tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19502721794113892162024-03-14T00:17:43.813-06:00My Family and Other AnimalsThis is about me. Me, a literary husband, six busy kids, one and a half excitable dogs, and three cats who own us all.Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.comBlogger724125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-68237182432883418522024-02-20T20:26:00.003-07:002024-02-20T20:26:52.735-07:00The News (in Short)<p> It's a bit late, but happy new year!</p><p>Some of the latest news: </p><p>1. I am now running two seminaries instead of just one. The addition of another seminary came with a pay and title bump, which is a definite pro. I do enjoy the challenge, and I enjoy working with the new faculty. My original faculty are not the happiest that they have to share me, but they're kind about it. The con is that, because I am splitting my week between the seminaries, I feel like I'm always walking into either seminary and faculty mid-sentence and have to figure out what I've missed through context. </p><p>2. Two of my daughters are expecting. Sophia is pregnant with her first baby, a little boy, and Siân is pregnant with her fourth baby. She's hoping it's a girl, but we don't know yet. Sophia is due in June, and Siân is due in August. I am thrilled for both little miracles!</p><p>3. Siân and Nathan and kids will be finding a house to rent when the school year ends as they have run out of room for beds/cribs in our basement. This is sad for me. Very sad. Happy for them to have more room, but sad for me.</p><p>I'm struggling a bit, which is why it's taken me so long to post anything. I'm just going to post this before I think about it too much. More later. I hope you are doing well, dear reader. </p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-4123664299908610112023-11-24T09:55:00.000-07:002023-11-24T09:55:09.724-07:00Happy Thanksgiving!<p> Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! </p><p>I made an impulse purchase at the store the other day. Little dog beds with an insulated fabric cover were on sale, and I thought Marmite might feel more cozy at night in one of those. He refuses to wear a blanket while in his current flat dog bed on the floor under the bottom shelf of our book case, but around five in the morning, he will tick-tick his toenails over to my side of the bed and ask to be lifted up so he can snuggle in between us and get warm. </p><p>I realized when I brought the dog bed inside and measured it against Marmite that it was slightly small. No matter, I thought. It will just be warmer and cozier for him. How delightful!</p><p>Marmite came to sniff and inspect the bed, of course. I put my hands on him and encouraged him to get inside and curl up on the little pillow. A frantic but silent struggle ensued, and Marmite made it abundantly clear that not only will he never sleep in that bed, he will never be enticed to ever again show interest in it. Marmite continues to sleep on his former dog bed and still curls up with us in the early morning. The new dog bed will go to my parents for one of their cats. </p><p>We will see my parents, brothers, sister (the other sister is living too far away to join us), and nieces and nephews on Saturday and enjoy a traditional Thanksgiving meal with them. For us, it was a restful Thanksgiving day yesterday. My oldest daughter and her family went to visit her in-laws for the week, and it's been quiet in this house. Too quiet. I miss the voices of my little grandsons and the constant demands from the 2-year-old to go visit Husband's vastly interesting garage workshop, holding the 6-month-old while he jabbers and bounces on my knee, and my 5-year-old grandson explaining why blue is his favorite color. </p><p>Though I miss my grandsons, it did occur to me on Wednesday that Husband and my sons and I could have a movie marathon in the living room because we would not be bothering the little guys downstairs. I bought snacks and goodies, and Husband and I watched the fourth and fifth Harry Potter movies while my sons immediately left to go to their rooms because movie marathons are not a thing for them. Ah well. I still had a good time, and I even stayed mostly awake for the last part of the second movie before we closed up the house and went to bed.</p><p>Yesterday, Thanksgiving Day, two of my other daughters were scheduled to go to their in-laws' houses for the day, so we just had the boys here until Gabrielle and her husband, Raine, came over in the afternoon. They had been planning on spending the day with Raine's parents, but when he called them to confirm, they surprised him by telling him they had gone to California to visit one of his grandmothers. That meant they could come to us, so we had a fun time with them before enjoying a simple Thanksgiving meal in the evening. It started to snow, so they left by 8pm, which is also, coincidentally, the time when I start thinking about going to bed. My body doesn't let me sleep past 5:30 or 6am anymore, so I get sleepy in the evenings. Eating supper at 6pm is almost too late anymore.</p><p>I have officially become old.</p><p>Husband has continued to help me put my craft room together. He has built shelves and installed pegboard while I have tried to tame and organize the sheer volume of crafting tools I have collected over the years. It has been daunting, but the chaos is slowly receding. I have so enjoyed having that room for playing my cello and for being able to play with my "toys." When I'm overwhelmed, I organize my embroidery floss, winding the floss onto paper rectangles that I can then arrange by number in small plastic boxes. Very soothing.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh236ggppzTZwz0RDUq6rUCvy7VB8MJyPOnL7zYChQyC3YWtpngAk9jDKKBEAwmx1JZM_lx5qxuJUPF_kzq_Z7E1NuqVpJvB8yNsm5LdylbSmKAJ2yDEgZQlz5wTxidQXtyNC2jZ1X0zFy9IwGNnPmPQVnasdTQ-ENclt6NrzwFyqHJ4kpe4RDECa8dwEI/s4032/craft%20room%20in%20progress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh236ggppzTZwz0RDUq6rUCvy7VB8MJyPOnL7zYChQyC3YWtpngAk9jDKKBEAwmx1JZM_lx5qxuJUPF_kzq_Z7E1NuqVpJvB8yNsm5LdylbSmKAJ2yDEgZQlz5wTxidQXtyNC2jZ1X0zFy9IwGNnPmPQVnasdTQ-ENclt6NrzwFyqHJ4kpe4RDECa8dwEI/w640-h480/craft%20room%20in%20progress.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This craft room is still a work in progress, but order is arising from the chaos. I have places to store my stamps, papers, book-making supplies, embroidery materials, yarn and threads, fabrics, and more. My cello is to the left, ready for practicing at any time (no more wrestling it out of and back into its case!).</td></tr></tbody></table><p>A few news highlights:</p><p>~ After numerous tests, it turns out that the reason for my voice deterioration is due to silent acid reflux damage. The good news is that it isn't something more serious, like thyroid issues, polyps or cysts on my vocal chords, or some sort of throat cancer. The ENT estimated that it would take at least five or six months from beginning daily omeprazole (an acid inhibitor) to seeing any sort of recovery, but it's been a few months and I have yet to see any improvement. In fact, I have seen my voice deteriorate further, to the point where my speaking voice is rough enough for people to notice and comment and there is a further decrease of my singing range to about four notes. </p><p>While I cannot sing in either my county choir or my ward choir anymore, I still have the opportunity to enjoy music. I can fill in for the ward choir pianist when needed, and I was asked to play piano accompaniment for a duet by my friend and her son--both of whom have lovely voices--and that went very well. I have also very much enjoyed playing my cello. Since my husband and children surprised me with professional cello strings for my birthday recently, my cello practice has been elevated, and sitting down to play my cello is something I very much look forward to every day. I didn't realize the astounding difference in tone and quality the new strings would produce, and it helped me gain some confidence in my playing because I now realize that the squeaks and squawks my cello made were not entirely my fault. The new strings (which were expensive but worth the price!) sound rich and full, which makes my non-professional cello sound almost professional. I have been working on technique, and I have been very pleased with the progress I am making.</p><p>Even though I can't sing with my choir and no longer attend practices, they asked me to emcee the upcoming Christmas concert. Denise sent me a text message about it during one of their Saturday evening rehearsals, and when I agreed to be the emcee, she then sent me a short video of all of them shouting, "We love you, Eva!" That made my heart swell. I miss the joy and laughter and hard work of choir rehearsals, though I also enjoy spending Saturday evenings with Husband and the boys. </p><p>~Speaking of my boys, my youngest, Gary, is now working two jobs. His goal is to save money for a plane ticket and spending cash for a trip to England. He and one of his English cousins of the same age have become good friends by connecting through online games, and Gary would love to visit him in person as well as see the country of his father's birth and heritage. The new job is at a the one bakery in town. He comes home smelling like doughnuts, and he sometimes comes home with a big box of doughnuts if they have leftovers for the day. While it's hard to work two jobs, his savings account is looking pretty good. I cannot believe how much he has grown in the last couple years! He is now taller than me, and he's pretty proud of that. </p><p>~Joseph, my older son, is preparing to begin pharmacy tech courses at our local technical college. I love when he pops into the kitchen or my room to say hello and have a conversation. He is so funny and smart and kind, and I love that he allows me to hug him still. </p><p><br /></p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-61167375939028788702023-09-13T15:53:00.000-06:002023-09-13T15:53:28.184-06:00I Am Standing Upon the Seashore<p> MIL's funeral was lovely.</p><p>Husband and I stayed with FIL, who graciously prepared the master bedroom for us while he took the spare room. The bedroom still contained MIL's jewelry boxes, hair brushes, and other little things--just as if she was going to come back home any moment.</p><p>FIL had found a cassette tape on which MIL had recorded, some years ago, her early experiences as a nurse. Not only were the stories amusing (MIL was always a wonderful storyteller), but they allowed us to hear her voice. FIL played one of the stories for me. It was when MIL had first become a nurse as a young adult in the mid-1960s and was working in a men's ward in a British hospital. One night, one of the men stood up in his bed and started shouting and flailing his arms around. MIL quickly went over to try and calm him down and see what he needed. The man was very agitated and swung a fist so hard at her, backhanding her in the head, that he knocked her back several feet, where she hit the ground. Immediately, other male patients in the ward, who had awakened because of the tumult, rushed up and pinned the man down, yelling, "Don't you ever hit that nurse again!" </p><p>The funeral was recorded and put onto YouTube. It would have been live-streamed, but the internet in the chapel stopped working. Fortunately, everything else went very well. All of the talks were so well done, and the whole thing was a joyful celebration of MIL's amazing life. Everyone who attended felt uplifted rather than sad and despairing.</p><p>After the funeral, FIL, Husband, and his brothers all accompanied the casket outside to the hearse before we went back inside and enjoyed a delicious luncheon prepared by the Relief Society. </p><p>FIL was relieved when it was done. I think it had weighed very heavily on his mind during the previous week, and now it felt like there was some closure. He is grieving, and I'm very glad he's allowing himself to shed tears and talk about her. He takes care of the dogs and the cats, who make sure he gets up every morning to feed them. I told him of MIL's visit to me and the message she had for him, and it made him feel so comforted. He asked me to share it with their children at the viewing, and I also wrote it all out while it was still fresh in my mind. We talked about it more after the funeral, when we all got together for dinner.</p><p>It was very nice that we were able to spend quite a bit of time hanging out with Husband's brothers at Brad's house before Husband and I had to fly back home on Sunday evening. Matt and Dan, the two who were able to fly in from England, had arranged to stay with their father for a week after we left. This past Monday, FIL took MIL's ashes back to Wales to have them interred in the plot with her parents. FIL is now spending several weeks visiting his children and grand-children in England. </p><p>Husband's oldest brother, Warren, and his sister, Tiffany, were not able to fly over, though Tiffany recorded a beautiful poem that Brad played during the funeral (see below), and which was the only point where I teared up. No one could get hold of Warren, though. Multiple of his brothers tried texting and phoning him during the private family viewing before the funeral, but he did not respond. He is still dealing with what is going on with his wife's (Julie's) body, which is still being held by the coroner as her death is being investigated as possible negligence, and with Julie's family. </p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>I Am Standing Upon the Seashore, by Henry Van Dyke</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">with each other.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Gone where?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">hull and spar as she was when she left my side.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">her destined port.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone,"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;">And that is dying...</span></p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-31370816408186408062023-08-31T19:42:00.001-06:002023-08-31T19:42:53.392-06:00Goodbye For Now, Sweet MIL<p>My sweet mother-in-law passed away in the early morning of last Friday. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWp4dVzAYMUj7GPdTBFqCE0vnFfRZaPc9u8JMxDGM5pCDXhqx7okbMD2XHmcv5f2mRbgyuCxgaVEbuMIxAn0JehCLlbcBtf2joS2AK7SCcMhi-5EcWiQQO1S1Wnf_aToTeJjnTw5dF81vy55GarVILmRQLtqkbKaLJvpivGL5WqIXBJr19L6j1z_JjEIE/s700/MIL.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="452" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWp4dVzAYMUj7GPdTBFqCE0vnFfRZaPc9u8JMxDGM5pCDXhqx7okbMD2XHmcv5f2mRbgyuCxgaVEbuMIxAn0JehCLlbcBtf2joS2AK7SCcMhi-5EcWiQQO1S1Wnf_aToTeJjnTw5dF81vy55GarVILmRQLtqkbKaLJvpivGL5WqIXBJr19L6j1z_JjEIE/w414-h640/MIL.jpeg" width="414" /></a></div><p>I was at work when I got the text from Husband. I am amazed that he managed to get himself to work, but he did it and kept himself busy for the whole day before we both got home and had a chance to talk about it.</p><p>The funeral is Saturday, and Husband and I are flying out to Indiana to be with the family. Husband was asked to prepare the obituary and give the life sketch at the funeral, and I was asked to offer the invocation. </p><p>I had a beautiful experience on Thursday evening, the night before MIL died. I got home from work and flipped on a Korean drama I have been slowly watching whenever I have a moment. After a few minutes, however, I felt like I should turn it off, so I did. I pulled out my book, instead, and started reading. Suddenly, a peaceful, calm feeling overcame me, and I knew my MIL was in the room with me. I couldn't see her or anything, but I felt her spirit. We had a conversation during which she told me how much love she has for me and then expressed her love for her son, my husband. I could also feel her love for our children and my grandchildren as well as for all of her other children and grandchildren. It wasn't a conversation in the sense that we shared words in an audible way, but there were telepathic words that were loaded with thoughts and feelings. Lastly, she let me feel her shining love for her husband, my FIL, and her gratitude to him for the life they have had together and for his loving care as she was ill. Finally, I knew that she had delivered the message she wanted me to have and to share, and the feeling of her presence faded. Her last words were, "We will all be together again soon enough," accompanied by a sense of eternity and joy.</p><p>At the time of her visit to me, MIL had been sleeping one hundred percent of the time for about a week. She had stopped eating and drinking, and we knew the end was near. She was still alive, but I have long held the theory that people with lingering illnesses don't necessarily have to stay in their bodies all the time as the body shuts down and/or the pain becomes unbearable. I feel like they are allowed to visit loved ones or places they have a special connection to before the final separation of spirit from body. There seems to be a space of time where spirits can connect to earthly things before they pass through the veil--with my friend Mark, it was as his funeral ended that I felt a door close behind him; with Chad, my former brother-in-law, it was before the funeral but right after I heard the news of his death, as if he was waiting for me to think about him so he could make me hear him and deliver a message to my sister from him. Once he had delivered his message, I felt like he went to be with his daughters, but he never visited me again.</p><p>After that door has closed, I sense that there must be a special reason (and heavenly permission) for them to visit again. Again, this is my own theory, not gospel truth. I don't believe all spirits have a peaceful or happy passing, but I know my MIL is a being of light and love and would want to be nowhere else but as near to her Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and her parents as possible. I believe that God, in His infinite mercy and love for us, lets our spirits go where we are most comfortable as we await the final judgement, and some are not comfortable in His presence. MIL, on the other hand, would want nothing less than that glorious presence.</p><p>I kind of debated sharing that experience with Husband, wondering if he would question it or feel hurt that his mother visited me instead of him. I honestly think that it was the timing, for the most part. I was in a quiet and contemplative frame of mind, which is usually necessary in order to receive these types of spiritual messages (though I have received strong and insistent spiritual guidance in the heat of the moment when I have needed it). Husband, on the other hand, was in the whirlwind of getting students out the door and preparing his things to come home. Had I kept the TV show on, I doubt I would have noticed her presence because my mind would have been dulled and distracted. In my prior experiences of other loved ones visiting me, it has always been when I was quiet and meditative and spiritually open. </p><p>I did end up sharing my experience with Husband, and he was grateful rather than envious. He knows I have had this happen before. The next morning, after he received news that his mother had passed away, he was able to share with his siblings and father some of the things I had told him. I know MIL wanted them to know with a surety that she is still herself, that she is happy beyond measure, and is in a beautiful, wonderful place with no pain. She is bathing in the love of God and our Savior.</p><p>We will be together again soon enough.</p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-24672749891969609572023-08-27T11:14:00.002-06:002023-08-27T11:14:40.162-06:00Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader?<p>As you know, Husband is a 5th grade teacher (9- and 10-year-olds). What you might not know is that he teaches in a Dual Language Immersion (DLI) school, which has been a major factor in who, how, and what he teaches--and it has posed some very frustrating problems.</p><p>In our DLI schools, students need to be enrolled in the dual-language classes by the beginning of 2nd grade (our schools have kindergarten 4- and 5-year-olds, 1st grade 5- and 6-year-olds, and 2nd grade 6- and 7-year-olds) or they cannot be enrolled. The DLI classes spend half their day in English instruction classes and half their day in the other language instruction with a fluent dual-language or native language speaker as a teacher. </p><p>For the DLI kids, it's an awesome program. The students in DLI most often have attentive and proactive parents, so the students are generally better behaved, better educated, and expect more of themselves. The class sizes are small as well, with about 15-20 students per class. As the students age and move up in grade, some students move out of the area or drop out of DLI classes, which decreases the class size permanently because, after the beginning of 2nd grade, no new students can enter the DLI program. With small class sizes and generally brighter students, each student enjoys more individualized attention, and the teachers have a good experience and are easily able to manage and teach the classes. Parents with DLI students are very vocal about keeping the DLI programs in the schools.</p><p>For non-DLI kids, however, the program has led to some negative unintended consequences. Students who move in after the start of 2nd grade or who drop out of the DLI program are shunted to the regular classes. With all the growth in our area, regular classes have become huge--often with 30+ students and counting as more apartment complexes and single-family homes are built. Limited numbers of teachers in each grade also means that students with behavior issues or special needs can't be easily distributed across classes to make classroom management easier. Brighter students must try to learn in an environment that is increasingly disorderly and chaotic despite teachers' efforts, and students who struggle are at an even greater disadvantage. There is no remedy for this situation except to hire more teachers, but both district budgets for teacher salaries and the lack of physical space to accommodate more classes almost always prevents this. </p><p>The result of all of this is that our burg's elementary schools are now offering a two-tiered education experience: one small group gets an excellent education and becomes fluent in another language; and the other, much larger, group suffers in all areas. Case in point: Husband's DLI class a couple years ago passed as proficient 60% or more of the students in all areas of standardized testing. Last year, his massive non-DLI class that he tried very hard to teach in the same way as the DLI kids passed as proficient only 19% at the most in standardized testing. You can imagine his frustration.</p><p>Knowing that they needed to change something, Husband suggested to his two fellow 5th grade non-DLI colleagues that they try a junior high/high school model approach in their grade, where students move to different classrooms for different subjects rather than stay in one classroom with one teacher all day. The three non-DLI 5th grade teachers each chose two specialty areas that they would teach. Husband chose to teach math and social studies. The other two teachers divided up science, language arts, writing, and reading between them. That way, each of them could concentrate and focus better at making lesson plans for two subjects rather than trying to create effective lesson plans in all subjects. Additionally, each of them would only have each class for one-third of the day rather than all day. </p><p>Over the summer, Husband did hours and hours of research on his own time. His math teaching model was obviously not working for non-DLI students, so he honed in on a different approach--a pretty radical approach compared to what has become the norm in public schools. This new approach is based on the research of Peter Liljedahl in his book, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Building-Thinking-Classrooms-Mathematics-Grades/dp/B0C11TFZN6/ref=sr_1_1?crid=12NSEU2N0Y80D&keywords=building+thinking+classrooms+in+mathematics%2C+grades+k-12&qid=1693151587&sprefix=building+thinking+clas%2Caps%2C320&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Building Thinking Classrooms</a>. The goal is to teach students how to think and problem solve rather than show them a formula, have them work through it and then do some homework.</p><p>Liljedahl's research in how to structure a classroom and how to teach students to problem solve set all your normal public school education experience on its head. Husband really liked Liljedahl's method and set up his classroom to reflect it.</p><p>First, he did away with a front and back of the classroom. Where students normally sit at desks and look to the front for teacher instruction, Husband made groups of three desks each surrounding a table in the center of the room from which students could collect the supplies they would need for each lesson. Around the perimeter, Husband attached vertical whiteboards and dry erase markers to the walls. </p><p>Each day as the students come in, they are seated randomly in groups. They really only use the desks to drop their stuff as their groups are then assigned to a set of whiteboards. Husband then presents them with a problem, and the students have to work together to solve it. No one is allowed to go and sit at a desk. Each of the three participants of each group must participate in some way, whether writing on the board or making suggestions for the solution. The groups can look at other groups' whiteboards or ask other groups about their possible solutions. Husband patrols the room to help guide the students by either giving hints or asking questions to help the students move toward the solution. He never tells them directly if they are on the right path or if they have the correct answer; instead, he challenges them to prove to him that they have found the best solution by walking him through their thought processes.</p><p>One of the questions he posed is this: a farmer needs to build a fence as cheaply as possible around his garden in order to keep animals out. The fence must be three feet wider than the 14' by 11' garden to allow movement around the garden plot, and it must include a three-foot gate. The farmer can buy any combination of 10' fence panels, 2' panels, or 1' panels in order to achieve this (the prices of the panels were given to the students). </p><p>The other day, Husband handed me one of the problems he had developed and wanted me to work through it to see if he had done it well enough to be understandable. The concept he is trying to teach is place value. Then he watched me intently while I worked through the solution, which was nerve-wracking because I am <span style="font-family: inherit;">really not su</span>re if I'm smarter than a 5th grader. Fortunately, I was able to come up with the correct solution. Then he handed me an extension to the problem, and, again, I managed to come up with the correct solution. I am inordinately pleased by this. I still feel a little rush of pleasure when I think about how I was able to solve it--and I'm in my 50s. I have never been good at math. Imagine how great a 5th grader will feel when they work with their group members to figure it out! Imagine those kids now feeling like maybe they're smart enough to do math, which, for many, is a breaking point.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz3G_aO1hnWjk9kjAk1pw87sqy0ZNfghPYArg906ju8u9Lyr7uS1dAY8AM6uE8dJnkmuPl-vmd4qmMqGkKPdLGdlgVKGXUZDqTc9zgppcxw0Gy3D_5pi8Olz0jBorAnHxUa0S6_MiNBAR7xunGve1HpAnFgL4ihwCQWQyJfVm0D-FvIjvs1QSnnwslgE/s1280/gems-3418293_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="860" data-original-width="1280" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz3G_aO1hnWjk9kjAk1pw87sqy0ZNfghPYArg906ju8u9Lyr7uS1dAY8AM6uE8dJnkmuPl-vmd4qmMqGkKPdLGdlgVKGXUZDqTc9zgppcxw0Gy3D_5pi8Olz0jBorAnHxUa0S6_MiNBAR7xunGve1HpAnFgL4ihwCQWQyJfVm0D-FvIjvs1QSnnwslgE/w400-h269/gems-3418293_1280.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><b>The Jewelry Heist</b></span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">A jewelry store had a break-in and lost some inventory. They lost between $1 million and $2 million dollars' worth of stones.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">1. They lost twice as many emeralds as they did cubic zirconias.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">2. They lost the same number of rubies as they did amethyst stones, and the combined amount adds up to make a double-digit number.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">3. For one type of stone, only one was stolen.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">4. The number of stolen agates plus the number of stolen diamonds is equal to 6, but more agates were stolen than diamonds.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">5. When the total dollars lost was calculated, the last three digits added up to make 12, and the first three digits added up to make 8. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">6. Each stone type had fewer than 7 stones stolen.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">7. The lowest-value stone had three times the number stolen than the highest-value stone.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;"><b>Values</b>:</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Cubic Zirconias: $1 each</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Agates: $10 each</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Amethysts: $100 each</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Emeralds: $1000 each</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Rubies: $10,000 each</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Diamonds: $100,000 each</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Pink diamonds: $1,000,000 each</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">Find out how many of each stone was stolen. What value does each stone category have? What is the total value? </span></p><p>(I put the answer at the bottom of this post. Don't peek until you work through this! If I can do it, you can do it.)</p><p>Once you have solved that, here's the extension:</p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">When the jewels were found, the pink diamond had been cut in half, and its value was now only half as much as originally. Half of the emeralds were still missing, and all the rubies had vanished. Of the remaining jewels, each had lost 1 of their original number.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: courier;">How many of each stone is left? What value does each stone category now have? What is the total value? </span></p><p>I am very proud of Husband. School started a couple weeks ago, and he has been helping the students become familiar and comfortable with this method of problem solving and thinking. This means he is on his feet walking around to help student groups all day, but he feels it is worth it.</p><p>My oldest grandson, Tyler, is a new kindergartner. He loves school. Husband takes him in the morning, and Siân drives the younger two boys to pick him up in the afternoon. Because of parent demand, the school had to create four all-day kindergartens, and Siân was a little worried about that at first, but Tyler seems to be thriving.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Answers:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Jewelry Heist. Number of stolen stones: 3 cubic zirconias, 4 agates, 5 amethysts, 6 emeralds, 5 rubies, 2 diamonds, and 1 pink diamond were stolen. The value of each stolen stone category: $3 cubic zirconias; $40 agates; $500 amethysts; $6000 emeralds; $50,000 rubies; $200,000 diamonds; $1,000,000 pink diamonds. Total value: $1,256,543.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: x-small;">Extension: Number of stones left: 2 cubic zirconias; 3 agates; 4 amethysts; 1 diamond; 0 rubies; 3 emeralds; and 0 pink diamonds. Value of each stone category: $500,000 pink diamonds; $3000 emeralds; $0 rubies; $100,000 diamonds; $400 amethysts; $30 agates; and $2 cubic zirconias. Total value: $603,432</span></p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-61552533819213988412023-08-15T17:37:00.001-06:002023-08-15T17:37:35.069-06:00It's Only Cute When the Baby Is Chubby<p>I've been on this eating roller coaster enough times to know what's up: when I eat very few carbs, I feel good. When I eat sugars and junk, I feel bad. </p><p>That seems pretty obvious, right? Well, I constantly learn the hard way, but only because when I'm the one in charge of cooking for everyone, it's a lot easier to get lazy or distracted or busy and make an excuse for eating what I know does not work for me but is tasty. </p><p>In the run-up to Elannah's wedding, I fell off the wagon again. When I eat carby foods, I crave carbs and don't feel satiated, and unless I'm completely dedicated and have steel-hard self will, I sink further and further into the morass of delicious decadence. That will be me in Dante's third circle of Hell unless I sort myself out. Say hi on your tour of the inferno! </p><p>Fortunately, I have noted the major changes to my mental and physical health, and this knowledge helps me get back to making better choices. In a nutshell, sugar and refined carbs almost immediately put me into a state of depressed ennui and lethargy. On the other hand, eating low-carb or dirty keto puts me into a state of mental agility, optimism, and better physical stamina. If only it was easy to always do the right thing.</p><p>In other news, school is starting. Summer is over. For the faculty introduction portion of our welcome-back assembly, Kim has requested that we each send him several pictures of interesting things we did this summer along with our favorite Taylor Swift song as a walk-up song. It's a joke, obviously, except for Josh, who might just be a real Swifty. I have no idea which song to pick or how to send photos of myself that do not exist.</p><p>A few pictures:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoXZECFoBe-ePenrSf-0_o4pQC1xd2kIfFmb5wDZ8qMqZFfPNYYvCG9sY70aHhWZfLvSQWW_74u3V-jrsegUpOJjs4fAU_RK2enRMeCwP9W8Gbr3cXDibpwud6kSjrBHr_jVFs9_tq9vkuSDKO1rp2piW-05uu2hDItsInwvpItHpf3GED_7LJsOjAKOg/s1600/tummy%20time%20for%20C.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoXZECFoBe-ePenrSf-0_o4pQC1xd2kIfFmb5wDZ8qMqZFfPNYYvCG9sY70aHhWZfLvSQWW_74u3V-jrsegUpOJjs4fAU_RK2enRMeCwP9W8Gbr3cXDibpwud6kSjrBHr_jVFs9_tq9vkuSDKO1rp2piW-05uu2hDItsInwvpItHpf3GED_7LJsOjAKOg/w480-h640/tummy%20time%20for%20C.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>This little boy is almost three months old already! He is also a chatterbox, which is even more adorable. What I love is how many kisses can fit on those acres of chubby little cheeks.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60Ut8wkG9PiSq1VSX6F7wqFaEMoWQiMswIgRuRLAzezioLfLDHW6a7d7H8Ut7HiLAf-YuwCywlBYEry2n9GIM3VEUzXxhXIUtV1Nwl2Vfn7jbMa7WZzZKVhUuZZkYBHDNNhPEKDadhmX_LSslY9cb0X3dWIWh8IzAlksowY9qeIZPilKLoXQoJYJ6vrA/s4032/reading%20corner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60Ut8wkG9PiSq1VSX6F7wqFaEMoWQiMswIgRuRLAzezioLfLDHW6a7d7H8Ut7HiLAf-YuwCywlBYEry2n9GIM3VEUzXxhXIUtV1Nwl2Vfn7jbMa7WZzZKVhUuZZkYBHDNNhPEKDadhmX_LSslY9cb0X3dWIWh8IzAlksowY9qeIZPilKLoXQoJYJ6vrA/w640-h480/reading%20corner.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHLXso_ZOF9jTMVrPb1zpv-o4RrW3n7fUQVYorZdsrFUcKfj6eNtNFuuoqH5mTQ1Qkn8jWm9qfWVGbX5nmwzK8fjjeXBHvH-ic6fG9L8Ncd_xucf-XYb-37ZaiIvKtjmSOBOVeUp2xRDjYbKbleXFbDONydUavdO2uk0tehhKQHorvIKdVaoGR2rqgT4s/s4032/reading%20corner%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHLXso_ZOF9jTMVrPb1zpv-o4RrW3n7fUQVYorZdsrFUcKfj6eNtNFuuoqH5mTQ1Qkn8jWm9qfWVGbX5nmwzK8fjjeXBHvH-ic6fG9L8Ncd_xucf-XYb-37ZaiIvKtjmSOBOVeUp2xRDjYbKbleXFbDONydUavdO2uk0tehhKQHorvIKdVaoGR2rqgT4s/w480-h640/reading%20corner%202.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><p>Pardon the unsightly boxes still on the floor, but this corner of my bedroom used to be a real mess with all my crafting stuff. All of that stuff has since been moved to my new craft room, which used to be Elannah's bedroom, and Husband has installed a slouchy, dark blue leather club chair in the new reading corner. It looks moodier and has more ambience in person, of course, especially when the curtains are drawn at night. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQ0tK7qtxSutnjzkI5pNkw0Z8OxtS1k3nFH8bMvmVN8HPRFMxQjozHOrjNmtwbjSa7MOy8WTzu2hawWYQyB3L6uL6Fs4fImbCO6vFpj3ewvT9aoQ2Cifu_zdCOVBfLM2XXtPV-aw3Oslr5hCB6t0cyCP5jEbVPVAjsHG_u99MBavbAZs24QHyowrDBqA/s2640/Birthday%20car%20ride.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1980" data-original-width="2640" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQ0tK7qtxSutnjzkI5pNkw0Z8OxtS1k3nFH8bMvmVN8HPRFMxQjozHOrjNmtwbjSa7MOy8WTzu2hawWYQyB3L6uL6Fs4fImbCO6vFpj3ewvT9aoQ2Cifu_zdCOVBfLM2XXtPV-aw3Oslr5hCB6t0cyCP5jEbVPVAjsHG_u99MBavbAZs24QHyowrDBqA/w640-h480/Birthday%20car%20ride.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Gary (left) recently turned 16, so we took him, his long-time friend Molly (in the middle), and his buddy from up the street, JJ (on the right), to an arcade and then lunch in The Big City. Gary was making a funny face here and will be devastated if he ever finds out I posted this photo in my blog. He also needs a haircut, the hippy. </p><p>I must go. I've got a full evening of photoshopping myself into photos of interesting summer activities ahead of me. Also listening to the full anthology of Taylor Swift's songs. Pray for me.</p><p><br /></p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-47605105439987279612023-08-12T15:44:00.004-06:002023-08-12T15:44:47.721-06:00A Wedding and a Funeral<p> It's been a wild and crazy ride.</p><p>The happy news is that Elannah's and Dalton's wedding went perfectly. The sealing (marriage for time and all eternity) at the temple was in the late morning, and that ordinance was absolutely lovely. I really enjoyed that part. It was everything else that was stressful: decorating the reception venue, worrying that I was going to run out of food before the reception even officially started, and then cleaning up at the end of the night when all I wanted to do was soak my aching feet before crawling into bed. In the end, however, we all survived and the happy new couple were able to embark on a honeymoon cruise. I have now married off all four of my daughters and will happily allow my sons' future brides to take the reins on their own wedding plans.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYnetJKgs9ozwhrgh63Shs4nS9q4cdY3vMXwczzhOGdCp0N5PIGCgVk4bfhMmJqPXfe48svWvZsmKMhs60G-85zrp30W0Gi6Iol489ndnNjMgPxxBJC4szxZNMzI4DbXyD_GVyiem5KouY42GaYccy0FC2eIYbi3QOArFfK_PT_AlhPmH5U9qR_ySOmU/s1116/Bridals%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1116" data-original-width="729" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSYnetJKgs9ozwhrgh63Shs4nS9q4cdY3vMXwczzhOGdCp0N5PIGCgVk4bfhMmJqPXfe48svWvZsmKMhs60G-85zrp30W0Gi6Iol489ndnNjMgPxxBJC4szxZNMzI4DbXyD_GVyiem5KouY42GaYccy0FC2eIYbi3QOArFfK_PT_AlhPmH5U9qR_ySOmU/w418-h640/Bridals%201.jpg" width="418" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elannah and Dalton at the Capitol building for pre-wedding bridal photos. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVUs_qfj-uMiGebdGX86riFtOe-X00UCo34-QrNkDxwvG-doCYwSpWWbeyD4ldZmPM8kaWjPPVSXvS2B5u-0pmGfIFjIC7Z9BdrPw_nVKqgbTTsI4jaGETizCxYzClfo6j-T-ctoi7uJZqYD9YrNr__nOJPk2Cf6r4MzklzHC1W0QBRTnVKo5ZjC_eeA/s886/Bridals%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="886" data-original-width="583" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaVUs_qfj-uMiGebdGX86riFtOe-X00UCo34-QrNkDxwvG-doCYwSpWWbeyD4ldZmPM8kaWjPPVSXvS2B5u-0pmGfIFjIC7Z9BdrPw_nVKqgbTTsI4jaGETizCxYzClfo6j-T-ctoi7uJZqYD9YrNr__nOJPk2Cf6r4MzklzHC1W0QBRTnVKo5ZjC_eeA/w422-h640/Bridals%202.jpg" width="422" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They are a very compatible couple. Elannah picked a great guy. Dalton chose the perfect girl for him.</td></tr></tbody></table> Sophia, another of my very talented daughters, made the bouquet.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxoXRoQKdD42vezWGdaO-6e57Cpn3bxRo7ZKRR-n6AYfFUtUwx_RwbAAY54hYdrBH9uDfkGMc6iMtBHWxP2Z7SwfWLxakmeZqHZUZfvfys2OCRkPMxLAm4Qh5_oKv39guZ-F3YDAwKTadB51YbaWeqz1VM3drNFB_X3aiaQryMOYRVpMl3cG5JJkX2CE/s1105/Bridals%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1105" data-original-width="726" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrxoXRoQKdD42vezWGdaO-6e57Cpn3bxRo7ZKRR-n6AYfFUtUwx_RwbAAY54hYdrBH9uDfkGMc6iMtBHWxP2Z7SwfWLxakmeZqHZUZfvfys2OCRkPMxLAm4Qh5_oKv39guZ-F3YDAwKTadB51YbaWeqz1VM3drNFB_X3aiaQryMOYRVpMl3cG5JJkX2CE/w420-h640/Bridals%203.jpg" width="420" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't my girl so pretty? The sleeves that Sophia made turned out so well, and Elannah felt beautiful in her beautiful dress. Her photo session also entertained some groups of tourists from various countries who were visiting the Utah State Capitol that day.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVyYtJXp9A3_hAjO6hA3Ne0Gsz7Afy5-qktzVJGAsn12ZAXyAneA2qy2M-yjC9QWWa3J17vxihYzMi5OeAGmcJB6WVItne22dekvxg6TMERr38X7-L8yKznlMjvDGJPPsJcLW4e7bBZzFPZsfwmPc7d-ao8U1pRP5_nrK4-zxxAoSd-5nrowUIybyqY84/s1106/Bridals%204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1106" data-original-width="739" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVyYtJXp9A3_hAjO6hA3Ne0Gsz7Afy5-qktzVJGAsn12ZAXyAneA2qy2M-yjC9QWWa3J17vxihYzMi5OeAGmcJB6WVItne22dekvxg6TMERr38X7-L8yKznlMjvDGJPPsJcLW4e7bBZzFPZsfwmPc7d-ao8U1pRP5_nrK4-zxxAoSd-5nrowUIybyqY84/w428-h640/Bridals%204.jpg" width="428" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Elannah wore my MIL's blue earrings that she was gifted during our visit to MIL and FIL in May. Because these photos were taken before the wedding, Elannah was able to send them to MIL and FIL while MIL was still in good enough health to appreciate them.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Fortunately, a woman in our ward who used to be a large events planner graciously offered the free use of any of her large collection of venue decor. She also brought our selections to the venue and instructed the groomsmen we offered up as minions in how to set it all up. That evening, after the reception was over, she came back and helped us pack everything back into the correct tote boxes. She saved us probably hundreds of dollars, and the decor was beautiful. I don't have the wedding photos back yet, but I will share some of them when I get them.</p><p>In less joyous news, my brother-in-law's wife tragically passed away after a brief illness. </p><p>I've written about Husband's oldest brother, Warren, before. He's a character, to say the least. He and his wife, while legally married, had not been living as man and wife for years, though they shared a house because neither of them could afford to live alone. They have two sons, both of whom are now adults. The younger of the two boys lived with Warren and Julie.</p><p>I only met Julie, Warren's wife, two times. The first time was back in 1995 when Husband and I were living in Wales with my MIL and FIL for the summer. Julie, Warren's then-fianceé, who had attended one of the few Welsh language-only schools in western Wales, had such a strong Welsh accent that it took me about an hour after meeting her before I could finally understand her, though she was speaking English. When my brain finally caught up to how she was pronouncing her vowels, I was able to have a much better conversation with her. She was quiet and unassuming but had a good sense of humor and seemed very kind. </p><p>The last time I saw Julie was this past January when Husband's family met up in England. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsZCE-mwVhlKOAGgJpufwcUAC_9tDLraoNse_Dn0JQ73xFrqFvySoC1DcyQ23qV80qdhbFirHerDCwH9xAZBA7xQFKSHmRmRIRKs9SSx4B4eK3BdFxwzcekUNG1YV4I915VjqGqvltWHzOVxr87YgXYB7lpVWghyvU37VSK1_VtdiU5eIxzazAIHlvqQ/s1024/the%20gang%20in%20marlborough.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHsZCE-mwVhlKOAGgJpufwcUAC_9tDLraoNse_Dn0JQ73xFrqFvySoC1DcyQ23qV80qdhbFirHerDCwH9xAZBA7xQFKSHmRmRIRKs9SSx4B4eK3BdFxwzcekUNG1YV4I915VjqGqvltWHzOVxr87YgXYB7lpVWghyvU37VSK1_VtdiU5eIxzazAIHlvqQ/w640-h480/the%20gang%20in%20marlborough.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Julie is the short blond in the front row. Warren is behind his mother (MIL wearing a blue coat and cap), and Warren's and Julie's two boys are behind Julie to her right. <i>From left to right</i>: Husband, Toby (Matt's son), Brad, Matt, Daniel, Ronan, Corrie, Julie, MIL, Warren, and FIL. Marlborough High Street, England, 2023. </td></tr></tbody></table> <p></p><p>Julie was again very quiet and unassuming, and we didn't get much of a chance to chat that day as we all ended up splitting into smaller groups to visit the various shops on the high street in Marlborough. I was impressed with Ronan, however, who, seeing that his mother had worn too thin of a coat to block the cold and blustery wind, immediately removed his own coat and insisted his mother put it on. </p><p>Around the beginning of June, Julie ended up with a very serious and exceedingly painful blood clot in her thigh. She had also recently been to the doctor for a foot injury (dry gangrene), which was exacerbated by her mostly untreated diabetes. Over the course of the next few weeks, Julie's health deteriorated rapidly. The medical system completely failed her, though Warren tried very hard to get her into a doctor, to be admitted to a hospital, and to get necessary tests done. For weeks, hospitals kept sending her home, telling her to get scans and take pain medications, and clinics kept canceling appointments for scans and tests due to lack of staffing. She got more and more ill, to the point that she could not walk, could not eat, and could not move. She was finally admitted to a hospital only after Warren's repeated and more adamant demands for a nursing visit revealed that her foot wound had progressed to possible sepsis and she was nearly at death's door because of the blood clot.</p><p>After Julie was finally given a bed at the hospital, Warren talked to her on the phone once before he had to go to his twelve-hour night shift. Julie told him she was being given IV antibiotics for the infection and fluids for the malnutrition and dehydration. When he called again the next day, after his shift, she didn't answer. He called a couple more times with no response before calling the hospital. After being shunted to three different departments as the medical staff tried to find where Julie was, a nurse finally spoke to him.</p><p>"Julie is in the ICU and has not yet regained consciousness after the surgery," she told Warren.</p><p>"What surgery?" asked Warren, surprised and alarmed.</p><p>"...Who are you?" responded the nurse.</p><p>After Warren had proven he was Julie's husband, the nurse apologized that he had not been informed that Julie had been taken in for emergency surgery to have her leg amputated. They had it on record that someone had called him, though no one had. The nurse also informed Warren that Julie's heart, greatly weakened from the illness and weight loss, had stopped during the surgery, though the doctor had managed to get it started again.</p><p>Julie remained unconscious, and Warren, even more alarmed, asked the stake president to come and give her a blessing because Warren's faith has taken a major hit due to MIL's illness with cancer. During the blessing, the stake president said that Julie was between worlds and had been given the choice to either come back to mortality, where she would not only endure having to navigate with one leg but would have vascular disease for the rest of her life, or to stay in heaven, where her faith had saved her and her mansion had been prepared. Either way, she had been assured that her family would be loved and supported. She obviously chose to remain in the beautiful world of spirits because another heart attack a day or two later ended her life on this earth for good. She never regained consciousness.</p><p>I can't guarantee that Julie would have survived if she had access to the American medical system, flawed as our system is, but I'm pretty sure she would have. She might even have kept her leg. For all its faults, a private medical system has distinct advantages over socialized healthcare. I won't politicize this tragedy any more than to say that knowing what I know about this situation (and I have spared you all the minute details), it is my strong opinion that socialized healthcare killed Julie. It was a series of mistakes and bunglings inherent to that system that added up to an unnecessary death.</p><p>Equally sad is that my MIL does not have long with us, either. She is sleeping most of the time, and the amount of pain medications she has to take does not allow her to be fully lucid for much of the time that she is awake. A day or two ago, she had to go to the ER because her catheter had an issue. They solved the catheter issue and then put her in a rehabilitation center for a few days mainly to give FIL some time to rest. I don't know if MIL has stopped eating or drinking, but I think that is probably the next and final stage. </p><p>It is a blessing to know that Julie is happy in the Spirit World even if her sons are grieving the loss of their mother. They will be with her again. It is a blessing to know that MIL will also be welcomed home with joy and love. As I watch Elannah and Dalton begin their new lives as a new family, I am so grateful that they they are sealed together forever. Death is part of life, but life can be joyful, too. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p><br /></p></div>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-65439510030001358602023-07-20T10:39:00.000-06:002023-07-20T10:39:06.837-06:00To Sleep, Perchance to Dream<p> To continue the theme of my children finding answers to puzzling health issues, I will share a couple more:</p><p>Gabrielle spent a couple years suffering from sudden onset of terrible gastric distress and pain, debilitating fatigue, and constant nausea. After multiple visits to various specialists, she was finally diagnosed with severe gluten intolerance (pretty much at celiac disease levels), which had caused several big ulcers in her stomach and ulcerated spots in her intestines. Once she stopped eating gluten for several months, the ulcers and intestines healed, the fatigue lifted dramatically, and she is able to eat without vomiting. A low-dose anti-anxiety pill was the final piece of the puzzle to quiet her busy mind. Six months or so later, she sleeps well, eats very strictly gluten-free (she can't handle even a little gluten), and is able to deal with her high-demand job with aplomb. </p><p>Gabrielle's husband, Raine, has also just found some relief after a couple years of mysterious and debilitating pain. I think he racked up visits to no fewer than eighteen medical specialists before he was finally diagnosed by a holistic chiropractor. </p><p>Raine was suffering from agonizing stabbing pain in his intestines as well as vertigo, dizziness, and constant nausea. I do not know how his hiatal hernia was missed by the gastroenterologist (he had an endoscopy, for goodness' sake!), but the chiropractor has been manipulating his stomach and intestinal area in such a way that Raine has found immense relief from pain and is now able to eat normally and without agonizing and constant pain. Turns out the vertigo, dizziness, and some of the nausea were from an entirely different cause: military neck, where the neck vertebrae are straight when they should be curved. The other doctors were probably trying to find a cause that answered all of the symptoms together, so maybe that is why they were stymied and kept bouncing him from specialist to specialist. Fortunately, the chiropractor is the perfect person to treat his neck, as well, and Raine has been able to eat, work out, and put in more hours at work without pain, vertigo and dizziness, and vomiting. </p><p>He's feeling so much better, in fact, that he has accepted an Army deployment to Africa for ten months. But more about that later....</p><p>For myself, I have found an excellent answer for my sleep issues: melatonin. I had tried melatonin pills in the past, but they either did nothing or made me feel so groggy in the mornings that I couldn't function well. Plus, I found it difficult to time the taking of melatonin pills for best effect, so I gave up on them thinking that they didn't work for me. </p><p>Earlier this year, however, Husband and I tried 3mg melatonin gummies, and they work so well that I get a solid six-and-a-half to seven-and-a-half hours of uninterrupted sleep every night and wake up feeling refreshed. I spent decades feeling like I could barely function because of poor sleep, so this development is thrilling! Turns out that seven-and-a-half hours of sleep is perfect for me. Husband needs eight or nine hours of sleep a night to feel good. I take 6mg, Husband takes 3mg, and we're both happy. </p><p>Walmart sells a very decent brand of gummy melatonin called Olly Sleep. Olly Sleep gummies contain 3mg melatonin as well as L-Theanine, an amino acid that reduces stress and induces relaxation. Also very good (but no longer available at my Walmart) are VitaFusion sugar-free 3mg melatonin gummies. Both are very affordable.</p><p>I thoroughly chew two gummies about thirty minutes before I want to go to bed, and I never have problems falling asleep within moments of my head hitting the pillow. Nor do I have problems waking up in the mornings. I occasionally get some vivid dreams, which is a common side effect of taking melatonin, but they are merely interesting or weird dreams and never nightmares (I can't remember the last time I had a nightmare, actually). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJEiOeEDh0I9OOGIa7dZvkjLL-WN_LV-Gkwqb7hgcPOT3q22F5-Z8n2s1DleuM4qMM8L7nG03HBgickBydUwEVVVIH3NStD3VsdQF1a42qm3R05FhTC9viGZC87tqZJNAGyBXQmSl3iU8Cvu4t8lvlQsca3bwXNWYqMoUQuGnqha3XV9rvzmKAtyn-gc/s600/Olly-Sleep-Gummies-Review-1-600x600.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLJEiOeEDh0I9OOGIa7dZvkjLL-WN_LV-Gkwqb7hgcPOT3q22F5-Z8n2s1DleuM4qMM8L7nG03HBgickBydUwEVVVIH3NStD3VsdQF1a42qm3R05FhTC9viGZC87tqZJNAGyBXQmSl3iU8Cvu4t8lvlQsca3bwXNWYqMoUQuGnqha3XV9rvzmKAtyn-gc/w640-h640/Olly-Sleep-Gummies-Review-1-600x600.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX52ELJb79Xt3whseLq3ZFLAsyHYSeGVgzyi9LcKfXiVKChfiK_IW96b_3ePBxiDNj1aLbBux5YVnS2YEMLwHEUthoTW5xwtXQD6pqUQOnRSXdvOriEjwIB9JDcoMnpskZ-Kp-6YkLKA3jZVzjexOfc1-bxe4DAlsYC6pFKZvg7ZmvI9HH0UDcYe17TFg/s1400/Vitafusion_Melatonin%203mg_Description%20Image@2x.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1400" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX52ELJb79Xt3whseLq3ZFLAsyHYSeGVgzyi9LcKfXiVKChfiK_IW96b_3ePBxiDNj1aLbBux5YVnS2YEMLwHEUthoTW5xwtXQD6pqUQOnRSXdvOriEjwIB9JDcoMnpskZ-Kp-6YkLKA3jZVzjexOfc1-bxe4DAlsYC6pFKZvg7ZmvI9HH0UDcYe17TFg/w640-h366/Vitafusion_Melatonin%203mg_Description%20Image@2x.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>If my experience with melatonin gummies can help anyone else get some needed sleep, I am glad I shared. The older you get, the less melatonin you produce, so those of us getting close to being able to claim senior citizen discounts need all the help we can get.</p><p> </p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-85868377628395777122023-07-14T11:24:00.000-06:002023-07-14T11:24:12.562-06:00Fractured Pelvic Bone<p> Turns out Siân had a pelvic fracture that was causing her all that agonizing pain and nausea!</p><p>After the ER docs shrugged their shoulders when it turned out Siân didn't have an infection, her OB/GYN also checked for infection. When none was apparent, she said, "Well, I'm going to send you to a physical therapist that specializes in post-partum womb healing physical therapy." Fortunately, Siân kept that appointment because the PT asked a ton of questions--questions the doctor(s) should have been asking but somehow failed to do--and conducted a thorough examination of her pelvic area. Finally, she said, "I can't prove it without an x-ray, but I can almost one hundred percent guarantee that you have a fracture in your pelvic bone."</p><p>Siân literally fractured her pelvic bone giving birth to Christopher, whose head size was in the 99th percentile. She will obviously have to hold this over his (big) head for the rest of his life.</p><p>While Siân is still in pain, it is just so nice to know what is going on and to have a plan for it. The PT explained that the muscles around Siân's fracture were knotting in order to protect the fracture and also in response to Siân's stress, increasing the pain. Turns out Siân also holds her breath when she is stressed, which also increases the pain. Siân is attending four weekly sessions with the PT in order to reduce the muscle knotting and to do exercises that help relax and heal the pelvic area. There isn't anything else you can do for a fractured pelvis like this except take it easy in the walking/running department and not lift anything really heavy. Time will heal it, so another couple months should see Siân mostly back to normal. I hope. That poor girl. She's had a rough couple of years. I am, however, so grateful for the three adorable and amazing grandsons she has given us. </p><p><br /></p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-74158912048069476472023-07-07T13:22:00.000-06:002023-07-07T13:22:24.161-06:00I'm Coming For You, Yo-Yo Ma!<p> I've got some pictures this time. I think that always makes things more interesting.</p><p>Before getting into the pictures, though, I have to tell you a story: the ward music director came up to me last Sunday and said, "I know you play the cello. I was wondering if you would be able to do a musical number?"</p><p>I started thinking about how many months I would need to feel ready for a cello solo, having not actually played my cello in...well, it's been a long time. Would I feel comfortable in six months? Seven? Yeah, I could get something ready in that time if I pushed myself.</p><p>"I want something different than piano solos and voice. I need something in two weeks, something for Pioneer Day," she went on.</p><p>I choked. My finger callouses have long since vanished. I don't have the hand or arm strength needed to press the strings or draw the bow for very long. Playing the cello is physical. Strength is needed. Yet I am soft and doughy. </p><p>What did I do? I accepted the challenge, and I've been practicing every day since. My left hand fingertips are on fire as I go through the blistering stage of rebuilding callouses (I nearly shrieked today when I pressed my pinky finger into the string because the open blister stung so badly). I've been focusing on technique, but I have to stop every minute or two to shake out my left hand or my right arm. I am going to sound absolutely awful in two weeks, but I accepted the challenge because it forced me to achieve a goal I had for myself for this summer, which was to pull out my cello and get back into playing shape. Maybe I can beg the music director to let me redeem myself with another musical number in a year or so when I've improved enough not to be embarrassed. </p><p>Funnily enough, she then asked me to also sing in a trio a few weeks after my cello solo. I mean, when you don't have tons of instrumentalists in the congregation, voice and piano are still the most viable options, and people love to hear them. Unfortunately, my voice is not doing well, so we'll see if my alto part in the trio is low enough for me to get through. Once I hit C above Middle C, I'm squawking uncontrollably. I still haven't seen the doctor about that abrupt change to my voice.</p><p>Anyway, pictures.</p><p>Elannah and I went thrift shopping for her wedding dress. We're not cheap, but why not try to find a perfectly good dress for a very good price when you will only wear that dress once in your life? </p><p>Fortune favored us and we found this dress--which seemed perfectly tailored for her--for $80 (originally $500, according to the sales tag left hanging on the sash).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNfQaULRiLWRM4EBk2_j6DRSBiz4MbCuh5tfFIBufhhQ6oM99D2c0L6G4W4IK_qLG9T8YKsPvungVSUpZ3MNxUexXR6MhGU9qJR2VlowgB3SvjejYIzqhuty209Ih-gjSiCkb4EAKHqqOD0OkMiR13Pmlv-o9qhyTmo34HKM_oljq4svpl_uywZE8z2U/s4032/Wedding%20dress%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNfQaULRiLWRM4EBk2_j6DRSBiz4MbCuh5tfFIBufhhQ6oM99D2c0L6G4W4IK_qLG9T8YKsPvungVSUpZ3MNxUexXR6MhGU9qJR2VlowgB3SvjejYIzqhuty209Ih-gjSiCkb4EAKHqqOD0OkMiR13Pmlv-o9qhyTmo34HKM_oljq4svpl_uywZE8z2U/w480-h640/Wedding%20dress%201.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK55fmVxKdU791wbcLzI1spIlXr71nYMADoZ2MfrCIbDDiIp95TPH_Tvkpg6qFzp5PP2oB-IkOi-6JgB0_O4o9tZIv8LDRUV9bU9TCRktEiesQjgpQr_buzIyOi3Yd0jObMFYu_KcExQaB27NMky3l0ojVX-Hq_ywexpRBoZqaVF17Rs14OFeS71vJmas/s4032/Wedding%20dress%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK55fmVxKdU791wbcLzI1spIlXr71nYMADoZ2MfrCIbDDiIp95TPH_Tvkpg6qFzp5PP2oB-IkOi-6JgB0_O4o9tZIv8LDRUV9bU9TCRktEiesQjgpQr_buzIyOi3Yd0jObMFYu_KcExQaB27NMky3l0ojVX-Hq_ywexpRBoZqaVF17Rs14OFeS71vJmas/w480-h640/Wedding%20dress%202.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p>You can't really see it in these pictures, but there is subtle lace detailing on parts of the bodice. The skirt is covered with two layers of tulle, and the dress has a little train. Elannah wanted a very simple design, and though it didn't look good on the hanger, it looked so elegant on her when she tried it on that I told her I was going to buy it as a backup dress even if she ended up finding something else. You don't leave this dress behind just so you can go back and find someone else has snatched it up. </p><p>In the end, my other daughter, Sophia, who has been taking sewing/tailoring classes, was able to match the bodice fabric and replace the sleeves, which were uncomfortably tight and not in the style Elannah liked. She replaced the original sleeves with the butterfly sleeves Elannah really wanted. Sophia also made a wider sash and added a bow at the back. While I absolutely adored the quiet sophistication of the original, I'm very happy Elannah has a dress she loves and feels beautiful in. I will post some wedding photos in August so you can see the finished product on this very beautiful bride-to-be. </p><p>-------</p><p>My grandchildren are so wonderful. I'm around them a lot, and I've been spending every morning helping Siân as she gets breakfast and feeds them. They're exhausting, but I love them so much! Siân still has no answers as to why she is suffering so much pain and nausea so long after giving birth (neither the hospital nor the OB/GYN could find any infections, which might have explained things). Her OB referred her to a physical therapist for pelvic therapy. Her first appointment is today, so we'll see if any benefit comes from it.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpA0bFvPDNukOqNOr9m0hr3kxxf2PJWy53Ic0I6S2iXDjqtgd3jcWmjV7Swcbv-0846wmAovRURmzYX7HKn9wMrJK_dL671y4GJbxj6fGi4mZEsLzPJSq6NVshvXkb6bnzpuaSrzU_lRgrF6C0KivIobkj2EVwarkWABBCEzEu9Oh2_eMSRwMgZ0GgoPo/s1600/Christopher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpA0bFvPDNukOqNOr9m0hr3kxxf2PJWy53Ic0I6S2iXDjqtgd3jcWmjV7Swcbv-0846wmAovRURmzYX7HKn9wMrJK_dL671y4GJbxj6fGi4mZEsLzPJSq6NVshvXkb6bnzpuaSrzU_lRgrF6C0KivIobkj2EVwarkWABBCEzEu9Oh2_eMSRwMgZ0GgoPo/w480-h640/Christopher.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p>Above is the newest boy, six-week-old Christopher. This photo of him is from when he was really new, and he's lost a lot of that really newborn look now. While Siân is making breakfast for Nicholas and Tyler in the mornings, I hold Christopher. I take him out back and sit on the patio or the deck so he can see the sun shining through the red sun shade, which he finds fascinating. After Siân gets breakfast made for the older boys, she takes Christopher to feed him his bottle and I sit at the dining table and help Nicholas and Tyler. The older boys eat and then play for a few hours before Siân takes them downstairs to their room in the hopes that Nicholas will take his nap. Sometimes he does.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-ybLiV55IEYCZZxmotvy3vSx-3c4pEDHTvNek6GqTZk3WA3I2Gr_oDlFLjLBTJcSQtjByN_iiJn5GOBLtsRMB8OeUQAMJdYcVSq_S2-YzN5mWRK0Ovy2QE6Zy7IHzCfBl43KJENvRLUbApMetcbjQ8MkLKKYR6cxlIE_odn2pXGHXdJtJHMmMcuUgIk/s1600/Nicholas%20at%20the%20table.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-ybLiV55IEYCZZxmotvy3vSx-3c4pEDHTvNek6GqTZk3WA3I2Gr_oDlFLjLBTJcSQtjByN_iiJn5GOBLtsRMB8OeUQAMJdYcVSq_S2-YzN5mWRK0Ovy2QE6Zy7IHzCfBl43KJENvRLUbApMetcbjQ8MkLKKYR6cxlIE_odn2pXGHXdJtJHMmMcuUgIk/w480-h640/Nicholas%20at%20the%20table.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p>Sixteen-month-old Nicholas is 100% big personality. He is the Energizer bunny. He is a man on a mission to play at all times, and he already has a very well developed sense of humor and mischief. Oh, I love this kid! He is speaking in two- and three-word sentences, and he's finally figured out how to say his name well enough for us to understand him. "Nit-o-las 'raj! (Nicholas garage)" he will insist when he hears Husband working on something in his garage workshop, pointing at his chest with his pudgy little finger. Other times, he demands that his Uncle Gary sing Hot Cross Buns with him. Otherwise, he's constantly on the move between his toy box, the kitchen cupboards, the dog's water bowl (when I forget to put it safely up on the counter), and the collection of everyone's shoes by the front door. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxSgz2BJv1e0NRE47IkZWOdnM1cCGtNripC85_G4gVJ9arbK1jGyUf7kX5TGywbkF9AwE2kPukJfAg3Jfm6MQbipJJPKZPlnlMnKyjDgb4HukjivYntY61wibXfHUMSoyxMKd7ua6eHZsV7MTV3qPaSeR_qQmwmEttpiUhOK1bQDwQnxp7J8_OUiCeBM/s1600/Tyler%20with%20Mickey%20Mouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcxSgz2BJv1e0NRE47IkZWOdnM1cCGtNripC85_G4gVJ9arbK1jGyUf7kX5TGywbkF9AwE2kPukJfAg3Jfm6MQbipJJPKZPlnlMnKyjDgb4HukjivYntY61wibXfHUMSoyxMKd7ua6eHZsV7MTV3qPaSeR_qQmwmEttpiUhOK1bQDwQnxp7J8_OUiCeBM/w480-h640/Tyler%20with%20Mickey%20Mouse.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p>Tyler is heading to kindergarten this fall, and he is very excited to make new friends. He will talk to anyone and everyone. Recently, when we took the Tyler and Nicholas to the local art fair, we let the kids play on the playground, and when we turned around, Tyler plopped himself down next to a random adult and just started chatting. Fortunately, the adult turned out to be my co-worker's wife, who is also an old high school classmate of Siân's, so Tyler was perfectly safe, but yikes! I'm very happy that he has never had the need to distrust adults or children, but we're going to have to keep an eye on him and teach him a little stranger danger.</p><p>Siân and Nathan just bought a bunk bed, and Tyler is exceedingly proud to have the top bunk (and also very happy that Nicholas has not yet figured out how to climb the ladder). He's such a sweet, smart kid. I love when he just wanders over to me and sits himself on my lap or snuggles up next to me on the couch. He generally doesn't have a lot of time for cuddling, so I don't take it for granted when he chooses to snuggle.</p><p>----</p><p>Lastly, here is a picture of a finished embroidery project. It's very amateur because I was just trying out different types of stitches, but I like the colors. I copied a design from an adult coloring book, and since it gave Indian vibes, I used bright colors and no shading. For my next project, I am going to try some subtle shading in a floral motif or something. I love crewel work and needlepoint, as well, so those are on my list.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72S1Q3Da6RY0CURVJRy0Xu1ailN1x7YkyQummH4S9vtQxzjzqZEkSB0eiRRs4VkBX-hO8g1IwLFakjIGw0AkeyhFzjVeHRS1HmfrXVpwEYCsiX3BQJ2tlVQrq03wtf8n_UcmDJULnsfXHKBa2aN2LSv6CWErce5uDu3NgWN3IRaTvLbP9r2kLQi-sWkM/s4032/Embroidery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi72S1Q3Da6RY0CURVJRy0Xu1ailN1x7YkyQummH4S9vtQxzjzqZEkSB0eiRRs4VkBX-hO8g1IwLFakjIGw0AkeyhFzjVeHRS1HmfrXVpwEYCsiX3BQJ2tlVQrq03wtf8n_UcmDJULnsfXHKBa2aN2LSv6CWErce5uDu3NgWN3IRaTvLbP9r2kLQi-sWkM/w480-h640/Embroidery.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p>That's all for now. Thanks for joining me for a bit today!</p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-8950654616586097142023-06-27T17:28:00.002-06:002023-06-27T17:28:37.496-06:00News Pileup<p> Sometimes I just wait for a couple months so that the news piles up. That way, you are far less likely to be subjected to my rambling thoughts on whatever pops into my mind.</p><p>School came to a successful end as far as my job was concerned. All the graduation ceremonies and the printing of diplomas are over and done with, and I've since been enjoying very limited work hours since.</p><p>Far more importantly, Siân gave birth to my third grandson, Christopher, who is perfect and beautiful and looks just like a miniature copy of his oldest brother, Tyler. At almost six weeks, his goals are to stay awake and very alert as long as he can between naps while also strengthening his neck muscles. His smiling and cooing skills have suddenly blossomed, which I find delightful. He is a content, sweet baby who is obviously just as smart and clever as his older brothers. </p><p>Siân, on the other hand, has suffered. She had some bad hemorrhaging during and after the birth (her first natural birth after two C-sections), and that blood loss weakened her quite a bit. Furthermore, she is still in a great deal of pain at all times, enough so that she can barely walk more than to make a very short shopping trip--when she gets out at all--and she needs pain medication almost all the time. A couple days ago, on Sunday afternoon, I insisted on taking her to the emergency room because the symptoms she was describing to me sounded very alarmingly like a brewing infection--and catching something like that early is crucial! Six hours, a few blood draws, a urine sample, and CT scan later, the doc came in and told her that they did not see any infection and discharged her. I asked him if there was any reason that he could think of that would be causing her to have so much pain and nausea when she should be well healed from the delivery, and he just shook his head and told her to follow up with her OB/GYN. Of course, the OB is booked out into August, so Siân just has to wait until her regular follow-up appointment in July. </p><p>Siân's husband, Nathan, has four months of parental leave, so he and Siân have been able to help each other take care of the three boys and spell each other for sleeping and naps. They're both always exhausted, of course, so I help out in the mornings with getting the older boys breakfast and then holding Christopher while Siân prepares bottles for the day and eats something herself (when she isn't too nauseated to eat). After breakfast, Husband and I sometimes watch all three boys when we can convince Siân to go take a nap. If not, we play with the older boys while Siân feeds Christopher. Later in the morning, when Nicholas, the 14-month-old, starts getting droopy, Siân takes all of them downstairs to their rooms so Nicholas can have a nap and so that she can wake up Nathan, who takes most of the night shift with Christopher and sleeps in the mornings. Nathan has the fortunate skill of being able to sleep through anything, so even when the boys are in the room, he can still snooze away.</p><p>I so love my grandsons. I am so grateful that I have a bond with them and can see them every day. To hear Tyler's and Nicholas's excited cries of "Nanna! Nanna!" as they climb up the stairs to the main floor fills my heart with joy. Nicholas and I especially have a strong bond because I spend a lot of time following him around to keep him from harming himself (he's into everything!), but Nicholas absolutely adores his Grampy, whom he calls "Granky." Granky is the topic of conversation at all times: where he is, what he's doing, and when he will show up to play with Nicholas. Nicholas's other favorite topic of conversation is the Beep. "Beep" refers to any electronic appliance, as most of them make some sort of beeping sound or other. Nicholas's favorite Beep to discuss is Granky's huge massage chair, which is both fascinating and frightening. He is also partial to the air fryer, which has a very satisfying beep. </p><p> Right after school ended, Husband and I and the boys (my sons, Joseph and Gary) drove out to Indiana to see Husband's mother and father, my MIL and FIL. Gabrielle, Sophia and her husband Matt, and Elannah flew out and joined us the evening we arrived in Indy, and we all stayed together in an AirBNB for a few days. We were able to visit with the two of Husband's brothers who live there as well as MIL and FIL. My kids had never met Husband's youngest brother and his wife and their two adorable little girls, and we had a very good time with both of their uncles' families. </p><p>MIL, unfortunately, is sinking fast. We were able to visit her and FIL several times during our stay, and they gave us a packet of photos they had sorted out of Husband as a child and photos they had of our family. MIL spent a great deal of time going through her jewelry with my daughters. They were each encouraged to take what they liked (none of it is precious except for the memories the pieces will invoke, and that helped my girls feel better about taking Nanna's jewelry), and it was a sweet hour, though tears were shed. </p><p>This last Sunday, the day I took Siân to the ER, MIL said in their weekly family Zoom call that she didn't think she would last out this week. She is ticking all the boxes for end-of-life events. I haven't heard any news since then, but I'm sure she is suffering even more now than she was on Sunday. I am grateful we had the chance for Husband and I and all but one of our children (who had just had a baby) to see her so recently. I'm honestly not worried about what will happen to her after death, as I know she will go to a glorious and beautiful place to be reunited with her beloved parents and her Savior. I am much more worried about FIL. His heart is going to break into a thousand pieces, and his very manly British upbringing doesn't allow him to show or express much emotion. It's going to be very, very rough for him.</p><p>In happier news, Husband has been cultivating some new hobbies. He's been working with resin and wood and is currently doing some experiments making keychains in order to get more familiar with the properties of the resin. I spend a lot of time with my grandsons, and when they are downstairs, I'm doing my own experiments with Jacobian crewel work</p><p>I got myself back onto a low-carb diet, and I've lost ten pounds in about twelve days without being hungry, so that is going well. I'm not congratulating myself yet, as I keep losing the same ten pounds over and over over when I fall off the low-carb wagon and eat delicious carby things. I'll be more impressed when I've lost enough weight for it to be noticeable. Meanwhile, the good people of YouTube who devote themselves to creating keto recipes have been a huge help in keeping me motivated. I mainly just take regular recipes and convert them into low-carb or keto recipes, but some of these people are brilliant and have invented recipes for amazing breads and pastas. </p><p>Last night, I made sushi bake at Husband's request. I did not, however, want all the carbs from the rice, so I made cauliflower rice and seasoned it as I would the sushi rice. After putting the crab topping on the cauliflower sushi "rice," I couldn't tell the difference. It was delicious! And because it was so filling, I couldn't eat more than one serving. I also eat a ton of sardines, mostly the kind in mustard sauce. Sardines are awesome.</p><p>Wedding plans for Elannah are chugging along. We found a beautiful, perfectly fitted dress at a thrift store for $80. Elannah didn't like the sleeves, so Sophia, who has been taking sewing/tailoring classes, is replacing the fitted sleeves with the butterfly sleeves Elannah wanted. A neighbor who used to be a large events planner has offered to let Elannah use any of the huge collection of classy party decor she has, so decorating the venue will be pretty easy. I'm booking a photographer, and we will start sorting out the food in a couple weeks. Invitations have been ordered and will go out to family and friends as soon as they arrive. I have GOT to remember to post about this on Facebook. I don't think about FB, I don't go on FB, I don't have it on my phone, so I never think about it, but Elannah asked me to share it so that I can start gathering addresses from friends who want an invitation.</p><p>I've got to go. My choir has been asked to sing the national anthem at this year's Miss [Our City] Pageant, and call is at 6pm. My voice has been having a really rough time for the last few months (a story I have not told you yet), so I'm not sure how much I will contribute, but I will do my best not to squawk. </p><p><br /></p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-67105523503657297782023-04-23T10:08:00.001-06:002023-04-23T10:08:54.183-06:00Opening the Windows of Heaven<p> I was struck by a realization the other day. You might already have thought of this and I'm just late to the game, but it was a realization that has embedded itself in my heart and mind. I find it very comforting and uplifting.</p><p>I have been reading in the New Testament about Jesus's words and actions, including feeding multitudes with only small amounts of food. In a way we cannot understand, Christ was able to multiply small amounts of food in order to adequately feed thousands of people and still have his disciples pick up baskets and baskets of uneaten food. This is a miracle. </p><p>I was talking to a friend the other day, and we somehow got on a related topic. I recalled a story I had once read in which an early Mormon man felt he was above such things as paying tithing or felt that the Church did not use tithing funds the way he felt they should be used. This man was telling a prophet or apostle (I can't remember the names of the people involved) that the way he paid his tithing to the Lord was by reserving a certain amount of his income for charitable works and then choosing to whom he would give his money. The person he was talking to admonished him for thinking he could circumvent the law of tithing as laid out in both ancient and modern revelation. </p><p>In the Old Testament (including in Malachi 3:10), the Lord emphasized the importance of returning ten percent of all He blesses us with back to the Lord, and He made it a commandment. It is such an important commandment that He outlined the blessings of paying tithes and offerings and the consequences of not paying tithes and offerings. The blessings are miraculous. The consequences are dire--not because He is a vengeful god but because a nation that does not honor God will naturally fall, and in not nice ways (look where we are now!). </p><p>My sudden thought was that this man who decided to take tithing into his own hands was overlooking the miracle of the loaves and fishes. Christ took a small, simple offering of a little bread and fish and was able to feed thousands. He can also take our small, simple offerings of tithes and offerings and multiply the effects to bless millions. The man who arrogantly thought he could improve on the Lord's plan for paying tithes into the storehouses by making his own charitable donations was doing a good thing, yes, but he could only bless a small number of people with that money. Christ can take our tithe offerings and multiply the effects in miraculous ways--far beyond our human capacity and knowledge. If we refuse to voluntarily give back to the Lord only a small portion of all that He has blessed us with, we deny not only His authority but His ability to work miracles. We are, essentially, refusing to feed the multitudes. Unlike the young boy who willingly offered up his little lunch of five loaves and two fishes to the apostles so that five thousand people could eat and be sustained (and for which I am sure he was blessed for the rest of his life, both spiritually and physically), we are arrogantly thinking we can do better than God. Charity borne of love and humility is always a good thing, but wouldn't you also hope that your donation of time and money could be made miraculous through the power of Christ? </p><p>Until I opened my mouth, I had never thought of tithing quite in that light. I have willingly and happily paid ten percent of my income as tithing since I was old enough to earn any money, and the first thing Husband and I do when we get paid is donate our tithing and fast offerings. We have seem miracles in our lives as a consequence, but maybe someday we will be allowed to know how Christ multiplied our tiny tithe so that it could bless the lives of many more. It's not about self-aggrandizement, it's about glorying in the mercy and power of the almighty God, whom we love and serve. </p><p>I am grateful for the lesson I was given. I am always grateful that my Heavenly Father is willing to teach me because it shows me that He sees me. Lately, I have needed to know I am seen, and this moment was a miracle in my own life. </p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-15782960595197561792023-04-21T14:14:00.000-06:002023-04-21T14:14:16.002-06:00No Strings Attached<p> Yesterday, as I was walking through the parking lot toward the grocery store, a woman, who was loading groceries into her car, called out to me.</p><p>"Ma'am! Ma'am! Are you going shopping?"</p><p>I thought that was pretty obvious, but I stopped and said yes.</p><p>"I have a gift card that expires today. I can't use it. Do you want it? It has $50 on it."</p><p>She seemed perfectly normal, so I accepted it from her with gratitude. Who wouldn't? </p><p>Once I was in the store, however, I stopped to check the card balance based on the ancient Arab proverb, "Trust in God, but tie up your camel." I was not about to plop an extra $50 worth of groceries into my cart merely on the say-so of a stranger from the parking lot, however kind and sincere she appeared to be. I'm glad I did because the actual balance on the card was only $8.98. That was still almost $9 worth of free groceries! I got what I needed, emptied the gift card, and paid the difference. </p><p>No, I don't know the answers to any of the questions you have about the woman in the parking lot. I wish I did. It's not every day that strangers hand me free money, so I wasn't prepared with interrogation points. Maybe she handed me the wrong card. Maybe she forgot that she had already used most of the $50 on the one card she had. I have no idea. I wasn't even disappointed that the balance was only $9 because that was $9 of cash I didn't have before. I was just pleasantly surprised that someone handed me a gift card out of what seemed to be an abundance of generosity. I usually have only pleasant interactions with strangers, and this was not an exception. </p><p><br /></p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-16252185981203266472023-03-22T20:17:00.001-06:002023-03-22T20:22:16.163-06:00Born (and Fed) in the U.S.ASiân is in her third trimester of pregnancy. She feels like a whale and she is also nauseated a lot--still! I was the same: I was sick for the whole nine months during every one of my six pregnancies. After a couple of months into the first pregnancy (with Siân), I had developed a system of knowing when to vomit in the morning in order to reduce the overall nausea I felt throughout the rest of the day, and I did this with every pregnancy thereafter: after I woke up each morning, I waited until the time was right, quickly slugged down a large glass of cool water, and then activated my vomiting muscles (while I don't usually brag about this particular talent of being able to isolate the vomiting muscles, I feel it should be mentioned, if only once). When done quickly and before I ate anything for the day, the water simply came back up without any additional...seasoning...and I had the comfort of not heaving on an empty stomach. <div><br /></div><div>I know. TMI. But whose blog are you reading?</div><div><br /></div><div>Siân hasn't taken the daily morning vomit path. Instead, she feeds her cravings in order to reduce the nausea. Sometimes, only root beer will dampen the urge to spew; sometimes it's orange juice; sometimes it's Twizzlers. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, that was the long way around to saying that I do most of the cooking when it comes to the evening meal because Siân doesn't have the stomach for it, nor the energy. Siân is very grateful, and it has forced me to cook way more than I had been doing because I now have more people to feed on a daily basis. Before, when Joseph, Gary, and Elannah were mostly fending for themselves and it was often only Husband and I hungry for dinner, it was a little too easy to just get takeout. Cooking for the family is definitely an improvement for our bank account and our health.</div><div><br /></div><div>My kids grew up eating a wide variety of dishes because that was my way of traveling without getting on a plane. Searching up new recipes and learning the cooking traditions of other cultures was also a way to get myself excited to cook meal after meal. I think I tried a two-week meal rotation once, but it only lasted for the first two weeks because I couldn't fathom eating those fourteen meals over and over and over. My palate demands variety.</div><div><br /></div><div>While my kids are all right with trying new foods and have slightly more enlightened palates than their peers, I think the girls's spouses (and one soon-to-be spouse) are quietly worried about what I'm going to be making when they're invited to dinner. To a man, they all grew up eating pretty typical American fare, so when they're confronted with some exotic noodle dish like <i>pad thai</i> or baked potatoes with tuna-mayonnaise and baked beans as toppings (so English!) or an Indian curry, they are cautious. Fortunately, they fear offending me more than they fear trying something new (not that I would be offended, because I truly love each of them more than I require accolades for my cooking), so they'll gamely try anything once before they go back home and eat what they really like. They've even surprised themselves by really enjoying some of the things I've made (<a href="https://celebrationgeneration.com/easy-sushi-casserole/#recipe" target="_blank">sushi bake</a>, for instance, has become a real hit!). </div><div><br /></div><div>Siân's husband, Nathan, also grew up eating typical American dishes, so living with us and having me cook whatever strikes my fancy--and it's not usually what he's accustomed to--has been a little hard on him. He's a lovely young man, and he's not horribly picky, but I think that every evening for him is a bit of a worry as he wonders what he'll be confronted with this time. Not every recipe I try is a winner in my books, either, which makes it doubly tough for Nathan. But he neither complains nor make demands. If he just can't stomach what I have made, he will, without fanfare, fend for himself by making something else (usually pizza rolls or frozen taquitos). </div><div><br /></div><div>In honor of Nathan's grace and kindness, I decided to re-explore American dishes for a while, so I've made a lot of American-style casseroles and whatnot lately. I made American-style goulash in the Instant Pot the other day, and I thought it was very, very much like a yummy spaghetti bolognese (but with penne pasta), but I think I'm the only one working through the leftovers, for some reason. Hey, it's something to pack in my lunch for work, so I'm happy.</div><div><br /></div><div>The most popular American dish I made recently was Jack Cheese Casserole, which is a recipe I included in the cook book I put together of our family's favorite recipes that I give to my children as they move out of the house, and which Siân has told me has become a favorite with Nathan and Tyler (recipe to follow). That casserole was gone the same night, with complaints that there weren't leftovers. </div><div><br /></div><div>I did try a recipe for <a href="https://therecipecritic.com/crack-chicken/" target="_blank">Crack Chicken</a>, but that wasn't a huge hit (though there is nothing wrong with the recipe). I had a lot of leftovers that would have gone uneaten, so today, per Husband's suggestion, I added some of the ingredients called for in our family's perennial favorite, <a href="https://www.pamperedchef.com/recipe/Main+Dishes/Large+Round+Stone+with+Handles/Turkey+Cranberry+Wreath/10098" target="_blank">Pampered Chef Turkey Ring</a> (fresh parsley, celery, dijon mustard, dried cranberries, slivered almonds instead of walnuts, crescent roll dough), and salvaged the unpopular leftovers.</div><div><br /></div><div>The quintessential American food, cheeseburgers, always makes everyone happy. I gently mix ground beef with salt, pepper, garlic powder, and a little bit of Worcestershire sauce to loosen the mixture a bit and make it easy to flatten. Then I create very thin meat patties and fry them, like a smash burger, and top them with cheese. I make fry sauce as a toasted bun spread and serve it all up with the traditional cheeseburger toppings (tomato slices, Iceberg lettuce, sliced onion, and dill pickle slices). </div><div><br /></div><div>I'll keep making American food for a while. Then, just when Nathan is getting all comfortable, I'll hit him with something deeply unfamiliar, haha!</div><div><br /></div><div>This recipe is so typically American it turns your blood red, white, and blue. Bring this to a potluck and everyone will beg for the recipe.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Jack Cheese Casserole</span></div><div><i>Serves 8</i></div><div><br /></div><div>8 oz corn chips (Fritos) (Siân uses tortilla chips)</div><div>2 cans tuna packed in water, drained</div><div>2 (12 oz) cans cream of chicken soup</div><div>1 (14 oz) can evaporated milk</div><div>1 large onion, diced, or 3 Tbsp dehydrated onion</div><div>1 (4 oz) can diced green chiles</div><div>1 pound grated Monterey Jack cheese (cheddar is also really good)</div><div><br /></div><div>1. Preheat the oven to 350 deg. F.</div><div>2. Spray the bottom of a 9-inch by 13-inch baking dish with cooking spray. Spread the corn chips evenly in the dish. </div><div>3. In a frying pan, saute the onion until soft (if using dehydrated onion, skip this step and simply mix the dehydrated onion in with everything else). Mix together the onion, tuna, soup, chiles, and evaporated milk. Pour the mixture over the corn chips.</div><div>4. Sprinkle the cheese on top of the casserole and bake, uncovered, for 25 minutes. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-16262801524112304362023-03-08T16:29:00.000-07:002023-03-08T16:29:23.246-07:00A Cautionary Tale<p> I got a text today from Denise, one of the faculty members. It said, "Will you be my best friend?"</p><p>That seemed odd. We already pinky swore we were best friends, like, two years ago, and we talk about boys every time we have a sleepover, so where was this coming from?</p><p>Just kidding. The only boys we talk about are our husbands, and only to brag about them. Plus, the last sleepover I ever had with a bestie was probably in 1989. </p><p>When I went to investigate, it turned out that a couple of the girls in Denise's 10th period class had managed to snatch her phone and send out a series of texts to random people in her contacts. The girls are good kids generally, but this is definitely a lesson about password-protecting your phone!</p><p>Denise was flustered and less than amused, though she didn't scream at the girls. </p><p>"I have to explain what's going on to about seven different people now," she said. Class was just beginning and she wasn't going to have time to sort this out for another seventy minutes at least.</p><p>"Didn't Kim's hair-raising story at lunch not give you the heeby-jeebies about leaving your phone within reach of students?" I asked.</p><p>"I know!"she said regretfully. "I thought I had it in my pocket!"</p><p>At lunch, Kim regaled us with a tale of what could have been the end of his career and his reputation (and even, perhaps, his freedom) because he left his phone within reach of a student. </p><p>A few years ago, Kim had left his office door unlocked and his phone on his desk while he was teaching a class. A student opened the office door and grabbed the phone. Even though it was password-protected, the student could still access the photo app, and he took the phone with him into the bathroom. There, he proceeded to take a series of very graphic and intimate pictures of himself before putting the phone back on the desk, Kim none the wiser. The student thought it was a hilarious prank.</p><p>Several days later, Kim, still unaware of the photos, found that a couple other students had also grabbed his phone and snapped a few selfies of themselves--also as a prank. They told Kim about it, and something told Kim to go and look further back into his photo gallery. That's when he found the graphic photos of the boy. </p><p>Kim was rightfully horrified and even traumatized by the photos. He immediately called our boss to report what he'd found, and that opened a police investigation into child pornography. Kim's phone was confiscated so that investigators could see if a claim could be made that Kim had solicited the photos from the boy, if he had any more such images stored in the phone, and what sorts of searches he had made in his browser. </p><p>Fortunately, the investigation into Kim was closed after the student confessed that he had taken the photos of his own accord. Kim's phone was still destroyed, per policy, but as part of the agreement the boy and his parents made with the court, Kim was paid back the value of the phone. The student was never allowed to take seminary classes again (turns out he also had some issues sexually harassing young women).</p><p>My phone is password-protected, but I usually leave it on my desk. When I leave my office, my practice is to lock both my computer screen and my door, but there is a big window through which I speak to students that I cannot lock, even if I slide it shut. I've been lucky so far, but I am also taking this lesson more to heart from now on. The problem is that most dress pants do not include pockets large enough for a phone, which is why I leave the phone behind when I need to use the ladies room or run an errand. Yet my career and reputation could end in just a couple minutes if the wrong kid got hold of my phone...</p><p>Food for thought.</p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-48275049849373363622023-03-06T16:13:00.001-07:002023-03-06T16:13:09.326-07:00Wedding #4<p> It's official!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UbGp-AVL0I07O3ybQFI3YJ5-zmAIEkGBa3XGXj9mCX77pYa9_-OVWqBiZ0KL-C8Rf88k2wOTpaxe0-N9byekyTszuMB3-LMpirIq_XJHeh8ptQ49iuDzriUpBJUyoRTXirL1Bw_-1bHiXUwtaKYiSOOAeoDmqhSc6SEgamhftrxBmDCtSTuZbIdO/s2048/engagement%20photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3UbGp-AVL0I07O3ybQFI3YJ5-zmAIEkGBa3XGXj9mCX77pYa9_-OVWqBiZ0KL-C8Rf88k2wOTpaxe0-N9byekyTszuMB3-LMpirIq_XJHeh8ptQ49iuDzriUpBJUyoRTXirL1Bw_-1bHiXUwtaKYiSOOAeoDmqhSc6SEgamhftrxBmDCtSTuZbIdO/w480-h640/engagement%20photo.jpg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p>Elannah and her boyfriend, Dalton, are engaged! </p><p>Did I mention before that Elannah broke up with Dalton a little over a month ago? If I did, this engagement announcement will come as somewhat of a surprise. Without spilling the tea on all of their personal details, both of them grew a lot in the month they were apart. What amazed me most, however, was how Dalton handled being broken up with by the love of his life. He was terribly confused and sad, but he never spoke badly about Elannah to his friends and family. When he and Elannah ran into each other (which is inevitable in our burg), he was kind and caring rather than bitter and vengeful. Eventually, Elannah spent a lot of time praying, fasting, and visiting the temple, and she got an answer that marrying him was the thing she needed to do.</p><p>Dalton is a great guy, so we couldn't be happier. He even came and asked Husband and me for our permission before he made his surprise proposal plans, and he was so sincere and sweet. I found out later that he was so nervous about talking to us that he just about vomited, but he was very open with us during our <strike>interrogation</strike> interview. Even Husband was impressed, which is saying something. Husband asked Dalton a lot of tough questions to make him sweat a little, but we already liked him, so the interview was pretty much a formality.</p><p>The wedding will be in August. The venue is booked and Elannah has chosen her wedding colors.</p><p>It's on.</p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-48709275201331197492023-02-28T17:46:00.000-07:002023-02-28T17:46:53.552-07:00The Symphony of People<p> My new principal and I are finding our rhythm, and the new faculty are meshing very nicely together, so work is as pleasant as it has ever been, even if I sometimes miss people who have moved away and moved on. </p><p>The school district is building a new high school in our burg, which will make two high schools for the town instead of just the one we currently have. There are high schools located in each of the three major towns in our valley, but population in all three of the towns (as well as the even more rural townlets) has been exploding for about three years now with no sign of letting up. New homes and apartment complexes are sprouting like mushrooms where there were once pastures and fields, and traffic has become nightmarish on the main streets during rush hour; the influx of new cars and drivers has far outpaced any city planning efforts to provide adequate alternate routes to reduce the burden on the main thoroughfares, though it's still nothing like The Big City. Yet. </p><p>The new high school will siphon off students from our high school and the one in the next town, and I'm fascinated to see what it will do to the demographic of our current high school, whose boundaries are pretty much land-locked from new residential construction. The construction of the new high school will also mean the construction of a new seminary building, which has interesting implications. The new seminary will face the new temple that is under construction a few blocks away. Wouldn't that be a grand view to have at work every day? Plus, Husband works at the elementary school nearest the new high school, so we could, conceivably, have lunch together sometimes if I were to end up at the new seminary.</p><p>But all that is still a year or so away at this point. There have not been any mentions (to me, at least) of what my employer may decide about who will staff the new seminary. I'm not very fussed about it anyway. Stay or leave, I will be fine.</p><p>A student kept me late after work yesterday because of some angst-driven questions he wanted to pose to me. I would have shooed him out much earlier except that this seemed like one of those conversations that would mean something significant to him and needed to happen. Since I didn't have to leave right away, and because the principal was also able to stay in the building, I allowed it.</p><p>He struggled to put into words what he was wondering in his heart.</p><p>"Do you think we are replaceable?" he asked, a little hitch in his voice.</p><p>"What do you mean?" I said. "Say more about that."</p><p>He screwed up his face while he thought a bit, and because his face was flushed, I could tell he was asking something that was making him feel vulnerable and a little emotional.</p><p>"I mean, are we really each unique? Wouldn't you find tons of people like me anywhere?"</p><p>"Are you asking if we are replaceable as part of a group? Like just one of many in a crowd? Or are you asking if you or I have such especially unique qualities that the lack of any one of us would be felt in the world?"</p><p>It was the latter question he wanted to have answered. My heart felt for him. What teenager with any ounce of self-reflection does not ask him- or herself those questions (I know I did): Am I really anything special? Would the fact that I didn't exist make any difference? I can't imagine there is anything particularly special about me, so aren't I just...replaceable?</p><p>This kid is not depressed or suicidal, but he does have the normal amount of angsty teen self-doubt. I'm sure something must have happened amongst his friend group to cause him to worry about this right now, though he didn't tell me what, and I didn't ask. He seemed just emotional enough that me asking might cause him to cry and embarrass himself.</p><p>I always pray that the Lord will just put words into my mouth when I'm talking to students because I never want to prattle on and on without offering any insights or help. Teens are generally self-absorbed enough to be mostly only interested in delving into their own psyches, not anyone else's, such as mine. As an older adult, I accept that I am not viewed as particularly fascinating by the youngsters except in the way I am willing to listen to them talk about themselves and take them seriously. Most teens have yet to challenge their childish belief that we adults simply pop into existence, fully formed, the moment they happen to need something from us, that we have no pasts as children, teens, or young adults, that we have no relevant or interesting adventures or insights to share. I find that amusing because I remember thinking like that when I was young.</p><p>I'm sometimes very surprised by what comes out of my mouth during these conversations, but I know it's not me being in any way brilliant. The Lord brings things to mind as I'm talking (talking as briefly as possible, hopefully), and suddenly I am pulling in scripture and words of the prophets--things I've studied and pondered myself--during our conversations and making connections I wouldn't necessarily have put together under pressure except in situations like these. </p><p>I won't bore you with the details of the rest of this conversation (it lasted a good hour), and I know that I didn't fully convince him that he is precious and unique and that his Heavenly Father is very ready to tell him so when he makes up his mind to ask earnestly and then listen. He will have to feel like he is worth enough to ask God to tell him if he is worth enough, which might take a bit. But he did listen to me, and I listened to him, and perhaps knowing he is heard will be enough to get him through until our next conversation. I obviously pointed him toward his parents, as well. Sometimes talking to a non-parent adult adds a little layer of insulation between a kid and his feelings, but I always want kids to find a reason to confide in their parents to any degree they can. </p><p>Today I had a completely different kind of conversation with another student, a young woman with whom I have become good friends but who had to drop seminary this semester in favor of academic courses so that she would have enough credits to graduate this year. She told me that she had dropped her friend group for the most part because they didn't go to classes or do their homework or care about any of it, and when she hung out with them, that's what she did, too. She made the decision to earn her diploma, so she decided she had to make a break with them so she could accomplish her goals. </p><p>She impressed me even more during our conversation. She is not a baptized member of our church, though her aunt brought her to church since she was little, and she did attend seminary for multiple semesters. She is a Christian, she said, and she worships Jesus Christ as the only way to salvation. She is disappointed in Christians of any denomination who think they merely need to check off some boxes to prove their worthiness for heaven but also feel the need to denigrate and condemn to hell any person who does not adhere to their particular brand of Christianity. She just wants everyone to look to Christ for salvation, not to box-checking or mere external rule-following. She hopes all of us Christians can someday find our common ground and band together as brothers and sisters, lifting each other up instead of tearing each other down as the world becomes more and more opposed to Christ. </p><p>Wow! She is a light on a hill, that one. Love that girl. I was so glad she dropped by to see me today.</p><p>Now it is time to make dinner and hang out with my husband, children, and grandchildren. I have a wonderful life. </p><p>(One last point of wonder: the youngest member of our faculty, Michael, and I were talking at lunch about writing, which is something he loves to do. We both said at the same time, "I love the Oxford comma!" Happy sigh. Oxford comma fans of the world, unite!)</p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-49237601974115410442023-02-19T13:07:00.001-07:002023-02-20T16:18:34.209-07:00England Trip Recap<p> The two best purchases we made in the U.K. were a super-king-size duvet and duvet cover and a couple coats--all of which we managed to bring back to the U.S., even if it meant leaving some things behind in order to make room in our luggage (bath towels, a pair of my shoes that were pretty worn anyway, toiletries that are easily replaced). Worth it. It's amazing how much stuff you can pack into a couple carry-ons and a suitcase when you use vacuum bags.</p><p>The trip to England was fantastic. I had so much fun! The cottage we rented was well-equipped and comfortable, almost all of Husband's siblings and parents were around at all times, and we all got along very well. Best of all, my MIL was feeling well enough during the trip to accompany the rest of us on many of our day trips to various towns and villages, including on our trip to Wales to visit the family's old stomping grounds in Pencoed. </p><p>I won't bore you with all the details. Here are some pictures instead. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunAljCh5tPaijsfRno-RvF-A33BDPY-mgROUWlhKngT2gXmVJD3qvBlguE4ysLgYPyubTVYCenmQD0L92NxhETIHcEo4Rxw4mJI5XkljGkUbNp07nGr1tFrOLFdKFWCfIz4RO9PvmRlPWobGsU1McmPwdOMQaKZjxdZi3y8xA5eYvYB3jFN2zqDGD/s4032/high%20street%20in%20Bradford%20on%20Avon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhunAljCh5tPaijsfRno-RvF-A33BDPY-mgROUWlhKngT2gXmVJD3qvBlguE4ysLgYPyubTVYCenmQD0L92NxhETIHcEo4Rxw4mJI5XkljGkUbNp07nGr1tFrOLFdKFWCfIz4RO9PvmRlPWobGsU1McmPwdOMQaKZjxdZi3y8xA5eYvYB3jFN2zqDGD/w480-h640/high%20street%20in%20Bradford%20on%20Avon.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MIL and the twins in the high street in Bradford-upon-Avon.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkM1K6gQ0eWJoVdOSN7RDiFVeqoaRhQITCi7R_P2IQ2nFfPE9s7kx5M40gwRIkXbw5EHPKUqCYJJjJldSWO8HqyXaeLrHn1pcb21wZJu4p9ANTUg-HAw5aaogjWva6fCCmcXMtQk0lVROAlDmVtbAm7PzBvzN_T6CwW3dQuqRwFPM9fFnWaFfszBnm/s4032/bridge%20in%20Bradford%20on%20Avon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkM1K6gQ0eWJoVdOSN7RDiFVeqoaRhQITCi7R_P2IQ2nFfPE9s7kx5M40gwRIkXbw5EHPKUqCYJJjJldSWO8HqyXaeLrHn1pcb21wZJu4p9ANTUg-HAw5aaogjWva6fCCmcXMtQk0lVROAlDmVtbAm7PzBvzN_T6CwW3dQuqRwFPM9fFnWaFfszBnm/w640-h480/bridge%20in%20Bradford%20on%20Avon.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up the hill in Bradford-on-Avon. To the left of the bridge that spans the Avon River, you can see the spire of the town cathedral. At the top of the hill, you can barely make out the tiny Norman church we climbed up to see.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuEoRWHR3REQSX8Pl8XGGBgIxyHpIwfZZMeioHpfm2qvRHm09F7m407-U1m-fsODcE4LVzYt8CrCg7quuROSVa-XvBSvCpCVZ-TfRMk8Z-dc9gBsvL_WDOW-xgjxZxWPZ8pBXdb8FeSZr1q1yvccUPMoX9Q-VApNfRz3oVnWGH60Ssesflfs7pj57w/s4032/bakery%20sign.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuEoRWHR3REQSX8Pl8XGGBgIxyHpIwfZZMeioHpfm2qvRHm09F7m407-U1m-fsODcE4LVzYt8CrCg7quuROSVa-XvBSvCpCVZ-TfRMk8Z-dc9gBsvL_WDOW-xgjxZxWPZ8pBXdb8FeSZr1q1yvccUPMoX9Q-VApNfRz3oVnWGH60Ssesflfs7pj57w/w480-h640/bakery%20sign.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sign outside one of the bakeries in Bradford. The price for a custard slice got a little steep since the last time I was in England.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7ur-3G49xDLF6jqi67LOMaZ_x60PomB8GXGj0yM4P7z6YZ4adjlqEawL-CLTjzGRTRJc7uSY3VDgmvI_Jhi5ovSlbMeVOlzeWxJmjma59PDN1ZCZAMw2trSiT4QsaypQzizbOsrtbZtJ7QOxc_UXB8MJUPYHOA0WyEA2sy0Qixpky3E7XUG8I2bM/s4032/The%20Bridge%20Tea%20Rooms.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA7ur-3G49xDLF6jqi67LOMaZ_x60PomB8GXGj0yM4P7z6YZ4adjlqEawL-CLTjzGRTRJc7uSY3VDgmvI_Jhi5ovSlbMeVOlzeWxJmjma59PDN1ZCZAMw2trSiT4QsaypQzizbOsrtbZtJ7QOxc_UXB8MJUPYHOA0WyEA2sy0Qixpky3E7XUG8I2bM/w480-h640/The%20Bridge%20Tea%20Rooms.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If the building doesn't look like it's about to fall down, you're entering something built after the 1500s, and what's the fun in that?</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7ONqkFziuG8gNmTiUW5vbD_gcUnbxQJ4HaQ3FHAmHkASTFauS4Ch0AKXI4bCnD-51VFue-VyLYytlPsUrvEoV7F5RQew-M2QwlttOHT7QDBq1Ez45mZeTQtfHwIcRP45SnzjAWZgwm-R6urrxmd0gfwBbGcskDdCDWbi9HIsChZA3eaXVio28p3R/s4032/Bradford%20on%20Avon%20skyline.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_7ONqkFziuG8gNmTiUW5vbD_gcUnbxQJ4HaQ3FHAmHkASTFauS4Ch0AKXI4bCnD-51VFue-VyLYytlPsUrvEoV7F5RQew-M2QwlttOHT7QDBq1Ez45mZeTQtfHwIcRP45SnzjAWZgwm-R6urrxmd0gfwBbGcskDdCDWbi9HIsChZA3eaXVio28p3R/w640-h480/Bradford%20on%20Avon%20skyline.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bradford on Avon from the top of the hill, which was an exhausting climb. We trudged up endless steep cobbled lanes to a tiny, ancient Norman church built of stone to get these pictures. The interior of the church was about the size of a large master bedroom, so we stepped in and took some photos there, too. After we had carefully navigated the steep streets back down to the town center, one of Husband's brothers realized he had left his European man bag (murse?) in the church, and it contained his car keys, the key to our rental house, his phone, and his wallet. He took off running back up the hill and made it into the church, desperately huffing and puffing, just as two women were going through the bag to try and figure out whose it was. They didn't appear to be trying to steal anything, but he never removed his bag from his shoulder after that. I couldn't even tease him about his European man bag because it was made of quality leather, and he made it look very fashionable.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyMsYafw_6M4-XngzD0XRLzPQjyI0Oa1Wvpv4jL6aYMo0j7bbcRod305H9SE6Q5Kp-N-pRCjUy8HyoKlNviLw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div>In Bradford, we visited a tiny little book store on the high street. We asked the proprietor if we could see his used books, and he directed us through the a dark hallway to the back door and up here (see above video). I found a 1946 set of <i>The Forsyte Saga</i> trilogy, by John Galsworthy, and a little leather-bound edition of <i>Hard Times</i>, by Charles Dickens. Neither of these editions is worth much (the trilogy was £5 and the Dickens was £2.50), but I love the books themselves, so I was happy to bring them home. </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0BER59WcSgl980J6pVJM4FxnNvBir94CzhsK8txuXWpl4bP8SlaBStYfXPDmxh2BPsdTYw6PThmz1ny_l_KERAEBj2Mgkvbi3JEbz_7fVnOX1O-5sqgx2dtBuUGpM_ZkO7jsxwG8qaZSyW6yiVGGlkDukwVvAu-OzIYOjhlZyBmq_muIW2kqb9Zec/s4032/Shaftsbury%20High%20Street%20-%20King%20Alfreds%20Kitchen.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0BER59WcSgl980J6pVJM4FxnNvBir94CzhsK8txuXWpl4bP8SlaBStYfXPDmxh2BPsdTYw6PThmz1ny_l_KERAEBj2Mgkvbi3JEbz_7fVnOX1O-5sqgx2dtBuUGpM_ZkO7jsxwG8qaZSyW6yiVGGlkDukwVvAu-OzIYOjhlZyBmq_muIW2kqb9Zec/w640-h480/Shaftsbury%20High%20Street%20-%20King%20Alfreds%20Kitchen.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">King Alfred's Kitchen on the high street in Shaftesbury. King Alfred built an abbey in Shaftesbury in 888 A.D., so the town does play up the connection to one of England's most famous kings.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX3vV9ReeORhbt5yPiI6O5BYeXAcZQ9ub7Ab2hIJYWtAaQv5xK1vOqm6TKXIT2JDguxUXCVBajHAfiTmKGO0EM3HR3o6n1ZkqdYMxrcvNGkMc7QTYVc1wvy6UYTwCEj6n0Z63bPLUrQFxnJznkXAokoDNK7ZAp2VgsTkyQ0heojo5zAAv8KEG-qq5G/s4032/Shaftsbury%20High%20Street.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX3vV9ReeORhbt5yPiI6O5BYeXAcZQ9ub7Ab2hIJYWtAaQv5xK1vOqm6TKXIT2JDguxUXCVBajHAfiTmKGO0EM3HR3o6n1ZkqdYMxrcvNGkMc7QTYVc1wvy6UYTwCEj6n0Z63bPLUrQFxnJznkXAokoDNK7ZAp2VgsTkyQ0heojo5zAAv8KEG-qq5G/w640-h480/Shaftsbury%20High%20Street.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shaftesbury high street</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbfVHunqd3qu7C72UhcdEIS3kR0btI8cE6YJt6CI-g_7RkILrkHT_LBpiULNFbdPN7xC3HFAjSky_ndBQfdNZyC6SFJ3hVi4zUknZlyTGR0K8dLz5WdWd0T_pUQs660n3MoowHF85BfBd_VlZcu2ndQcwIf13Pt5De_30xD9pwApz1n6bENiAwta1u/s1600/Cathedral%20in%20Shaftsbury.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbfVHunqd3qu7C72UhcdEIS3kR0btI8cE6YJt6CI-g_7RkILrkHT_LBpiULNFbdPN7xC3HFAjSky_ndBQfdNZyC6SFJ3hVi4zUknZlyTGR0K8dLz5WdWd0T_pUQs660n3MoowHF85BfBd_VlZcu2ndQcwIf13Pt5De_30xD9pwApz1n6bENiAwta1u/w640-h480/Cathedral%20in%20Shaftsbury.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shaftesbury cathedral on the left<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy_I6Mcb7mToOLNgki4jpqV8UIDilZbsgiMmxA3tqb7xdzZwhAZ7nxTjjtnvrOuaEC47uVsTRzn_ynHJuFS3g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Behind the cathedral in the above photos is a place commonly called Hovis Hill, though its real name is Gold Hill. Hovis is actually a brand of bread, and the Hovis Bread company filmed what became a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Mq59ykPnAE" target="_blank">very iconic commercial on this hill in 1973</a>, which was directed by Ridley Scott (everyone has to start somewhere!). <div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvlgJbZzX9gHELbVXVyiX1nCbu_58unHzTBl5jDOtSkQSJp0RI5wmxTJfvllb7rmZkYyDbuEghLFN157rc4dymDd0L3CCjgG60bYFBAqWO6VAs65F3gA-1LM1ZSvwdOSom8UEPFnzWqCznHs_NB1wGmSuG3VWzFJzelRggIthXXQfGlBmpx6GkOCcF/s1024/The%20Barbour%20shop%20quartet.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvlgJbZzX9gHELbVXVyiX1nCbu_58unHzTBl5jDOtSkQSJp0RI5wmxTJfvllb7rmZkYyDbuEghLFN157rc4dymDd0L3CCjgG60bYFBAqWO6VAs65F3gA-1LM1ZSvwdOSom8UEPFnzWqCznHs_NB1wGmSuG3VWzFJzelRggIthXXQfGlBmpx6GkOCcF/w640-h480/The%20Barbour%20shop%20quartet.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I started calling this group the Barbour shop quartet. <i>Left to right</i>: Brad (Husband's next youngest brother), Matt (Daniel's twin), FIL, and Daniel (Matt's twin). The running joke throughout the week was that Daniel, who loves a particular style of coat made by Barbour, managed to convince the other three to buy similar coats, despite the eyebrow-raising price (I think Brad bought his in Bath earlier in the week for nearly £200, or around $240 with the recent conversion rates). Barbour produces high-quality waxed jackets, whose outer canvas layer is infused with a layer of wax in order to repel water--useful in a very wet climate like England's or Indiana's (I wore one during my mission, and it was very good at keeping me dry). It's a sensible purchase, though you kind of end up looking like a wealthy farmer--especially coupled with a flat cap like Brad is wearing. We told Brad all he needed now was a shotgun over his arm and some big black wellies (galoshes), and he'd be set. Anyway, on this day, we ended up making two separate visits to the Barbour store on the high street in Shaftesbury, and both Matt and FIL made their own purchases. Husband was tempted by the family peer pressure, but I reminded him that we live in a desert with very little rain, whereas his brothers and father live in far wetter climates. Husband came to his senses and bought a SuperDry coat instead that he found later in the week at an outlet mall for a much, much better price of £35 (about $40).</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVHedjF_NzbwQLOpc-MsWCsyBRIeC3sYCgBaz5a11Nqp3GVn7FQgu1nx2yvzjelHCgoq7ZF__6eyIE04iCl0zhzQB8oNXhyymKU0-a7jXRaMml9cJKIc81fGDA-0l0L9judf53umiNdP6srpBDBzkDVgFgOET4xgjrglKIbMF6tl-WfEkJz_ps4RTw/s1600/Changed%20Priorities%20in%20Shaftsbury.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVHedjF_NzbwQLOpc-MsWCsyBRIeC3sYCgBaz5a11Nqp3GVn7FQgu1nx2yvzjelHCgoq7ZF__6eyIE04iCl0zhzQB8oNXhyymKU0-a7jXRaMml9cJKIc81fGDA-0l0L9judf53umiNdP6srpBDBzkDVgFgOET4xgjrglKIbMF6tl-WfEkJz_ps4RTw/w480-h640/Changed%20Priorities%20in%20Shaftsbury.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husband snapped this pic and told me that he was now re-thinking his life. What it actually means is that drivers should be aware of a change in traffic direction ahead. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM8JUYRxXGgulvRA_iXYcu6cr7-jUL6-YKekaxZPDv4pgDxfYr49CueQG4lBD3Wt41NFgILlP7sCVlpBZC413NL8229Nuq9H2cuvYJm4RdyURdBPIv-Xg2PCJlYeOsGHwEx5mCtDTIkV-r3L_Cbbqexcj4lrKjVdtK_KynPKNPtS6XA6bczPN7BUkh/s1024/Bath%20Cathedral.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM8JUYRxXGgulvRA_iXYcu6cr7-jUL6-YKekaxZPDv4pgDxfYr49CueQG4lBD3Wt41NFgILlP7sCVlpBZC413NL8229Nuq9H2cuvYJm4RdyURdBPIv-Xg2PCJlYeOsGHwEx5mCtDTIkV-r3L_Cbbqexcj4lrKjVdtK_KynPKNPtS6XA6bczPN7BUkh/w480-h640/Bath%20Cathedral.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bath Cathedral. All buildings in Bath are required to be built in this yellowish Bath stone. Even new buildings in the town center have a facade of this stone so that everything looks cohesive.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-3KhWDMr5IMG0UNiqAby2ZVCcsauDeuxJu2DgWQaJWKm-3LTXG8ZNKwNH71_fFBS0y3x_PMHYBTdOpfJbWYMCEBGj6OoS9_QI0K2GPU8HMDowkh9KGHzrtUzxRczzfaSiUrhMA24IaRDmxKT3hLNxv7gcJsAjnA5rHULzOPg2BKclsJeeUJuNwn0/s1600/Bath%20road%20with%20buses.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB-3KhWDMr5IMG0UNiqAby2ZVCcsauDeuxJu2DgWQaJWKm-3LTXG8ZNKwNH71_fFBS0y3x_PMHYBTdOpfJbWYMCEBGj6OoS9_QI0K2GPU8HMDowkh9KGHzrtUzxRczzfaSiUrhMA24IaRDmxKT3hLNxv7gcJsAjnA5rHULzOPg2BKclsJeeUJuNwn0/w480-h640/Bath%20road%20with%20buses.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bath street with double-decker buses. The red one is a tourist bus with open-air seating on the top level. The weather that day alternated between overcast but chilly and rainy and chilly--not a good day to be riding around in the open, though we walked everywhere. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii2nCFZjK8g7p55N3X1V_84zK_dQx3_S8j_5-CrFf2CK_dS7vzW1LJZtA8cQIbCvN7_L8O21EW_l0LK90gztWRnB6fQff6yosfbci4XdKw9BQc9Wnh_75hP0WKqeOjZta7Hn8MrJPOf0eHlMlFaMfGj-lGYiV1peI0VvteO3miphxj7Ga_4LRCqAmF/s4032/Sally%20Lunn%20House%20in%20Bath.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii2nCFZjK8g7p55N3X1V_84zK_dQx3_S8j_5-CrFf2CK_dS7vzW1LJZtA8cQIbCvN7_L8O21EW_l0LK90gztWRnB6fQff6yosfbci4XdKw9BQc9Wnh_75hP0WKqeOjZta7Hn8MrJPOf0eHlMlFaMfGj-lGYiV1peI0VvteO3miphxj7Ga_4LRCqAmF/w480-h640/Sally%20Lunn%20House%20in%20Bath.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Sally Lunn house is purported to be the oldest house still standing in Bath. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz3woY2nE69-d9X-C6h9kFEMaL8lZ7vKAEpOBrlxRpZMY2Cji9XZZ0KMR4-BvsYaHEWzCZf0F_9P8DfzbP8JQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>The above video shows a tiny little square we visited before going into the Bath Sweet Shop, where I bought some Parma Violets on sale for 50p each. The shop itself was so shallow that there was barely enough room for us to come in off the street and stand in front of the counter.<br /><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCjpgsaqrKmW8tU4vYrxjKKt8JI33HRe80d6fF2VJxIjcdqywd0iZg45Bwmb2D5CUc9sXITmgyznDrefLEZjf3WltiwilqFKYtDyFhh6RyC89O__-7lJcKASrC2sj0ZX0jI9CnSh236F7bmUEEz6ujeAU49ZpOQlz88cBfUY1r9QF8h4odBkmSd3Az/s4032/bridge%20over%20the%20river%20Avon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCjpgsaqrKmW8tU4vYrxjKKt8JI33HRe80d6fF2VJxIjcdqywd0iZg45Bwmb2D5CUc9sXITmgyznDrefLEZjf3WltiwilqFKYtDyFhh6RyC89O__-7lJcKASrC2sj0ZX0jI9CnSh236F7bmUEEz6ujeAU49ZpOQlz88cBfUY1r9QF8h4odBkmSd3Az/w640-h480/bridge%20over%20the%20river%20Avon.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pulteney Bridge spans the Avon River and has shops built into it the full length. You can see that some of the windows have been bricked in. Brad explained that in the 1690s, King William III decided to raise money by taxing the number of windows in a house, so people started boarding up and bricking in excess windows. This is when the phrase "daylight robbery" originated, since the king was literally robbing the people of the chance to have daylight in their dwellings.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_3QZX88LNzWHh5SwN_rbgPGgW5Rx-S6_TUNMSYixCjPScxjQv-P5OR4gAC70cNBOEjzNy9QmzBIk0QEnY54VFgTwCnOi4AusWzuu4uNaZzM2Rz9eBS9OU9zh-NmVd-Qv46K7K2L45Mhsgo0SgFuNOVpAJphEUN5RkswR1iomsl_pKcr5AJ-zVb1kG/s1600/Slugh%20&%20Lettuce%20in%20Bath.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_3QZX88LNzWHh5SwN_rbgPGgW5Rx-S6_TUNMSYixCjPScxjQv-P5OR4gAC70cNBOEjzNy9QmzBIk0QEnY54VFgTwCnOi4AusWzuu4uNaZzM2Rz9eBS9OU9zh-NmVd-Qv46K7K2L45Mhsgo0SgFuNOVpAJphEUN5RkswR1iomsl_pKcr5AJ-zVb1kG/w480-h640/Slugh%20&%20Lettuce%20in%20Bath.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I just loved the name of this restaurant, though it made me remember nearly biting into a slug while eating a salad from our garden when I was a teen--and I had washed the lettuce thoroughly! 10/10 wouldn't eat here for that reason alone.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6HnVfln07EFhcnW4p0MoXLjDuMIRs922yAa3g3F4vjfTtDiAXYb1GqLXeDCOdlzJHHuDQxfcneOQgiksn1jM6vdc8v-J8Cp9hKpM2R7tZw3eF1wdSo68dDi5Grip11J2CfxIRdf39pJDNN6aaZFha52ws13V_pVXYxmnwlB0AbEScippiLqc8_nm/s1600/High%20Street%20in%20Marlborough.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6HnVfln07EFhcnW4p0MoXLjDuMIRs922yAa3g3F4vjfTtDiAXYb1GqLXeDCOdlzJHHuDQxfcneOQgiksn1jM6vdc8v-J8Cp9hKpM2R7tZw3eF1wdSo68dDi5Grip11J2CfxIRdf39pJDNN6aaZFha52ws13V_pVXYxmnwlB0AbEScippiLqc8_nm/w640-h480/High%20Street%20in%20Marlborough.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The high street in Marlborough. This was my least favorite visit as it was a Saturday, the town center was packed, and the weather was more unpleasant than usual. Also, we were all hungry, and there was no place to eat--or the places had shut down for the afternoon.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbu3tlru7NPKHDLsh07SEwEDIJ3pjGgv3zgRYaMCDqS1jLjDDNjOoogSE4WlroXRvfCxzLh3j1x1lTZ3VAW61lApi0MJ9b6drJQQAjVQ7wbh23wY1gBLvq9yY-CFqI56pUPpRIUbsGurY-5NkVekzDW-fr8nM1n6BpH8mQpndE5n13KIduM2lftY_J/s1024/the%20gang%20in%20marlborough.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbu3tlru7NPKHDLsh07SEwEDIJ3pjGgv3zgRYaMCDqS1jLjDDNjOoogSE4WlroXRvfCxzLh3j1x1lTZ3VAW61lApi0MJ9b6drJQQAjVQ7wbh23wY1gBLvq9yY-CFqI56pUPpRIUbsGurY-5NkVekzDW-fr8nM1n6BpH8mQpndE5n13KIduM2lftY_J/w640-h480/the%20gang%20in%20marlborough.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The nice thing about visiting Marlborough was that we met up with Husband's oldest brother, Warren, his wife, and his two sons, whom I had never met. <i>Left to right</i>: Husband, Toby (Matt's oldest son), Brad, Matt, Daniel, Ronan (Warren's youngest), Corie (Warren's oldest), Julianne (Warren's wife), Warren, MIL, and FIL</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9U55l7IlU3SN2sjH1nwnBRUPqDlTg2HGAHsFLqb7g_hC13n1yaOzLrzJ0E5JfXeLNpgjWcV-1z8nkHEu0Ax2SvjukT3QEl_VfvInVnPs1UH6GJ9NgoWvmCMeiCLP2JgLUUhfkT3w-wz6PjpyBOeK5gokFuVc9LqXDMALmWw21Suo-e9XFRzBQ0sV/s1600/Welsh%20sign.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9U55l7IlU3SN2sjH1nwnBRUPqDlTg2HGAHsFLqb7g_hC13n1yaOzLrzJ0E5JfXeLNpgjWcV-1z8nkHEu0Ax2SvjukT3QEl_VfvInVnPs1UH6GJ9NgoWvmCMeiCLP2JgLUUhfkT3w-wz6PjpyBOeK5gokFuVc9LqXDMALmWw21Suo-e9XFRzBQ0sV/w480-h640/Welsh%20sign.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pencoed, Wales, town centre. In Wales, all signs are written in Welsh first and then English.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwaeLKxr-XF02-mRmf-LT4fmHoVtqJ2Tsttk9CFCEdEc3WvJPwiDEuw7godzdBcdKcD7PJQUe65ZzJPfZURsoe5raPcSsSsn128lYbHTmNFWQ-ObH1kXcCzvNuLYNrvDBZogSYAiPlmxXCHrFtAUzvNx6MSNbXePPlEUvWSZn-mhbbQ6CZgnN_tXhA/s1600/fateful%20roundabout%20in%20Pencoed.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwaeLKxr-XF02-mRmf-LT4fmHoVtqJ2Tsttk9CFCEdEc3WvJPwiDEuw7godzdBcdKcD7PJQUe65ZzJPfZURsoe5raPcSsSsn128lYbHTmNFWQ-ObH1kXcCzvNuLYNrvDBZogSYAiPlmxXCHrFtAUzvNx6MSNbXePPlEUvWSZn-mhbbQ6CZgnN_tXhA/w640-h480/fateful%20roundabout%20in%20Pencoed.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fateful roundabout in Pencoed where Husband and Brad were knocked off their bike by a car when Husband was 11 and Brad was 9. Brad's knee was dislocated, and Husband's femur snapped. He was rushed to the hospital, where he was put in traction. He was in so much pain, but the doctors kept telling him to just deal with it until his mother stepped in and demanded another x-ray based on the fact that Husband is not a whiner about pain. The x-ray showed that some tissue had become caught in between the jagged ends of his femur bone. A quick surgery fixed the problem, and Husband was able to heal properly after that, though the long hospital stay while he was in traction was boring beyond belief.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjisnJyWGOvZttS2FoFYE1Ze7CiZcRzkyaNk-yqv8qddyaEV2lUVCIIsigFnomqYlHcXveETiyPiO_6TXsyz5yhEDyleX_Aq618rLANqbaeJd3ZW2Eoysfuu3AVYflPH3r85ANfLpGeOeasn5Xm_Lpvj-e-q3zQ1-JOUAjFsvjAOfWI5uDwg5rMDQeB/s4032/Pencoed%20Pool.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjisnJyWGOvZttS2FoFYE1Ze7CiZcRzkyaNk-yqv8qddyaEV2lUVCIIsigFnomqYlHcXveETiyPiO_6TXsyz5yhEDyleX_Aq618rLANqbaeJd3ZW2Eoysfuu3AVYflPH3r85ANfLpGeOeasn5Xm_Lpvj-e-q3zQ1-JOUAjFsvjAOfWI5uDwg5rMDQeB/w640-h480/Pencoed%20Pool.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Overlooking the pool at the leisure center where Husband, Brad, and Warren spent hours and hours as kids practicing with their team, the Pencoed Pirates. There is "good" old and "shabby" old in Britain. This building was shabby old, as many places seem to be. Still, the nostalgia for Husband and his brothers was strong.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwWVGqGiFJcFUTVrnogts9ZUn5utza4lfOa5xJzO11KDxRgXZb_RThFdbTStGPKtJl8iH4IwNQim42VfVU93-WOLNL7VTKxR81GWfaZYXn9YFN4cgc099b3EP4o-boJpzAMoreYRbCLaweQ3chag2w5tzz1Myx-EhKHzGjPpOwHhTtisAV8wJ0fVh/s1600/sheep%20at%20ogmore%20castle.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwWVGqGiFJcFUTVrnogts9ZUn5utza4lfOa5xJzO11KDxRgXZb_RThFdbTStGPKtJl8iH4IwNQim42VfVU93-WOLNL7VTKxR81GWfaZYXn9YFN4cgc099b3EP4o-boJpzAMoreYRbCLaweQ3chag2w5tzz1Myx-EhKHzGjPpOwHhTtisAV8wJ0fVh/w640-h480/sheep%20at%20ogmore%20castle.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ogmore Castle ruins in Wales. Husband's family made many visits to Ogmore Castle and Ogmore Beach during their growing up years. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJJuo5ERIDICXs6T7xmAbHDd5q3jVidVqqzaqWy6GDs13Sd-DJ22cXBR5Zig95AH0asshXiKgIY7S3DMCKyrpkVQGsZcNGV94ipcqiPY9sR-NLOiAlCdSuZH-CuJcKqVPimTL-KWmluvrBzPBaER_XLSPT7mGRc4mWO4VzAsjfgoeMmM9N6kFhuOV/s4032/Ogmore%20Castle%20ruins.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigJJuo5ERIDICXs6T7xmAbHDd5q3jVidVqqzaqWy6GDs13Sd-DJ22cXBR5Zig95AH0asshXiKgIY7S3DMCKyrpkVQGsZcNGV94ipcqiPY9sR-NLOiAlCdSuZH-CuJcKqVPimTL-KWmluvrBzPBaER_XLSPT7mGRc4mWO4VzAsjfgoeMmM9N6kFhuOV/w640-h480/Ogmore%20Castle%20ruins.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husband on the Ogmore Castle ruins. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsgXTPjS1xuFe9295HgI5MgLqe0pOnRGR42AH-7y5E3k_j4syLX6KrAGX9mUMpMGCpV4ThqeX27w6ydpsX_Rg8tVBUCYG2s14LLdEv9okZjwckOCyQlejP-f4r-Dxcp1G7-CPpwFw1W1SEo3O9751yevxAMILhhW-IVMB_2QqYfSThhl0zK7go-V3/s4032/Ogmore%20Castle%20wall.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsgXTPjS1xuFe9295HgI5MgLqe0pOnRGR42AH-7y5E3k_j4syLX6KrAGX9mUMpMGCpV4ThqeX27w6ydpsX_Rg8tVBUCYG2s14LLdEv9okZjwckOCyQlejP-f4r-Dxcp1G7-CPpwFw1W1SEo3O9751yevxAMILhhW-IVMB_2QqYfSThhl0zK7go-V3/w640-h480/Ogmore%20Castle%20wall.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">27 years ago, on the lawn inside this wall, our oldest daughter, Siân, who had just turned 1 year old, said the word "flower" for the first time. She had just toddled over to pick a daisy from the grass. We were all properly amazed. It was a little surreal to be in the same spot remembering that moment now that Siân has two little children of her own, with one on the way. At the time of this picture, it was flooding in many parts of Wales and Southern England due to heavy rains (that river in the background is flooded over its banks). The moat that originally surrounded this castle was filled with water, which Husband and his siblings had never seen before.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1poT7Q9xzoMlctCdIe7JO5bI6vQnckDel0SL785DiEJqUbwtWCfoHTE17NPOLdBEe4avR5A891haS_MRdiY1WvVUFgU2LEnJQsl3yKpEeTlrocBmibQDVn3JDmjDoafjXc4KlF1XEfHe50VcgiRMqCUTdU_eqFV3A-9siVyDpmPIXhrkkm4pQlPh/s1600/Ogmore%20Beach%20estuary%20and%20ocean%202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja1poT7Q9xzoMlctCdIe7JO5bI6vQnckDel0SL785DiEJqUbwtWCfoHTE17NPOLdBEe4avR5A891haS_MRdiY1WvVUFgU2LEnJQsl3yKpEeTlrocBmibQDVn3JDmjDoafjXc4KlF1XEfHe50VcgiRMqCUTdU_eqFV3A-9siVyDpmPIXhrkkm4pQlPh/w640-h480/Ogmore%20Beach%20estuary%20and%20ocean%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ogmore Beach, looking south to the estuary of the Ewenny River that runs along the coast and empties into the Atlantic Ocean. This was one of the favorite spots for Husband's family to spend time in the summer. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOFZZ1VJrmfb5u0-ceSpM-3MbmihQMANvY0prPZwNGSqZLPSw8flyht7j6-Z79_PrDWsm1jEeZOgaqqWUpXxzhbp2ScqhsQEdXy6uqLXpu5LQ4Z0fFAukXLQcLGmt1C9eJlNsVkbWkcSvyc5d5PepjoeGMb-nm5VtBORnoPelqCTP1gYpWCCFMtlT8/s4032/Ogmore%20Beach%20group%20picture.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOFZZ1VJrmfb5u0-ceSpM-3MbmihQMANvY0prPZwNGSqZLPSw8flyht7j6-Z79_PrDWsm1jEeZOgaqqWUpXxzhbp2ScqhsQEdXy6uqLXpu5LQ4Z0fFAukXLQcLGmt1C9eJlNsVkbWkcSvyc5d5PepjoeGMb-nm5VtBORnoPelqCTP1gYpWCCFMtlT8/w640-h480/Ogmore%20Beach%20group%20picture.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Group shot at Ogmore Beach. <i>Left to right</i>: Tiffany (Husband's only sister), Derek (Tiff's husband), Daniel, FIL, Matt, MIL, Brad, Husband, and Benjamin (the youngest of the siblings). It was an incredibly windy, cold day. I run pretty warm, but even I had to button up my coat against the gale-force winds coming off the ocean.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTz0mEDvef9qnr7-D3ZMa1Ova4PuRsNaWQaW8A3I5hhHhnk3iK6vLhJfhqWXbhSCER8jAgRb8vbgHweG4x2waNnNux8jSPMhNN35PPsEjS0icjjqjsNV_4kEqDj5IUJ7SREhaeOT2uP1OCo-10bOaQJl0deMhgDkjgHq0mP4alIY4pggfz_erjBh30/s1600/Cheese.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTz0mEDvef9qnr7-D3ZMa1Ova4PuRsNaWQaW8A3I5hhHhnk3iK6vLhJfhqWXbhSCER8jAgRb8vbgHweG4x2waNnNux8jSPMhNN35PPsEjS0icjjqjsNV_4kEqDj5IUJ7SREhaeOT2uP1OCo-10bOaQJl0deMhgDkjgHq0mP4alIY4pggfz_erjBh30/w480-h640/Cheese.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When you go to England, you make a special effort to sample as many of the delicious cheeses as you can.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBVSh7IUjU2bvzMq8zZ7DhepCbdgzmfCT4gPlgLGSyGsQZQCoztUMrIaDNHCCU7vxOrqo86hZvQju97DdGcPSZFmwgtTPcO4IFVLcvKJjrPFFD156f-fnuBPtd0HMnbqNzubyjab1OutkeF1dbIo23n7ZWn7ELyrAT20zcia-RYGNLpSWHZdikUsw/s1024/Greggs%20bakery%20at%20McArthur%20Park.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbBVSh7IUjU2bvzMq8zZ7DhepCbdgzmfCT4gPlgLGSyGsQZQCoztUMrIaDNHCCU7vxOrqo86hZvQju97DdGcPSZFmwgtTPcO4IFVLcvKJjrPFFD156f-fnuBPtd0HMnbqNzubyjab1OutkeF1dbIo23n7ZWn7ELyrAT20zcia-RYGNLpSWHZdikUsw/w640-h480/Greggs%20bakery%20at%20McArthur%20Park.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The gang at Gregg's Bakery at a MacArthur Glen outlet mall in Wales on our way back to England. We had already consumed our pasties and sausage rolls, exhausted after a long day of driving, walking, and shopping. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVAInaVOCbK6br0rD953_x1a8NBDGiACuIWe5JLIGpMpt7Iz7ztePD-ALKV_SpIdO919EmPT6mcPtTK-uailuet-3H419eow3PtKp61t7T5RorIL8XwNpaO70OFSDHg1X9ZnHHla9yuN6wZGVIUxSGNcqDoIb1H2PnA3w_wP9Ea79nhbJcB6FqG7EB/s4032/Full%20English%20breakfast.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVAInaVOCbK6br0rD953_x1a8NBDGiACuIWe5JLIGpMpt7Iz7ztePD-ALKV_SpIdO919EmPT6mcPtTK-uailuet-3H419eow3PtKp61t7T5RorIL8XwNpaO70OFSDHg1X9ZnHHla9yuN6wZGVIUxSGNcqDoIb1H2PnA3w_wP9Ea79nhbJcB6FqG7EB/w480-h640/Full%20English%20breakfast.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A full English breakfast, though it's missing the fried tomatoes. You've got a rasher of bacon, sausage, potato wedge, beans, fried bread, mushroom, and a fried egg. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Yf8MmZutas63W-UbPLSvFXE7Cxq_il4enRk7rxgobBAAyS35LJigKhZWRrh7I4n-T7hrtDNnHB9PYx5xohsBcTv8Wj73kklu3wuIDqm5BWbaCxp-09ivQN045kcllPAOXLiyQezWrbXW0KJjvZIWtJ2n-LJln3UyGshg7ATvgS7QlHfNF9tqmaIP/s4032/Toby%20Carvery%201.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1Yf8MmZutas63W-UbPLSvFXE7Cxq_il4enRk7rxgobBAAyS35LJigKhZWRrh7I4n-T7hrtDNnHB9PYx5xohsBcTv8Wj73kklu3wuIDqm5BWbaCxp-09ivQN045kcllPAOXLiyQezWrbXW0KJjvZIWtJ2n-LJln3UyGshg7ATvgS7QlHfNF9tqmaIP/w640-h480/Toby%20Carvery%201.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everyone enjoying a full English breakfast at a Toby Carvery restaurant. From <i>left to right</i>: Daniel, Matt, and Husband.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWz5tPIq4ptgCU04ngQNI2D6GZkyfGndkEe0dIzbwrtWjKJjlDa0DhUTAWbiSLB93CC1g_v6fOyCXqlwgK0D_6Xbm-HMezZqY8n-jDxATWODFI11y9AvUWzmtHKX-DTFBkxLTMiDmxSC8XEogp0zdxTmaRnok1N2Zk8ox4AeJ6E_YkUpzs4oBeZf1/s4032/Toby%20Carvery%202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJWz5tPIq4ptgCU04ngQNI2D6GZkyfGndkEe0dIzbwrtWjKJjlDa0DhUTAWbiSLB93CC1g_v6fOyCXqlwgK0D_6Xbm-HMezZqY8n-jDxATWODFI11y9AvUWzmtHKX-DTFBkxLTMiDmxSC8XEogp0zdxTmaRnok1N2Zk8ox4AeJ6E_YkUpzs4oBeZf1/w640-h480/Toby%20Carvery%202.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toby Carvery. From <i>left to right</i>: Brad, Benjamin, and Daniel.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxm671dQpHPIdWVEuIOieSV0r5776EmksQ1uIhKiebbhPTIyjevUcTAL4ai3yPhAVettepBfrR4StQXVVH9suIJFLtQOYajnyYtwdbjNDhv3nZlGZ7UbAVb2_lFbtZErLWhSVFOzhmtqcdKKtpYJYmvKQ6dEe3L375EJ3f0hYZa-2ggjEkLM2e6Hz/s4032/Marmite%20and%20Peanut%20butter.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioxm671dQpHPIdWVEuIOieSV0r5776EmksQ1uIhKiebbhPTIyjevUcTAL4ai3yPhAVettepBfrR4StQXVVH9suIJFLtQOYajnyYtwdbjNDhv3nZlGZ7UbAVb2_lFbtZErLWhSVFOzhmtqcdKKtpYJYmvKQ6dEe3L375EJ3f0hYZa-2ggjEkLM2e6Hz/w480-h640/Marmite%20and%20Peanut%20butter.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spotted this monstrosity at the grocery store. Peanut butter in England is not sweet like it is in the U.S., so it is considered a savory food. Most Brits would gag at the thought of pairing peanut butter with jam in a sandwich, so I guess this pairing makes sense in a horrible, nightmarish way.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg82UXQ_5QUTDUM8PIO9Zx95Bjt4rKHFcIYLazDxmeXIrUygdmWhWrouMvaac7UijqVFKmjb2OJJhNO8Kl_g-Si1kbRlFFvI1EwwUPVHZmTOuWhGUiR-OSAza8UotIkPVeSakUy8U4Urdaxn-5NJHWfNY6myqpXX4CdIXjtzQ5m__6aLGU6jv2t4Hv9/s1024/living%20room%20of%20the%20rental%20house.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg82UXQ_5QUTDUM8PIO9Zx95Bjt4rKHFcIYLazDxmeXIrUygdmWhWrouMvaac7UijqVFKmjb2OJJhNO8Kl_g-Si1kbRlFFvI1EwwUPVHZmTOuWhGUiR-OSAza8UotIkPVeSakUy8U4Urdaxn-5NJHWfNY6myqpXX4CdIXjtzQ5m__6aLGU6jv2t4Hv9/w640-h480/living%20room%20of%20the%20rental%20house.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The main living room of the Mews Cottage in Trowle, England, where we stayed for the week. It was a lovely place to stay, with five bedrooms (it could sleep fifteen people), two bathrooms, two living rooms (with a little alcove with a pullout couch in the small living room), and a large kitchen. The back garden was also lovely, though we never got to enjoy it due to the weather.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5nQc_Nr8Ysxs8qoGB_fn3W6AXIx-tO_lTXGAFTBQTlZ0yAD-_I8iT1JXSB0lCStojDB8UydEiCAL-OU8q_0LFTpMardaTSqzgvX9l9GS-43zoFIiUm81i6ABKWbZe1zkCTuS72mPFvDLsfDn_RY9vgG154v5JWTjP-o8EWRT2DBONlQyJDZS-T6x/s1024/All%20the%20family%20together.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5nQc_Nr8Ysxs8qoGB_fn3W6AXIx-tO_lTXGAFTBQTlZ0yAD-_I8iT1JXSB0lCStojDB8UydEiCAL-OU8q_0LFTpMardaTSqzgvX9l9GS-43zoFIiUm81i6ABKWbZe1zkCTuS72mPFvDLsfDn_RY9vgG154v5JWTjP-o8EWRT2DBONlQyJDZS-T6x/w640-h480/All%20the%20family%20together.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Husband's family (almost) all together for the first time in 30 years, minus Warren (Brad is holding up his phone with a picture of Warren). <i>Left to right, front row</i>: Daniel, FIL, MIL, Tiffany. <i>Back row</i>: Husband, Brad, Matt, and Benjamin.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGF0cMeIhwpkPioJ_6yvHmPTQlcxI8zxZ84D3Ngru_oeEMB9Jr_aobXg_--BVb08iRCFo3HpAr9E-m0JDT30purXIXxXqP2TnZf0FPGtHsJtsxX99y_JNJqLhg4F21WfSTpovkcYDbm5QEsqSLUAYZdaoc4xDGmOze_Xzy7ey3qcNvMfK7XJ-rTwx/s1024/Mum%20and%20Tiff's%20kids.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGF0cMeIhwpkPioJ_6yvHmPTQlcxI8zxZ84D3Ngru_oeEMB9Jr_aobXg_--BVb08iRCFo3HpAr9E-m0JDT30purXIXxXqP2TnZf0FPGtHsJtsxX99y_JNJqLhg4F21WfSTpovkcYDbm5QEsqSLUAYZdaoc4xDGmOze_Xzy7ey3qcNvMfK7XJ-rTwx/w640-h480/Mum%20and%20Tiff's%20kids.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MIL with Tiffany's children. <i>Left to right</i>: Kimmy, Abby, Eleanor, James, and Luke.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcGsJ3VOPJDSGjOYQwIoYnbTaDosBhdYOkvjL-Ko2mMuvoharZaWU2CO96QooxmAqI-T3QMa7EVDSEFMB67wKslHqq0hXW7hgmSMKvHyuJaSbt8db88JVdpHjQPbKXK1Hp8B7ObreJccvKA0FEeO58tGDV9hYuBhuCwnDnkOzq8HR6sb8etDoc25zN/s1024/Warren's%20rebaptism.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="768" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcGsJ3VOPJDSGjOYQwIoYnbTaDosBhdYOkvjL-Ko2mMuvoharZaWU2CO96QooxmAqI-T3QMa7EVDSEFMB67wKslHqq0hXW7hgmSMKvHyuJaSbt8db88JVdpHjQPbKXK1Hp8B7ObreJccvKA0FEeO58tGDV9hYuBhuCwnDnkOzq8HR6sb8etDoc25zN/w480-h640/Warren's%20rebaptism.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Warren's rebaptism. His father baptized him. I was not able to attend this because of some car troubles, but Daniel sang, Matt spoke, and Husband gave his mother a powerful blessing after the ceremony.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MRyHoaw9DVoKLh7rsabjJgddNCz-OQ2AbwiIgT_1PU-wkXzw4jruSwlhjD9O57jogy4P67b50wFB36mMF6eg_iMap-G3vEuFFMN-7jdWho8KqPdp0FnN2VbO5pDa-lMiO5E6PZSUSNmKjrWBQO7GNDzyBhXADxriNah333ujtxoxABYWVd_84Hrb/s1024/MIL%20and%20FIL.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2MRyHoaw9DVoKLh7rsabjJgddNCz-OQ2AbwiIgT_1PU-wkXzw4jruSwlhjD9O57jogy4P67b50wFB36mMF6eg_iMap-G3vEuFFMN-7jdWho8KqPdp0FnN2VbO5pDa-lMiO5E6PZSUSNmKjrWBQO7GNDzyBhXADxriNah333ujtxoxABYWVd_84Hrb/w640-h480/MIL%20and%20FIL.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">FIL and MIL. I love this photo because it captures FIL's wry humor and MIL's love and adoration for her husband. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div>It was a lovely trip, and, like I said, MIL had some very good days and was able to join us on our adventures (not all of which I have documented here, you're welcome). Unfortunately, since that time, MIL has not done well. She recently had a colostomy bag installed because the tumor has wrapped around her bowels and stopped their ability to operate, and she is in constant, debilitating pain. The chemo has stopped the tumor from growing, but it is also very hard on MIL's health. She is considering stopping the treatment at this point, though she has faith and hope for what she will enjoy in the next life. In fact, she is currently sharing some powerful stories of faith on a Zoom call with her children. She is a force for good in this life and will be a force for good in the next world. </div>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-79515567478086724602022-12-27T09:44:00.000-07:002022-12-27T09:44:10.749-07:00The Fears That Stalk Us<p> The last couple of years have further cemented my suspicions about what people are willing to do when they are fearful and refuse to either ask or entertain questions that refute that fear.</p><p>We ask how the atrocities of war can happen, where whole societies can look the other way as groups of people are singled out for ostracization, imprisonment, and even extermination. We have our answer: fear and control. Most people, it would seem, will abandon their morality if they feel justified through fear and a sense of authority. The people who, in the last couple years, self-righteously declared that anyone who didn't comply with the arbitrary rules of covid should be ostracized from society and refused medical treatment are the same people who would justify sending Jews and other undesirables to prison camps because they were supposedly a blight on society. Yet those people had the gall to call us, the non-conformers, Nazis.</p><p>I can't un-know and un-see what I've learned and seen since 2020. I can't look at people the same way that I did before. </p><p>I did have inklings before 2020, of course, because I have asked uncomfortable questions. I know that people, by and large, refuse to question accepted knowledge. You might study and research a topic that contradicts something that "everyone knows," and you might have very good reason to question it, but most people (having done exactly zero research on the subject) will immediately poo-poo your questions and shut down any discussion. They won't want to hear what you've learned or what you're thinking. They will call you names for asking the question. They will laugh at you. </p><p>When I served a mission, I created a name for this. I called it "the fear of being sold something you didn't want to buy." There is this irrational fear we have that somehow, someone will talk us into believing or buying something that we don't agree with; and somehow, we will have no control over this process, and we'll just wake up one day and realize we're stuck against our will and can't get out. </p><p>It sounds silly when you name it and describe it (how would you be completely unaware of the process until it was too late to question it?), but naming and describing a fear is how you overcome it. Until you name it and describe it, it lurks like a demon in the shadowy places of your heart, causing nebulous anxiety and worry. An unnamed fear is a truly frightening thing. A named fear is a tamed fear. But to name a fear, you must face it and examine it thoroughly, and that can seem like a daunting process. Most of us are not interested in doing that work even though the more you face and name your fears, the easier it gets.</p><p>Once you name this fear, you can comfortably have conversations with people who are presenting a different viewpoint from yours, learning to understand where the other person is coming from and calmly choosing which points you agree with or disagree with, pondering those points later at your leisure. Only when both participants have tamed this fear is such a conversation possible. When you have faced and named this fear, you can ask questions that challenge the narrative. You have the mental capacity to reject "common knowledge"--or at least to have reservations about it until you have done more study and research to your satisfaction.</p><p>There is also a fear of being different, of not being seen to conform to society's standards, of being on the outside. It's a powerful fear. It works to keep most of us compliant with society's rules--which isn't necessarily a bad thing since it can prevent people with a weak moral compass from committing crimes. But when the fear is too strong, people will commit atrocities against each other in order to remain acceptable to the larger group. </p><p>In the last two years, we have seen how fear rules most people. We have seen how seemingly normal, kind people will immediately turn on those who are not complying with the authority that the larger group has accepted as valid. We have seen how people will refuse to ask questions or allow others to ask questions that challenge the accepted authority. We have seen neighbors, friends, and family members cast out the undesirables. </p><p>We have caught a glimpse of what we, as otherwise normal people, are willing to do to others we don't agree with or who are not toeing the line. And it is truly frightening. </p><p>Does fear rule you?</p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-8749172472738434052022-12-23T23:14:00.000-07:002022-12-23T23:14:26.079-07:00Kidney Stones and Influenza for Christmas<p> It's been an exciting couple of weeks, but not for the reasons I would have hoped. Still, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger, no?</p><p>A preface: </p><p>A year-and-a-half ago, when we were driving to Indiana to visit my MIL and FIL, I had an incident of pain so bad that I actually shed some tears and asked Husband to call an ambulance, which I had never done before (or since). We were literally in the middle of nowhere, and, if you recall the story, I ended up opting out of the two-hour ambulance ride to a hospital back the way we'd come in favor of just being miserable in the car with my family for the two hours it would take to get to our next destination, only to happily have the pain dissipate about ten minutes later as quickly and mysteriously as it began, never to recur again.</p><p>Until December 13 of this year (da da DAAAH!).</p><p>This time, I started suspecting a kidney stone based on the pain that wrapped around my left torso just under my rib cage. After a couple hours of serious discomfort, the pain dissipated again. I got influenza the next day, which added insult to injury; and to go along with the fever, aches, and chills, I also had the persistent sensation of urgently needing to pee but not being able to. I cannot describe to you how annoying that is.</p><p>I got over the flu--except for this pesky cough that is hanging on for dear life--and then had yet another kidney stone attack on Tuesday of this week. This one was really bad. It felt like I was in the beginning stage of active labor. The pressure was unbelievable, and if I had actually been pregnant, I would have birthed a child every time I had to cough, which was frequently. </p><p>By this point, I realized that I could use pain killers to manage the pain, which is what I did for the hours and hours that this attack lasted, and which made it barely tolerable, because I was NOT going to the hospital if I didn't have to. I imagined the hours-long, deeply uncomfortable wait in the ER, the prodding and pushing and "Does this hurt?," the tests that would probably not reveal anything of significance, and, finally, the instructions to go back home and take pain medications and then make an appointment with my doctor for a follow-up. Followed by the hefty bill. No, thank you. </p><p>At some point in the night I had finally dozed off in exhaustion, and when I woke up at 5am, I realized my kidney was no longer killing me. You know how the cessation of severe pain is such an intensely blissful relief that you feel so very grateful for everything you've ever been blessed with? If you know, you know. </p><p>I had attempted to make a doctor appointment after the first kidney stone last week, but the receptionist was stupid and sent me to the voicemail box of a doctor's coordinator not in my insurance network and that couldn't help me. I had the flu pretty bad by that point, so I kept putting off calling back because I didn't feel well. This week, though, I tried again. The stupid receptionist tried to fob me off and tell me that there were no available appointments until January, but I mentioned kidneys and stones, and she magically found an appointment for me. I just went to that appointment last night, and the doctor wants me to have a CT scan of my entire abdomen. He's a little concerned. I, however, am not currently having any kidney stone symptoms, which is lovely.</p><p>Meanwhile, there is good news:</p><p>I got my new set of hormone pellets, and the higher dose of testosterone seems to be doing something. I am sleeping better and have more energy. </p><p>While I was sick, I decided to use the time to also overcome my diet cola addiction. I went cold turkey rather than taper it down. The withdrawal headaches were impressive, but I'm now a week free of all soda/pop/Coke. I am drinking a lot more water, and I'm chugging down warm lemon water to try and eliminate future kidney stones. I am well aware that drinking soda might have contributed to my having kidney stones. I am grateful I was able to use the unpleasantness of last week to kick the habit. I now associate soda with pain and suffering, and the temptation to drink it is gone.</p><p>My kids, sons-in-law, parents, and siblings are coming over for Christmas. I'm setting up a baked potato bar with chili, and everyone has instructions to bring a snack to share. It will be casual and fun.</p><p><br /></p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-30749173939908181672022-12-12T09:23:00.001-07:002022-12-12T09:23:39.966-07:00The Humor of the Youngsters<div>Joseph showed this to me, obviously hoping for an epic reaction. Apparently, this is the epitome of Gen Z humor, and, according to the glowing comments, this is laugh-until-you-cry funny for people of a certain age.</div><div><br /></div><div>I don't get it, for I am old. I mean, I get why it's supposed to be funny (to a certain extent), but it just doesn't really tickle my funny bone into side-splitting gales of laughter.</div><div><br /></div><div>Humor is definitely generational. I remember trying to explain Gen X humor and terms to an older male adult when I was about 17 or 18 and being confused as to why he was confused. </div><div><br /></div><div>I am he. He is I.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" height="360" src="https://youtube.com/embed/TFwXbp9bLlY" width="480"></iframe>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-2710377762366033472022-11-27T18:39:00.001-07:002022-11-27T18:39:42.666-07:00The Bare News<p> I just counted, and I have seven drafts that I have started and abandoned since my last entry--mostly because I re-read the drafts and found them utterly boring. </p><p>There's been lots of news, though I obviously feel I haven't conveyed it very well, so I'll just list some things that have been happening:</p><p><b>Full House</b></p><p>Siân, Nathan, and their boys successfully moved in at the end of October, and we've all been getting used to living in the same space. I love having my grandsons here. I love getting a warm and excited "Good morning, Nanna!" from Tyler every morning when I head downstairs. I love Nicholas's huge personality in his little body and how we've become good friends now that he's comfortable with me. </p><p><b>Jealous Canine</b></p><p>The dog is really jealous. Every time I talk to or hold Nicholas, Marmite is right there stuffing his nose into my hands to get me to pet him and pay attention to him. I've had Tyler give Marmite treats and throw his toy for him, and Marmite is slowly warming up to his competition, though he is still unsure of his new position in the pack and has been extra clingy. Marmite has always been convinced he's just another person, so this has been confusing for him. He's so much like a fuzzy, jealous toddler that it makes me laugh. </p><p>Dave, the parakeet, remains unfazed and has, instead, welcomed the addition to our flock.</p><p><b>New Grandchild on the Way</b></p><p>Siân is pregnant! After three miscarriages, she's now into her second trimester with this baby, which is exciting and hopeful. She's nauseated most of the time, and it's nice that I can help her out with the little boys when I'm at home, though she doesn't complain much about how icky she feels. Husband and I try not to insert ourselves into their family dynamic in a way that steps on Nathan's duties and privileges as a father, but we help where we can. Nathan is a great husband and father, and it's so wonderful to see our oldest daughter so happy with her little family. </p><p>Siân in due towards the end of May, which will fit in nicely with the ending of the school year, as I will be around more to help with the two older boys. At this point, we do not know the sex of the new baby, but I know he or she will be both whip smart and exceedingly cute (not that I am biased or anything).</p><p><b>Mutated Cancer</b></p><p>We just had some very bad news about my mother-in-law's ongoing battle with ovarian cancer: a new, fast-growing, chemo-resistant tumor has emerged around her intestine, which began pressing on her left kidney, facilitating a trip to the ER as the pain from a restricted ureter became excruciating. That's when MIL's oncologist found the tumor, which they originally thought was scar tissue from her recent surgery; scar tissue does not, however, triple in size over the course of a few months. </p><p>MIL now has a stent, which has relieved the pain from her kidney, but her prognosis is not good. The tumor is terminal, but MIL delivered the news in an admirably calm manner on a recent emergency family Zoom call. She will start a new, exceedingly caustic chemo drug on Monday and will have to repeat it every 28 days until either she is emotionally done with the treatments or the tumor overwhelms the treatment. It is highly unlikely that the chemo will shrink or remove the tumor, and surgery is not an option. The best they are hoping for is to slow or stop the growth at this point, and to say she has even a year left is very ambitious. </p><p>Her children were all very sad at this news, of course, but they are also supportive of whatever decision she chooses to make in order to maintain the quality of life she desires. After nearly losing her last Christmas, they have appreciated every moment of the time they've had with her over the past year. I think my SIL expressed what we all were thinking: "Mum, you need to do what's best for you. We will be okay. Don't try to be brave and strong by enduring a treatment that may be worse than the disease itself. You get to choose your quality of life, whatever that means." </p><p><b>Trip to England</b></p><p>This new prognosis led to a plan for MIL and FIL and all their children to meet up in England one last time. To this end, Husband and I just bought tickets to England for a week in January. One of my brothers-in-law booked a 15-person AirBnB somewhere in Wiltshire called Mews Cottage (so British!), and that's where we will be staying. MIL and FIL are very excited about it, though I am worried about how MIL will be feeling on such a long and arduous journey for someone in her condition. Still, she is looking forward to being able to see all of her children together for possibly the last time (even Husband's older brother will be there, the one who estranged himself from the family for a couple decades and is now talking to us again) as well as to be able to visit her sister and some close friends in England. Tomorrow, I will need to start the process of getting a new passport.</p><p>That's the bare news with a little of my commentary. It's dry, but I'm only occasionally funny in print, as you might well know, gentle reader.</p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-88269364208153149842022-10-28T10:52:00.000-06:002022-10-28T10:52:10.360-06:00What Is Science?<div><p>I've probably said this before, and I may bore you by repeating myself, gentle reader, but I am again struck by the memory of my introduction to fifth grade after I moved to Northern Minnesota.</p><p>In Idaho, my young, female teachers were idealistic and inventive: they allowed me to explore my passions as long as I completed my regular work. When I wrote plays in fourth grade (when I was about nine years old), my teacher allowed me to cast my plays and rehearse them during school time in order to perform them for the class. Because I was an avid reader (thanks, Mom!), I was allowed into the "big kids'" section of the library in third grade because that was where the books were shelved that were at my reading level. I wrote stories and invented games and had a wonderful time at school -- so much so that I was very upset if my mother ever made me stay home if I got sick. And I loved learning. I loved school because I could fill up my brain with new information that was taught in a creative, dynamic way that was perfect for my age. I wasn't any smarter than most of my classmates, I just loved to learn and was encouraged to express the things I learned in creative ways, and that made school enjoyable and fulfilling for me.</p><p>When we moved to Northern Minnesota, I was turning ten years old and going into the fifth grade. I had spent the summer making friends with the kids in my neighborhood, so at least I wasn't entirely alone when I started a new school, but it turned out that my friends were the only thing that was interesting about school. My grumpy fifth grade teacher, a man who seemed impossibly old to me at the time because he had gray whiskers, immediately squelched any creative aspirations I had. I was no longer allowed to explore beyond the curriculum. All would be done in order and lockstep. No one could stick their head above the crowd. This continued through sixth grade and into junior high. </p><p>School became a prison, and with only a few exceptions, my teachers became my guards. I did the school work, but I went home from school and gave myself an exceptional education in English and American literature, for instance, by reading and pondering the great works on my own, writers like Charles Dickens and George Elliot, whose portrayals of the human condition far outshone much of the stuff on my class reading lists.</p><p>My Minnesota public education taught me was that I was not allowed to think for myself. Where my Idaho teachers encouraged me to take what I learned and explore it in my own personal idiom, my Minnesota education told me that I would be taught what to think and would be chastised for thinking beyond that. </p><p>Fortunately, I rebelled. I was lucky. I knew what true freedom tasted like, so even the oppressive "progressive" education of the more liberal school district in Minnesota didn't entirely crush my spirit. The problem is that progressive education like that has crushed many, many peoples' spirits, and I have also found myself more likely to stay silent than argue against obvious fallacies that are taught as gospel truth (more shame be upon me for my cowardice). The appeal to authority these days has people so cowed and unsure of what their own eyes are telling them or the validity of their own experiences that they cannot -- or will not -- have the courage to think for themselves and question the narrative. I do not believe I'm any sort of genius -- far from! -- but I do think that I, and all others, should be taught to have more faith in (and the importance of) our abilities to observe, ponder, hypothesize, and come up with answers about many things in life and try them out to see if they are right. Instead, the popular method of "education" has become to force all people into the correct thought prisons, helpless to step outside of the prison walls for fear of ridicule and gaslighting. We are even taught to ridicule and gaslight our own selves, which is a most heinous crime, for then we can never even desire to be truly free.</p><p>The reason I'm on this soapbox today is because of this video, below. </p><p><iframe frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://youtube.com/embed/dGDbpg1nG8Y" width="480"></iframe></p><p>Those questions haunt me...</p></div>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-18839815126734899202022-10-26T08:40:00.003-06:002022-10-26T08:40:44.955-06:00Blood Draw<p> When I started getting the bills for the blood test and the hormone pellets that have done nothing for me, I had myself a little rant, pacing back and forth and waving medical bills in my fist. Even after the insurance paid their portion, the blood test, the pellets, and the doctor visit together cost us nearly $1000. We have a health savings account, but still! The pellets are not covered by insurance, and they cost a pretty penny all by themselves.</p><p>Husband patiently waited for me to calm down (for the record, he wisely never <i>told</i> me to calm down) before stating that he thought that one dose of pellets was not enough to determine if they would work and that he felt it was worth the money to do a second dose. "I just want to find out if it can help this fatigue you've felt for so long," he said.</p><p>"That makes me fall in love with him even more!" exclaimed Denise when I told her later, which is a very Denise thing to say and made me laugh. "Me, too!" I agreed.</p><p>Today, I had to get my blood drawn in anticipation of my next appointment. I chatted with the phlebotomist as he got my arm ready. </p><p>"Last time, having my blood drawn knocked me out for two days straight," I said. "I forgot to eat all day before coming here, and, afterwards, I was so tired for two days I could barely move. This time I made sure I ate something, and I see you're not filling nearly as many vials."</p><p>The phlebotomist was skeptical.</p><p>"Even when you donate a pint of blood, it's only 500 mils, which should not be enough to bring on any sort of anemia." He held up one of the tubes and looked condescendingly down his nose. "This is only 80 mils." </p><p>Shut up, Phil. I know how I felt. I have never before had a problem after having blood drawn, so I was not expecting such debilitating fatigue. It was surprising and unpleasant, and it was not all in my head.</p><p>"Yeah, well, I have never been able to donate blood," I said lamely. "I was in England at the wrong time."</p><p>Phil remained unimpressed. At least I'm not afraid of needles, so I had the satisfaction of not wincing or looking away as 160 mils of my blood swirled into two test tubes. And, as an update, I'm not feeling unusually fatigued five hours later, which is a good sign.</p><p>My second appointment with this gynecologist is next week. I am eager for more answers. Hopefully, they will be more forthcoming, given the cost. </p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1950272179411389216.post-65669040517084450802022-10-23T23:05:00.000-06:002022-10-23T23:05:15.329-06:00British Roast Dinner: the Key to My Husband's Heart<p> I can make an entire British roast dinner for six people in 90 minutes, but that is as short a time as I can go, given that the roasted potatoes take at least an hour and fifteen minutes to complete. I have a double oven, which helps, and I also use the Instant Pot to cook the meat. </p><p>Want to know how to do it? </p><p>1. Preheat both of your ovens to 450 deg. F and start preparing the roasted potatoes: bring a large pot of salted water to the boil. While it's heating, peel your yellow roasting potatoes (I use 5 lbs of Yukon Gold potatoes) and chop them into large chunks. Rinse and set aside to wait for the water to boil.</p><p>2. Get the meat going in your Instant Pot (IP): pat a dry rub of your choice on a 3-lb beef roast after setting the IP to Sauté mode. When the IP is hot, sear each face of the roast for a few minutes before adding two cups beef broth and scraping up the fond. Set the IP to Meat or Manual for 60-70 minutes, depending on the cut of beef you are using (tougher cuts get longer times).</p><p>3. When the potato water is boiling, add 1-2 tsp baking soda to the water before carefully ladeling in the chopped yellow potatoes. Give them a stir and let the water come back to the boil before turning the stove down to medium heat.</p><p>4. Get your other roasting vegetables ready. For convenience, I usually use two pounds of bagged baby carrots and six or seven young parsnips that I have peeled and cut into pieces of similar size to the baby carrots (if you are using larger parsnips, make sure you cut out the core, as cores in large parsnips are tough and stringy). Toss the veggies with oil as well as salt and pepper, to taste. Set aside.</p><p>5. Make Yorkshire pudding batter: season the flour (about 1 1/2 cups or so) with salt and pepper to taste, along with any other herbs and seasonings you like. Mix in two beaten eggs and then add enough milk mixed with water to make a thick but pourable batter, like pancake batter. Beat the batter to remove lumps. Cover and set aside.</p><p>6. Check the potatoes to see if they are fork tender. When they are, drain them in a colander and then shake them around to rough up the surfaces. Let them release some steam and dry a bit while you rub some oil on a large backing sheet. Mix the potatoes with more oil and some salt and pepper, to taste. Spread them out on the baking sheet so that pieces are not touching each other. Put them in one of the ovens for 25 minutes.</p><p>7. When the IP is done cooking the meat, let it do a natural release for 15 minutes. Check the tenderness of the roast. When it is done to your liking, slice the meat and return to the broth to keep warm.</p><p>8. When the roasted potatoes have cooked for 25 minutes, pull them out and turn each piece over. Put them back in the oven for another 25-30 minutes.</p><p>9. When the roasted potatoes go into the oven the second time, get your carrots and parsnips onto another backing sheet and into the second oven (or onto the second rack of the oven if you only have one oven). Check their tenderness when the timer goes off for the roasted potatoes.</p><p>10. Prepare mashed potatoes: peel and chop mashing potatoes (I usually use 5 pounds of russets). Rinse and put into a big pot, covering them with water, adding salt, and setting on the stove to boil.</p><p>11. You can use this time to prepare boxed stuffing and frozen peas. I also make gravy by making a roux with butter and flour and then mixing in the broth from the meat, seasoning to taste, and bringing to a boil to thicken. Keep all of this warm on the stovetop while everything else finishes up.</p><p>12. When the roasted potatoes come out of the oven, put them into a bowl to keep warm. Check the carrots and parsnips for tenderness and adjust cooking times as needed. Turn the heat of the empty oven down to 425 deg. F.</p><p>13. Pour a little oil into the cups of a six- or twelve-cup muffin tin. Set the tin into the empty oven to heat--about three minutes (you want the oil sizzling hot). When the oil in the muffin tin is hot, pull out the tin, give the Yorkshire pudding batter a stir, and then carefully fill each cup 2/3 of the way full with batter. Put the tin back in the oven for 15 minutes, or until the puddings are puffy and golden brown. </p><p>14. Drain the boiled potatoes, add butter, garlic powder or chopped garlic, cream or sour cream, and salt and pepper. Mash with a potato masher--not an electric mixer!--tasting and adjusting seasonings to your liking. </p><p>15. When the roasted carrots and parsnips are ready, dinner is ready to be served. </p><p>16. Assign someone else to clean up the mess.You did your part.</p>Eva Aurorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09215449189296556402noreply@blogger.com0