Accident

So, after that stressful Thursday getting Josie home, Friday was a pretty good day. Until it wasn't.

Bruce left for work at about 10 pm. Almost ten minutes later, he called me and said, "Can you call work and tell them I will probably be late? I got hit."
"You got hit?" I asked. "By a car."
"Yes," he said. "I am just by Molly's cafe. She pulled out of the parking lot and hit me."
"But you're not hit very bad?" I queried...because he had called me; he was talking to me. He sounded reasonably sane. "Should I come and get you?" I asked. "What about your bike?"
"Well, the paramedics are on their way" he said.

So...I waited a few minutes and called again. This time a different voice answered the phone. "Is this Myrna?" he asked. "I am one of the paramedics on site at this accident. We are taking Bruce to the hospital. Can you meet us there?"
"He isn't hurt very badly, is he?" I asked. Because you know--he asked me to call work and say he would be late, not that he wouldn't be coming.
"Well..." he said, "He's got a pretty bad head wound. We are going to want to have him checked out completely."

So Josie and I headed for the hospital. And this is what we found, except we took these pictures at home sometime after one AM when they released him:

They cut him out of his pants, and he said, "But my wife just washed them today!"  And when they told me, I said, "But I just washed them today!" Not to mention, I bought those pants not even a month ago.  They wanted to cut him out of his shirt, too, but he said, "No! This is my work shirt! I need it!" So they didn't cut it, they painfully took it off properly. However...though I could get all the blood stains out, I could not get the road-rubbings off it. And, the big hole on the shoulder...there is nothing I can do about that, either. So it still needs to be replaced, despite his efforts to keep it intact.

Josie's Journey Home

Josie's journey home was very long.  She left Cardiff on Saturday August 17, taking the train to Didcot Parkway, where David's friend Rachel, an attorney who lives and works in Oxford, picked her up for the weekend.

Josie got to relax and enjoy a couple of days in Oxford. She got to see our friendly Felin family, who have relocated to Oxford from Orem.

She and Rachel had a fun Monday night with the Oxford YSA, and then Josie was packing again. Tuesday, Rachel drove her to the Oxford train station, where she traveled to the Birmingham Airport.

There, she boarded a Ryan Air flight to Dublin at 11:00 pm, and arrived in Dublin an hour later. Then she had hours to wait, during a time of day when there is nothing to do, before her Aer Lingus flight to Chicago. I wished she could have spent the whole day Tuesday in Oxford, but in trying to get the train and flight to work so that she would be at the airport in time for her flight to Chicago...it just wasn't going to work. So the only option was for her to fly to Dublin on Tuesday night.

In Chicago, her cousin Heather picked her up at the airport. They spent an enjoyable time together, and Josie got to do what she wanted to do the most: sleep! Rest! She was exhausted.

 Heather had to get up and leave for work on Thursday morning. Josie had decided to take a cab to the airport, even though it was more expensive. She felt like it would be less of a worry. She booked the cab for 2:30 on Thursday afternoon, which should leave her ample time at the airport for her flight which was leaving at 5:35.

The only difficulty was that Josie needed a phone number for the cab, but her phone has died while she was in England. So she used my phone number, and then, when the cab company got in touch with me, I was supposed to message her on Facebook.

And I think that plan would have worked, but Josie was worried about being downstairs for her cab (Heather lives on the third floor) so she told me earlier in the day that she was just going to go downstairs and out at 2:30.

That made me  worried, but I didn't say anything, because it was kind of a hovering worry, not one that I could really explain. But when I got a text from the cab company that said that Josie's ride was unassigned, and they may not have a taxi for her, then I knew why I had been bothered by her decision to go out--because if she was outside, away from an internet connection, I had no way to contact her.

For me, the afternoon passed in a great state of anxiety, as I first called the cab company to make sure a taxi would be dispatched, and had multiple conversations with them, and as I chatted with some of my other kids and some of my student kids about the situation. It is too difficult to go through all the worry and stress, so I will just cut to Josie's point of view.

Josie went downstairs, but she knew that if she actually left the building, she would not be able to get back inside. So she was careful to just open the door and peer out, and step back inside. But one time, she thought she saw a cab, and needed to step out a bit further. So she put her suitcase in the door to keep it from closing tight, and stepped out with her backpack and duffel bag. Well, the door pushed her suitcase outside, and shut! Now...there she was outside, with no way back in. (This was actually a blessing...it would have been much worse had the suitcase got locked inside while she was outside!)

She didn't know what to do, so she just waited, and waited. No taxi. (While simultaneously, I am trying desperately to figure out the taxi situation from afar.)

Finally, Josie walked to a restaurant called Porky's Pizza that Heather had pointed out to her as a friendly neighborhood family-run business. Josie went inside and asked to use their phone to call home, and was initially told no because it was an out-of-state call. They talked, and when they found out her situation, they offered to call a different cab company and arrange a cab for her. One of them said, "Does your family know what is going on?" Josie said "No." And the person said, "Well, you call them." So she got to call me after all.

I was overjoyed to hear from her! So glad to know that a taxi was arranged--it was supposed to be there in ten minutes. However, my own taxi arranging was also working out, and they texted me to say they had found a taxi after all and would be sending it soon. I didn't know if I should try to cancel it, or leave it, because I didn't care which taxi she took, as long as she took one of them!

Time passed, and I was thinking that she must be in the taxi on her way to the airport by now. But I didn't KNOW, so I thought...I know! I will call back the number she called me from (Porky's Pizza) and ask them how long ago she left, hoping someone there would know.  I called...the person who answered was so NICE, but he surprised me by saying, "She's still here! Do you want to talk to her?" She was a bit worried, because by now it was past 3:30, she still had an hour ride to the airport, the plane was still leaving at 5:35. But, as we were talking, the taxi arrived, so she quickly hung up and went to get in the taxi.

I looked up the google maps route from where Josie was to where she needed to be: 28 minutes it said, BUT under current conditions 1 hour and 6 minutes.  At this point, it seemed that she could not possibly be at the airport until 4:45. Cutting it close!

I asked some of my kids what they thought. Nancy said not to worry; Patrick assured me that he had done 20 minutes between planes and made it. I said, "Should I just wait, and if she doesn't call me to say she missed the plane, assume she made it?"  That seemed to be my only choice.

But then, by 5:30, I thought that if she had paid the taxi using her debit card, I should be able to see that on her account....so I looked at her account, and the taxi had been paid for, so at least I knew that she was at the airport.

Back to Josie's side of things. She is in the taxi, with a female driver who is actually a lawyer, but who prefers to drive taxi. She only drives during the day. She feels that driving a Chicago taxi is a life's calling for her; she feels like every fare is the person she is supposed to meet at that time in her life.  She and Josie have a long and very connected chat. The time to the airport is longer than one hour and six minutes; they arrive at 5:00 PM.

Back in Oxford, the ward had been given a Book of Mormon challenge...the challenge to share the book with someone, with each person given two books to share. Josie had the books handy in her bag, the challenge in the front of her memory, and she had just spent a wonderful hour and a quarter or more with a wonderful, kind woman. So she got out a Book of Mormon and gave it to her driver, who, after helping Josie with her bags, gave her a great big hug and told her that she was the best fare that the driver had ever driven.

So Josie was at the airport, but only had a half hour before her plane was to take off. She still needed to figure out which terminal, where to check in and go through security, which gate...she asked for help, and several times was sent in the wrong direction, including taking the shuttle to the wrong terminal and back again when someone else corrected the first error.  She managed to get checked in, where she was expedited through security--she did not take her bottles or computer out of her bag; she did not take off her shoes--pretty miraculous, especially at a huge airport like Chicago O'Hare.

When she got to the correct gate, there were lots of people sitting down, and no one waiting in line. For a second, she was ready to sit down and wait, but then they announced "Last call for Salt Lake City!" so she quickly went to the gate entryway, hurried to the plane, and was the last one on board.  She had a nice seat mate, a young man who loaned her his phone so she could call me. She said, "I am on the plane. Goodbye." Because he loaned her the phone AFTER they told everyone to turn theirs off!

The plane was about 15 minutes late arriving in Salt Lake, and I wish I could say that Josie's adventures were over when she deplaned, but alas, I was the driver, and it was a dark and rainy night. I am not the best night driver, and night + rain = YIKES! As Josie told her dad on the phone, when we called to tell him that I had got us lost because I missed my exit, "Mom should not be allowed to drive to the airport alone on a dark and rainy night. It does not end well."

And that was before I pulled off the freeway at Lehi, to hang out in a McDonalds for awhile to let the worst of the torrential rain get over with before venturing out onto the freeway again.  But I disagree--it ended well, because we got home safely.

Funerals

A few weeks ago, I admitted on Facebook to actually enjoying funerals.

I had just attended Paul Pollei's. And it was an awesome funeral. He was 77, which isn't terribly long-lived, but he had lost his wife a few months earlier, and he (and she as well) had been suffering from Alzheimer's. His two children are fully grown, independent adults. It was easy to be happy for him that his dementia was over. My only regret was that the corner of the library honoring him, which has been planned for years, was not completed during his lifetime. I am not even sure it really matters anymore, because he was the one who cared the most about it.

Anyways, here is the program from Paul's funeral:

The music at this funeral was fabulous.  The opening hymn sounded superb, but that was because there were hundreds of MOTAB members spread out in the audience. As you can see, the MOTAB sang an excerpt from Faure's requiem, which was something Paul Pollei had hoped for.  The speakers were on the illustrious side; and the American Piano Quartet, of which Paul was a working member--he had not forgotten how to play the piano--until his death, performed. This kind of music does not happen at every funeral.

And of course, it was so interesting to learn about Paul's life--as a person, not just as a passionate pianist and academic.  One story: when Mack Wilberg was a teen, his mom signed him up for lessons with Paul Pollei. And Mack HATED those lessons. First of all, they lived far away, so there was the boring drive there and back every week. And then there was just Paul's perfectionism.  Mack felt very intimidated. So, after a year, he begged his mom to let him stop the lessons, and she gave in, though she was disappointed.

A year or two later, when Mack went to BYU, he was SO HAPPY because Dr. Pollei was on sabbatical that year, so Mack didn't have to even worry about running into him! Mack studied piano with someone else at BYU, but was actually pretty disappointed, and so he thought he was done with music as a profession. Then Mack left to serve a mission for two years. By the end of his mission, he was not sure what he would major in, but was almost certain that it would not be music.

Post-mission, Mack moved into an apartment with some friends, and was looking forward to Sunday, to check out the girls in the ward. He and his roommates went into the meeting and sat down, and Mack lifted his eyes to the front of the room--and there, looking right at him was his new bishop, Paul Pollei.  He tried to avoid Paul after church, but Paul's eyes bore into him, and he made a beeline to Mack. He asked,"What are you doing with your life?" "Well, I don't know," Mack mumbled. "Are you going to continue your music studies?" asked Paul. "Well, no, I am thinking of majoring in something else..." "Be in my office at 8 AM sharp Monday morning!" Paul said.

And the rest, Mack said, is history. Paul became one of his best friends, they founded the American Piano Quartet together...and Mack is now pretty much a household name.

It was fun to hear Paul's son (a former colleague at the HBLL) tell about growing up in that home, with a mother who did costume design for film and television, and a father who was moving in classical music circles. Their upbringing was not run-of-the-mill, but they knew they were loved, and they knew their parents had testimonies of the gospel. It was a good life.

As I said, a good, interesting funeral with great music. Strong testimonies all around. Just uplifting and delightful. And though Emilie and Mark were not HAPPY that their father passed away, they were at least prepared for it--the dementia was getting worse, their dad could no longer do many of the things he had enjoyed, they knew that he would not be getting better in this life. So, while they were sad, as we all are to lose our parents, they were ready to let go.

In comparison, Dorothy Gillespie's funeral was today. And it was also beautiful and moving, but for me, just so much sadder. Her children had no preparation to lose her; she was there one day, gone the next. And while most of them are grown up, some are not. Philip still has a few years to grow up; James will come from his mission to no mother. That makes me sad.

And her grandchildren are so little! Three five year olds, three little ones, and a baby. Little Michael already only had one grandmother; now he has none. (Except for Karen, his great-aunt, who has been acting in loco grandparentis for his entire life. He is so lucky in that!)

I was five, almost six, when my grandpa Hancock died. But I was near the tail-end of many, many grandchildren. My oldest first cousin's daughter, his great-granddaughter, (Doreen : Karen : Eric) had her first baby about the time that I was five. These five year olds are Dorothy's oldest grandchildren.  I hope they will be able to remember her a little bit, remember how fun she was, and how much she loved them.

There was fabulous music at this funeral, too, but much different than at Paul's funeral: our opening song was one of my favorite Primary songs. I am guessing it was one of Dorothy's favorites, too. And five of those sweet grand-children (Adam and Jamie; Emily and Ammon ; and Michael) sang I am a child of God. They sang it zestfully! They tried to see who could sing it the most exuberantly (Adam, I am thinking) and they smiled and sang their hearts out! Dorothy would have been proud!

We also had a piano number; Jodie's spirit-filled rendition of "Love at Home" was so beautiful and inspiring.

We got to hear stories about Dorothy: like the time she invited a magazine salesman in to have a glass of lemonade on a hot day, played a game of chess with him, and sent him on his way with a copy of her favorite magazine, The Ensign. Or the time that she and Diana stopped and gave water and treats to all of the workmen on a road crew.

It was a beautiful funeral. But I just could not like it as much as Paul Pollei's, because I just was not ready to say good-bye to her. I just kept hoping it wasn't true, that she would sit up and say, "Just kidding!" But, as Diana said, "Oh...it's true." So, lots of tears for a well-loved woman.

The room was packed. When her brother Ken spoke, he said, turning to the Stake President, KC Shaw, "Thanks for having Stake Conference at my sister's funeral." It was a very full funeral!

I am grateful to my daughter, Nancy, who gave me a list of things to do for the Gillespie family, because I am not so good at thinking of things myself. She suggested that I take them paper goods so they would not have to do dishes. She suggested that I volunteer to babysit. She suggested that snack foods for the kids would be useful--the relief society would bring meals, but snacks would come in handy.

So I took paper goods on Sunday, raiding my huge supply, and when I handed them to Michelle, volunteered to babysit. She said they would need babysitters during the viewing, so I said I would do it, and they would not need to worry about it.  Since Josie is not home and Rosie had other plans, I called on Jolynn and Barbara to help me, and they generously agreed.

Jolynn and I arrived together, and one of the first things I noticed was that all the paper goods were set out, opened, and being used. (Good call, Nancy!) Jolynn had been chopping hot peppers before I picked her up, and forgot that some residue might be on her hands, even though she had washed them--she touched her eye, and was in agony for a good half hour. Even so, she played with children, figured out how to work the DVD player, and started to clean the house. Barbara arrived later, and then we did more of the same until Jodie came to relieve us when it was getting close to bedtime. It was a sweet experience. The service drew the three of us closer, and we kept looking for things we could do for Dorothy that she could not do for herself, taking care of her home and grand-children. I brought snack foods for the kids, and they loved the rainbow fish; I left more snacks behind, and I hope they came in handy at the funeral today.

So Nancy was right about the babysitting and the snacks, too.

I was so glad that I could be Nancy's hands, to do her list of service with the help of my friends, serving Dorothy, Michelle, Diana and Steve, all people that Nancy dearly loves. At the funeral today, everyone in the family thanked me--me, who would not have thought of doing anything on my own! Nancy deserves their thanks, for I was just being her hands. I can only say that it was my privilege. What a blessing to me to be able to be of service to them. Such sweet, obedient, cheerful children the little ones are. Such a legacy for Dorothy. I am sad they will miss getting to know her better. She was wonderful.

Happy Graduation Day...and also sad day

Patrick graduated from BYU! And surprised us all by deciding to attend his graduation!

The last graduation in our family was in 2010, when Bruce and Eric both graduated from the Marriott School at BYU.

In this picture, displaying the fact that Eric was very dressed down for his April graduation, having just stepped off the plane from Israel, and his suitcase did not step off with him, NO--actually, he wished to rebel against dressing up AND to show off his sandals from Jerusalem. As corrected by Auntie Colleen.

Notice the size of the crowd--and Wally, Sara, Kelli and Allen weren't in the picture, but were at the graduation.

Well, a lot can happen in three years. No more Torries at BYU; my brother and his wife on a mission; kids have moved away or are away in distant places or have jobs they can't get away from; Grandpa left this earth...lots of change.  So the crowd for Patrick was much smaller. Which is okay, because Patrick is not one for a lot of fuss.

Auntie Judy, me, Patrick and Bruce. Bruce and I managed to match and wear BYU colors without even thinking about it!

It was interesting to see the difference between a Marriott School graduation in April and one in August. Patrick, having suffered with all of us through the long graduation of Bruce and Eric in 2010, really did think hard about whether or not to attend his own graduation. Their graduation was BRUTAL! It was at least three hours long. At least. The graduates were too many for the floor of the Marriott Center, and filled rows in the audience section as well. Bruce's group was the very last to get their diplomas, and man, that took FOREVER!

For those who attended THAT graduation, of which I don't have a picture, but I am sure it is burned in our memories, dear sweet Auntie Judy took a picture of the room at THIS graduation...see all those empty chairs on the floor?

Quite a difference, isn't it?

We were there one hour, start to finish. By 3 pm, the last diploma had been handed out, and we were standing up watching the graduates file out. Sweet!

The day had been a happy one for Josie across the sea in Wales, too. She and a couple of her friends ran into Martin Freeman on the streets of Cardiff, and had a chat and photo op with him. (I actually had no clue who he is: an actor: Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit, and Watson in Sherlock.)

Josie, Martin, Lydia, Abigail

Josie and I were chatting on Facebook when I noticed my friend Diana had put up a post that said: "My heart aches. I've never hurt like this before. So to all of you who have lost your Mom before me....now....Now I understand." I was instantly in SHOCK. I started chatting with Andrew to find out WHAT HAPPENED to Dorothy, one of the most fully ALIVE people I know.  Andrew  didn't know what happened., except for that it happened while the Heiss and Gillespie families and friends were on their annual Grover camping trip. 

I didn't want to ask Diana, who was already overwhelmed just with her heartbreak, so I messaged Shayla's mom--Shayla is Andrew's sister-in-law--who lives in the same ward and neighborhood as the Gillespies and Heisses. She messaged me back: "From what I heard they were hiking in southern Utah and she got overheated. John went to get help but it took 3 hours."

And so I told Josie, because she is good friends with Dorothy's son, James, as well as, you know, just loving Sister Gillespie because she is such an awesome person. I think I plunged Josie into the depths of sadness from the cloud of happiness she was riding on. Sorry about that, Josie.

This is the Dorothy Gillespie we knew, loved and miss:

Weird how life just goes on. You want to sit in a corner and cry, but there are things to do. Like, I had an eye doctor appointment. So, I sat in my office and cried a bit, and then I went to my appointment. My eye doctor also knows the Gillespie family, so we shared our mutual sorrow, and then he checked my eyes and dilated my pupils and sent me on my way with some disposable dark glasses so I could see to drive myself back to work. My eyes stayed dilated for a LONG time, which is why I could not really open my eyes in Patrick's graduation pictures.

And even though my heart was full of sadness for the loss of Dorothy, and the pain her sweet family is in, I was also very happy for Patrick, so proud of him and his accomplishments! So that was such a happy time!

River Rafting

Patrick, I am sure, will not write about his experiences on the river rafting trip he just returned from, so here is my third person account. When he called me yesterday to tell me that they were on their way home, I did my worried-mom thing and asked "Is everyone okay?" and he said, "Well...I have some stories to tell. But I will tell you when I get home." So I knew that everything had not been trouble-free, but they were all coming out alive and also not in an ambulance, so that was great news!

The group was twelve people, nine guys and three gals. None of them are expert river rafters, but all of them are high adventure enthusiasts. They had researched the trip thoroughly over a few months, got all the gear together, and left on Monday afternoon (August 12) for Moab and the Colorado River.

Patrick is in the middle standing up, wearing the sun glasses.

At one point, they were going through a narrow place body surfing rather than on rafts, going into the water one or two at a time. The plan was to veer left as the river widened substantially (like football field wide, with scattered rocks and boulders in the middle, as I understand it). Patrick was the second last to go. He had his life jacket, some rope and a knife; that was all besides his swimwear. As he was about to go, he noticed that one of their party had not veered left as he should have; he had veered right. While he was in calmer water, he was also not moving, in a kind of tucked position. Warning bells went off  in Patrick's lifeguard trained brain, so he turned to the guy behind and said that he would go after the person who was in trouble. The other guy would go the direction the group went and alert the group.

So Patrick gets to the man in distress. He has asthma; he panicked; he is not in good shape, and has worn himself out due to his panic in the water. He is not going to be able to make it to where the group is, Patrick can see that. He tows the guy to some of the rocks, where they can stand and be out of the water above the knees.

Patrick surveys their position in the water, and decides that their best chance for survival is to go to the right, the closer side. The canyon wall looks pretty steep, but he knows that it is less steep than it looks, so they would be able to climb it without gear, although it might be tough going in spots. Then, they can hike out on the opposite side from their group. They might be cold, hungry and thirsty, but he knows he can get the guy out alive on the right side. He also knows that there is no way he can do it on the left side: too far, too many rapids.

He is standing and looking towards where the other ten people in the group have now made it to shore on the left side. There is some wild gesticulating going on from their group leader.  Patrick begins gesticulating back. "And that," Patrick says, "was the longest game of charades that I have ever played!" (And by long, not time, because the whole "game" only took a few minutes, but over the length of a football field--in other words, someone like me, with rather poor vision, could not play this very "long" game!) Patrick gets what all the body language means--they intend to throw one heck of a long rope.

The ten people tie together all the pieces of rope they can find. And then one guy swims out into the rapids with the end of the rope, while the other nine people are holding onto the other end.  But the water proves too tough a competitor for this swimmer. He cannot get close enough. He gets kind of close, and Patrick is thinking about jumping in and swimming to the guy, but he is too far away for Patrick to leave the person in distress--he worries about what that panicky guy will do if Patrick leaves him for the time and distance required.  So swimmer number one just lets the other nine, who can see that he is in trouble, haul him back in to the left side.

Swimmer number two is Jordan R., a good family friend of Patrick, David and Josie. "Jordan always has my back," Patrick says. "If Jordan is bringing the rope, I know that he is going to succeed. There is no way that Jordan would leave me in the river; if he is bringing the rope, the rope is coming." But even Jordan does not quite get to where he wants to go; however, he is close enough that Patrick knows he can make it to Jordan even while towing distressed person. So he takes his rope out and ties a little harness around distressed person, and then he grabs the guy and into the water he goes, swimming to Jordan for all he is worth.

They make it to Jordan, and then they just let the other nine pull all three of them to shore.  Patrick said the nine of them would run with the rope, then grab a closer segment, then run with that, and keep doing it until they could reach the swimmers and pull them in.

This was all accompanied, as you can imagine, by a lot of praying! Patrick was furious with asthmatic swimmer dude, but he kept it contained, although he did vent to others once they were all safe.  As Patrick says, if you are going to do high adventure, you need to know your body. If you know that you might not be able to do something without endangering yourself and others--in this case, three more peoples efforts were needed in the water to save the one guy, and even though it turned out all right in the end--if there is a chance that you physically can't do something, be a sport and say "I will sit this one out. This is probably going to be too much for me."  Well, maybe the guy didn't know his own body well enough. Now he does.

Patrick beside the still waters of the Colorado River. The date on that picture is totally wrong--these are the clothes Patrick was wearing yesterday, August 14, 2013. Proving once again that you can't believe everything you read! This is what Patrick said about that on Facebook: "Actually when we entered Moab we traveled back in time. Luckily as we neared the river the dinosaurs died again... That was an eventful few miles."

 Patrick related other experiences in the rafts, where he said that he saw the hand of God, as one raft or another would clearly be headed to huge boulders, or dangerous places, and then...they would be moved in one motion. He saw this happen to rafts he was not in. One time, he saw his friend's raft literally shift positions so that it did not capsize when all the signs of its trajectory indicated that it would not be able to remain safe. And yet, it did.  So, he had a lot of fun, gained a lot of experience, was alternately happy, concerned, worried, in life-saving mode, excited, relieved--and also gained himself some testimony of the power of prayer and the literal hand of God in the lives of young people.

Blessings

I have not written for a month? I need to get back on track--I have run out of excuses. We have moved -- mostly finished with the unpacking; still have art work to hang on the walls and the ceiling. I have finished my dissertation, and will officially graduate from UNISA and be able to call myself "Dr." (which sounds so pretentious!) on October 9.

I have so much to be grateful for! Last Monday (July 29) Patrick was really busy with Orchard Days, Santaquin's big summer event, and which he has been helping with as his internship in recreation management--and he called Bruce to see about putting some of Bruce's artwork in a show. The show was called "Quilt and Art Show" but all Patrick could see were quilts, so he wanted some art up, so that others would feel like submitting their art as well.

So Bruce and I selected six pieces (2 glass, 4 oils) and got on the freeway. We ended up stuck between exits for a loooooong time (I turned on the radio--there had been a high-speed chase and a rollover) and while we were waiting, Bruce's cell phone rang, and it was a job offer!  Art show + job offer in one day!  Then...after we set up the art on display, we went to a restaurant for dinner, and Patrick texted his dad to tell him that I LEFT MY WALLET at the art gallery. Seriously. I just left it sitting there.  And NOTHING was missing. What a blessing!

Bruce's new job is night auditor at the La Quinta in Provo. He is still working his other job -- two part-time jobs. I hope that the new job turns into full time, and he will just work that job. But in the meantime, I am SO grateful that he is working full time! His hours are crazy and he gets tired, but hey--how many times have I worked two jobs? (Five years in Alberta; five years here--in a set of two and three, so not in a row.) It is do-able. You have to, so you do it. I am so grateful that he was given this opportunity, and for all the possibilities the experience brings to him.

So, I am feeling really blessed lately. I was really depressed just a few weeks ago, and I dealt with that (thanks to Nancy for her listening ear, and thanks for her recommendation that I see a counselor, and even thanks to me for actually following through with that) and now, such a short time later, I am feeling really blessed. Which is a much better, nicer way to feel.

The other night, Patrick was the voice for family prayer, and he said, "We thank thee for the blessings you give us that we don't notice." And I thought that was very profound, and so I have been thinking about it all week.  There are a lot of blessings that I DO notice, and probably do not express enough gratitude for. But I have been thinking...I need to look a little harder, so I will notice more blessings. I want to be more grateful. I really have been blessed, I am blessed. How cool is that? And I am thankful. And trying to be more thankful, more aware of just how good my life is; of how fully I am blessed.