Christmas with the Bishop's Family

The holidays of 2009: The year of putting my life on Fast Forward, Rewind, and Pause all at the same time. In the words of Dickens: "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times."

For possibly the first time in my life, I did something early. I always get sick in January---after Christmas, after finals are graded and posted, after the Bishop finishes tithing settlement, after the holiday fun is over. This year, I started when we drug the tree into the house---the first day of December. It is now Dec. 20 and I still wish I could sleep 12 hours a day. Now that I am off my antibiotics for double ear infections, the bishop is coughing non stop and having fun with kidney stones, and Daughter #2 is bleeding from the mouth (story below).

It was the Christmas of puting up one decoration at a time. And five on the Christmas tree in one quick pass. I should have rented some kids to help me.

The master's thesis defense of Daughter #1. In Geology. Now we know why she always wanted to be outside playing with mud and water and rocks when she was little. And why she built the water slide in the kitchen at age 3. In fact, as I watched her present at her defense, the clock kept going backwards and I saw her at age 5, 10, 15, and so on . . . It was like a movie where the character goes back in time to let the audience know the backstory.

Daughter #3 playing Glinda the Good Witch, swooping in at our house occasionally between performances on stage. After the successful run, she went right to Madrigal and Bel canto performances: about 40 this month and counting. Glinda says, "Remember, only bad witches are ugly!" Thankfully, one performance was at our ward's Relief Society party so I could complete two things in one swoop! (Thanks, Wendy)

Daughter #2 successfuly completing her internship at the Bank of Southern Utah, while also working as the Honor's Assistant, carrying 15 credits, and coming home to have her wisdom teeth removed on Dec. 18.

It was the December of 42 Freshmen Research Papers, 42 Final Papers, and 42 Personal Narratives---now all graded and returned. I'm tired just typing that. (About 700 pages of text to read and evaluate)

Every year I plan to be more organized for December. Since every year December gets away from me. There is often a wedding or funeral in for the bishop and tithing settlement, and making sure ward members are okay for Christmas. In other words, the Bishop is not a lot of help in December. Last Sunday he was at the church from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. and then home to answer more calls and collapse in his recliner. It just happens to also be the busiest time of the year for me, as well.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

The Bishop gets sconed? 500 and counting

For more than 10 years, possibly 14, our Halloween Eve has been full of dough. The bishop, before he had the title, decided he wanted to turn our garage into a mini state fair and deep fry scones and serve hot chocolate for the trick-or-treaters. On his mission, the bishop had worked at a state fair cooking "elephant ears" to help the ward raise money. So, the bishop's wife agreed---soley because she thought it would get the garage cleaned. (Note to self: This plan has not worked for the last ten).

This year we estimate we served 500+ (16 lbs of dough) starting at 4:30 with the cutest nieces in the world, and pulling the last dough out of the fry pan at 10:50 p.m. for the bishop's daughters's friends. The bishop was so tired when he went to bed that he didn't even snore, or the bishop's wife was too tired to notice if he did.

We realized we were now serving small children of parents that came when they were children.

We serve parents and kids and neighbors who no longer have kids. The bishop has music, (Phantom of the Opera or Wicked), sometimes a movie playing on a large sheet, and padded chairs for seating. He decorates, (disguises the piles of junk in the garage) he plans, he makes at least three trips to the store on the big day, (this year he forgot honey butter), and he stretches dough all night long with his big, capable hands. The bishop's wife pours hot chocolate and juice, runs in and out of the house getting fresh dough, more paper towels, more cups, more cinnamon-sugar, etc. Along the way we see neighbors we haven't seen for awhile, a teenage boy riding his bike dressed like the abominable snowman, Captain Jack Sparrow, the Jonas Brothers, Draco Malfoy, Michael Jackson, and Strawberry Shortcake.

One year we had the police stop by and ask for our food handler's permit---the bishop handed him a scone, and the next thing we knew the entire force was in our driveway, lights flashing, eating scones.

Last year after the Primary Sacrament Meeting Program, the bishop told the children that they had sung so well he wanted them to come to his house for a hot treat the next Saturday. The bishop's wife almost had a coronary episode until she realized that Saturday would be Halloween.

The bishop's wife's two favorite comments came from teenage boys: "I told you we had a cool bishop," and "I look forward to coming every year."

Maybe next year we will get the garage cleaned.

The Bishop's Daughter AKA Undercover Cadet

It's the perfect after school job, she said. Just a few hours a week. I'll be working at the local Police Department. I will get a badge and everything. How could I get into trouble? Even I didn't smell the irony coming.

As an English teacher, I instruct on how to spot the varying forms of this literary device. As the bishop's wife, I'm starting to be annoyed at its presence in my life.

If you want a review, here it goes:

Dramatic irony: when the audience knows something one of the characters on stage doesn't know. Ex: Ask any bishop's wife---everyone in the ward knows more than she does.

Situational irony: When something in the story happens at the wrong time. Ex: See Fanny's Dream by Utah authors. The fairy godmother shows up too late. Or someone shows up in the wrong place. Ex. The story of this blog.

Sarcasm: a subset of irony---talk to any teenager and you will be drenched with it. (There's also parody and satire, but I'm tired of definitions.)

The bishop's daughter neglected to explain her job in detail, especially the part called, "tobacco and alcohol buys." The police department sends the underage cadets into stores where they see if the clerks will sell the cadets these products without checking their ID. If the clerks are not diligent, the police officers enter the store and give the clerks a ticket and some training. Of course the cadets don't keep the alcohol or tobacco and the police officers are not in uniform.

Last Wednesday night, exactly at Mutual time, our daughter was assigned to go on a "tobacco buy" at the store just up from our meetinghouse. After she texted her Young Women's President to say she was working and not coming to Mutual, she walked in, sans cadet uniform, and as instructed, requested Virginia Slims. At this point she noticed the ENTIRE scout troop from our ward along with the Scout leaders in the store. Including the wide-eyed twelve-year-old son of her Young Women's President who noticed the bishop's daughter asking for cigarettes.

She tried to explain outside the store: "This is part of my job. I'm just undercover right now."

She came home and laughed and told the bishop who laughed also, but I didn't see the humor really reach his eyes.

Irony strikes again.

The Bishop is one Hot Tamale!

We're talking the fire truck came with sirens screaming hot! We're talking all the fire alarms in the Sheraton Hotel in San Diego blaring hot!

And we said we must have a NON-SMOKING room when we checked in. "Oh, yes," said the hotel clerk. "All are rooms are non-smoking," as she handed us a card to remind us not to smoke in the room.

When we left, on the run, the smoke was billowing under the door.

So smelling like smoke, we hurried to our destination: the San Diego Temple.
"Walk fast," said the bishop. "Hurry past the recommend desk and change your clothes. Maybe no one will notice."

Other than the woman seated behind me who coughed a lot during the session, I don't think anyone noticed. Who knows---she could have had a cold.

No more cooking popcorn in a hotel microwave. It's too hot to handle.

President Hinckley said that all the temples are beautiful but a few are crown jewels---one of those is clearly the San Diego Temple. It is so magnificent that when I walked into the celestial room today, (and I've been there three times before) it took my breath away. The celestial room has four levels and two of the sides of the room are ceiling to floor stained glass windows. The room is everchanging as the light changes on the stained glass. Last anniversary we watched the sunset from the celestial room. Muy bonita! Beautiful white carpets and furnishings with golden staircases leading upwards to private alcoves and finally up to an atrium. Touches of peach florals and four chandeliers. A place of light and beauty and peace---a bridge between earth and heaven.

As I sat today in the temple and felt so grateful to have someone to share such beauty with, I wondered if maybe something was trying to keep us from enjoying such a moment.
The bishop snuggled close to me. "You don't smell too bad," he said.

It was a smoking hot 29th anniversary!

General Conference: The Bishop gets Sunday off

My broken toe has almost healed. I broke it when I jumped up early on Labor Day, turned on the light, realized it was Monday (the day after the Bishop works very hard on Sunday), and quickly turned it off to let the Bishop sleep in, and in the ensuing darkness jammed my foot against the TV stand. Jammed it so hard that I grabbed the towel stand in the bathroom and inadvertently pulled it out of the wall to keep from screaming. And waking up the Bishop. Of course, when the towel stand came out of the wall, it woke up the Bishop.

Irony aside, I was looking forward to General Conference when the Bishop gets Sunday off, sort of. Our weekend started Saturday morning at 2:00 a.m. with a call for the Bishop. Not from a member of the ward, but from his sister asking for help with his extremely ill mother. It was another heart attack. Preceded by pneumonia three weeks ago and a serious heart attack two months before that. She has congestive heart failure, leukemia, aggressive diabetes, high blood pressure, and the vestiges of a stroke from eight years ago. Dying, I have decided, it more difficult than I thought.

As the bishop's wife, I have accompanied him many times to the hospital and to homes to visit ill ward members and now his mother. Does the Lord bless bishops with a special bedside manner? Something almost sacred happens when he walks in and takes his mother's hand. Her eyes soften, and she is calm. Her strong, faithful son is close. The worry lifts from his father's eyes for a moment, and he is able to smile. The Bishop knows how to adjust her bed, attach a cup holder so she can reach her water glass, help her sit up to cough. He schedules her nurse four times a day to check her diabetes, the physical therapist, the aide. The disagreeable smells and rows of pills and boxes of syringes don't deter him. He carefully cut the toenails of her diabetic feet when the medical team was too worried about infection to help.

I've seen it before with ward members. It is, perhaps, one of his special gifts. It is seeing Christ in the face of one of his servants.

Cooling with the Bishop's Cooler

If only the bishop's cooler (pictured above with bishop on Pioneer Trek) could talk! Slightly larger than a lunch box, the blue, side-zip cooler has witnessed the following:

The bishop's children going where they are not supposed to go. In Maine (above) and Ireland (below).

• The Cliffs of Moher in Ireland, also known as the Cliffs of Insanity in "The Princess Bride" movie. Our hosts at a nearby bed and breakfast told us later that people were blown off these cliffs every year.
  
  
  
  
• Almost an international incident when crossing the border back from Prince Edward Island, home of Anne of Green Gables (pictured above), back into Maine. Our driver had "lost" her license. We found it in the bishop's wife's purse. Ay! We almost became Canadians.
  

• Too many layovers in JFK to count---always, an exhausting and frightening experience.
  
  
  
  



• The bishop wearing shorts---an event witnessed only thrice in the bishop's wife's life. Pictured here disembarking from a cruise in Ensenada, Mexico. Trip included a 19 hour drive home from LA wherein daughter #2 (taking the picture above) coughed for 18 1/2 hours in the bishop's wife's ear, because daughter #3 threw up so she could sit in the front seat.
  
  
  
  
  
  
• Jelly fish stings in the Cabo San Lucas surf.
  
  
• A near mugging in the bowels of the New York Subway system in 2004.
  

The cooler's shoulder strap slipped off the bishop's wife's arm, and the cooler rolled down three flights of escalator stairs and was grabbed by an angry man---angry when the bishop's wife "assumed" he was holding it for her and grabbed it back! We lived to see Central Park, pictured above.

• And barely avoid a riot in Boston when the Red Sox won the World Series, pictured below.

In fact, the bishop's rental car and cooler were parked at Fenway Park when the Series ended. Fenway Park is next to the Boston Museum of Arts where the bishop had a hard time getting the bishop's wife out of the Museum (they had silver artifacts made by Paul Revere! and an entire gallery of Impressionist Art!) before Bostonians stormed the baseball field. The museum doesn't close for another hour, I said. The bishop replied, "Someone died at the last riot when Boston advanced to the Series---now they have won!

As we hurried out, a homeless man asked us for money. We just kept going around the museum to the back, in the dark, when we realized he was chasing us with his shopping cart. In the dark, the bishop triumphantly produced the keys to the car---parked at the Salt Lake Airport! We could hear the heavy breathing coming closer and the rocks skittering under the shopping cart when the keys to the rental car finally were found. The bishop jumped in, locked his door, started the car, and then realized the rest of the family was still locked outside with the homeless man. But the bishop and the cooler were waiting patiently inside.

• Three (count 'em, bishop!) treks back in time to pioneer days. (See prior post: Antelopes, Anthills, and Arid Desert, Oh My! for more info on what the cooler and the bishop's wife has endured or enjoyed (pick the adverb of your choice).

• Finally, the capsizing of the bishop and his boat! We saved the cooler, which floated to shore, and accompanied us on all the above adventures, and the bishop, who was underneath said boat.
  

Is the summer over for the bishop's family?

At the first of the summer, I challenged my family to read the Book of Mormon cover to cover before reading any other books.

Well, the bishop did it.

I just finished 2 Nephi because I caved in and read lots of other books along the way. Nevertheless, I have found some treasures I want to remember:

2 Nephi 11:3--Nephi writes how his brother Jacob has seen his Redeemer, as he has. At this point in the record, Nephi has been writing the words of Isaiah, who also "saw the Redeemer" (vs. 2). Nephi explains that "by the words of three . . . I will establish my word" (vs. 3). In the preface to the Book of Mormon we read that the book is to convince "the Jew and the Gentile that Jesus is the Christ." Here we clearly have three eye-witness accounts that testify of Christ, from Jerusalem to the Americas. From Old Testament times to Book of Mormon times.

In two short verses, Nephi explains this principle and then proves it, almost nonchalantly. To me he's saying, "You can trust me." He's not pontificating or leading us along. How convincing would three eye witnesses be in a court of law? And how many more are there in the book to come?

The Bishop Goes to Camp

For four years, our summers have been busy with camp---Girl's Camp, Priest Camp, Youth Conference, Ward Camp-out, Oakcrest Camp for First Years, and so on. The bishop has a perfect attendance record. Therefore, if entrance into heaven is based on attendance, we will slide into heaven like home at a baseball game.

Along the way we have learned:
Girls at Camp cry more than boys at Camp. Ten times more.
Girl's camp leaders cry more than boy leaders. Twenty times more. And hug everyone in sight after testimony meeting.
Girl's camp leaders will challenge the bishop to a "chubby bunny contest" to see who can fill their mouth with the most marshmallows while chanting, "chubby bunny." Note: the bishop won 20-12, but he used mini marshmallows.
Girl's camp leaders not only plan but color coordinate meal plans, craft activities, table cloths, transportation arrangments, and matching T-shirts. (I present the picture above as Defense Exhibit A).
Boy's camp leaders will occasionally count to see if all the boys made it home.

After being away from home for a week, first year girls run up and embrace the bishop and his wife when they arrive at camp with the same excitement our three-year-old used to show when we came home from a trip. And they look more beautiful than ever with their dirty faces and muddy tennis shoes.

Even at Ward Camp-outs, when dirt and bugs are prevalent, women compete with their food offerings. And downplay their efforts: "I didn't have time to make anything fancy as I was busy with five batches of laundry and ten piano students," they protest, as they place fruit salad served in a watermelon cut out in a whale shape filled with perfectly-formed melon balls and pineapple and kiwi stars. To quote Shakespeare: "I think she doth protest too much." (I should know which play that comes from, but don't ask).

The Bishop and his girls boogie at the Beach

The bishop and I are not raising beach bums. Two and half days in sunny San Diego, lying on the beach, listening to the soothing surf, expecting nothing from our children and what do we hear?

"There is sand in my sandwich."
"This sand between my flip-flops and feet and everything else is quite exfoliating."
"I have a rash."
"The seats on this sailboat are not very soft."
"Our sailboat is tipping!" (This was heard 15 feet from shore). We explained we would entertain complaints only if thrown from the boat, AND if the bishop and I made no efforts to save said complainer.
"There should be a mandatory cut-off age for wearing bikinis---nobody after 30."
"My swimsuit is still wet."
"We need to get 70 level sunscreen. Several bottles, in fact."

Thirty-five dollars spent on sunscreen later, we realized these are not children meant to hang at the beach for long periods of time. However, we also heard and saw:

"This is the most fun we've had together for years," as daughters and dad played for hours in the waves, riding boogie boards into shore. Who knew the bishop could boogie at the beach?

"Go BYU!" from early morning joggers in reference to the bishop's faded BYU T-shirt as we strolled along the beach together. (We were the best dressed at the beach because we were the only ones "dressed" at the beach, unless you count tattoos as apparel. If you put all the dark spots on one woman together, I think it would spell MELANOMA!)

"Can there be a better place to eat a burger than watching the sunset slide into the ocean?"

Fireworks exploding into the sky from the deck of a tri-level Mississippi River paddle boat.

A pod of dolphins leaping in groups of two and three about 50 yards from shore along the Coronado Peninsula.

The hauntingly beautiful music of South America---Paraguay, Colombia, Argentina---as we ate authentic tacos from a vendor in Old Town. Muy caliente!

Some of that exfoliating sand stubbornly clings to the sole of my tennis shoes. As I write this morning in a house loud in silence, empty of children and husband gone back to school and work, I hope the images of my family together clings to the empty spaces in my heart.

The Bishop's Secret Love

What is pictured on the bishop's cell phone? His six-foot high tomato plants. What gets him up early in the morning? The thought of carefully nourishing his plants with water and who knows what else. What is the first thing he shows guests? Where is the first place he goes when he comes home from work? The garden. Should the bishop's wife be jealous of the bishop's garden? If only she got this much devotion and love.

Wake up Calls

I awoke this morning to a female voice calling softly, "Help me!" It was a bit disconcerting. I searched the house and couldn't find any problems with my daughters. Last night I stayed up late working on family history and got up at 5:00 a.m. this morning to do more but didn't find anything I could complete today. I am going today to the temple with my daughters to have some of my female ancestors' work done. Then I went back to bed and an hour later woke up to the cry. As I sat on the couch and tried to be still, a name came into my mind: Ane Kirstine. I went back to the computer and searched for several hours and I now have enough proof of who she is. She is the niece of the ancestor I have worked on for so long: Kirsten Hansen, mother of 15 children. Every time I think I have done everything I can for Kirsten, I find more. None of Ane's work is completed, but I now have her name ready to take to the temple. She was born in 1830, the year of the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I guess waiting 179 years is long enough.

Another wake up call I received was on Monday at the funeral of a woman in our neighborhood who lived to be 100. The bishop had been her friend for years and now presided at her funeral. She told him she wanted to live to 120. She also always told him that he was married to the prettiest woman in the ward! I knew it wasn't true and that her eyesight was dimming with her advanced age, but I will miss hearing that from her. From everything I could see, she faithfully endured to the end. And it wasn't an easy life. Her husband died 3 years after their marriage and she raised two children alone working as a seamstress. She never remarried. At the funeral, it was mostly family. My wake-up call was this: family is everything.

Family Float/Survival Trip Down the Provo

Usually, floating the Provo River is mild, cool, and somewhat boring. Not this Pioneer Day, 2009. Due to a much wetter than usual spring, the river was running fast and cold. We've done it before, we said. How dangerous can it be? The girls and the bishop wore flip flops. The geologist/hiker in the group brought water shoes and bandaids and a spare pair for me. The bishop lost his flip flops purchased in Hawaii 20 years ago on the first curve (they had fluorescent lizards on them.) We are glad we didn't lose anything more important, like one of our children.

It was my idea. It will be relaxing, I said. It will cool us off. The bishop said, "Didn't two people drown in the Provo this year?" We came out of the water with contusions, bleeding shins, and lacerated feet. While in the water, we were too numb to feel the pain.

Instead of paying for a $10 rental and shuttle, we picked our own spot, purchased 3 tires at Discount Tire for $6.95 and took a leaky raft.

One day I will learn to listen to the bishop.

Anthills, and Antelope, and Arid Desert, Oh My!

Not a tree in sight! There were ant hills, the size of a miniature pyramid, and antelope and some type of weed that left scratchy stickers (about 50 in my long pioneer skirt alone) but no trees. Hot, dusty, and bone-jarring. Pioneer bonnets and hats were not optional, you had to put it on to get away from the sun. But while you were lying on the cold, hard dirt at night, your thighs throbbing from the eight mile trek in, you couldn't possibly sleep so you had plenty of time to see a sensational star-studded sky, uninterrupted in its beauty by city lights and structures. And the rise of a crescent moon so diaphanous and ethereal, you felt God must have placed it there himself.

Why do we dress as dead people and walk miles to nowhere and turn around and go back again? This is what one of the youth asked at the testimony meeting. I began to understand by watching the faces of the young people pulling the handcarts. They were assigned a new "family" without the comfort of friends and without the baggage of who they might have been. Instead, they must learn to work together and work hard to get their handcart to camp and back. It is physically demanding, and the boys seem to become more mature, more sensitive to how hard it is for girls, more undestanding of what they can do. They realize that they are children of God and they can do hard things, just like the pioneers. After all, their lives will be tougher in spiritual ways than the pioneers.

In fact, as I walked with a wife of the stake presidency she said the pioneers had it easy in some ways. "They had all their children together every night for dinner around the campfire. No distractions like TV, cell phones, Internet, never ending schedules."

Preparing for Pioneer Trekking

What does motivate us to don ankle-length dresses, unflattering aprons and bonnets, with tennis shoes of all things, and go pulling a handcart for miles in the sun and heat? I'm going on Thursday to Woodruff, Utah, best known for extreme heat in summer and extreme cold in winter, to walk for three days in a location barren of trees but rife with ticks and mosquitoes. This will probably be my vacation with the bishop this summer. He can hardly wait. I hope I don't faint with joy before we go.