Nana's Camp

 I'm just enough younger than my two older sisters that I watched and envied them everything they did growing up.  That hasn't changed much over the past 30+ years of our adulthood.

My sister, Carrie, has spent her time raising ten children, supporting her husband in his successful business ventures, volunteered countless hours to all manner of causes but especially those centered on her faith and her family, mothered and mentored scores of teenagers, and opened her home to any and every stray animal or child to wander up her country lane of a driveway.  She always manages to turn up when I need her the most, bringing sunshine and laughter in her wake.  Her kind, insightful soul has often spoken wisdom, grace and forgiveness when none other could manage a kind word.

Now that her children are grown, my sister delights in entertaining her grandchildren.  Judging from the way my grandchildren attach themselves to her when she breezes into town for a few days now and again, I have a small inkling of the love her own bear for her.

One of the things she does for them is Nana Camp, which consists of a day with just Nana (and, maybe Bapa if he can finagle it) doing all sorts of wonderful things like painting their own aprons and then preparing their own meal, a trip to the movies or the children's museum, the park and the local frozen yogurt shop.  And, because she is a collector of strays, she may have just as many "grandchildren" unrelated to her as her blood kin.  After all, she only has seven grandchildren, the oldest eight.  That's scarcely any at all.

Of all the ways I would like to emulate my sister, Nana's Camp ranks high on the list.  However, I'm not as tireless or capable as she, and not nearly as fun, so I can't fly solo or even with Papa as an erstwhile co-pilot.  Especially with four toddlers ranging in age from 18 to 33 months, my daughters-in-law wisely spell one another to cover my many lapses.

Even so, Ariane gets to attend the temple for a bit and Desiree' runs a few errands unencumbered.  We pick figs off the tree in the backyard (which they've eagly anticipated all spring), swim for an hour or two, eat ramen and watermelon, and have "quiet time" with a movie.  Then, when it's time to load up for home, Abram clings to my leg and whimpers, "I want to stay with Nanny"—the most intelligible thing I've heard him lisp all day.

It's been a good day.  We definitely need to do this again soon.  I just wish Dustin could have been here.

Living Extraordinary Lives

A friend of mine posted a link on Facebook to a political blog (I think) with a headline that blared:  ‘YOU’RE NOT SPECIAL’: WELLESLEY HIGH SCHOOL TEACHER GIVES THE MOST BLUNT COMMENCEMENT ADDRESS EVER. Intrigued with the blurb that the publication chose to quote, I followed the link to the complete text and formed my own opinion.

Erm . . . to be blunt, the headline missed the point.  The point of David Mccullough, Jr.'s speech was not that the 2012 graduating class of Wellesley High School were spoiled and coddled, but that they should go out and make their lives something special.  With kind words and a humorous approach, he managed to deliver his message and still leave his students feeling positive about themselves.  I suspect he is a favorite teacher at Wellesley High School, which explains his role as faculty speaker.

I felt it such a good speech, I wanted to share it.



Mr. McCullough (purportedly the son of David McCullough, Pulitzer Prize-winning author and historian) summed it all up in his closing statement.

Two Down, One to Go

Wednesday marked another milestone for my family.  My #2 son left college campuses behind him for good, packed up his family and set out into the real world.  With his Master's in mechanical engineering in hand, in another couple of weeks he'll start work with his new employer, Samsung, in a bedroom community of Austin, Texas.

They moved only about 102 miles from their apartment in College Station, but in their change in circumstances, they're moving to the other side of the moon.  Instead of starving students relying on scholarships and student loans to keep body and soul together as they have done for the past four years of their married life, a well-paying job promises comfort, security, and elimination of their debt.  Instead of a two-bedroom apartment growing increasingly smaller the larger their toddler and two cats grow, they are renting a new-ish, clean and well-maintained four-bedroom home with 2½ baths and a two-car garage in a nice neighborhood.  Filling up those rooms with furniture will take some time, but they've already made their first installment with a new flat-pack dining table and chairs.

Gloria Gay Neves Garrard

I wrote about my mother-in-law, Maurine, in this post last week.  Today, I need to talk about my own mother and how her greatest strengths have influenced the person I have become.

Mom & Grandpa Bob

Here's my mom, Gay Garrard, with her husband, Bob.  My mother is amazingly talented and creative.  My memories are packed with vivid images of art she has created, songs she has composed, poems she has penned, clothes she has designed, houses she has decorated, photos she has taken and words she has written.  It seems there is nothing that my mom can't do and do well.

My mom is currently working on a fabulous Book of Mormon novel about the People of Ammon and the 2000 Stripling Warriors.  It's amazing.  The work is scholarly, enlightening, spiritual, and engaging all at once, which, in a nutshell, is my mom.  I truly hope she gets it published and doesn't give up on it.  It's something that needs to see the light of day.

Rush Hour

Today, as I was driving (or not driving) in rush-hour traffic, I thought, Dang! It's going to take me 45 minutes to get from point A to point B. That's awful. I was driving through an area of suburbia which until recently has been rural and is still peppered with wooded lots and pastures, and lots of narrow two-lane tree-lined roads. The commuters wending their way home through the gloam made a caravan of headlights more than a mile long. Something about it didn't just slow down the cars but seemed to have a calming effect on the drivers as well.

I thought of how one hundred years ago, most folks wouldn't dream of traveling from my point A to my point B in just one day, especially because the area was thickly wooded, with small homesteads carved out of the forest, with dirt roads often up to the axles in mud, especially at this time of year. Even fifty years ago, such a trek would have taken several hours, not 45 minutes. What was I complaining about?