And tell him how much I miss him--

miss both of you.

I love you both.

So very much.

Ooooooooooooo, I love you.

Forever.

Mom

p.s. I know I'm a day early,

but, I wanted to make sure you get this first thing in the morning-

(I know it's not quite a do-nut cake, candles and streamers. I just

couldn't figure that one out.)

Diamonds

2010-01-24T20:33:00.000-08:00

Dearest Arden,

Let me give you one simple reason

I know that God is good.

(There are a million of them --

but for tonight

this is the one that shines most brightly for me.)

My patriarchal blessing tells me that I will live

only as long as life is sweet to me.

So whenever life seems like more than I can bear

I always check to see if I'm still alive.

Yes, today my heart is breaking at

yet another unimaginable loss

A tiny life, bright and precious

gone from our arms so soon.

Almost too soon to bear

So soon, following

So many others

I have cherished and prayed for

And still lost

So soon

I can't seem to catch my breath in between them all

And now no way to spare my beautiful daughter

from this anguish

I understand far too well.

But I know God is good,

And I know His promises are sure

And I'm still alive.

So, I dry my eyes and lift my weary head

and look around

for the promised sweetness.

I don't have to look far.

Tonight, when I went out to walk the dogs,

a quiet moon poured down onto the fresh, perfect snow

and cast a thousand shimmering diamonds across the landscape.

So.

Even if He asks me to suffer for now

I know God is good and tender

and loving and caring

and mindful of me.

Because when I walked out into the darkness

and the deep chill of this winter night,

He cared enough

to pave my way with diamonds.

"The Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit,

that we are the children of God:

and if children, then heirs;

heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ;

if so be that we suffer with him,

that we may be also glorified together.

For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time

are not worthy to be compared

with the glory which shall be revealed in us."

Romans 8:16-18

the heart always makes the perfect choice

2010-01-20T12:15:00.000-08:00

I wrote the following not long after my son Gavin died:

We've often been asked why we chose to bury Gavin in Hawaii rather than here on the mainland. Luckily, in the shattered days when you're required to make this kind of decision, logic has little sway. My heart knew though, without question. And now, in retrospect, I'm so glad that his body rests there in that warm island sand, in view of the ocean where he loved to swim, surf and kayak with his sea turtles and whales. The gentle trades bring quiet comfort; the mountains in the distance hold his footprints; Natalie, Richie and the boys visit and remember Unkie whenever they feel the need.

The heart always makes the perfect choice.

And now today,

Now that our Baby Gavin's little body lies

in this same sacred place-

right over his Uncle Gavin's heart-

I'm so grateful for my heart

that knew to listen.

And, I am reminded once again . . .

God knows the end from the beginning.

He watches over us

and plans for us,

and keeps His loving arms around us.

Always.

Longing to hold him

2010-01-06T11:30:00.000-08:00

To all of you who have been so supportive,

loving and prayerful

(and patient while I've been unable to access

the internet),

Thank you.

From the deepest parts of my weary heart.

Thank you for your love.

And your prayers

and emails and blog comments,

and your tears.

Mostly for your tears.

As we weep together,

I feel your love and it lifts me through this trial.

I am spending my days and nights

holding my own baby

while she longs to hold hers.

I've written several posts in my heart.

I'll start posting them . . .

Tomorrow.

Today I need to take my baby to the beach

and let the sun warm her lonely arms.

You understand, I know.

Love you.

Bunches.

And yes,

God is good!

And His purposes are just

and perfect.

Because it's the 17th

2009-12-17T13:09:00.000-08:00

Christmas Love

2009-12-09T07:35:00.000-08:00

I have a collection of copies of this tender love story. I read it every Christmas and melt all over again, every time. It should be standard issue for all newly (or old-ly) wed couples--it's the perfect portrayal of family love in it's purest from.

Your Prayers, Please.

2009-12-05T10:37:00.000-08:00

This is my beloved friend Sandy.

She has been at my side through

triumph and tragedy,

laughter and tears.

Her son Nate is fighting cancer

and is undergoing surgery today.

He has a beautiful little family who love and need him,

and I'm afraid he's going to need a miracle

if he's going to be able to stay around to raise them.

Will you help us pray for one?

So much to be thankful for.

2009-11-26T11:10:00.000-08:00

For the beauty of the earth,

For the beauty of the skies,

For the love which from our birth

Over and around us lies,

Lord of all, to thee we raise

This our grateful hymn of praise.

For the joy of human love,

Brother, sister, parent, child,

Friends on earth, and friends above,

Pleasures pure and undefiled,

Lord of all, to thee we raise

This our grateful hymn of praise.

Happy Thanksgiving! See you next week.

2009-11-23T10:41:00.000-08:00

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

New Life

2009-11-17T11:44:00.000-08:00

Gavin David Bruce Norton

Born on the anniversary of his

Great Grandma Patricia's death,

and named after his Uncle Gavin and Great Grandpa Bruce,

this little guy has already stolen every heart in sight.

Not long after his birth, Lincoln and I walked

out to see Uncle Gavin's pine,

the one he planted

only a few days before his death.

It has recently sprouted a new

little sapling. I imagine it comes in honor of this new life just begun.

See how the larger tree lovingly bends to hover over it's little charge.

My life is swollen with miracles.

Courage

2009-10-23T08:56:00.000-07:00

I met a little boy in the San Diego airport on Monday. He stood about the height of a five-year-old, but his face looked to be maybe eight or nine. He walked with crutches. The for-life kind of crutches with the metal rings that wrapped around his forearms for extra support. Walking down the concourse was a lot of work for him, but it was clear that walking had always been a lot of work for him. No big deal. But certainly more work than for everyone around him. As Greg and I ordered our breakfast at the juice bar, his little family turned up again there in the crowd, and in the crush and bustle of the morning rush for an airport breakfast, the little boy balancing on crutches got jostled and fell to the floor. I imagined that this wasn't new for him, it probably happens a lot. I found myself imagining falls on the playground or in the lunchroom at school, and the mother's heart in me pounded as I watched today's clattering tumble to the hard tile and then his patient struggle to get himself back on his feet again. I gave him and his mom a minute to get straightened around and walked over to them.

"I want you to know something." I looked him right in the eyes, not exactly sure what I was going to say next, but wanting to express this emotion rising in my heart. I had to fight to make sure I didn't tear up and embarrass him. Finally, the feeling identified itself and I went on. "I want you to know that you give me courage." I had to pause again. "In fact, I think you give lots of people courage. Every single day. I think it's important for you to know that who you are, and the courageous way you handle the challenges in your world, gives me, and gives others, the courage to handle the hard things in our lives. I think this makes you a hero, and I want to thank you for that."

He and his mom exchanged a quick glance and she whispered to him, "Do you want me to show her?" He nodded enthusiastically, and Mom unzipped his backpack and slid out a small toy dog.

"It's a German shepherd!" he told me, his face bright and smiling.

"Do you want to tell her his name?" his mom asked. He nodded again.

"Courage," he said. "My dog's name is Courage."

I share this story because I know there are many of you who read my blog who live your lives with this little boy's kind of courage. This week marked eight months since my sweet sister-in-law lost her best friend and husband, my brother Bart. I know how hard it is for her to carry on each day without Bart's warm sunshine in her world, but she's doing it, and she's doing it with great determination and a lot of courageous smiles. Tomorrow marks the anniversary of the death of my friend Shelly's precious mom. Patricia Kay Bickmore Christensen was a strong force behind everything bright and beautiful in so many people's worlds and I know Shelly must miss her keenly, but there is never a phone call to or from Shelly that won't leave you feeling happy and grateful to be alive. Another girlfriend lost her husband last year and then discovered that their entire retirement had evaporated in the Bernie Madolf scandal. Among you are mothers who have lost their children. Sisters who have lost beloved brothers. You all march on each day, doing good, blessing lives, being courageous in your own needed ways. I want you all to know that you give me courage. I think it's important for you to know that who you are, and the courageous way you are handling the challenges in your worlds, gives me, and gives others, the courage to handle the hard things in our lives. I want you all to remember that you are heroes. And I want to thank you for that.

Looking forward to a great weekend.

2009-10-16T08:36:00.000-07:00

Water Color Sketch by Gav, 2004

I woke up at 4:30 this morning to coyote howls and had to get up and look for kitty; make sure she was safely inside. Of course she was. But just in case that wasn't enough to wake me up for the day--I stumbled downstairs to the stench of yet another sewage ejection pump problem. It's a brand new system, for heaven's sake. It turns out the main line (this is a large, 3-inch pipe, friends) had vibrated itself loose somehow. So, I'm down there in my robe and flip flops (rubber souls supremely important at this point) trying to jimmy the line back into place when Greg gets up and flushes the toilet three stories above me. Keep in mind here that a shower isn't an option at this point. I'll spare you more detail.

But I do plan to have a great weekend. 2008 taxes are finally finished. The virus from Hades has abated. I'm not off to London after all, which is good news. The sun is shining, the mountains are vibrant with color, and we're off to spend time with baby Ireland and her big brother Cole. I'm think I'm about due for loving me up some grand babies. It'll be good medicine.

Oh, and yes, the plumber has already come. And conquered. And so shall I.

Thanks Cuz!

2009-10-12T12:16:00.000-07:00

Angels are aware.

2009-10-11T14:39:00.001-07:00

I'm sorry. I know after two years people really expect you to just get on with it, but let me tell you something about grief. It is absolutely unpredictable. It's a twisting, dipping, winding, rolling road that goes through forests and valleys and over hills and through dark tunnels and you honestly never know what's around that next bend. I'll be sailing along a nice, easy straight-a-way, thinking that maybe life is going to start getting a little easier, a little more joyful, maybe even a little normal again when suddenly, out of the blue, I'll hit a huge sink-hole and darned if I don't just drop straight down into it and smash myself up all over again.

Last weekend I got hit by a perfect storm, a trifecta of flu, jet-lag and the longing for having the kids gathered near for General Conference as a family, and thwack! I was suddenly under the dank, dismal gloom of aching for my boy again--as dark a gloom as in those early weeks after his death. But here's the thing. Somehow (well, I do know how: prayer is a very good thing) heaven heard my anguish and through a series of seemingly unrelated events, which began way last July, I received some email that brought me buckets of tears and then relief and smiles. So, here--because angels should be acknowledged--are the most recent emails from that string:

On Oct 6, 2009, at 4:03 PM, [R.A.] wrote:

Hi Annie, I'm glad the post got to you. I've been wanting to write something for a while. Cluttered in between bills and old homework from college dorm...and now my apartment...are all my failed attempts. Gavin, L___, and I were all Sinagua's, but then the guys and girls walked separate. We talked the entire ride up, there was a pouting young walker in the back whom I don't quite remember. Gavin did try to cheer him up. After that he talked to Laura and I and told me the mountains were "weak sauce" and that the mountains we were seeing were small. Gavin was cool. I think of him from time to time, when I hike, but especially when I see bright orange powdered cheese. I just finished eating a dinner of lentils & mac & cheese. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so excited to see anything in my life. He was so excited and talked about all the good things that you could make with it. He told Laura and I you could make cheese go farther by adding the powdered milk. He was a great person, so cool. I looked up to him instantly. You can write to me anytime you want. [R.A]

On Tue, Oct 6, 2009 at 6:19 PM, Annie Link <annielink@mac.com> wrote:

Thanks Renee,
This made me smile. I still remember how excited he was to cook for his dad and I when we went out to meet him on the trail the first time he walked. He really got into the food and was actually a good cook. His pizza was excellent. He made great ash cakes, too. (Hearing about lentils and mac and cheese made me smile too. I still have his black cooking/eating cup.)
It sounds just like him to have tried to cheer up the young walker. He was always, all about everyone else's happiness. In Hawaii, on Sundays, he used to gather up homeless guys on the beach and make sure they got a good meal and got to go to church if they wanted to. he'd drive them to wherever their specific religion met. just wanted to make sure they knew that someone cared. he was worried about many of them because he felt like they had mental handicaps and really didn't have any other options but homelessness. He was easy to look up to. He had such an honest, good heart. He sincerely loved people. All people.

Anyway, thanks for taking the time to share your memories. I think of him whenever I hike, too. I'll bet he's found some great hikes in heaven. Wish I could share them with him.

I hope you're doing well in your world. That you love the people in your life and are having happy times. Thanks again for writing.
It's crazy how much it helps.

Annie

Hi again Annie, I wanted to mention this. You talk about him loving everyone, its very true. I didn't know that about him and all the good work he did Hawii...but I could totally see it being true. Anyway, out of all the people he loved you most of all. He told Laura and I about the phone call he made as a YW. He hiked and hiked just to find a phone. He wanted to let you know he was ok, make sure you were ok and to tell you that he loved you. I didn't really appreciate this until I was on the trail. At best he didn't have much to eat, he didn't have great supplies, he probably had icky water. And it was far. According to trail lore he walked 50 miles. I'm sure it gets farther and farther every year. He wanted to be in that place again. Not 50 miles off trail, but close to you. I think thats part of the reason I've remember him so often. I'm sure you already know that...I'm sure you've heard the story a million times. But I think he's still the only one who's ever done that. It is a story for legends, told around the campfire, the hearts of the young walkers, and Sinagua, turned to home, wishing they could be so brave. Perhaps they don't know his name, but the story is told and told....and as long as their's Anasazi, it will be told forever. [R.A]

So, there you have it. All of you who wonder how in the world you could ever possibly offer comfort to someone who's grieving:
It's really quite simple after all. Just follow those quiet promptings and do whatever your heart whispers to do.
And even if all you can come up with to talk about is lentils and dried cheese, believe me, it will be enough.

And now for some happy thoughts.

2009-10-08T09:52:00.001-07:00

I don't know this little angel's name.

I learned later that it was her 7th birthday--

an auspicious birthday in Japan--

which is why she is wearing her kimono.

Can you believe my good fortune?

To immunize or not to immunize?

2009-10-08T09:47:00.000-07:00

I have been sick now for two weeks. I'd consider myself to be in excellent condition--6 days a week of strenuous aerobic work-outs, yoga and weights. But with this H1N1, there have been nights when I had such a hard time breathing I wondered if I should have Greg take me to the ER. If you decide to not immunize, please, make sure you do everything within your power to keep your kids healthy this flu season. This really is a scary virus.

Just when I needed it. I always need it.

2009-10-06T14:29:00.000-07:00

From: Annie Link <annielink@mac.com>
Date: October 6, 2009 3:13:21 PM MDT
To: [anonymous]
Cc: Annie Link <annielink@mac.com>
Subject: Thank you

Dear _____,

Yesterday, Sean from Anasazi forwarded me a copy of your Facebook post about Gavin. I cannot tell you how much it meant to me. There aren't words for how much I miss him and just to hear someone even mention his name is like cool water to my thirsty, aching heart. Thank you for taking the time to share your memories. Thank you so much. So much. So much.

As good as he was. That's how much we miss him.

Sincerely,

Annie/
Gavin's Mom
Hi Anasazi,

I'm _____. I walked on the trail in May/June of 2007.

Another June has come and gone...infact by this point most of July has.

I still remember Gavin. He was a fellow Sinagua walker. At the time the guys and girl Sinagua still walked separate, but Gavin rode on the transport with me and Lara and we saw him on the trail when we stopped to camp. Nearing the end we didn't see him anymore. The Wednesday before we left the trail Jamie told us that Gavin had died. And the dinner we all had wasn't completely happy beucase the three of us had planned to all eat together...in fact Gavin promised us becuase we were both having doubts and I was terrified of scorpions. He kept us excited.

For two years I have written letters to Gavin's parents to let them know all I rememeber about him. But I've never been able to send them. They all sounded so stupid. Mostly it was all the things I remembered. He was so glad he could pack his little Bible and he was really nice about mine being different and didn't say anything mean. He had plenty of stories and jokes. He knew all about the rocks and trees and all the funny Arizona stuff that I had no idea about. (I thought I'd been transported to Mars) I remember how much he loved trail food, especially the neon yellow cheese. He was SO excited to get that...as if someone gave him pure gold to eat. He knew so much about Anasazi and the trail. He wanted to make himself better so much.

And he really, really loved his mom. He said hiking to the phone was one of his proudest moments. I was amazed that he'd walk so far just to tell her that. He wasn't content with a letter, and there were times on the trail I wished I could had that bravery. On the trail, after he told the story, I realized the magnitude of what he did...of how far he walked, what he carried and risked. It still blows me away. He was coming back to Anasazi so he could find that passion again.

I still think of him a lot. I haven't forgotten him and hope I never will.

So if you could please forward this to his parents somehow I'd appreciate it.

Sincerely,

A Japanese Garden

2009-10-06T10:49:00.001-07:00

The New Otani Hotel in Tokyo is famous for it's 500-year-old Japanese Garden. This is the view from the hotel's coffee shop. I'm not sure how many acres the garden covers, but it meanders magically through pines, Japanese maples and bamboo groves to tiny pools and hushed enclaves guarding hidden statues and quiet meditation benches. Loving hands have tended here for centuries. There are ancient, miniature bonsai gardens tucked carefully within the larger garden, sparkling koi ponds and large and small waterfalls. There is even a tiny mahogany paneled chapel and a rustic, seemingly secret Japanese tea house.On the last day of our trip, a Sunday, I had a little time to wander in the garden before our departure. A local woman had set herself up to sketch the tea house while I attempted to capture the garden with my camera. (Notice her white gloves and the careful, cotton sleeve guards.) If you'll drop back by later this week (and I don't die from this H1N1) I'll treat you to what this beautiful garden gave me next. It's almost too good to imagine. Don't even try. Just check back a little later.

Tokyo Manhole Covers

2009-10-05T15:23:00.001-07:00

I was fascinated with all the beautiful man hole covers on the streets of Tokyo. Who would have imagined I would find this many treasures looking down?

(I think my favorite is the last one.

Be sure to click on it to enlarge--

those are dragon flies!)

2009-10-04T15:50:00.000-07:00

Felt Tip Sketch - Gavin Link, 2003

General conference weekend with a beautiful full moon, and I found myself missing Gavin a lot more than usual. We always made this weekend a time to gather, just the four of us, so there are a lot of poignant memories.

I take the Combo.

2009-09-04T13:34:00.000-07:00

Greg's and my date night forever favorite is going to a movie. Tonight, we're going to see 500 Days of Summer. I can't wait. It looks like just my cup of tea.
I'll let you know what we think. But no matter what, we're going to have the best date ever. We always do. Because we really like movies, we really like popcorn, and we REALLY like each other. It's an unbeatable combo.

Heart burn?

2009-09-03T21:22:00.000-07:00

From National Geographic, Photo of the Day:

This is a Cuban tree frog on a tree in my backyard in southern Florida. How and why he ate this light is a mystery. It should be noted that at the time I was taking this photo, I thought this frog was dead, having cooked himself from the inside. I'm happy to say I was wrong. After a few shots he adjusted his position. So after I was finished shooting him, I pulled the light out of his mouth and he was fine. Actually, I might be crazy but I don't think he was very happy when I took his light away.
(Photograph and story by James Snyder)

Oh! Was I ever relieved to discover that this story had a happy ending. Up to that point, I felt so ambivalent about how much I was loving the shot!

And now for something completely different.

2009-09-02T14:23:00.001-07:00

Jerry Balisok disappered in 1978, facing a failing motorcycle business and thirteen counts of forgery. For about six months after that his mother faced having to deal with with the aftermath of his misdeeds. In the meantime, the police and FBI searched for her son. One day, Mrs. Balisok picked up a copy of LIFE magazine whose cover shot was a picture of the dead cult members from Jonestown. Among the dead, she believed she saw her son and his spouse. She contacted the FBI and the media for assistance, and finally she went to where the remains had been returned to the US for identification. (*By the time the bodies were recovered from Jonestown the process of identification was extremely difficult.) The charges against Balisok were dropped. Mrs. Balisok passed away in 1983. In 1990, a man by the name of 'Ricky A. Wetta' was arrested for attempted murder. A check of his fingerprints revealed he was actually Jerry Bibb Balisok! According to the cemetery, no one was ever buried in the grave, because positive ID could not be made on the body. This is why the stone reads "Buried in Oakland, CA." His mother had the stone placed out of frustration because she believed the Government would not let her have the body of her 'son.' She went to her own grave believing her son had died in Jonestown. Jerry is currently serving a prison sentence in Washington. Damn the State Department? Damn Jerry Bib Balisok for what he did to his poor mother!

A simple request

2009-08-31T16:10:00.001-07:00

The left hand side of the back window of this SUV had the familiar little decal family: a row of stick figures lined up along side each other, starting with Mom and Dad and descending in size down, down, down to a little stick baby. I always smile at these. I like to imagine what it would have been like to have been part of such a huge brood. All the noise and chaos and teasing and loving. I really yearned for that as a child. But on Friday afternoon in the sweltering parking lot on the east side of University Mall, what really struck my heart and imagination was the worry, heartache and struggle that this family must be going through right now. It must be pretty serious, because they are asking everyone and anyone who might see their car window to "Pray for Jaquell." Of course I don't know who Jacquell is, nor do I have any clues why she needs our prayers, but it's obviously serious enough that the grown-ups in her life are asking for our petitions in her behalf. So, I've been praying for Jaquell, and all those other little stick people who love her and are also worrying about, loving and praying for her. I hope you'll join us.

L'Auberge

2009-08-27T14:27:00.000-07:00

Several water features line the pathways as you make your way down to the creek.

The wide, rocky creek is lined with huge cottonwood trees which allow just enough sunlight to filter through and splash onto the red flagstone patio.

The creek cools the summer air and sparkles in the afternoon sun.

And when the waiter comes to refresh your soda, he brings it in a little silver pitcher and pours it for you, right there at your table . . .

Everywhere you look, you find loving attention to detail.

This beautiful little outdoor restaurant, set right on Oak Creek in Sedona, Arizona is one of my favorite restaurants in the entire world. No matter how hot the Arizona sun might be, when you walk down the winding paths into the trees that line the creek, it's always cool and peaceful. Last year we were here in June and ate and laughed while we watched several families of baby ducklings splash around in the water. This year, those babies were bigger and kept us entertained as they'd float past our table and down the creek for about 50 yards or so and then hurry to fly back up stream, skimming the water as they went, to start all over again.

I'm not sure who was having more fun, Greg and I or the ducks. But I'm pretty sure it was us. Listen to our order: a crisp, cool salad of field greens with candied walnuts, bleu cheese and fresh pears topped with a light balsamic dressing and grilled filet of wild salmon. Hand cut french fries tossed in truffle oil and parmesan. . . And a turkey, bacon, tomato and avocado sandwich with garlic aioli on a fresh home made ciabatta roll. Oh my.

Even the granite sink in the Men's bathroom was unique and beautiful. (Greg stood watch while I peeked.)

When we move to Arizona and you come to visit, I promise we'll come here for lunch.

Turn up the volume and close your eyes.

2009-08-26T15:50:00.000-07:00

How great shall be your joy . . .

2009-08-23T13:22:00.001-07:00

Gretchen's daughter Tiffany, and her kids, Gideon and Avery

Elder Imnotsure, Gretchen and Elder Sondereger

Gretchen's sister Suzanne, Gretchen, and Suzanne's honey, Ed

Poor Greg hadn't performed a baptism in over 13 years--

but finally dip #3 turned out to be the charm!

(We figured Bart and Gav got a good laugh. It was just their kind of baptism!)

and our beautiful Gretchen who in every way exemplifies Alma's words . . .

. . . willing to bear one another's burdens,

that they may be light;

Yea, and . . . willing to mourn with those that mourn . . .

and comfort those that stand in need of comfort,

and stand as [a] witness of God at all times

and in all things, and in all places that [she] may be in . . .

It was a beautiful day, Grethen.

Thanks so much for sharing it with me.

I will hold the memory forever in my heart!

My Happy Thoughts

2009-08-18T18:13:00.000-07:00

The La'ie 4th of July Gang

Waiting for Ireland

Wrapped around his little finger.

The Lord Closed a window, then opened a huge door.

A little Gavin in the oven.

Sweet little girl, please-- GO TO SLEEP!

Our newest big brother.

Happy thoughts--keep thinkin' happy thoughts.

No sense in letting the mind go anywhere else.

No sense at all.

Divine Attributes

2009-08-15T19:22:00.001-07:00

Dear, dear, dear ones,

2009-08-01T05:53:00.000-07:00

After four months of virtually non-stop travel, classes, study, family events, home repairs and work stress, I woke up one morning into the usual cloud of guilt that I hadn't had the energy or time to update my blog in weeks, and in that single quiet crystalline moment realized that what I really wanted to do was disappear the pressure to blog regularly, explode the expectation of coming up with something 'significant' to say on any kind of a regular basis, and gently slide easily back into simply living and living simply--and expressing myself with abandon--free of even the lightest intimidation that ANYONE would be dropping by to see what I was thinking or had to say.

I never imagined that this quiet decision on that bright Bermudian morning would end up coming off as a slap in the face to the people who have been lovingly dropping by to peer into my crazy thoughts and leave a little love and support behind as they read. I never dreamed my need for a break would end up giving the people I love the impression that they were being ousted from my life. Oh my.

Good people at Blogger, a simple request: Re-think your privacy design, would you PLEASE? Give us a way to gracefully slip away into quiet oblivion without leaving our followers feeling like some kind of exclusive club has been formed and they haven't made the cut for entry! How 'bout the option of a simple one line message to tell folks we just need a little break for now? Give us a way to draw the drapes for a minute yet still leave an 'I love you' note on the front door.

Get this: When I went to my own landing page and read that I hadn't been "invited"--I found myself feeling excluded and abandoned. What's up with that? It's about time I re-set my 'relationship default setting' don't you think? I mean, really. What is up with that?

Celebrate Freedom!

2009-07-02T10:38:00.000-07:00

For me, freedom is the ability to direct quality of my life through managing my thoughts and actions. It's knowing that I can make my life better in a moment by the thoughts I choose to think and the feelings I choose to focus on, and finally, the actions I choose to take.

What is Freedom for You?

Am I Really Looking?

2009-06-28T10:09:00.000-07:00

Dad and I found this seagull kite in Sedona last fall and bought it for Uncle Bart. The first thing he did after we gave it to him was take it out and attach it to his golf cart. At first, the little seagull dipped and twisted like a drunken sailor and we laughed and laughed as the neighbors drove past or stood in their driveways and shook their heads. Later, he went out again and drove up and down the street in front of the house so Gretchen could take a picture of Jonathan to send me. He really made sure we knew how much he loved this silly gift. Now that he's gone, I'm cherishing this memory of my brother's good heart.

It's funny, it's often not until after a person is gone, that we come to fully appreciate the little things they did in a way we never quite got around to while they were alive and here with us. Why do we wait until they die to realize how precious they really were? What are we waiting for?

Today, I'm wondering what kinds of things I might be forgetting to appreciate in the people I love. Am I remembering to really look? Do I have eyes that see?
Thornton Wilder captured it well in Emily's cry as she tried to re-experience the joy of her twelfth birthday from the other side of the veil,

" Oh earth, you're too wonderful for anyone to realize you . . .

Do human beings ever realize life while they live it?"

Dear Wynette

2009-06-24T10:16:00.000-07:00

When I read your comment on my last post about Gavin, my heart broken wide open--just as it does every single time I hear of another mother thrust into this unimaginable land the two of us now inhabit. You've joined a club to which you never in your dreams would have imagined you would belong--and you're now asked to survive every parent's worst nightmare. I want to reach out to you, put my arms tenderly around you, hold you, and whisper, "I know. I know. I know. I am so sorry." How I wish I could. Thanks for reaching out. I now how hard that can be. I WISH I had discovered your post earlier today--as I'm just now racing out the door and really haven't any time to say all that I want to say to you right now. So, for now, I'm going to post something that I wrote a couple of months ago to another mother I met on a grief forum/support group I belong to. I encourage you to visit this site: beyondindigo.com . The pain you're in is as deep as a mother's Love, and as precious and unique as is your relationship with your beautiful son. You may find some understanding and comfort in the stories of other mothers who have posted on the site. I'll write more tonight or tomorrow. Until then, you'll be in my prayers. I promise.
Dear Cory's Mom,

I am sad to think of another mother out there grieving over a beautiful boy gone from her life. I am so sorry and send you love and understanding.
We too have lost a son, our only son--by best buddy in this world. On June 17th (Gav passed away on Father's Day) it will be two years, so I've been through at least one anniversary and am coming up on the second. I still think about Gavin many times during every day, but I do that with my living children, too. That's just what mom's do, isn't it?
As far as anniversaries go, this is what I've learned: At first, we are aware of how many days it' been since they left us, then as time moves on, our awareness of 'that' date stretches out to weeks. More time passes, and I find I'm still aware of the 17th of every month, and try to go a little easier on myself, take a little more time to remember that I'm still healing and acknowledge that. Anniversaries are important. They give me time to remember to honor myself as someone who has experienced a great loss.

On the one year anniversary of Gav's death, we made sure that my daughter, his sister, was visiting with her husband and little boys. We had lots of pictures of him out and we talked about things that he loved and the things that we loved about him. We shared a good meal. We had a family prayer. I had a big bouquet of balloons and we took them out into the front yard and whispered messages 'for Unkie' into them, one at a time, and then released them and watched them float up to heaven. (I know, environmentally stupid--but it's what we needed to do, so I released them with prayers that no creatures would be hurt.) As I watched each grandson whisper his messages into his balloon and send it heavenward, I felt a little more of my pain release. It was good to hear them speak his name and to realize that as we continued to do these types of mini-memorials with them, his memory would live on in their hearts.

I just recently lost my brother Bart, the other 'Golden Boy' in my life. His birthday is coming up on the 21st of this month. His widow and I are going to fly over to Hawaii to share this time together. We plan to visit the bay where my Bart and Gavin anchored before they sailed together to the mainland. We plan to picnic on the beach there and find a beautiful spot to throw a couple of leis into the ocean. We'll sing Happy Birthday and have cake and let our little grandsons blow out the candles. We'll do these things because they're uniquely significant to both Gavin and Bart's lives--and to us. I told my sis that she can cry all day if that's what she feels like doing. Nobody's going to hurry her, judge her, or tell her that "Bart wouldn't want you to cry." (I think that kind of talk is BS. Sorry, but I know Bart would want her to heal, and when we lose someone, tears are a part of healing.)

Anyway, these are the kinds of things I've found to be helpful. You'll find your own--those things that will be significant to your love for Cory. But I encourage you to use the day to celebrate his life on that day. The kinds of things that will act as meaningful reminders to those of you who love him that Cory lives on in your hearts, that he will NOT be forgotten, that it's OK to speak his name and remember his life. And it's OK to cry when you need to.

Now there's just one more thing that I need to post for me. On Saturday, more than 18 months since Gav's death, we finally cleaned out his car. We've found someone who needs it and we're giving it to her in his name. Afterwards, I stood in the laundry room and hugged a shirt that Gav had left in his trunk . . . how long ago? Long enough that his smell was missing. I searched for it, buried my face in that shirt, tried to imagine it there. It wasn't. But I did feel him in the thin, smooth cotton against my cheek, and I held it tight to my chest and cried--hot, yearning tears. I don't resist them when they come. In many ways, they're part of what I have left of my boy, and it's good to feel them on my face, taste their salt on my lips.
If, as a fellow grieving mother, I could leave you with one message it would be this: Your longing for Cory won't ever leave you. You're going to learn to accommodate it and 'live around' it, but it will stay with you until the day you die and the two of you can hold each other again. Not everyone around you will understand this. That's OK. Hopefully they won't ever get their turn to understand. But for you, it's important that you to know that it will always be there. And that doesn't mean that you're weird or deficient in any way-- You're simply (and significantly) a mother who has lost a child. Anniversaries will come and go. Some will be harder than others. You'll learn to have joys--even though you still miss him, and you'll learn to get on with a good life--even while you still miss him. But please, always give yourself permission to do those things that honor this truth: He is your son, and he is gone, and you miss him. And its right that you do.

Hope some of this helps a little. I'll keep you in my prayers. I know I couldn't do any of this without the Lord.
Love,
Annie, Gavin's Mom

Still missing you, Gav.

2009-06-18T08:50:00.000-07:00

(Oh, how we would have loved this song, this video.)

I slept with your teddy bear last night. It wasn't enough.

Still missing you, my boy.

All day.

Every hour.

All night.

Every night.

Every rain, every snow, every misty morning.

Every bit of news of every old friend.

Every new flower or birdsong or fresh young leaf .

Every hike, every wave, every vista.

Every sunrise, every sunset.

Every moment of sun on my skin.

Or breeze on my face.

Every old song. Every new one.

I think of you.

It all wants to be shared.

With you.

Accentuates the loneliness.

Without you.

So I slept with Gummy last night.

Again.

He wasn't enough.

But you were worth it.

Every hour, every day, every night.

All of it.

I'm considering adopting

2009-05-16T07:42:00.000-07:00

. . . Mr. Jiggs from the London Zoo.

Do you think he'd clean and organize my drawers and closets too?

Photo and story link: National Geographic

Dreadfully sorry.

2009-05-15T14:09:00.001-07:00

Dearest Raleigh, Cardon, Lincoln and Cole,

Mum says I'm to tell you she's dreadfully sorry, but with jet lag and the laundry to be done, not to mention bills to be paid and the lou pump out again . . . well, we're just going to have to wait a little longer for pics from our trip. She did promise me that next week, she'd hop right on it though. With pictures from London (including more of me way up in the sky! howdya like that, huh?) plus photos of me riding the Tube, eating pancakes in Amsterdam, museum hopping in Paris and bicycling 'round the French countryside, well, as for me, I'm thinking it'll all be worth the wait after all, don't you think?

Till then, so sorry to disappoint, but what's a bear to do?

Ta ta for now,

Paddington

p.s. Oh! And we've also had a fluffy tailed squirrel at the bird feeder, PLUS a nest of baby robins outside Mum's shower window. I'll be lying in wait with the camera for shots of all this excitement. It's so good to be home! Oh, how I wish you were here. -PB

Previews

2009-04-30T00:48:00.001-07:00

No blogging time today. But some fun stuff is coming.

Cheerio!

Harrod's

2009-04-28T23:01:00.000-07:00

(Just learning how to use flickr, so this mosaic isn't exactly what I was hoping for . . . I wish Matt and Heather weren't all the way over on the other side of the pond--I'd have called them this morning for a tutorial. I think there's a way to post these so you can click on each individually to enlarge? I feel lucky even to have broken the code on how to make this stinking, not-what-I-had-in-mind mosaic though. It'll just have to do for now. I've only got about 10 minutes left of my 90 mins of internet usage here my hotel room. If you're sensing a hint of technology frustration here, you're right on the mark.)

Harrod's is a favorite stop for me while in London. My sweetest memories of this fantastically fantasmic store are from my first visit to London with Natalie. Our enchantment on discovering the luxury bathrooms for the first time comes to mind. (Yesterday, Greg had the camera with him in the Men's room or I'd have shot them, too. But it's just as well. We're now 10 years since and they're not quite what they used to be. In all fairness here: time has taken it's toll on me too.)

Harrod's food courts are still breathtaking. Greg and I first sat down at the Caviar Bar but changed our minds after a quick look at the menu which announced $425 servings. For lunch. How to choose? Fresh sushi? The seafood bar? We settled on Harry's deli where we each ate chicken noodle soup and 1/2 sandwich for 50 pounds ($70 US) for the two of us. I've shot Greg's soup, lox and bagel here. My Reuben was a wonder. No Russian dressing (ala Carnegie Deli in New York), but I soothed my disappointment with a dollop of Raspberry Horseradish relish. I know, at first I was incredulous, then curious, surprised, then enchanted. We wandered, literally wide-eyed, through the Confectionary surrounded by miles and miles of exquisitely displayed chocolates, y chocolat. I did my best to resist these Sirens, but finally succumbed to a creamy, mouth-melting chocolate and hazelnut praline. (My pants got tighter just smelling this little delight.) The photo of those red currants in Produce needs to be billboard size to give you the same feeling they gave me. Here among art gallery-quality displays of vibrant fruits and vegetables, I found exquisite pomegranates for a mere 6 pounds, a piece ($8 US). I almost bought one--they were perfect. On to the perfumery. Here, the 6+ foot tall floral arrangements were impossible to capture without a wide angle lens--there were at least 40 of them, balanced atop each perfume counter, I imagined some lavish, royal wedding. I settled for close-ups of the Calla lillies. If the pictures above were whole, you'd see one of the dozens of impeccably dressed sales women standing with here with her arms folded, ready to politely remind me that I am NOT allowed take pictures here. So we were off to Men's furnishings, where Greg found Dior ties at L100 a pop. Oh, and I wish you could really see the opulence of the Egyptian escalator with it's uncharacteristically quiet shrine to Princess Diana and Dodi.

Natalie, Natalie, I wish you were here!

A good thought

2009-04-26T16:15:00.000-07:00

Every relationship--husband and wife, parent and child, best friends, colleagues--is dependent on trust. It is not possible to have a relationship with someone you cannot trust. The only thing you can have with someone you can't trust is a strategy. Sheri Dew, Saying It Like It Is

Photo Credit: Nicolas Moulin

A Magnificent Milestone

2009-04-26T13:40:00.000-07:00

Our beautiful, smart, talented, tenacious, loving, generous, and truly gifted Jenny will graduate from the University of Utah on May 8th. It's been a long road with many unexpected detours, but she has determinedly stuck with her dream to graduate and we are so, so proud of her. Jenny, when I saw this video, it made me think of you. If you can accomplish all that you've just accomplished, you can do anything!

JENNY, you are a ROCK STAR !

and I CAN NOT WAIT

to see what you'll make happen next!

2009-04-26T11:40:00.000-07:00

I think we should all meet here this summer for lunch.

Un peu de FUN.

2009-04-25T10:11:00.000-07:00

Heather and Stephanie, I believe this post's especially for the two of you - and Cole and Cole. I'm needing a little break from French practice. My head is starting to hurt. So, I wandered around the l'internet for a while and ran into this fun site: robotscrapyard's photostream (yes, strange name, but if you love 'Uglies' you're gonna love it) on flickr. It was just the fun diversion I needed. (My studies must be working, I'm having a very hard time writing in English. Not to infer that I'd be doing any better en français. My poor little brain isn't sure where it lives right now.) D'accord. Mon détournement est terminé. Je retourne à mes études.

Whirlwind

2009-04-23T14:27:00.000-07:00

Last Thursday morning when I left for the airport, my front yard looked like this:

24 hours later, this was my "front yard" . . .

Came in on the the red-eye early this morning and (in just six days) my front yard now looks like this:

Snail's Pace

2009-04-15T13:31:00.000-07:00

What a world we share.

You, me, these snails.

Jen captured them

(with her cell phone!)

As she walked to work

This morning.

With a click

They shot to the sky

And landed in my computer.

Now

Through more magic

I don't understand

Here they are

In yours.

While I'm out . . .

2009-04-14T14:49:00.000-07:00

I'm going to be on the road (well, in the air too) for the next few weeks, so I'm going to let the old blog lie fallow for a bit. I'll try to post now and then from wherever in the world I might be . . . Stick around, it'll be fun to see where I turn up. Maybe I'll find myself a Garden Gnome costume and pose for pics here and there. A n y w a y . . .

Since I won't be an everyday kinda gal here on the Skinny Link for a while, I thought I'd post a fun little everyday something to keep you busy while I'm gone. (Devil's workshop and all that, you know.) This is really fun. You're going to love it. The Norfolk Botanical Garden in Norfolk, Virginia, in cooperation with a local television station, has been video tracking the nesting, laying, hatching, and feeding of a clutch of

B A B Y E A G L E S !

And for the benefit of Mr. Kite--and all of us out here in Internet Space, they have created a site which allows us to follow this miracle, LIVE!! (No! Really? Yes! Really! How cool is that?) I'll post a few pictures of what y'all have missed so far, and when you're done sighing over these, you can go HERE and watch the live action. (During daylight hours, natch. ) Have fun, and Abisynia!

2009-04-13T12:41:00.000-07:00

For the past several days, I've been watching Edgar and Lenore build a nest outside my bathroom window. It's been fun to watch the two of them work together. Lenore seems to do a lot of supervising, but she also finds and brings in building materials for the project, too. Actually, the nest they've been working on was much more compact and tidy than what you see here. . .
This morning, I heard some very loud, urgent birdsong coming from the building site. My camera was downstairs (darn), but the call was so frantic, I skipped the camera and ran in to see what was up. There was Edgar perched on the side of the hummingbird feeder, his tiny talons grasping the chain, chirping his little heart out--in alarm. It was immediately clear why. A big fat robin has taken over his and Lenore's nest! I watched helplessly as Edgar tried to scare him away, but it was no use. The robin must be four or five times Edgar's size. I wish there was something I could do. Hopefully, he and Lenore will still have time to get another nest built before their eggs are ready to lay!
I hate to be judgmental, but old Mr. Robin appears to be a bit of a slob. And a jerk. Why don't you just go and find your own nesting site, mistah!

My little Brit.

2009-04-13T12:25:00.000-07:00

This is our--Hawaiian born--Raleigh. Delightful little chap, isn't he? I'm not quite sure who 'Charlie' is, but his name seems to be integral to the production of this accent.

The Greatest Gift

2009-04-11T20:58:00.000-07:00

I got sunshine--on a cloudy day

2009-04-10T03:25:00.000-07:00

House hunting.

2009-04-09T11:36:00.001-07:00

So, since Edgar and Lenore have been house hunting,

I thought I'd put out this lovely model for their consideration.

It's just a one bedroom, but it's in a great neighborhood--

just outside my family room window.

(And, they can listen to conference!)

They're still thinking about it.

I'll let you know if they make an offer.

Are you kidding me?

2009-04-09T11:06:00.000-07:00

This is what we woke up to this morning.

Kinda gives new meaning to the phrase

"Be careful what you wish for . . ."

(Not quite exactly what I had in mind, ya know?)

No, today's pictures weren't shot in black and white.

(sigh.)

Hungry for summer

2009-04-08T13:06:00.001-07:00

I am not posting this picture because of it's high photo quality.

It's here because of it's high I'm-longing-for-this qualities.

I'm ready to drink from the sprinkler

and walk barefoot across the lawn.

I'm ready to watch sun peek through the trees

lay in the hammock

wake up to bird song

feel sun-pinked shoulders

smell teriyaki salmon on the grill

listen to the stream and grand baby giggles

sleep out on the tramp,

hear crickets sing

and watch a distant star fling itself across the sky.

I am ready. For. Summer.

Right now.

Would the wind and the cold please stop already?

Photo: Lincoln, Cardon & Lily, front lawn.

Way, way, waaaaaay last summer.

Swan Song

2009-04-06T21:21:00.000-07:00

Over 30 years ago, when I was still single, I read somewhere that swans mate for life. Unlike other birds, who are pretty indiscriminate about their choice of a mate (or even mates), swans stay monogamous throughout a lifetime. I still remember thinking that this was the most romantic thing I had ever heard. I loved it especially because I had seen so many marriages fail, and I ached when I saw the deep pain that came of these failures.

So, when Greg and I first got engaged, instead of an engagement ring (we were pretty poor) we gave each other a simple, framed photograph of a pair of trumpeter swans, soaring side by side through a deep blue sky. Right now, it's hanging in the hall right off the kitchen, and I walk past it several times a day. For thirty years it has hung in our homes, from one end of the continent to the other, through some very rocky times and of course, many easy and wonderful days, and I've never let it become invisible to me. I stand in front of it often, and remind myself how romantic it is. I let it remind me of the unbreakable commitment, the covenant Greg and I made to each other when we knelt together at an altar in the Salt Lake Temple so many years ago.

Once, when we were in Oiso, Japan on business, a young man, probably about 23-years-old, came up to me during our lunch break and ask if he could sit down at our table. In his gracious Japanese manner and halting English he told me that he hoped to marry someday, but he was afraid. His own parents were no longer married. Could he ask, please, if I could give him any advice? How was it, please, that Mr. Link and I had made "such a lasting marriage of happiness?"

I could see the sincerity and the hopefulness in his eyes. I could also see the fear. So we talked about swans and promises. We talked about covenants--serious promises that invite and include God in a marriage. I assured him that if he would work to become a man who knew how to keep his word--not only with himself, but with God, he would also become able to recognize the woman who also knew how to give and keep her word. It would take work, but if he would be careful to find his swan, the two of them could confidently create "such a lasting marriage of happiness."

I have been stunned at the number of marriages that implode following the loss of a child. But now that I've lived under the stress that such a loss places on a heart, I've come to understand the pain behind that statistic. And I realize how blessed I am to have found my swan. I was reminded of this blessing on Saturday, when Greg volunteered to be the one to clean out Gavin's car. When he came back into the kitchen it was obvious he'd been crying, that the job had been just as painful for him as it would have been for me. But he did it anyway. He did it because he wanted to save me from that pain. He did it because in covenant with God, he had promised he would love me, and take care of me--forever. Even if the sky got darker than he'd ever imagined it could and the winds blew harder than he'd ever imagined he could bear. He did it because he gave his word to me and to God that he would fly at my side, through any storm, forever.

I am so blessed.

Photo: National Geographic

On Snow and the Promise of Spring

2009-04-05T20:39:00.000-07:00

Greg took this picture of Lone Peak the other morning, standing in his bathrobe, knee deep in snow, out in the front yard. Soon these snow covered peaks will be skirted by the early green of spring. Now there is my favorite part of any year: snow in the mountains and green here in the valley. But we're still waiting for that shy season to take hold, and for the last three weeks we've had back to back snow storms. Any snow country dweller will tell you: This can get depressing--especially after April has already whispered in your ear that she's here. Of course, my early daffodils heard her and cheerfully shot up three weeks ago. They've since been hit, over and over, by frigid and fowl weather, and when I walk to the mailbox I can hear them whimpering to me from under the snow. They'll be fine. The moisture is good--and we're piling up mountain snow pack which makes for a good water year. When the good Lord sorts out his weather and decides to send snow, well then, snow's my choice.

General Conference was welcome and needed. Nourishing and comforting. To me, conference is like sitting down with a beloved brother or uncle, and feeling his tender arm around my shoulders. I lean into him and ease back into warm words of wisdom and love. This weekend, I drank in precious, healing waters I know Heavenly Father wanted me to hear. He's been feeling after me and is concerned I know, but I'm still bowed down under the weight of grief come again too soon. If I were a bird, the coyotes would have got me by now. God understands this need to hide, I'm sure. He waits and watches, arms folded, a patient smile. He knows I'll find my balance and open up again, come out into the light. I will. Everything in it's time.

We cleaned out Gavin's car on Saturday. Well, Greg did. I love that man. Afterwards, I stood in the laundry room and hugged a shirt that Gav had left in his trunk . . . how long ago? Long enough that his smell was missing. I searched for it, buried my face in that shirt, tried to imagine it. It wasn't there. But I could feel him in the thin, smooth cotton against my cheek, and I held him tight to my chest and cried. Hot, yearning tears. I don't resist them when they come. In many ways, they're part of what I have left of my boy, and it's good to feel them on my face, taste their salt on my lips.

Today, I loved these words from President Uchdorf:

We need the refining lessons of the journey

to craft our character

and purify our hearts.

A good thought

2009-04-03T15:11:00.000-07:00

It is easy to love the people far away. It is not always easy to love those close to us. It is easier to give a cup of rice to relieve hunger than to relieve the loneliness and pain of someone . . . in our own home. Bring love into your home, for this is where our love for each other must start. -Mother Teresa

Twitter Recall

2009-04-03T14:01:00.000-07:00

Don't watch yesterday's video (4.2.09). It stinks.

This one is better. And shorter.

Which is mostly why it's better. Of course.

Brevity is the soul of wit.

Real time twitters.

2009-04-02T10:34:00.000-07:00

So, here's a video of the latest on Edgar and Lenore. Actually, there are two different pairs of house finches hanging around the feeder these days. I'll bet they're related to each other. I know we had at least one finch nest in the yard last summer, so it's reasonable to imagine that more than one bird from the same clutch might return here to breed. "Hey, that Link yard was a pretty cool place to fledge. Lots of trees, a feeder, a stream. Let's move there and start a brood. You'll love it Lenore, I promise." We've found more than one humming bird nest tucked in the trees over the years. (Tiny, about the size of two golf balls, stacked.) And there was that abandoned finch nest the painters cleaned out last spring. I can understand the draw. Greg and I came back to the mountains to raise our kids. Come June, the meadowlarks will begin to advertise it over and over, "Al-pine is a pretty little town!" I'm looking forward to June.

It's been a long day. I've been battling with DirecTV, trying to get them to agree that my television isn't getting the signals it needs to let us watch TV and that my HD receiver really does need to be replaced. I had another repairman (repairperson? well, today's was a man) here today for an hour and a half. He crawled around on the roof for a while--everything was good up there--and when he left, the TV was finally working. But of course, tonight it isn't. Again. So I was back on the phone with Tech Support for another hour (not counting hold time). Normally, no TV wouldn't be a big deal, but my eye isn't up to reading and Greg is so stressed, a little televised diversion would have been a welcome relief tonight. (It also would have been kinda fun to watch the final episode of ER. Anyone catch it?) Oh well. It's just TV. I mean, really. Just TV.

But, sheeeez! I've let my ego turn this into one of those "It's the Principle of the Thing!" situations. We've been having the same problems over and over for the last four months . . . we wait on hold and then do their phone assisted trouble shooting, and I crawl around in the dust behind the unit with the phone taco-ed between my shoulder and my ear and a flashlight in my mouth. I block out days to wait for repair service calls. And we continue to pay our bill . . . we even pay an added monthly 'insurance' charge for cryin' out loud . . . you'd think we'd have working service after four months of this hoopla. They certainly aren't giving us any kind of break on our monthly service fees, even while we can't watch TV. And, or course, it's not really anyone's fault. At least not anyone I've talked to or worked with. They're just employees. What can they do? Welcome to the 21st century. When things are good, they're very, very good, and when they're bad they're awful.

I'm certainly pleasant today, aren't I? Think I'll go to bed. Let's see what kind of signal my dreams are receiving.

Snugglie Bugglie Time

2009-04-01T09:21:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time there was a mommy who loved to rock her baby while they read stories together. Oh, how they loved to snuggle up with a good story! They called it their Snugglie Bugglie time, and both Mommy and Baby thought it was just about the very best time of the whole day. Then, one day, Baby grew big and a new baby came to live with him and Mommy. Imagine how happy they were! Except for one sad thing. When they all tried to snuggle up for story time together, they discovered they had a SQUASHEY problem! Oh no! Their rocking chair was too little for Sugglie Bugglie Time! So Grammie went surfing and discovered this wonderful idea called the Storytime Rocker.

And they all lived happily ever after.

The End

Takin' care of business.

2009-03-31T09:08:00.000-07:00

Everyone was right. The pain in my eye just kept getting worse and by 5:30--too late to get in to the actual eye doctor, of course--I was rushing myself to an InstaCare. This wasn't easy. I couldn't open my left eye, and because I've done that mono-vision thing with my contacts for several years now, my right eye is conditioned to doing only the close-up work. Luckily, Alpine doesn't have much traffic.

(And a break for some happy news. Lenore and Edgar have returned. They make their rounds from window to window now. A couple of mornings Edgar has even come up to my bedroom, where he sits on the handle of the patio door, peeps in at me and taps on the glass. I've given up trying to figure him out. I'm just glad they're back and will be watching to see where they put their nest. Sorry, they're still a little too skittish for me to try any more pics.)

So, as I drove myself home from the pharmacy last night, miserable, lonely and feeling pretty sorry for myself, I got a phone call from a neighbor who has asked if they can have Gavin's car for their mother, who just returned from a mission and has no money. I feel good about giving it to them. A good cause and all that. But, dang. I really wasn't feeling up do doing anything more than just getting my sore face home, laying it down on the couch and feeling sorry for myself. I told her that when I got home and found his keys, I'd call her. Then, as I hung up, it hit me. She intended to send her brother over, with his tow rope, to meet me as I got home. He was going to take Gavin's car. Right then. What was I thinking? To orchestrate this for her meant going home and, partially blind, cleaning out my deceased son's car so that someone could take it. Away. Good cause, schmood cause. I'm so sorry. Not tonight. I called her and bowed out. Then I went home and had a good long cry.

So, you're wondering what's up with this picture. Lyn saw Lincoln's upside down goggles and left a comment about kids, upside down goggles and shoes on the wrong feet. It reminded me of my mom, who used to tell me about the little boy whose mom told him that his shoes were, once again, on the wrong feet. He looked at her in dismay and said, "But Mommy! These are the only feet I got!"

And there's my lesson from yesterday. These are the only eyes I got. This is the only heart I got. This is the only me I got. Sometimes, I gotta take care of me.

I know an old lady . . .

2009-03-30T13:39:00.000-07:00

Just had to capture this. There's something up with my eye. Maybe I've scratched it? I'm not sure, but it has been hurting for a few days now, so I thought I'd try an eye patch for 24 hours before giving in and going to the eye doctor. The patch is a folded over running sock. I tried taping it in place, but the tape won't stick very well, so the reading glasses have been employed. But the glasses don't quite do the trick all by themselves, so I've wrapped the waistband cut from an old pair of pants Gav and I bought at the Russian Market in Phnom Penh (true story) to help keep the glasses pressed against the running sock, and actually, this system is providing some kinda nice pressure. (The waist band is working so well because it has elastic PLUS a draw-string which I've tied tightly.) Oh, and my hair needs to be in a pony tail to help keep the waist band from slipping down.

I don't know why she swallowed the fly, perhaps she'll die.

Wish me luck.

Like Unkie, like nephew.

2009-03-30T09:51:00.000-07:00

This morning, I'm lovin my boys. Just look at them.

How could I possibly not?

It's Coming!!!

2009-03-28T09:52:00.001-07:00

If you live anywhere near Salt Lake City, you're going to want to take advantage of the opportunity to visit the StoryCorps booth with someone you love. Whether it's their story you want to hear, or a story of your own that wants telling, the StoryCorps soundproofed recording booth is a wonderful place to do it. The booth is private and intimate. There are two chairs and a small table with a single lamp and a microphone. The cozy booth is designed to create an atmosphere where you can forget the microphone and simply share your story--whatever that story might be. Worried that you may not know how to begin? They'll provide you with some questions you may want to consider asking. (Here's an example: I just found this beautiful StoryCorps story this morning. It's the recording from a father's visit to a StoryCorps booth with his daughter.)

After you've finished sharing your story, two high-quality CD's of that story will be created: One for you to keep and one to be archived in the American Folklife Center at the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C.

The traveling booth will be in Salt Lake from March 26 through May 2, 2009. For more information and to register, click here.

Sugar and spice and everything nice!

2009-03-24T16:13:00.001-07:00

Steph and Kev are having a GIRL!!!!

Congratulations you two!

First granddaughter! Woot! Woot!!

Humans. I just love 'em.

2009-03-24T09:23:00.000-07:00

They've done it again. A group of humans have gotten together to create beauty and fun, just for the Joy of it. Such a cool species we are. So like our Dad.

Oh, and kudos to those amazing dogs, as well.

Happy Birthday Shelly!!!

2009-03-22T13:16:00.000-07:00

She loves like an angel and gives like a Saint,

And serves with her whole heart, no matter how faint.

Her hugs are pure heaven, her smile like warm sun,

And her praise is like fresh rain--you just glow when she's done.

She raised four golden children, each gifted as she

Who're now adding branches to her great family tree.

And my lucky daughter became part of that clan

When she wed Shelly's Richie (a good Norton man).

Imagine my fortune, the joy of my joys . . .

'Cuz my wonderful grandsons get to be Shelly's boys!

Happy Birthday Sweet Shelly!

You are truly one of the GREAT blessings of my life.

I love you,

Annie

Raising boys . . .

2009-03-19T22:16:00.000-07:00

Dear Coleman,

I hate to say it, but

this probably won't be your last visit to

the Emergency Room. . .

. . . or the last time you'll have to sit around in one for

six or seven hours

waiting

for someone to finally get around

to stitching you up,

or setting your arm,

or your foot,

or whatever else you'll probably break

zooming around the planet

being a little boy.

Or a big boy, for that matter.

(Seems it pretty much comes with the territory.)

Pop and I are very glad you're ok, though.

Tell Mommy and Daddy to do their best to relax:

I've been prayin' up the very finest Guardian Angels to

stay close

and make sure that all those visits remain minor ones.

But do remind Mom and Dad to keep that insurance paid up.

Boys seem to need lots of that.

I love you,

Nana

p.s. You're gonna think that little scar on your head is very cool.

My nomination for the next Nobel

2009-03-19T11:41:00.000-07:00

The inventor of this site deserves the creative equivalent of the Nobel Prize. Ah heck, let's just give her/him the Nobel. Right now. As for the rest of you, you need to click here, right now. Oh, and be sure to click on Fresh Sheet and Manic Model before you leave. OK, I'm done bossing everyone around.

For now.

Twitter, I love you.

2009-03-19T09:01:00.000-07:00

This is how I get my news. At least the only news I really care about. I'm not complaining. When your daughter has to leave her phone turned off because she has three busy little boys, a busy photography business and an even busier husband, you learn to be very, very grateful for Twitter. And I am. Very, very grateful. My mom never got half the news I do. And for sure, only one-tenth the laughs.

A good thought

2009-03-18T16:45:00.000-07:00

It's telling to think how many will be watching the Market tonight

when they could be watching the sunset.

C'mon everybody, lighten up. We're going to be fine.

Really, we are. And more importantly, we are fine, right now.

Forget Me Not

2009-03-18T10:04:00.000-07:00

Gav and I used to hike up to Horsetail Falls at least once every year. The last time we went it was very early Spring. I remember this because as we hiked down, the wind started to pick up and clouds gathered quickly, and by the time we were past the trailhead and back onto pavement, we were screaming and whooping into a wild and icy March wind, trying to shield our faces as we raced through the pelting sleet. In this exact moment, I remember how alive I felt. How happy I was laughing and screaming through the wind with my boy. (It's odd, when I gaze back into memories like this, how I feel to reach in and warn that blithely happy woman of the darkness that's ahead. Warn? I don't know. Maybe comfort is the better word? I feel so tender toward her, so sorry for her, there in all her innocent bright hopefulness about what she imagines the future to hold.)

Those earliest hikes, the one's when you're pushing your luck against the probability of one of winter's final assaults before she finally relinquishes her reign to spring, are always iffy. But they're also the hikes that can yield the sweetest surprises. Finding early flowers, the tender ones that always die young, is the reward for a hiker's willingness to risk a late snow or sleet storm. This hike had given us that. Along either side of the trail, hidden back in the underbrush where remnants of snow wept into boggy soil, we found scattered Forget Me Nots, their tiny blue faces shining up from the early green grasses. We were both smitten and kept stopping each other to show off the next batch we'd discovered. (I loved how Gavin could get as carried away by nature as I do.) We turned a corner and came upon the trickle of a tiny spring, bleeding it's way across the trail. We followed it's path off to the left and down into a shallow little glen, no more than five feet wide, maybe ten or eleven feet long--and were suddenly frozen in awe. The glen was blanketed with Forget Me Nots. It was as if a soft blue mist had gathered there in that hollow and lay resting at our feet. Time slowed and we stood silent in the beauty of that pristine moment, nothing more than awe passing between us.

Another turn of seasons, and Spring begins to raise her sleepy head. I imagine there are Forget Me Nots out there in that glen again this year. I don't know that I want to hike out to see. I don't know if I want to stand in that moment again without Gavin. But it is good to imagine them there. And it's good to know that they'll come again every spring as the snow disappears into the dark loamy mountain soil.

Photo credit: flikr.