Let this be heaven

My grandma woke up with this poem running in her head and recited it to us at breakfast on Sunday, before we walked down to Wildwood sunday school under the trees. 

Oh, God, let this be heaven—
I do not ask for golden streets            
Or long for jasper walls
Nor do I sigh for pearly shores       
      Where twilight never falls
Just leave me here beside these peaks      
       In this rough western land,
I love this dear old world of thine—       
      Dear God, You understand.

Oh, God, let this be heaven—
I do not crave white, stainless robes      
       I’ll keep these marked by toil.
Instead of straight and narrow walks      
       I love trails soft with soil;
I have been healed by crystal streams,     
        But these from snow-crowned peaks
Where dawn burns incense to the day      
       And paints the sky in streaks.

Dear God, let this be heaven—
I do not ask for angel wings      
       Just leave that old peak there
And let me climb ‘til comes the night—      
       I want no golden stair
Then when I say my last adieu      
       And all farewells are given
Just leave my spirit here somewhere
Oh, God, let this be heaven!

~HR Merrill,  1930s
Wildwood cabin resident
BYU English and Poetry Professor
(this hangs in my grandparents' cabin) 

Amen. This canyon might not be everyone's idea of heaven, but it's mine. What's your idea/hope of heaven's geography?

Losing it

G and I went on a romantic date to Costco on Saturday afternoon. I had the keys to the car in my purse so I drove us there while we chatted away about work and our kids and the upcoming summer and other sundry things. You know, like you do. We parked out in the nether regions of the lot since it was an hour before closing and everyone in the Boston metro area had realized they needed bulk toilet paper and mega packs of dog food.

We went in and spent a good 40 minutes amongst the packs of batteries, double sleeves of bagels, containers of blueberries, and bulk candy (for his bishop's office jar, of course). We bought our things, packed them into boxes, and headed to the car. 

We darted around cars and carts and trudged up the hill to the back of the parking lot. As we came closer and our car came into view I said "that's weird, it looks like there's smoke coming out of our tailpipe." We decided maybe the car behind ours was creating an optical illusion. We got closer. "No, there really IS smoke coming out of our tailpipe. What's up with that?" 

It was then that I reached the car and realized IT WAS ON. As in running. I had gotten out of the car, left it running with the keys in it (unlocked) and shopped for close to an hour.  Seriously. Preoccupied doesn't even begin to describe it.  Oy. 

At home, I confessed the whole saga. Kids, go mark this date on the calendar as the day your mom began to lose her mind. 

This does, actually, have me worried about my brain. Please tell me you've done something forgetful + absent minded + loopy? Otherwise I'm going to have to spend the next week googling symptoms of early onset dementia...

London blitz

 O town of townes, patron and not compare,
London, thou art the flower of Cities all.

~William Dunbar

You're a good man...

Sam rocked and relished the role of Roy in his middle school's production of You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown this past week. It's his first brush with the stage and I think he's hooked.  Can you spot him here on the back row with his mouth open in Peanuts-like enthusiasm?

Who exactly is Roy, you ask?

He's the guy who wears the green fez and scribble shirt, naturally!

Sam is someone who believes in the power of research. He scoured Peanuts websites and comics for mention of Roy. He might have just been using the excuse to spend more time on the computer but just maybe we are witnessing the birth of a method actor. Who is Roy? What are his motivations? What are his hopes and dreams?

He had several lines, the most memorable (originally written for Sally, I think) was:

"I was jumping rope… everything was all right when… I don’t know… suddenly it all seemed so futile!"

There was much discussion and weighing of the pronunciation of "futile" in our household.

Is it fyoo-tile? Fyoo-tul?

Bravo, Sam!

(True story: When I was young I thought everyone was yelling "Provo!" at the end of performances. Somehow it made strange sense to me, maybe since both of my sets of grandparents lived there, and I relished shouting Provo as often as I could.)

p.s. It's fyoo-tul.

MormProm

Last weekend was the Stake Prom in these parts. Lauren went with a friend and had a grand time.

Hooray for rewearing last year's dress (although she fretted over its poofiness). Recycling!

I love seeing all the different dresses that reflect each girl's style and personality:

Greg and I were spies chaperones (which Lauren graciously endorsed). We can report that a good time was had by all. What a great group of kids.

. . .

On another topic altogether, it's my turn over at Segullah today. I'm telling the Birthday Lady story and musing about something my mom first told me about: Fifth Business. Come on over.