Signatures

SIGH.  I am starting with a sigh.  An all caps sigh.  I work in academia.  Say “academia” while lifting your chin and looking down your nose.  (Actually, looking down my nose is something I do frequently if I forget to change glasses when I play the piano, and I can only make out the notes on the page if I hold my head exactly so and look through a tiny sweet spot on the lower third of my graduated lenses.  TMI, I know.)

In this economy I am grateful to have a job that puts milk, honey and bread on the table and keeps four warm walls and a roof around those I love and am responsible for.  I sigh because some days I can hardly bear the snobbery of higher education.  Today is one of those days.  I got an email from a colleague who does basically the same job that I do at this institution, semester after semester, year after year.  I know the person, and this person whom I will call Colleague Q for convenience is very upbeat.  Although I do not work closely with Q, I have observed that Q is kind and thoughtful and competent.

So why am I sighing?  Q’s email invited me and everyone else on Q’s list to a training event.  The email was clearly, correctly and not overly worded.  The problem was the signature.  First of all, the signature was in a different color.  Okay, maybe black is boring.  I can live with green or purple or blue, although red usually indicates some bureaucratic order that if disobeyed will result in dire consequences.   While any person of normal logic already complies with the ethical principles behind said order without red lettering.  Unfortunately this email came with a red notice also, but that’s not what made me sigh.

Back to the signature.  I am sighing over letters.  Fourteen letters and all caps that follow Q’s name in, I suppose, every email Q sends.  Q, MPA, JSP, CWDP, GCDF. 

I know what MPA stands for.  I even considered this degree once upon a time for a few minutes.  But I haven’t a clue as to what JSP, CWDP, and GCDF stand for.  I know I am posting my ignorance for all to see and ridicule.   Why did Q put all those letters behind Q’s signature?  Am I hopelessly last century because I don’t know and don’t care what all those letters mean? They mean something to Q.  What advantage does Q get from signing fourteen letters?  Does Q hope to intimidate me because I can only put two academic letters behind my signature if I wanted to, and I never do, want to, that is.

Last week I got a personal email from the president of the institution I work for.  He didn’t sign his full name preceded by title and followed by a plethora of letters.  He signed it with his abbreviated first name.  The name I would guess his family and friends use. Maybe that is part of the reason he is the president.

The joy of being a parent

I went to watch Daniel compete in the DanceSport Championships in March.  I love watching dancing.  For one thing, it is exercise set to music, and everything is better set to music, don’t you agree?  Ballroom is exercise with another person.  That is also a wonderful thing.  But dance is more:  it is graceful, energetic and beautiful.  The other delicious thing was that I took time off from my job in the middle of the day to go watch the individual competition.  Even if you love your job, it is fun to take time off, when you usually don’t expect to have time off.

As I was watching Daniel and his partner, Miranda, dance, I could not have felt happier.  Daniel loves to dance.  It didn’t matter to me that he and Miranda were not going to win first place; they were doing their best and they were happy.  Dancers and spectators shared a love of life, of creativity.

Maybe Heavenly Father feels like I do.  He just wants us to do our best and to be happy.  Is Daniel a lot better dancer than he was two or three years ago?  Absolutely!  Will he be even better in two years if he keeps practicing?  Absolutely!  Will he have even more joy in his dancing then?  Absolutely!  Will I have more joy in watching him?  I don’t know.   I was totally happy that day at that time.  I will be happy again when he gets to his new place. 

As a parent I feel great joy to see where my children are now.  I went with Kate to a voice competition.  I am so happy to hear Kate sing.  Her voice has improved so much in the past two years.  On the other hand, I also felt great joy hearing her sing when she was four, or eight, or twelve. I felt amazing joy at Elise’s first step at ten months of age, and when seven year old Tom borrowed Farmer Boy and finished it on his own.  I felt joy when Arwen graduated with her Master’s degree, and when Jani got her private pilot certificate, and when Joanie gave her senior recital and ever so many quiet and ordinary moments when my children have done good things.  When my children do their best in ordinary and extraordinary ways, they fill the measure of their creation, and the heavens and I rejoice.

The agony of looking for a job.

What if finding your spouse was like finding a job?  You would spend hours searching the internet to see who was in the market for a new husband or wife.  Then you would apply with your resume and you would try to write a snappy cover letter that would catch the interest of your prospective mate.  I can cook eighteen different lowfat meals.  Or I taught twenty young men how to kayak.  Or perhaps you would be the interviewee and be looking through hundreds of applicants who really wanted to be your new partner.  You would be rejected hundreds of times before you got the interview. 

Finally the day arrives when you are one of the top three choices.  Your prospective spouse gives you a call to set up an interview.  They decide to have a hiring committee including his parents, best friends, and siblings.  You dress in your best funeral attire and come in for the interview, making sure you are not late.

You are introduced to all of the friends and family and feel very intimidated as all eyes bear down upon you.  You start to sweat:  “Is there broccoli in my teeth?  Did I wear brown shoes with black socks?” 

“So,” your prospective mate states, “tell me a little bit about yourself.”

Should I say that I think his eyes are dreamy?  Should I tell her that I sleep with the window open even in the winter?  Maybe I should give a thirty second power statement:  I enjoy working with children of all ages.  My experiences in college have taught me that relationships need to be nurtured.  I love to cook and put safety first in the kitchen.  In my last relationship I increased the number of times we went on a date we both enjoyed by 1/3.

Then they ask the tough questions.  From the mother-in-law to be:  “Do you wash the whites with the darks?”  From your prospective:  “Tell me about a time you had a disagreement with your former girl/boyfriend and how you handled it.”  Finally the 30 minute ordeal is over.  You shake hands with everyone and they say they will contact you within a few days.  You look one more time at your prospective spouse and think, “Do I really want to spend the rest of my life with this person? I hardly know them.”

You spend the weekend agonizing.  The answers I gave were so trite.  I forgot to tell her how I ran fourteen marathons.  Five days later the phone rings.  “I’d like to offer you the position as my spouse,” says the voice at the other end of the line.  You are excited and nervous, but mostly excited at the new opportunity.  Who would choose their spouse this way?  It’s crazy.  Is it crazy that we choose our employment this way?  Most of us spend more time at our job than we do with our spouse.

Spring Break

When I asked Kate and Daniel what they wanted to do for Spring Break this year, they said they wanted to go to Six Flags Amusement Park in California. So we did. They went on lots of roller coasters that went upside down and sideways and traveled more than 90 miles an hour and I thought were generally sickening, but Kate, Daniel, and Tom who met us there thought were totally awesome.


The next day no one wanted to get out of bed,



but we went to the beach. On the way we bought some fresh strawberries and avocados to eat. We found lots of fun rocks and went wading and played frisbee, but we didn't take any pictures.
We left the beach around 3 p.m. and drove to Nojoqui Falls, about 45 minutes inland.


We drove into the central valley to spend the night. The next day we went to see the Giant trees at Sequoia National Park. There was still a lot of snow in the Sierra Mountains.








We ate lunch by some large rocks and everyone read a book.



On Friday we drove into Death Valley National Park. The first stop was a 1 mile hike up a very dry canyon with a surprise at the end: Darwin Falls. Kate kissed a frog, but it did not turn into a handsome prince as she is too young to get married.

We ate lunch at the Salt Spring and watched the tiny pup fish playing in the salty water. This day it was very hot. 91 degrees F, but the wild flowers were beautiful.

Kate and Daniel and Tom were very hot and wanted to go home, so we drove home and got in at 1:30 in the morning. Elise and Max were glad to see us.

I went to a choir concert at the high school a few days ago. High school choir concerts are usually good and occasionally excellent. I actually feel very qualified to say this. I have been attended school choir concerts since 1984 when our oldest daughter was in kindergarten. That is 25 years of concerts.
I have attended a lot of bad concerts. I am not a great musician, but I do have a little history with music. I have been playing the piano for 45 years. I am married to an amazing baritone--really--I am not bragging, ask anyone who knows him and has heard him sing. He sang to all the babies, and they all learned to sing almost before they could talk, and now he is singing to the grandbabies. All of the 7 sing, we like to sing, we can entertain or annoy by singing. One of the family rules is NO SINGING AT THE TABLE. So, I know a little about music. I know when the kids can't keep the beat or the pitch, and it is painful.
But I have been to awesome children's choir concerts. I think the director is very key to how the singers sing. Merilee McKee of San Antonio and Tridell did a job worth driving 40 miles roundtrip in the winter to take the kids to choir practice.
But, I know exactly when I knew for sure that 298 (or thereabouts) choir concerts were worth it. The eldest child was a music major. Her senior year of college she was in the University of Utah Singers. I sat at the Christmas concert that year and I knew, without a doubt, I had arrived. The music was sublime, outstanding, heavenly, heart-wrenching, joyous, powerful, on pitch and on the beat. Twenty-five years of choir concerts were worth it for that hour and a half. Child number 5 is now singing in the Timpview a capella choir. They are great. I love choir concerts. And the oldest, well, she is a high school choir director. I love it.

Eight

8 places I've lived:
1. Oak Ridge, Tennessee
2. Littleton, Colorado
3. Provo, Utah
4. Madrid, Spain
5. Jackson, Wyoming
6. Cleveland, Ohio
7. Omaha, Nebraska
8. San Antonio, Texas

8 jobs:
1. babysitter
2. janitor
3. nanny
4. secretary, whatever needs typing
5. teacher
6. medical office manager
7. academic office manager
8. flight instructor

8 TV shows:
1. Flintstones
2. Mighty Mouse
3. Underdog
4. Space Ghost
5. The Man from Uncle
6. Mission Impossible
7. All of the Star Trek series
8. Gilligan's Island

8 Restaurants
1. A&W Rootbeer
2. I have never eaten out much

8 things I did yesterday, Saturday
1. kissed Dad
2. laundry
3. dishes
4. mopping
5. Christmas shopping
6. vacuuming
7. my life is always picking up (other people's stuff)
8. attended a wedding reception

8 things I look forward to:
1. Christmas
2. Spring
3. Dad singing
4. weddings (you know who you are)
5. more grandchildren (you know who you are)
6. sunsets from the air
7. good books
8. The Second Coming of Christ

I think I will go with Arwen's #1 wish.
#2 is that you all find love from God and others. Look for it. It is there.
Merry Christmas!

This Thanksgiving I spent with 7 of the people I love the most. Six more live 700 miles away. Two more live 500 miles. Some of the people I love no longer live on the earth. Some live close by, but are busy with their own children and grandchildren.

I heard a DJ on the radio say that we need to remember that Thanksgiving is a religious holiday. When we say Thanks, it is to someone, and that someone is our God.

Now thank we all our God, with hearts, and hands and voices.
Who wonderous things hath done, in whom the Earth rejoices.
Who from our mother's arms, hath blessed us day by day.
With countless gifts of love, that still are ours today.

I am descended from William Bradford and Alice Carpenter, two of the survivors of the first winter in Plymouth, Massachusetts. Our first baby was born on Thanksgiving. I can't remember a Thanksgiving when I didn't have plenty to eat, always turkey, rolls and pie. This year we enjoyed produce from our own garden, cabbage, carrots, potatoes, and beets. Everyone chipped in to help prepare the meal. It was great!

My children tease me because I want to start listening to Christmas music in early November, but it makes logical sense. At Thanksgiving I turn my heart to thank God for all of my many blessings. Then my heart turns to the greatest blessing I know that God has given us. That blessing is the Plan of Salvation which is possible because of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

So now, officially,

This is the season, beloved of the year,
Sing a rhyme, Christmastime, soon will be hear,
Tell the true story of Jesus birth,
When as a baby he came to the earth.